Engage

He didn’t have much time left, but Father Hilton chose to thrive on the promises, inspiring millions and changing lives

My journey through life has not been very smooth, but from the moment I decided to follow Christ, my life has never been the same. With the Cross of Christ before me and the world behind me I can firmly say, “There’s no turning back…”

During my schooldays at Bede’s College in Mentone, I felt a strong calling from within. I had great mentors there including Brother Owen who inspired and fostered my love for Jesus. At the tender age of 17, I joined the Missionaries of Sacred Heart. After 10 years of study, including a stint at the University of Canberra and a Theology degree in Melbourne, I was finally ordained.

Tryst with destiny

My first appointment was in Papua New Guinea, where I received a practical grounding living amongst simple people with a great sense of living in the present moment. Later, I was sent to Paris to study liturgy. Doctoral studies in Rome were interrupted by tension headaches which prevented me from completing it. And soon it became clear that my calling was not to teach in the seminary. On my return to Australia, I got involved in parish ministry and had a taste of 16 parishes in several different states across the country. I was revitalized by my involvement with two fabulous movements which nurture and revive marriage and family life—Teams of Our Lady and Marriage Encounter.

I felt content. Life was going very well. But all of a sudden, on 22nd of July 2015, everything changed. It didn’t come totally out of the blue. Over the past six months, I had seen blood in the urine on a couple of occasions. But now I was unable to even pass urine. In the middle of the night, I drove myself to the hospital. After a series of tests, I received alarming news. I had been diagnosed with kidney cancer which had already reached the fourth stage. I found myself in a state of shock. I felt cut off from normal people. The doctor had informed me that even with the medications, I could only expect to live for another three and half years. I could not help thinking about my sister’s tiny children. I would never see these charming toddlers grow up.

Until this crisis occurred, I had loved praying the morning meditations but from then on I struggled. After a while, I found an easier way to meditate. Resting before the Lord’s presence, I repeated a mantra inspired by Dante, “Your Will is my peace.” This simple form of meditation enabled me to restore my peace and trust in God. But as I went about my normal day, I found it much more difficult. I was often distracted by thoughts such as ‘I wouldn’t be around much longer…’

The Best Advice

After three months of treatment, tests were done to see if the medication was working well. The results were positive. There was significant reduction in most areas, and I was advised to consult a surgeon to remove the offending kidney. I felt a burst of relief because in the back of my mind I doubted if the medication was really working. So this was really great news. After the operation, I recuperated and returned to being a parish priest.

This time around, I felt more energized towards evangelization. Not knowing how long I would be able to do this work, I put all my heart into everything I engaged in. Every six months, tests were done. Initially, the results were good, but after a while the medicine I had been taking became less effective. Cancer began to grow in my lungs and in my back, giving me sciatica and causing me to hobble. I had to undergo chemotherapy and start a whole new immunotherapy treatment. It was disappointing, but not a surprise. Anybody who is on a journey with cancer knows that things change. You can be well one moment and next moment disaster strikes.

A beautiful friend of mine, who has been a nurse in the oncology department for many years, gave me the best advice: Go on living your life as normally as you can. Have coffee if you enjoy coffee, or have a meal with friends. Keep doing the normal things.

I loved being a priest and felt excited by the wonderful things happening in our parish. Even though the journey was no longer smooth, I still loved what I did. I always loved celebrating the Mass and ministering the Sacraments. It is something I held very precious and I am always grateful to God for this great privilege.

Beyond Horizons

I had a strong conviction that we really need to make greater efforts to turn around the dwindling number of people coming to the Church by being proactive. In our parish we endeavored to make Sunday more engaging. Since I had always loved the contemplative side of our Church, I wanted to create an oasis of prayer and peace by bringing a little bit of the monastic spirit into our parish. So every Monday night, we held a contemplative, candlelit Mass with soothing contemplative music. Instead of giving a sermon, I read a reflection.

One of the songs that touched me deeply is the GRAMMY winning single “10,000 reasons (Bless the Lord) by Matt Redman. Whenever I sang the third verse of the song, I almost choked up.

And on that day
when my strength is failing.
The end draws near
And my time has come
Still my soul will
Sing your praise unending
Ten thousand years

And then forevermore
Forevermore

I found it so moving because what we are ultimately trying to do is to give praise to God and develop our relationship with Jesus. Despite my illness, it was one of the most exciting times in my life as a priest. It reminded me of the words Jesus spoke, “I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.” John 10:10

“My husband who is not a Catholic and only beginning to learn about faith got to know Father John by chance. Later he said ‘From what I know about this guy, Jesus… Father John seems to be just like Him. To know you are going to die and continue to give of yourself more and more even though the people around you don’t realize that these are your last days…” – Kaitlyn McDonnell

“One of the things John was very clear about was his purpose in life. He was an absolute driver and really made Jesus real in this world. I would often wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t been that strong in terms of his faith and values. It might have been very challenging for him but every Sunday when we met him, he had the same energy. Regardless of what happened around him or with him or to him, he had a sense of serenity around him. It was an incredible gift.” – Dennis Hoiberg

“We had to remind him that he had limitations, but that didn’t slow him down. He was such an inspiration because here’s a man who’s been told you’ve got a limited time. Yet he still kept giving instead of getting overcome by his disease and thinking about it.” – Shaun Sunnasy

Do you believe God is right here, right now?

“Keep guard at all times over the actions of your life, knowing for certain that God sees you everywhere.” This verse from chapter four of the Rule of Saint Benedict aptly characterizes one of the Rule’s foundational principles: awareness that we are always in God’s presence. This knowledge of God’s constant gaze upon us can be both our greatest source of strength in temptation and our most powerful reminder of God’s perfect love and care for us His creatures.

The certainty that no actions escape the notice of our Creator causes us to mind our behavior and curbs our natural inclination to excess or inaction, helping us instead to direct our intentions toward the glory of God. Under God’s watchful eyes, we are less likely to have that extra glass of wine or sleep in and skip morning prayers.  

