Engage

Christmas comes with the reminder of getting gifts for everyone, but is it really the gift that matters?

Browsing in a local Christian bookstore many years ago with my boyfriend at the time, our eyes landed on a particular picture at exactly the same moment. It was a large, colorful depiction of Jesus, entitled The Laughing Christ; with His head tossed back slightly, somewhat disheveled, dark brown hair framed crinkled eyes, twinkling with delight! It was perfectly enchanting! We found ourselves staring at the slightly crooked smile beneath the subject of the portrait’s engaging gaze. Oh, so inviting! So accepting! So attractive!

Glancing up from this likeness toward each other, we shared the excitement the other felt at discovering this unique presentation of the person we had each come to know and trust in the last few years. We were both raised with statues and pictures of Jesus in our respective homes, but He was always portrayed as serious, somehow detached from life as we knew it. While we believed the person represented in these images had truly lived on this earth and even prayed to Him when we needed something, our faith individually had recently become something very real…alive, even.

This artist’s impression reflected who we both discovered the Lord to be in our lives—someone with whom we could share life, someone who loved us in ways we had never known before, someone who revealed Himself to us when we prayed. As a result, our understanding of God was transformed from merely an intellectual assent of His existence to a new experience of a living, communicative, and wonderful friend; our very best friend.

Even as we left the store a little while later, our animated conversation about this portrayal continued. It captured each of our hearts, yet neither of us had made a move to purchase it. As soon as I got home, I knew I had to go back and buy this picture. A few days later, I did just that, then carefully wrapped it, and waited excitedly for Christmas to arrive.

Gift of Honor

The days passed till finally, it was Christmas Eve. With carols playing in the background, we sat on the floor near the small straggly artificial tree given to me by my mother. Handing my gift to my beloved, I waited expectantly to hear his appreciation as he spied the new wristwatch I had placed on the paw of the little stuffed dog who would cleverly deliver the timepiece. A mumbled “thanks” was all the response I got. No worries, that wasn’t the gift that I knew would be perfect. But first, I was to open his gift to me.

Reaching to accept it, I felt a bit puzzled. It was large, rectangular, and flat. As I began to open it, pulling the wrapping paper away from the present, I suddenly saw…my picture?! The same one I secretively purchased for him? Yes, that was it! The Laughing Christ. The picture I loved so much but instead of being thrilled, I felt disappointed. This was supposed to be his present. The one I knew was exactly what he wanted. I tried to hide my disappointment, leaning over to give him a kiss while expressing my appreciation. Then pulling out the present I had carefully wrapped and hidden behind the tree, I gave it to the object of my love. He opened it, ripping the paper quickly, revealing the contents of the package. His face looked happy…didn’t it? Or was it a bit crestfallen like I had felt mine would have looked if I hadn’t worked so hard to hide my disappointment from him when it had been my turn to open a gift?

Oh, we both said the all right words, of course, yet somehow we sensed the gift we received from each other was not nearly as meaningful to us as we had hoped. It was the giving of that present that we both looked forward to with such anticipation. It reflected the Christ we’d both experienced and our desire was to share who we each had come to know. That was where the joy was found, not in having our own desires met, but in fulfilling the desires of the other.

In time, my relationship with that young man ended. While it was painful, the joyful image of Jesus continued to hold a place of honor on my wall. Now, it is so much more than just a depiction, and so much more than just a man. It stays as a reminder of the One who would never leave me, the One with whom I would always be in a relationship, the One who would dry my tears many times through the years. But more than that, the One who is always such a source of delight in my life.

After all, He was my life. Those crinkling eyes met mine. Then, that engaging smile invited me to pull the corners of my own mouth upward. And just like that, I was laughing alongside my Best Friend.

Why would the Mighty God become a wailing baby in a place that smells of dung?

One of the stranger aspects of the Annunciation that precedes the Birth of Jesus is how the Archangel Gabriel addresses Mary as “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” (Luke 1:28) What will ensue is that she will be a teen mother, pregnant before her actual marriage to Joseph, and she will be destined to give birth in a cave or stable amongst barn animals. She might be forgiven if she suspected that Gabriel was engaging in some angelic sarcasm. Then fast-forward thirty-three years when she will be at the foot of the Cross and will watch her Son die an excruciating death among thieves before a jeering crowd. How is all of that being ‘favored?’