Awe-Inspiring Proposal!

Our charitable acts are treasures worthy of Heaven, but sometimes they are tainted with our own self-seeking. Remember Jesus’ caution in Saint Matthew’s Gospel: “Take heed not to do your good before men, in order to be seen by them; otherwise, you shall have no reward with your Father in Heaven” (6:1). The Prologue of Benedict’s Rule teaches us how to purify our intentions: “Whenever you begin any good work, beg of [God] with most earnest prayer to perfect it.”  Praying before starting the smallest of tasks not only allows God to use our actions to accomplish His purposes but reminds us that God is with us in everything we do.

Benedict believed that “the Divine Presence is everywhere, and that the eyes of the Lord behold the good and the evil in every place” (Rule, Chapter 19). Since we are to always imagine ourselves in the company of our Creator, Benedict challenges us in the same chapter to “consider how we ought to behave in the presence of God.” What an awe-inspiring proposal!

Yet do we really believe that God is with us here and now?  The truth is likely that, though we believe through faith that God is omnipresent, we easily forget it, especially when we are caught up in the daily grind. It is easy to be struck by an acute sense of God’s presence when gazing at a breathtaking sunset, but much harder to realize His power and presence when we take out the trash.

Practice Makes Perfect

God’s omnipresence is not just a theological concept to accept, but a habit that requires cultivation.  Constant awareness of and responsiveness to God’s Presence, known as ‘recollection,’ is an acquired disposition that has taken many a saint—perhaps even Saint Benedict!—years of practice. 

One method of fostering such recollection is to ask ourselves each day how God has manifested His love for us that day. As we recall the myriad ways God showed us His tender care and mercy, our hearts will spontaneously fill with thanks and praise, which in turn cultivate in our minds and hearts a deep love of God.  Ultimately, glorifying Our Maker in thoughts, words, and actions becomes second nature.

Inevitably, even the most recollected among us can lose sight of God during the storms and stresses of life. But the reality is that during times of fear and confusion when God seems far away, He is actually nearer than ever, “trying us by fire” to turn us closer to Him. Thus, Saint James exhorts us to “count it pure joy when you are involved in every sort of trial. Realize that when your faith is tested this makes for endurance” (1:2-3).  Though we may not feel particularly joyful in the moment, there is tremendous value in attempting to be present to whatever crisis is confronting us, having faith that God is with us and will provide a measure of relief. 

Wedded Bliss

Indeed, Sacred Scripture tells us beyond a shadow of a doubt that God never leaves us alone, especially in times of trouble.  In Psalm 91, God assures us through the psalmist that when we call, He will answer:  “I am with you. I will save [you] in distress and give [you] glory” (15).

Who can forget Jesus’s poignant words quoted from Psalm 22 as He hung on the Cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (2). Yet that same psalm closes with a hopeful closing passage that many have never heard: “For He has not spurned or disdained the misery of this poor wretch, did not turn away from me, but heard me when I cried out” (25). Indeed, the last third of the psalm is an invitation to praise God!

A few hours before His arrest, Jesus predicted to His disciples that they would abandon Him yet declared, “I can never be alone; the Father is with me” (John 16:32). And before ascending to His Father, Jesus promised us, “Know that I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20). 

Sorrows, labors, anxieties, irritations, weaknesses, oppositions, rebukes, humiliations—all can be borne patiently and even accepted when we fix our eyes on Jesus, who is Emmanuel, God-with-us (Matthew 1:23).  

 When the One we love is all around us—ahead of us, behind us, above us, below us, beside us—past regrets and future worries are rendered powerless. Under the approving, all-seeing eyes of the Almighty Father, life with Jesus in the present moment is wedded bliss. 

 “Now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation!” (2 Corinthians 6:2).

Question:
I am very close to my sister, but recently she told me that she has stopped practicing the Faith. She hasn’t been to Mass in a year, and she tells me that she just isn’t sure any more about whether Catholicism is true. How can I help bring her back to the Church?

This is a common situation that can be found in many families. When siblings, children or friends leave the Church, it breaks the hearts of those who love them. I have two siblings who no longer practice the Faith, and it grieves me deeply. What can be done about it?

The first and simplest (though not necessarily the easiest) answer is prayer and fasting. Although simple, it is profoundly effective. Ultimately it is God’s grace that causes a soul to return to Him. So, before we speak, act, or do anything else for this straying sheep, we must beg God to soften her heart, enlighten her mind, and fill her soul with the touch of His love. Enlist others to pray and fast with you for the conversion of this soul.

Once we have prayed, we must show joy and kindness. Saint Francis de Sales, often called “The Gentleman Saint” for his great courtesy, said, “Be as gentle as possible; and remember you will catch more flies with a spoonful of honey than with a hundred barrels of vinegar.” Far too many people go straight to nagging and guilt when trying to draw back a lost soul. But we should seek to be a follower of Christ out of joy, not out of mere obligation! If He truly is our life, our delight, his joy should radiate in our life. This will draw souls without ever bringing up the name of Jesus, for joy and kindness is attractive in and of itself. After all, as the French Jesuit Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said, “Joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God!”

Closely related to this is to ask the question: Are we living our faith counter-culturally? If our lives are indistinguishable from the secular culture, then we must ask if we are really effective witnesses to the transforming power of Christ. If we talk incessantly about our possessions, or are unduly attached to praise or our job, or if we gossip freely and watch trashy TV shows, we may not inspire anyone to follow Christ. The early Christians were so successful at evangelization because their lives were in such stark contrast to the decadent culture in which they lived. We still live in a decadent post-Christian culture, and our lives can stand out equally well if we live our faith radically.

It is also important to talk with your sister. Perhaps she has strayed because she has had a bad experience with a priest, or maybe she has a misunderstanding about something the Church teaches. Maybe she is struggling with a sin in her own life, and her absence from church springs from a conscience that is not at rest. Don’t get defensive, but listen patiently and agree with any good points she makes. If she is willing to ask questions, be prepared with responses! Make sure you know what the Church teaches, and if you don’t know the answer to one of her questions, offer to investigate further.

Invite her to go with you to a retreat or a talk, if you think she is ready for it. Perhaps give her a gift of a book about the Faith, or a CD of a good talk you once heard. Offer to arrange for her to meet with a priest, if she is willing. It can be tricky, because you don’t want to become pushy, so make the invitations without pressure or obligation.

Finally, trust in God. He loves your sister more than you ever could, and He is doing everything possible to draw her back to Himself. Persevere, knowing that everyone is on a spiritual journey. Your sister might become like Saint Augustine, who strayed far but became a Doctor of the Church! Keep loving your sister, and trust in our merciful God who wants none to perish but all to attain eternal life.

Inevitably, others will do things that annoy us. But a heart that is bent on growing in holiness can learn to turn such frustrations into opportunities for growth.

For a long time, Sister Therese’s assigned place of meditation was near a fidgety Sister who constantly tinkered with her Rosary or some other object. Sister Therese was extremely sensitive to stray sounds and soon exhausted all her resources for remaining focused. Though she alone had this hyper-sensitivity to the distractions, Sister Therese had a strong impulse to turn around and give the offender a look that would make her stop the noises.

As she considered this option Sister Therese knew that the better way was to bear it with tranquility, both for the love of God and to avoid hurting the hapless sister. So she strove to keep quiet, but biting her tongue required so much effort that she would break out in perspiration. Her meditation turned into suffering with patience. With time, however, Sister Therese began to endure it in peace and joy, as she strove to take pleasure even in the disagreeable noise. Instead of trying not to hear it, which was impossible; Sister Therese listened to it as though it were some delightful music. What should have been her “prayer of quiet” became instead an offering of “music” to God.

In the annoyances we endure in our daily lives, how often do we miss opportunities to practice the virtue of patience? Instead of expressing anger or dislike we can let the experience teach us generosity, understanding, and patience. Patience then becomes an act of charity and a moment of conversion. We are all engaged in a journey of faith where
we discover Jesus more and more as the One who is patient with us!

Shocked by his words, I stared at him…

It was a perfectly beautiful beach day, not a cloud in the sky. I settled back into my beach chair and sunk my feet deep into the sand, wiggling my toes, hoping to feel a tinge of cool sand between them. It was a sizzling hot July day on the west coast of Florida.

My friend and I were enjoying the day together, watching as my three year old son, rode on the back of his twelve year old cousin while he crawled through the shallow, green water. The tide was low next to the causeway where a little inlet gave the boys hundreds of feet to play in the cool waters off the beach. The perfect spot!

I took a deep breath, opened the water cooler, grabbed my ice-cold water bottle and drank a huge gulp. I needed to stay cool and hydrated because I was almost nine months pregnant with my third son. I shut the cooler and focused back in on my son in the water. He and his cousin had separated and he ran, laughing and splashing through the water. Then it looked like he sat down, but he seemed to be sitting too low in the water. It didn’t make sense.

“What is he doing? Why isn’t he standing up,” I cried, pushing myself up out of the chair. “I don’t understand…”

“That’s weird,” my friend said.

I felt a panic rip through my body, “Hail Mary Full of Grace, the Lord is with you, “I prayed as I bolted into the water, eyes locked on his little head, “Blessed are you among women, and Blessed is the Fruit of your womb, Holy Mary Mother of God…Hail Mary Full of Grace, the Lord is with you…” Treading through the water I wondered, ‘Why isn’t he standing up, please don’t let his head go down under, please Jesus.’

Out of breath and full of fear, I arrived at the spot to discover that he had walked into a hole in the sandy bottom that wasn’t visible from the beach. He was frantically treading water, trying to keep his head above the surface. Terror struck through me like a lightning rod. I grabbed him and pulled him close as I clambered out of the hole. “Hail Mary Full of Grace the Lord is with you, Please Mary, Please, Save Him, Please Mary, Jesus will listen to you. Blessed are you among women…”

His breath was labored.

“Call 911,” a man called out.

I turned and looked at him in astonishment.

“What? His head never went under water,” I replied,

wondering where he had appeared from.

“Call 911. If he inhaled water, he could drown in the parking lot! Call 911,” he stated boldly.

I turned and shouted at my friend to call 911. At the same time, I distraughtly wondered what he was talking about.

My son threw up over my shoulder.

I screamed again, “Call my husband.”

“Hail Mary full of Grace…”

The man moved a little closer.

“I was on the other side of the causeway and God spoke in my heart. He told me to pray intensely and immediately run to the other side of the causeway. I saw you in a panic and knew this was where I had to go and he was the one I had to pray for.”

I stared at him, shocked by his words and the gravity of the situation.

I held my son close, “You’re okay buddy.” Silently, I continued, “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with you…”

My husband arrived, took our son and put him over his shoulder.

He threw up again.

I wiped his mouth, leaned in close to his face and said, “You will be okay buddy. It’s going to be alright,” trying desperately to mask my mounting fear and anguish.

“Hail Mary…” I continued as I tried to soothe him.

The ambulance arrived. The paramedics took over.

“We are calling the chopper to Bay Flight him to All Children’s Hospital,” they said.

“What? Why? His head never went under,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter, we need to be sure he is okay,” they said.

I stared at them in shock. This could not be happening, I thought.

“Blessed are you among women…”

My husband and I stared at each other.

The man next to me broke the silence.

“I won’t stop praying.”

The chopper landed.

The paramedic got out of the chopper and approached us, opening his arms to take our son.

“I’m going with him,” I said.

“I’m sorry but you can’t come in the helicopter with us.