A Radical Statement

The whole Christmas story is full of enigma and violates expectations. To begin with, the Creator of the entire cosmos, with its billions of galaxies, who is absolutely self-sufficient and doesn’t need anything from anyone, chooses to become a creature, a human being. The Alpha and the Omega is presented to us as a baby, delivered with all the messiness of childbirth without an attendant doctor or nurses, at a place smelling of dung. As Bishop Barron once described the Incarnation: “There is a Catholic joke here: you either get it or you don’t.” As we stand before this scene, if God can come here amidst utter deprivation and straw, He can come anywhere. He can come into the messiness of my life. If God came there at that stable in Bethlehem, He has come everywhere; there is no place or time that is God-forsaken.

If we pull back from the scene, an odd perspective kicks in. The largest figures at that time—Caesar Augustus, Governor Quirinius, King Herod—have gotten smaller; indeed, they have disappeared. The smaller figures—Mary, Joseph, the random shepherds—loom large: Mary is the Queen of Heaven and Joseph is the patron of the Church, the mystical Body of his adopted Son, Jesus. Baby Jesus, the smallest and most helpless of figures, wrapped in protective swaddling clothes, will loom so large that He will blot out the sun and moon and fill the sky with the song: “Glory to God in the highest Heaven, and on earth peace among those whom He favors!” (Luke 2:14)

The Nativity story is rich in theological meaning, but there’s more to it. A radical statement is being made. Jesus is given the name Immanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’ And that means Jesus is God in the flesh: He is much more than a prophet, a teacher, or a healer; He is the human face of God. The second Person of the Trinity has entered into human existence not because He needs something but for our sake—for our salvation. The implication is remarkable. As Saint Augustine reminds us: “If you were the only person on this earth, the Son of God would have done everything, including dying, for your sake.” It means that there are no insignificant or pointless lives. It means that Immanuel is with us every moment of our existence, which entails that the ordinary events and choices I make on an average day can carry eternal significance. Why? Saint Paul reminds us: “We move, live, and have our being” in Christ Jesus (Act 17:28). It means that our sacred story has meaning and purpose—a life that encourages courage and self-giving generosity, just like the Lord we worship in whatever desolate place we find ourselves.

In Life or Death…

The birth of Christ should be the source of hope, and this is not the same thing as optimism, which is more a genetic disposition rather than a foundation of life. Some of us, in contrast, have to deal with a genetic affliction of depression, which can bathe one’s life in darkness. But, even amid this dark cloud, we can find glimpses of purpose, beauty, and glory and this too can serve.
Sometimes, we experience isolation and loneliness brought on by debilitating illnesses such as chronic pain and degenerative disease. God is there, God is with us. In a shattered relationship, betrayal, or a cancer diagnosis, God is with us. He doesn’t abandon us in a hospital or a mental ward. In life or death, Jesus will never leave us or abandon us because He is Immanuel.
Faith in Jesus does not release us from suffering, but it can bring deliverance from fear because we have a container, a Person, who can integrate everything into our lives. The birth of Jesus means that every moment we are blessed to live, even in a difficult and shortened life, can be infused with God’s presence and ennobled by His calling. Our hope comes to fruition on Christmas Day, which shines like the star that guided the Magi and swells like a song chanted by monks and Gospel choirs throughout the centuries, filling churches, cathedrals, basilicas, and revival tents, but that song is most clear in our won hearts: “God is with us!”

One of my favorite places on earth is the great Cathedral of Chartres, located about an hour by train south of Paris. For me, it represents the richest expression of Gothic architecture, and the Gothic is, again for me, the most religiously evocative type of architecture. When I was a doctoral student in Paris many years ago, I would journey as often as I could to Chartres, and each time that I approached the building, I did so, not in the manner of tourist, but as a seeker coming to the end of a pilgrimage.

Chartres is famous, of course, for its transcendently beautiful stained glass, but it also boasts hundreds of exquisitely rendered sculptures of Biblical figures. On the north porch of the cathedral, there is a statue that I particularly savor. It is a depiction of John the Baptist, and it shows him as an emaciated figure (after all, the Bible tells us that he ate locusts and wild honey) holding an image of the Lamb of God. But what is most striking about the sculpture is the face of the Baptist. He bears an expression that bespeaks an aching, a longing, a looking toward something that he does not have but wants. Some of the Saints that surround Chartres Cathedral seem blissful, already in possession of the great good for which they longed. But not John the Baptist. He yearns, pines, hungers still.