We can’t take care of him and you too. You might go into labor with the stress. We will take good care of him.”

“I’ll go,” my husband declared.

“No, we can’t take you either, sir, only him. We have to focus on him,” they affirmed.

My husband and I watched helplessly as they carried our son into the helicopter.

“Hail Mary full of grace, Please Jesus, Mary, Please…” “Let’s go,” my husband said.

We jumped into the car and sped down the causeway to All Children’s Hospital.

“You can’t go into labor,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I said, “Just get us there fast,” as I continued silently, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”

We pulled into the Emergency Room lot and ran into the hospital. They directed us through the tunnel to the children’s wing.

My husband ran and I followed, out of breath, shoeless and clothed in a wet bathing suit.

“Hail Mary full of grace…”

We were ushered into his room. I climbed into his bed and held him close.

The doctor came in.

“He is stable and in good condition, but we will keep him in overnight as a precaution,” he said.

I sighed in relief, then silently continued praying while my thoughts scattered in bewilderment as I wondered how this had all happened.

My son fell asleep in my arms and I felt thankful, but guilty. I was a bad mother who almost let her son drown. Washed in shame, I let the tears flow in the dark, quiet hospital room.

Sobbing with distress, I picked up my phone and called my spiritual father, a holy priest. It was 9:30 at night, so I had little hope that he would answer… His voice broke into my troubled thoughts.

He answered!

I poured out the whole dreadful tale of what had happened that day.

“Pray for him Father, please,” I begged.

He prayed with me, but I still felt upset.

“My son almost drowned because of me,” I confessed.

“No! You saved your son’s life,” he said reassuringly.

Sobs of relief mixed with the tears of fear and worry.

“God is with you. It’s going to be alright,” he said.

“Thank you Father,” I said. My gaze fell on my little boy, peacefully sleeping away the trauma of the day. I nestled in close while my lips continued to beseech Our Lady’s intercession until I joined him in slumber. “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with you…”

The next morning we gratefully left the hospital with our happy, healthy son. No sooner had we arrived home when my husband turned to him saying, “It’s time to go swimming buddy.”

Fearfully, I stared at my husband. He whispered, “Let me do this.”

With my heart in my mouth, I watched as my husband coaxed him into the water and they swam happily around together.

At his next swimming lesson, his teacher confided that only last week she taught him how to tread water.

I wept.

Thank you Jesus, thank you Mary.

Sometimes it’s the little miracles that bolster our faith and prepare us for the hard moments in life.

In our mid-twenties, when my wife and I were discerning a call to move from Chicago to Eureka Springs, Arkansas with members of our Catholic Charismatic community, we decided to visit Eureka to see what kind of housing was available. Two of our community members hosted us and showed us around. After a week, excited about our future in this picturesque town, we started our return trip to Chicago to make final preparations for our move to the Ozark mountains.

Twists & Turns

A few hours into our trip, engine trouble forced us off the road. The service station had good news—it was not a major problem, and bad news—they couldn’t get the replacement part till the next day.

We had to get a room at a nearby motel. The next day, with our car in good working order, we headed out a good bit lighter—money-wise that is. The motel room and the repair work used up most of our cash. We’d barely have enough for food, and since Nancy was pregnant, skipping a meal was not an option. I had no credit cards in those days.

We were sailing down the road when we were stopped by a state trooper. He flagged us down, along with five other cars, for speeding. One car after another, we pulled to the side of the road awaiting our tickets. I knew nothing about how to pay an out of state ticket nor, more importantly, how to dispute the speeding charge. Very politely, the officer said, “You can go to the courthouse if you want. Get off at the next exit, follow the signs into town, and you’ll see the courthouse.”

Reminiscence

The year before, Nancy and I took a delayed honeymoon to the Italian town where I was born. On the way there, we stopped at Assisi to visit our favorite Saints, Francis and Clare. In the basilica of Santa Chiara (Clare’s Italian name) we saw her actual golden yellow hair preserved in a glass case. Nancy turned to me and said, “If we ever have a girl, I want to name her Chiara.” I heartily agreed and looked forward to the day Saint Clare would have a namesake in our family.

As we neared the exit, knowing we couldn’t pay the traffic ticket, Nancy and I turned to Santa Chiara. “Dear Saint Clare,” we prayed, “help us get out of paying this ticket. Please help us.” Half-jokingly I added, “Saint Clare, we’ll definitely name our baby after you… even if it’s a boy!”

Immediately, the sign pointing to the town came into view. We could not believe our eyes. The officer had not told us he was sending us to St. Clair, Missouri! Not till recently did I learn it was named for a Revolutionary War general. But our naïve eyes saw the “St” followed by “Clair” and Saint Clare filled our hearts. We did not notice the difference in spelling of what we assumed was our beloved Saint’s name. This town of 4,000 in the American Bible-belt, we thought, was named for the Saint of Assisi! Overjoyed, we were convinced we had chosen well in turning to our dear Chiara.

Edging Off

I rushed toward the courthouse hoping to beat the other drivers so I could plead to the judge for mercy, but immediately the others pulled into the parking lot alongside us. When the courthouse clerk asked how I wanted to pay my fine, I said I didn’t think I was speeding and asked if I could speak with the judge. Though surprised, she said I could and nodded to a man seated at a desk across the room. As he took a long black robe from a nearby hat-stand, the clerk motioned us toward the courtroom where the man I had just seen was already sitting behind the bench wearing judges’ robes.

He called the first “speeder.” She insisted she had not been speeding and, to my delight, the judge was understanding, even agreeing that sometimes police officers make mistakes and innocent drivers get wrongly ticketed. I was much encouraged until he said, but he is the police officer and I must take his word. Your fine is seventy-five dollars.

The second defendant tried the opposite tack; all sugar and kindness, she explained the good officer must have made a mistake. Again, the judge indulged, conceding that officers are not perfect and sometimes even the radar equipment fails. But again, he turned on a dime reminding us that the officer is the duly appointed officer of the law. Her fee was eighty-five dollars.

I was next, and I started with a question. “Your honor, is it possible for me to be found not guilty here today.” “Oh no,” he said. “The clerk said you wanted to speak with the judge, so I’m happy to listen. But no, I can’t find you not guilty. We would need a jury trial for that.”

My only choices, it turned out, were to plead guilty and pay my fine or plead not guilty and pay my fine. There was no leaving without paying the fine. If I wanted a trial, I would have to return to St. Clair.

When Hopelessly Lost

“My wife and I are moving to the area in September,” I told him. “I’m willing to return for a trial.” The look on his face told me I was making progress. But suddenly Nancy rose to her feet, protruded her pregnant tummy, and called out for all to hear, “Oh honey, don’t try to reason with him. He doesn’t care about us. He doesn’t care that our car broke down and we spent all our money on a motel room and repair costs. Don’t try to reason with him, he just wants our money.” Try as I did to hush her lament, she forged on.

When I turned back toward the judge convinced hope was lost, he motioned to me to approach the bench. As I neared, he asked, “You’re planning to move to this area?”

“Yes, your honor. We’ll be moving to Eureka Springs in September.”

He reached under his robe into his pants pocket and pulled out a business card. Handing it to me he said, “The next time you drive past St. Clair, give me a call.”

I stood there, uncertain what to do. He gestured for me to go. I still did not understand. He motioned again, more forcefully. Tentatively, Nancy and I slowly left the courtroom.

As we approached the counter, the clerk asked, “What did the judge say?”

“He told me the next time we drive through town I should call him.”

She looked annoyed. “What’s your fee?” she asked.

“He didn’t give me one,” I said.

She looked as befuddled as I had been. “This has never happened before,” she said. “I don’t know what to do with your ticket.” She looked at us and said, “Ok, I guess you can go.”

Nancy and I entered our car in disbelief, stunned by what had happened.

But we knew who to thank. When we are young and less mature in faith, God often blesses us with small signs, like this, that strengthen our faith and ready us for the challenges life inevitably brings. Nancy and I received many small signs in those early days with the Lord. They persuaded us that God cares even about the smaller things in life—not just the cancers or heart attacks, not just the foreclosure or lost job. And God uses his faithful ones, the Saints, to be channels of his grace. As we grow in the Lord and our faith matures, we may see fewer signs because those early ones have built a foundation of solid faith that enables us to “walk by faith and not by sight (or signs)” (2 Corinthians 5:7).

But on that day long ago, in a town we were sure bore her name, we prayed that Santa Chiara would help us. And we have no doubt she did. Five months later our daughter was born in the Eureka Springs, Arkansas hospital. She was christened Chiara Faith.

This past year my life went through a shrinking, as did most people’s due to the restrictions and lockdowns from the pandemic. After several months of slowly getting used to that, another big change occurred when my elderly mother came to live with me, and I became her main caregiver. That entailed further shrinking of my life and activities. It was a shrinking within a shrinking, and it has not been without its challenges.  

Yet there is a deep peace and a joy in serving my aging mother, especially when I accept and embrace this new chapter in my life. 

We live through different seasons of our lives, and each season has its own challenges, crosses, joys and rhythms. Sometimes we suffer during a particular season because we resist what is being asked of us. We become angry and resentful. But if we believe God is with us using circumstances to shape, guide and love us, then the season we find ourselves in can become beautiful and filled with meaning and peace. 

Not that it is easy. Recently after a particularly challenging two weeks of health issues and doctor’s appointments for my mom, I was discouraged and exhausted. But during a conversation to which I was only half-listening I heard a friend talking about the rose bush outside the window. She said, “Keep cutting the roses as they come out. When you cut one, even more grow in its place.”

Those words reverberated through me. I thought of what Jesus said about pruning. “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and every one that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit” (John 15:1-2). I desire to live a fruitful life for the Lord. But that means there are things in me that need pruning—selfishness, impatience, lack of charity, etc. 

How is God going to prune us? Many times the pruning shears that the Lord uses are the specific circumstances in our lives. Those things that annoy us, prod us, or cause us to stretch beyond our personal comfort zone can actually be the sharp edge of the pruning knife. As it cuts, it makes way for new growth within us. 

I have learned that if I start resenting my current season and the demands it brings, I get grouchy and miserable. However, if I lean into the present moment and embrace what today holds, knowing that God is with me, a gentle, peaceful strength seeps in and my inner equilibrium is renewed. 

So after thinking about all of this, I pulled out a pair of pruning shears from my storage closet, went out to the rose bush and cut a rose. I put it on the table, and I am letting its lovely scent remind me that through every challenge and trial, the Lord can bring more fruit into my life. And perhaps I will be able to share that fruit with others who need it. 

Seeking inner peace? Here are proven ways to heal your soul

The evening was cool; the church quiet, save for the soothing voice of a priest from the Prelature of Opus Dei. A dozen women reflected on his meditation. Despite the liturgical season of Easter, it was focused on the Cross.

“The Cross does not make victims,” declared the priest, as he indicated the crucifix hanging above the tabernacle. “It makes saints!”

He repeated that truth before continuing: “Faith in God does not mean that there will be no darkness in our lives. Faith is the light that guides our path through the darkness.”

It is easy for us to forget that The Cross can be a channel for inner healing. Too often we fall into the mindset of ‘carrying our crosses’ as a way of dismissing suffering without fully entering into its redemptive potential.

Playing the victim, and feeling sorry for ourselves does not aid the healing process. Instead, we are called to imitate Christ—the perfect victim.

A Lifelong Journey

“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” This famous line from Saint Augustine of Hippo never fails to resonate because we are made to know, love and serve God. To be fulfilled, we yearn for a meaningful life.