And this makes him, par excellence, a Saint of Advent. This holy season, of course, calls to mind the coming (adventus) of Jesus in history, but it also anticipates the arrival of the Lord at the culmination of the age, that time when, as Saint Paul puts it, Christ will be “all in all” (1 Corinthians 15:28). This fulfillment, obviously enough, has not yet happened, for the world is still plagued by wars, famine, floods, earthquakes, and pandemics. And our lives are still marked by depression, failure, sin, and frustrated plans. None of this tells against the fact that God’s creation is good, but it does indeed confirm the intuition that this life is, as the Salve Regina puts it, ‘a vale of tears.’ All of us, therefore, wear the expression of the John the Baptist of Chartres: craving an absent good.

Might I suggest some practices for all of us Advent people during these upcoming weeks? First, we should deepen our lives of prayer. As John of Damascus told us long ago, to pray is to “raise the mind and the heart to God.” It is to be consciously aware of God, present to Him. Even if we wear a somewhat anguished expression as we do so, we should turn our faces purposely to God, and as we pray, we should allow our yearning for God to surface. C.S. Lewis told us that the aching of the heart for God–and it is a real suffering–is properly called ‘joy.’ Prayer, in a way, is the cultivation of precisely that sublime form of joy. One of the very best ways to practice this form of spiritual attention is to spend an uninterrupted hour or half hour in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.

A second Advent suggestion is this: wear the world lightly. The reason that we feel spiritual anguish is that the deepest desire of our heart cannot be met by any merely worldly good. We look to something beyond our ken and capacity precisely because we realize, consciously or unconsciously, that the hungry soul cannot be satisfied by any amount of esteem, riches, power, or pleasure. The attainment of any of these goods produces a momentary bliss followed by a letdown, a disappointment. But this truth mustn’t be allowed to depress us; rather, it should compel us to adopt the spiritual stance that the spiritual masters call ‘detachment.’ This means enjoying wealth and then letting it go; using power for good but not clinging to it; taking in honor and not caring a whit for it. It is to adopt the attitude that Saint Ignatius of Loyola calls ‘indifference.’ Advent is a privileged time to practice this virtue.

A third and final suggestion is this: we should devote ourselves to doing one of the corporal works of mercy. These acts–feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, visiting the imprisoned, etc.–are concrete acts of love. It is easy enough for religious people to speak of love in an abstract manner, but to love means to will the good of the other. Therefore, it is dense, real, particular, something that shows up. And Heaven–that ultimate joy that we long for–is nothing other than love, love in the fullest possible sense, love without limit. Aquinas says that in Heaven, faith will fade away (since we will see God face to face) and hope will disappear (since we would have attained what we hoped for), but love will remain (since Heaven is love). So, when we love someone here below, in even the simplest way, we anticipate our return to the homeland, we stir our craving for Heaven.

So, as we move into the spiritual space of John the Baptist, as we enter the season of Advent, we should pray, we should let go, and we should perform the works of mercy.

Life can be full of unexpected twists and turns, but you can still hope for the best when you start doing this.

Around this time of year, more than fifty-five years ago, there was a knock at the front door of our family home. We weren’t expecting anyone. My mother answered the door to find friends and co-workers heavily laden with boxes of food and toys for Christmas. It had been a challenging year for our family. My father became paralyzed that spring, my mother had to support the family, and money was scarce. These faceless strangers exuded joy and happiness at the prospect of making our Christmas a little merrier and my parents’ burden lighter. The memory is etched deeply in my mind. That experience of unexpected need, bewildering sorrow, catastrophic loss, and miraculous support helped form the person I have become.

It is hard to understand the purpose of why something is happening in our lives. Christians are expected to believe and accept that through the joys and sorrows in life, God truly loves and cares for us. The old saying, ‘Offer it up,’ may rarely be spoken these days, but it was loud and clear growing up. My family lived this reality every day in our home.

Nothing Special

“Yet, O Lord, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are our potter: we are all the work of Your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8)

Imagine for a moment the lump of clay that I am. The Master Potter can see the potential in this pile of mud, a daughter and instrument for His purposes. To the untrained eye, perhaps one may imagine only a coffee cup or toothbrush holder, but to the Almighty, this lump has an indescribable purpose in His plan, both in history and time eternal. The dilemma is, the lump starts as nothing special, needing to be uniquely crafted for the work he/she will be called to do.

The Potter is unconstrained and intentional. He is purposeful, thorough, and ingenious. He knows the storyline, the characters, and the situations in which He will insert His masterpiece into, to do His Will. He knows the circumstances that will properly form and prepare her for this work. Nothing is too small or inconsequential in her formation.

She may wonder why her father had to suffer so much, why she had to grow up fast, and why her future would give her challenges both excellent and excruciating. She shed tears as she waited for children who were delayed in coming, thus learning to rely more on God and surrendering her expectations to His omnipotent care.