Although we deeply desire to know, love and serve God, we are still human: the spirit might be willing but the flesh is most certainly weak (cf. Matthew 26:41).

What began with the Original Sin of Adam and Eve, continues with the shadow of concupiscence—that part of our human nature that responds to the allure of sin. “The new life received in Christian initiation has not abolished the frailty and weakness of human nature, nor the inclination to sin that tradition calls concupiscence, which remains in the baptized such that with the help of the grace of Christ they may prove themselves in the struggle of Christian life.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1426)

In other words, even though the stain of Original Sin is washed from our souls through Baptism, we still find sin attractive. This attraction to sin will remain with us in this lifetime, but with the grace of Our Lord, we can grow in holiness.

Our willing submission to His will—the growing in His likeness—is the vocation of every soul. In practical terms, inner healing and our spiritual health are irrevocably intertwined. If we want to achieve true and lasting inner healing, then we need to advance in holiness, but it cannot be achieved overnight.

How Can I Touch Him?

In Matthew’s Gospel we read the following: And when they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret. And when the men of that place recognized him, they sent round to all that region and brought to Him all that were sick, and besought Him that they might only touch the fringe of His garment; and as many as touched it were made well. (Matthew 14:34-36)

As many as touched it were made well—what a blessing for them. But what about us? We are not contemporaries of Jesus who can flock to Him and jostle with each other to touch the fringe of His tunic to gain inner healing.

However, the Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us: “In the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us.” (CCC 1504)

He comes to us in the sacraments! This is both a tremendous blessing and an ongoing source of hope. In particular the Sacraments of Confession and the Eucharist are a beautiful manifestation of God’s healing in action.

Through Confession: ‘The whole power of the Sacrament of Penance consists in restoring us to God’s grace and joining us with Him in an intimate friendship.’ Reconciliation with God is thus the purpose and effect of this sacrament. For those who receive the Sacrament of Penance with contrite heart and religious disposition, reconciliation ‘is usually followed by peace and serenity of conscience with strong spiritual consolation.’ Indeed the sacrament of Reconciliation with God brings about a true ‘spiritual resurrection’, restoration of the dignity and blessings of the life of the children of God, of which the most precious is friendship with God. (CCC 1468)

Frequent reception of the Eucharist is a supernatural phenomenon with benefits that are out of this world: “Holy Communion separates us from sin.” (CCC 1393) “As bodily nourishment restores lost strength, so the Eucharist strengthens our charity, which tends to be weakened in daily life; and this living charity wipes away venial sins.” (CCC 1394) “By the same charity that it enkindles in us, the Eucharist preserves us from future mortal sins. The more we share the life of Christ and progress in His friendship, the more difficult it is to break away from Him by mortal sin.” (CCC 1395)

Better Late Than Never

Zelie Martin, mother of Saint Therese of Lisieux, was canonised in 2015 alongside her husband Louis. This industrious mother and lace-maker knew all too well the effort and work required for inner healing.

She famously penned the following: I want to become a Saint; it will not be easy at all. I have a lot of wood to chop and it is as hard as stone. I should have started sooner, while it was not so difficult; but in any case ‘better late than never.’

Her own earthly journey to holiness would end with an early death, passing away from breast cancer when her youngest daughter Therese was just four years old. She knew the value of imitating the perfect victim; she carried her crosses, successfully ‘chopping the wood’ that was as hard as stone. The fruit of such work is easily visible in her family: religious vocations and canonizations.

Each of us has different ‘wood’ to chop. Our journeys to inner healing will vary, for though we are all created in His image and likeness, we are each of us unique and thus our strengths, weaknesses and personal experiences are different.

Regardless of this, the Catholic Church, the institution entrusted to Saint Peter, is a treasure trove of aids for inner healing and spiritual health. But we have to take the first step and reach out to Jesus, through the Church, and grasp firmly onto the hem of His tunic, resolving to continue to reach out should our grip loosen because we are distracted by our attraction to sin.

True inner healing can only come about if we have the faith to touch Jesus, to embrace both Him and His Cross; to trust in the redemptive suffering of The Cross in our own lives, to make frequent reception of the Sacraments a priority, and to look for our spiritual and emotional fulfillment in the eternal.

Pope Saint John Paul II was one of many who understood that true inner healing comes from God alone. Because of this, he spent much of his pontificate urging the faithful to cling to Christ, and to have the courage: “to be the Saints of the new millennium.”

Is church imposing “burdensome moral restrictions” on people who have same-sex orientation? Get the facts straight, right here

Over the years, I have had very fine students in my classroom who have a same-sex orientation, and, of course, as a Deacon of the Church, I know a number of practicing Catholics with a same-sex orientation. It is important to note right away that many people with same-sex orientation do not live a sexually active lifestyle. Many have been down that road and have found it wanting (i.e. not all that it was cracked up to be). Many are committed to the virtue of chastity—a part of the virtue of temperance. In other words, many same-sex Catholics have come to realize what many heterosexual couples have yet to realize, namely, that happiness does not come from an intimate sexual relationship. Rather, happiness comes from a profound relationship with God, and a moral life consistent with such a relationship. Unless a person has had a genuine encounter with the Lord, much of the Church’s moral teachings will appear to be little more than burdensome impositions, that is, unnecessary restrictions on our own happiness.

If Only…

What is interesting is that a number of Catholics with same-sex orientation have explicitly pointed out that the unwillingness to be direct, that is, the unwillingness to come out and teach the basic principles of Catholic sexual teaching, has actually done a great disservice to them. Had clergy, catechists and teachers been more responsible and shown greater solicitude for the faithful in teaching about sexual ethics and the nature of marriage, they (clergy, catechists, and teachers) might have saved them (Catholics with same-sex orientation) from a great deal of pain and wasted years. In other words, the picture that is often painted by media and popular culture is that persons with same-sex orientation are all on one side, and the Church with its “burdensome moral restrictions” is on the other. Such a picture is just not true to the facts. There are many Catholics with same-sex orientation who are well aware of the difference between pleasure and joy, chastely living very devout lives centered around the Eucharist, taking their inspiration from those priests and Sisters who are faithfully living their vows of chastity or promises of celibacy.