The trials helped to polish her rough spots and taught her to yield to the Master’s touch. Every detail is essential, every encounter for His purposes and will. Each spin of the potter’s wheel and the gentle guiding caress of the Master’s hands provided what was needed to perfect her parts. Growth opportunities were prepared, as well as people to assist her along the way. Grace was flowing as He put everything into motion.

Tried and Tested

I look back and glimpse the reality of this in my life. God provided, equipped, and accompanied me in every circumstance and situation. It is mind-boggling to realize how attentive He has been all along the way. Some of the most painful experiences of my life ended up being the most beneficial. The fire of the kiln both hardens and refines, strengthening the object for its purpose.

The pottery can also shatter more easily when dropped. This is not the end but a new beginning and purpose in God’s economy. Much like ‘kintsugi,’ the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using fine metals mixed in lacquer, God can remake us through the brokenness of life. I continue to grow and have been remade again and again. None of the hard lessons were inconsequential or bad luck. Rather, they helped develop me into a daughter who relies on God—trusting and surrendering without reserve. Yes, Lord, you continue to shape and form me, refining my heart and refreshing my soul.

Thank you, Father, for not giving up on this lump of clay every time I yelled: “Stop, I can’t take it anymore.” You formed and knew me, tried and tested me, and have found me worthy, I pray.

Take time today to reflect on how the potter has formed you, prepared and equipped you to do His good work in you and for His Glory. It is truly a beautiful thing to behold.

Adulthood is scary, but with the right company, you can learn to thrive in grace and strength!

Jesus treasured friendship and hand-picked 12 men to walk closely with Him and learn from Him. Of course, there were also women friends. Remember the sisters, Mary and Martha? And Mary Magdalene? The fact that the Gospels mention these friendships reveals that the people in the fabric of our lives are very important.

Jesus even called His disciples friends! “I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.” (John 15:15) It is an honor and elevation to be called a friend of His! In the same way, it’s important for us to recognize that being a friend to one another is an honor. It is a role to be taken seriously. As Jesus reminds us: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”(Matthew 25:40) Your presence, or lack of it, is impactful to another. Your actions, support, and prayers can make an immense imprint on the life of another person. It is a role to steward well, as with any of the roles we have been entrusted.

A Gift Par Excellence

In adulthood, many lament at the lack of friendship or the difficulty of making friends. The ache of a heart longing for dear friends is very real. Friendship is truly a gift, a gift that one should most definitely pray for.

The impact of true Christian friendship on a person’s life is very deep. So it is important to carefully ‘choose’ the people with whom you entrust this title. A friend who does not share the same values can be closer to an enemy. Proverbs 27:17 reminds us: “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” The lives of the Saints are a constant encouragement as we often hear about one Saint being friends with another! Saint Francis and Saint Clare are often talked about as friends who partnered in purpose and spirituality, enriching one another’s lives. So were Saint Teresa of Avila and Saint John of the Cross. Saint John Paul II and Mother Teresa are 20th-century models. True friends will spur us on to become the best versions of ourselves.

Led by Faith

I attribute much of my growth and life successes to being surrounded by the right friends. The people closest to me have a clear spiritual vision. They have provided encouragement right on time, and I know that they are always available for prayer support, whether that be interceding for me in their own time or dropping everything to pray with me.

A Christ-focused friend will often know when you need prayers. I have a friend who can sense the area of my life that I need prayers for. She often shares what the Holy Spirit has told her in prayer. Conversations with her are always encouraging and they provide me with strength and confirmation. I can recall numerous times when a friend sent a Scripture verse right on time or a word from the Holy Spirit that resonated perfectly with me. On too many occasions to count, I’ve had a text message from a friend letting me know that they felt led to pray for me. These mostly come when I am in the midst of making very large life decisions or facing some huge internal struggle.

There was a time when I felt very stuck in life; it seemed that I was making no progress. A dear friend sent me a Word that they believed God was doing something very special behind the scenes in my life. I felt the strength to go on and realized that God was up to something, even though I was feeling discouraged. Days after that, things started clicking into place–desires that I had prayed for over many years began to manifest in my life!

A true friend will be willing to intercede with and for you as you fight your battles. They will celebrate the victories of God in your life and be concerned for your spiritual welfare more than any other aspects of your life. But remember, there are also times when you will need to let a friend know that you are in need of prayers.

I know that my life would look very different if it were not for my friends who are in tune with the Holy Spirit. Walking with others on the same journey of surrendering to Christ has had clear benefits. A shared vision of aiming for Eternal life and holiness in this life is valuable in friendship. I’ve had the honor of being helped and helping friends carry their crosses in life, sharing joys, and praising God together.