Sexual morality cannot be understood outside of an understanding of the nature of marriage. I teach Marriage Preparation for the Archdiocese, and I can say with relative certainty that the majority of couples getting married today are not entirely clear on what it is they are doing when they choose to marry. In other words, they are not entirely clear on what marriage really is and how it relates to sexual expression. This is understandable because we live in a culture that has really lost a sense of the true nature of marriage. There are number of factors that might explain this, beginning with the Sexual Revolution of the 60s; the introduction of no-fault divorce in the late ‘60s; the introduction of Common Law “marriage” (a couple cohabitates for a period of time and is then treated by the state as if they were married); the separation of sex from the idea of children (a separation made possible by the production and distribution of modern contraceptives, etc.).

But marriage has always been understood as an institution. It is more than a friendship—our friendships are private, they are not institutions. Marriage is an organization that exists for the public welfare (institution). Just as a cell is the basic unit of a living organism, marriage is the fundamental unit of society. Marriage is a unique phenomenon. 

Ever After

In short, it is a joining of two into one flesh, one body. It is a complete (total) and mutual giving of the self to another, and since “you are your body”, to give yourself is to give your body. Because it is a complete and total self-giving, it is irrevocable—I cannot revoke what I give if I no longer hang on to a part of what I am giving. If it is mutual, the two have given themselves over to one another such that her body belongs to him and his body belongs to her. They have become a one flesh union. The natural expression of this union is the act of sexual intercourse (the marital act). In this act, male and female become “reproductively one organism” (a male is reproductively incomplete, and so too a female. But in the marital act, the two become reproductively one body). In the sexual act, the two become a one flesh union, which is what marriage is. And so, the sexual act is an expression and celebration of conjugal love (married love). There is a two-fold goodness to the sexual act; it serves two purposes: 1) to express and celebrate married love, and 2) the procreation of new life.

That is why one of the impediments that renders a marriage invalid (non-existing) is impotence, which implies the inability to actually perform the sexual act (the inability to consummate the marriage). Infertility is not an impediment to marriage; it is not necessary to actually have children in order to be validly married, but the openness to children is a necessary condition for a valid marriage, and so the deliberate intention not to have children renders a marriage invalid (non-existing). Other impediments that render a marriage invalid are coercion, fraud (he’s not the person you were led to believe he was), leaving an opening for divorce (the intention must be until “death do us part”), psychological immaturity (the moral and psychological conditions to actually be married are just not there in at least one of them—this is a serious problem among many people today, for the culture in which we live is not conducive to producing morally mature adults).

Marriage as understood by the Judeo-Christian tradition is an objective institution with a determinate nature. It is not a social construct, as the postmodernist claims it is. And because marriage is a joining of two into one body, one flesh, it can only be achieved between a man and a woman. It is not possible for two people of the same sex to actually become one body in the act of sexual union; in other words, it is not possible to consummate a marriage if the two are of the same sex.

Sexual ethics—for us, at least—always starts from an understanding of the marital context. Pre-marital sex is fundamentally an instance of lying with one’s body—for the two are expressing and celebrating a marriage that isn’t there. But the sexual act between a genuinely married couple is a holy act; it is a grace-meriting act. Outside of that context, the sexual act is usually and for the most part a matter of procuring sexual pleasure. To have sex with another person not as an expression of a complete and total giving of the self in marriage, but merely as a means to sexual pleasure, is to use other as a means to an end; and using another as a means to an end is always a violation of a basic moral precept to treat others as ends in themselves, never as a means to an end.

Finding Happiness

There is far more to this philosophical/theological understanding of marriage and the meaning of the sexual act than can be adequately expressed in an article of this size, but for a large percentage of the population, sex is no longer really anything that has a great deal of significance. It is often not much more meaningful than having a martini or heading out to the Dairy Queen for a sundae, something you can do with almost anyone. But the Church’s determination to protect the nature and sacredness of the sexual act and the true significance of marriage is rooted in her conviction that marriage/family is the fundamental unit of society, and anything that harms that unit harms the civil community as a whole.

And so, the Church calls those persons with a same-sex orientation to a life of chastity. Now this may sound cruel to some, but it might very well be the case that it is the opposite approach that is actually cruel. Moreover, clerical celibacy is probably more important today than it ever was. A good-looking priest or Sister who has taken a vow of chastity or promise of celibacy, and radiates joy, gives very powerful testimony that happiness (or joy) does not come from an intimate sexual relationship; but rather, happiness is found in Christ. It’s even difficult to get married couples to see this. They often believe that their happiness will be found in one another. But Saint Augustine said it long ago, on the first page of his Confessions: “Oh Lord, You created us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You”. In other words, God created you for Himself, not for another. Complete happiness cannot ever be found in another human being, but only in God. If God calls a man to married life, He is calling him to love his wife for her sake, not for his own sake or his own happiness. He is calling this man to love God by loving this woman for her sake and for God’s sake. Unfortunately, many people “reveal their hand” by the words they speak, saying such things as “he fills a void within me”, or “I just didn’t feel fulfilled anymore, so I left her”, as if marriage is about “my fulfillment”.

Beyond Measure

There is a tremendously rich heritage in this area of sexual ethics and the nature of marriage in the history of the Church, which has undergone tremendous development in the 20th century (i.e., the Theology of the Body), and when we teach this to our students, they really do react positively. And this is true also of those students who have same-sex attraction. Many of them discern the truth in these teachings and are grateful to receive them. Unfortunately, many clergy are afraid to teach it, and many educators are just not familiar with it.