Enrich Your Life

Are you in a period of life where you are longing for more friends? Pray to meet them! Keep your eyes open for the unexpected ways they come into your life. If you’re in a season of life where you have friends, but feel distant, start by sending a message or calling a friend who has been in your thoughts lately.

Open your heart to friendship. Too many friendships have withered and never had a chance to fully blossom due to the busyness of one or both parties. Friendship, like any other relationship, requires sacrifices. It will look different in different seasons. Yet, it is a tremendous blessing and gift from God. Building and maintaining friendships is an investment. Enduring friendships can add so much enrichment and value to your life. Cherish the gift of a good friend, and treasure greatly the title of a friend when it is bestowed upon you.

Jesus, please help us to be true and faithful friends to others. Send us the friends with whom we can walk steadily toward You. Amen!

Question: I have been suffering from depression for a few years; others sometimes tell me that this is because of a lack of faith. I also often feel that they may be right, as I find it difficult to pray or even hold on to faith. How am I, as a practicing Christian, supposed to deal with this?

Answer: There is much overlap and interconnectedness between the psychological and the spiritual. What we think affects our soul and our spiritual state, often impacts our inner peace and well-being.

With that said, the two are NOT the same. It is entirely possible to be tremendously close to God, even growing in holiness, and still be plagued with a mental illness. So how do we know the difference?

This is where a Christian counselor or therapist, and a spiritual director, can be very helpful. It is hard to self-diagnose mental illness—most find it necessary to have a Christ-centered professional evaluate your struggles to see the roots. Frequently, to tackle underlying issues, mental health issues need to be addressed through a combination of both psychological and spiritual treatment together.

To seek help does not indicate a lack of faith! Would we treat a bodily disease in that way? Would someone who is suffering from cancer be told that they ‘haven’t prayed for healing with enough faith?’ Or would we tell someone who needs major surgery that visiting a doctor would be a lack of faith? On the contrary. God often works His healing through the hands of doctors and nurses; this is equally as true for mental illness as for physical illness.

Mental illness can be caused by a myriad of factors—biochemical imbalance, stress or trauma, unhealthy thought patterns….Our faith recognizes that God often works to heal us through the psychological sciences! In addition to seeking help, though, I recommend three things that can help bring about healing.

1. Sacramental and Prayer Life

Mental illness can make it difficult to pray, but we must persist. Much of prayer is just showing up! Saint John of the Cross would record in his spiritual journal what happened to him during prayer, and for years he wrote only one word every day: “Nada” (Nothing). He was able to reach the heights of holiness even when nothing ‘happened’ in his prayer! It actually shows deeper faith if we are faithful to prayer despite dryness and emptiness—because it means that we truly believe since we are acting in accordance with what we know (God is real and He is here, so I pray…even if I feel nothing).

Of course, Confession and the Eucharist are great help to our mental lives as well. Confession helps to free us from guilt and shame and the Eucharist is a powerful encounter with the love of God. As Mother Teresa once said: “The Cross reminds me of how much God loved me then; the Eucharist reminds me of how much God loves me now.”

2. The Strength of God’s Promises

One can change our ‘stinking thinking’ by the positive promises of God. Whenever we feel worthless, we must remember that “He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world” (Ephesians 1:4). If we feel like life is getting us down, remember that “all things work for good for those who love God” (Romans 8:28). If we feel alone, remember “He will never leave you or forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5). If we feel like life has no purpose, remember that our life is meant to glorify God (Isaiah 43:6-7) so that we might enjoy Him forever (Matthew 22:37-38). Grounding our life on the truths of our Faith can help to counter the lies that so often entrap our mind in mental illness.

3. Works of Mercy

Performing works of mercy are powerful boosts to our mental health. Many times, we can be ‘trapped in ourselves’ through depression, anxiety, or traumatic experiences; volunteering helps us to get out of that solipsism. Science has proven that doing good to others releases dopamine and endorphins, chemicals that lead to a sense of well-being. It gives us meaning and purpose and connects us to others, thereby decreasing stress and giving us joy. It also fills us with gratitude to work with those in need, as it makes us realize God’s blessings.

In summary, your mental health struggles are not necessarily a sign that you lack faith. You are certainly encouraged to see a Christian therapist to find how to improve both your spiritual and mental health. But also remember that your faith can give you tools to deal with mental health. And even if the struggle continues, know that your sufferings can be offered up to the Lord as a sacrifice, giving Him a gift of love and sanctifying you!

Silence is difficult even for adults, so imagine my surprise when I was instructed to train kids in that language!

Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (CGS) is a Catholic catechetical model developed by Sofia Cavalletti in the 1950s, which incorporates Montessori education principles. One of the pioneering aspects of Dr. Maria Montessori’s work was her cultivation of times of silence for her children. In Dr. Montessori’s Own Handbook, she explains: “When the children have become acquainted with silence … (they) go on to perfect themselves; they walk lightly, take care not to knock against the furniture, move their chairs without noise, and place things upon the table with great care … These children are serving their spirits.”

Each Sunday morning, anywhere between ten and twenty children, aged between three to six, gather in our atrium for catechesis. In CGS, we say ‘atrium’ rather than a classroom because an atrium is a place for community life, prayerful work, and conversation with God. During our time together, we make time for silence. The silence is not stumbled upon but purposefully made. It is also not a tool for control when things get noisy; it is regularly prepared for. This is what I have especially learned from these children.

True silence is a choice.

Practise Makes Perfect

In the CGS atrium, we speak about ‘making silence.’ We don’t find it, we aren’t surprised by it. With a regular routine, with intention and attentiveness, we make silence.

I didn’t realize how little silence was in my life until I was asked to purposefully make silence each week. This is not for a long time, only fifteen seconds to a minute, two at the most. But in that brief period, my entire focus and goal was making my whole self to be still and silent.

There are moments in my everyday routine where I might encounter a period of quiet, but the silence itself was not the goal of the moment. I may be driving in the car alone, perhaps a few minutes of quiet while my children read or are otherwise occupied in another area of the house. After reflecting on the practice of making silence, I have begun distinguishing between ‘found quiet’ and ‘made silence.’

Making silence is a practice. It involves not only pausing one’s speech but also one’s body. I am sitting in silence as I type these words, but my mind and body are not still. Perhaps you are sitting in silence while you read this article. But even the act of reading negates the making of silence.

We live in a very busy world. Background noise abounds even when we are at home. We have timers, televisions, reminders, music, vehicle noise, air conditioning units, and doors opening and closing. While it would be lovely to be able to enclose ourselves in a soundproof room to practice making silence in the utmost quiet, most of us do not have such a place available. This does not mean we cannot make authentic silence. Making silence is about quieting ourselves more than insisting on quiet in our environment.

The Art of Listening

Making silence provides the opportunity to listen to the world around you. By stilling our body, stilling our words, and as best we can, stilling our minds, we are able to listen with greater attentiveness to the world around us. At home, we more readily hear the air conditioning unit working, which gives us the opportunity to be thankful for its cooling breeze. When outdoors, we hear the wind rustle the leaves of the trees or can appreciate more fully the birdsong around us. Making silence is not about the absence of other sounds, but about discovering silence and stillness within your own self.

As people of faith, making silence also means listening with the ears of our hearts for the whispering of the Holy Spirit. In the atrium, every so often, the lead catechist will ask the children what they heard in the silence. Some will answer with the things one might expect. “I heard the door close.” “I heard a truck drive by.” Sometimes, however, they astonish me. “I heard Jesus say I love you.” “I heard the Good Shepherd.”

We can learn a great deal from making silence. Practically speaking, we learn self-control and patience. But even more importantly, we learn to rest in the beauty of the truth of Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Q – I don’t feel God’s presence when I pray. Am I making any progress in the spiritual life if I don’t feel close to Him?

A – If you struggle to feel God’s presence in your prayer life, you are in good company! Most of the great Saints went through a time of dryness. Mother Teresa, for example, went for thirty-five years without feeling His presence. Every day, for years, when Saint John of the Cross would record in his journal what spiritual insights or inspirations he received in prayer, he would write one word: “Nada” (“Nothing”). Saint Therese of Lisieux wrote this about her darkness: “My joy consists in being deprived of all joy here on earth. Jesus does not guide me openly; I neither see nor hear Him.”

Saint Ignatius of Loyola called this experience ‘desolation’—when we feel like God is distant, when our prayers feel hollow and that they are bouncing off the ceiling. We feel no delight in the spiritual life, and every spiritual activity feels like it’s a chore and a slog uphill. It is a common feeling in the spiritual life.

We must be clear that desolation is not the same as depression. Depression is a mental illness that affects every part of one’s life. Desolation specifically impacts the spiritual life—a person going through desolation still enjoys their life overall (and things might be going very well!) but is only struggling in the spiritual life. At times the two come together, and some people might experience desolation while experiencing other types of suffering, but they are distinct and not the same.

Why does desolation happen? Desolation can have one of two causes. Sometimes desolation is caused by unconfessed sin. If we have turned our back on God, and perhaps we are not acknowledging it, God may withdraw a sense of His presence as a means to draw us back to Him. When He is absent, we may thirst for Him more! But many times, desolation is not caused by sin, but is an invitation from God to pursue Him more purely. He takes away the spiritual candy, so that we seek Him alone and not just good feelings. It helps purify our love for God, so that we love Him for His own sake.

What do we do in a time of desolation? First, we ought to look into our own life to see if we do need to repent of any hidden sin. If not, then we must persevere in prayer, in sacrificing, and with our good resolutions! One should never give up praying, especially when it’s difficult. However, it might be helpful to diversify our prayer life—if we always pray the Rosary daily, maybe we should go to Adoration or read Scripture instead. I have found that a wide variety of different prayer practices can provide God many different avenues to speak and move in my life. 

But the good news is that faith is not feelings! Regardless of what we ‘feel’ in our relationship with God, it is more important to stand upon what He has revealed. Even if we feel He is distant, we remember His promise that “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) If we are struggling to motivate ourselves to pray or practice virtue, we stand on His promise that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9) When we are struggling to find God’s presence because of sufferings that have befallen us, we remember His promise that “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God.” (Romans 8:28) Our faith must be grounded on something deeper than whether or not we feel His presence.

Conversely, feeling close to God is not always a guarantee that we are in His good graces. Just because we ‘feel’ that a choice is right does not make it correct if it goes against God’s law that He has revealed through the Scriptures and the Church. Our feelings are not the same as our faith!

Desolation is a struggle for every Saint and sinner as we continue through the spiritual life. The key to making progress is not feelings, but rather persevering in prayer through the deserts, until we come to the promised land of God’s abiding presence!

As a cradle Catholic, I was taught that forgiveness is one of the cherished values of Christianity, and yet I struggle to practice it. The struggle soon became a burden as I started focusing on my inability to forgive. During Confession, the priest pointed to the forgiveness of Christ: “He did not just forgive them, but he prayed for their redemption.” Jesus said: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” This prayer of Jesus reveals an often-neglected fragment. It clearly unveils that the gaze of Jesus was not on the pain or the cruelty of the soldiers but on their lack of knowledge of the truth. 

Jesus picked this fragment to intercede for them. The message dawned on me that my forgiveness has to sprout from giving space to the unknown fragments of the other person and even myself. I now feel lighter and more joyful because previously, I was dealing exclusively with the known factors—the hurt that others caused, the words that they spoke, and the brokenness of hearts and relationships. Jesus has already left the gates of forgiveness wide open for me, I just have to tread on this path of humbly acknowledging the unknown fragments within myself and others. 

The awareness of the unknown fragments also adds layers of meaning to what Jesus means when He invites us to walk the extra mile. It occurred to me that forgiveness is a journey commencing from the act of forgiveness to an honest intercession. This moment of walking the extra mile, by praying for the good of those who have hurt me, is my walk through Gethsemane. And this is my total surrender to His will. He has lovingly called everyone to eternity and who am I to cause a barrier with my ego and resentment? Opening our hearts to unknown fragments mends our relations with one another and leads us to a deeper relationship with God, giving us and others access to His abundant peace and freedom.

When was the last time you placed your hands on your child’s head, closed your eyes, and wholeheartedly prayed for them? Blessing our children is a powerful act that can shape their lives in profound ways. 

Biblical Examples: “David went home to bless his household.” (1 Chronicles 16:43) This simple act highlights the importance of speaking positive words over our loved ones.

The Lord said to Moses: “This is how you are to bless the Israelites: ‘The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.’” (Numbers 6:22–26) These words convey God’s protection, favor, and peace.

Encouragement and Exaltation: When we bless someone, we encourage them, lifting them up with positive affirmations. At the same time, we exalt God by acknowledging His goodness and grace. Blessings create a positive atmosphere where children feel loved, valued, and secure.

Imparting Identity: Blessings help shape a child’s identity. When parents speak words of blessings over their children, they affirm their worthiness and purpose. Children internalize these messages, carrying them into adulthood.

The Power of Words: In a study of team performance, Harvard Business School found that high-performing teams received nearly six positive comments for every negative one. Blessings go even further than positive comments. When we bless someone, we declare truth over them—God’s truth! Children are like sponges, absorbing messages from their environment. By blessing them, we provide a counterbalance to the negative influences they encounter.

As parents or caregivers, we have a responsibility to bless our children—speaking life-giving words that build them up emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. Be cautious not to curse them inadvertently through negative comments or harmful attitudes. Instead, intentionally bless them with love, encouragement, and God’s truth. 

One cold childhood night, my father taught me how to rebuild a fire…

Be it an unseasonably crisp fall evening, the fragrance of smoke pouring out of an often-used chimney, an array of fall foliage colors, or even the tone of someone’s voice, these seemingly infinitesimal sensory details often spark the vivid remembrance of a moment long ago.

Why do we have such memories? Do they serve as a way of avoiding previously made mistakes? Did God give us memories so that we might have roses in December? Or might it be something much more profound? Are they seeds of contemplation that we are meant to dwell on, ponder, prayerfully reflect on, and contemplate?

‘Warm’ Love

When I was nine, maybe ten, my family and I arrived home on an unseasonably cold fall night. My mother immediately requested that my father rebuild the fire. This being a favorite pastime of mine, I eagerly stood by to watch. While other fire-building occurrences remain a haze of insignificant details, this one lives vividly in the depths of my mind. I even remember it verbatim. 

He opened the wood stove, picked up the poker, and started clearing away ash. Curious, I remember asking: “Why do you clear away all the ash?” Immediately, my father answered: “By removing the ash, I am killing two birds with one stone. I isolate any embers while simultaneously allowing oxygen to flow more freely.” 

“Why is that so important?” My father stopped his work and looked at me, balancing on his toes in a crouched position. Moments passed as he considered my question. He then called me close. As I approached, he handed me the poker and almost whispered: “Let’s do this together.”

Feel the Difference

I took the metal rod, and he guided me in front of him. He wrapped his hands over mine and started to guide my movements. The ash continued to fall through the grate, and what was left behind was a small pile of embers. My Father asked me: “Do you feel much heat?”

I laughed and said: “No Dad! Of course not!”

My father chuckled, then responded: “I imagine not! Certainly, as they are, they are not going to heat the house, but notice what happens when I do this.” He put the poker down, positioned himself closer to the stove, and began to blow hard onto the embers. They suddenly began to glow a fiery red. My father then said: “Here, you try.” I emulated his actions and blew as hard as I could. Likewise, the embers turned a vibrant red for the briefest of moments. My father asked: “You see the difference, but did you also feel the difference?”

Smiling, I answered: “Yea! It was warm for a second!”

“Exactly,” my father interjected: “We clear the ash so that oxygen can fuel the embers. Oxygen is absolutely necessary; the embers burn brighter, as you saw. We then fuel the fire with other small flammable items, starting small and then moving on to bigger items.”

My father then instructed me to get newspapers and small sticks from the kindling box. He meanwhile went to the side porch and collected several boards and larger logs. He then crumpled the newspaper and laid it on the small pile of embers. He then instructed me to blow on the pile as I had done before. “Keep going! Don’t stop! Almost there!” my father encouraged, until quite suddenly, and just as surprisingly, the newspaper caught fire. Startled, I jumped back a little but was then calmed by the burst of warmth I also felt.

At that moment, I remember smiling from ear to ear, and my father, also smiling, instructed: “Now, we can start adding slightly larger items. We’ll start with these twigs and such. They’ll catch fire like the paper did. Observe…” Sure enough, after a few moments, the sticks were burning. The heat was significant. My father then added small logs, and old fence boards, and waited as before. I had to back up because the heat was unbearable up close. Finally, 30-40 minutes later, the fire was literally roaring as my father put in the largest of logs. He said: “With these, the fire will burn several hours into the night. You have learned that the hardest part is getting the fire going. Once ablaze, it is easy to keep it going as long as you feed it and allow the oxygen to fan the flames. A fire without oxygen, without fuel, will be extinguished.”

To Remember…

The desire for God is written in the human heart. The fact that humans are made in the likeness and image of God results in an ember, a desire for happiness that lies in each of us. This ember can never be extinguished, but if left uncared for, leaves its owner unhappy and without purpose. Clear away the ashes (through Baptism), and we allow God’s love to fan the flame. Our deepest desire starts to be oxygenated, and we begin to feel the effects of God’s love.

As God’s love stimulates the fire within to grow, it requires sustenance—an active daily choice to kindle the flame. The Word of God, prayer, the Sacraments, and works of charity keep the flame well nurtured. Left unaided, our flames reduce once more to a struggling ember, starving for the oxygen only God can provide. 

Our free will allows us to say ‘Yes’ to God. This not only fulfills our innate individual desire for happiness but our ‘Yes’ can even ignite someone else’s desire for conversion, giving validity to Saint Ignatius’s words: “Go forth and set the world on fire.”