The fact of the matter is, we all have our own struggles. Whatever road the Lord calls us to walk, there will be sacrifices we will have to make, battles against ourselves and our own unique proclivities that we will have to engage in, but our eternal happiness is precisely at the end of that road. More importantly, “the road to heaven is heavenly”; conversely, “the road to hell is hellish”. When people come to chart out their own unique battlefield and specific road that the Lord is calling them to follow, with all the sacrifices they will be required to make, they begin to experience a joy that they didn’t think was possible. Most people are under the illusion that I will only be happy when I get to do what I want to do; they often go down that road and discover that they are not happy at all, much to their dismay. But when they finally begin to do what the Lord is calling them to do, they discover something that they had no idea they would find, namely, a deep sense of fulfillment.

Have you let the past with your earthly father define your future with your Heavenly Father?

I was born and raised just north of Tampa, Florida, USA. My Mom and Dad were Catholic, and raised me as a Catholic from the cradle. However, things went downhill when I was six. My parents separated and my Dad filed for divorce. A custody battle ensued until my parents got back together when I was eight. Little did I know that this was just the beginning.

When I was ten, my Mom filed for divorce. She was awarded custody, but I still had to visit my father. He had many good qualities—a hard-working, thrifty, and sporty guy—but there was one downfall to his personality that seriously damaged my relationship with God, and that was his lack of patience. One moment he would be happy, but if you accidentally spilled a glass of milk, he would blow up and start verbally berating you. This atomic-bomb type of anger could affect children in one of two ways. Either a child develops a thick skin and becomes uncaring, so it can be brushed off; or a child develops a tremendous fear of making mistakes and starts walking on eggshells. I did the latter. This is important to note because it was a perfect setup for me to develop scrupulosity.

Our human fathers are supposed to be images of our Heavenly Father, God (Ephesians 3:14-15). Whatever your earthly father does, including his qualities, how he speaks, and how he acts will be reflected in your image of God. So, when I was a teenager, I started seriously fearing my Father in Heaven. I walked on eggshells each day, thinking that at any moment, I would commit a mortal sin and be destined for Hell. In every thought, every word, and every action, I thought I might be sinning.

To give an example: when I would eat a small chicken sandwich from Wendy’s, I thought it would be gluttony to eat a second. But I was not certain, and would go back and forth over the morality of eating the next sandwich. This obsessive-compulsive disorder caused me to drop twenty pounds off an already thin frame.

I thought things were sinful when they were not. In fact, I would take up all of the priests’ time in the confessional. Praise God, I had an excellent pastor at my church who patiently counseled my struggling conscience. But this was only the tip of the iceberg. My whole image of God was bizarre. What I needed was a gentle and patient father-figure. After I graduated from high school, I attended Ave Maria University in south-west Florida. It was there that I would start to have my fear dealt with. I would go to the chapel every day, and began to understand the love of God my Abba.

A song kept coming back to me when I prayed— “Shoulders” by “For King and Country.” The words, “I don’t have to see to believe that you’re lifting me up on your shoulders, your shoulders”, revolutionized my thinking and changed my heart. Over time, my fear started to change into love. God saw me as His Beloved Son, with whom He was well pleased (Mark 1:11). He is a gentle Father, who takes into account my weaknesses. As the Psalms say, He is “slow to anger.” I developed a little litany for God, my true Father:

Father most gentle (1 Kings 19:12).

Father most kind (Isaiah 40:11).

Father most generous (Matthew 7:11).

Father most sweet (Psalm 23:1).

Father most humble (Luke 2:7).

Father most soft-spoken (1 Kings 19:12).

Father most joyful (Zephaniah 3:17).

Father most supportive (Hosea 11:3-4).

Father most loving (1 John 4:16).

Father most affectionate (Jeremiah 31:20).

Father most tender (Isaiah 43:4).

Father, my protector (Psalm 91).

I urge you to read those passages as I have, and grow in your intimate relationship with the Father. The path towards healing and wholeness is open to you. Join me on that journey.

Let us always remember these words from Saint Therese of Lisieux, “What sweet joy it is to think that God is just. He takes into account our weakness, He knows the fragility of our nature perfectly. What should I fear?”

(Story of a Soul by Saint Therese).

The popular historian Tom Holland has written an extraordinary book called Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World. The subtitle sums up his argument. Holland is deeply impatient with the secularist ideology that reigns supreme in the academy and that tends to regard Christianity as a debunked, outmoded religion, a holdover from a primitive, pre-scientific age, a block to progress both moral and intellectual. In point of fact, he argues, Christianity has been and continues to be the most powerful shaper of the Western mind, though its influence is so pervasive and so deep that it is easily overlooked.

His very effective strategy for bringing this out into the open is first to de-familiarize Christianity through a brutally realistic accounting of what crucifixion meant in the ancient world. To be put to death on a Roman cross was just about the worst fate that anyone at that time could have imagined. The very fact that our word “excruciating,” which designates the most agonizing kind of pain, comes from the Latin ex cruce (from the cross) fairly gives away the game. But more than the awful physical suffering of the cross was its unsurpassed humiliation. To be stripped naked, nailed to two pieces of wood, left to die in the course of several hours or even days, while exposed to the mockery of passersby, and then, even after death, to have one’s body given over to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field was just about as degrading an experience as possible. That the first Christians, therefore, proclaimed a crucified criminal as the risen Son of God could not have been a more comical, unnerving, and revolutionary message. It turned upside down all of the ancient world’s assumptions about God, humanity, and the right ordering of society. If God could be identified with a crucified man, then even the lowest and most forgotten members of the human family are worthy of love. And that the earliest followers of Jesus not only declared this truth but concretely lived it by caring for the homeless, the sick, the newborn, and the aged made their message even more subversive.

Though he explores many other ways that the Christian philosophy influenced Western civilization, Holland identifies this idea, radiating out from the crucified Jesus, as the most impactful. That we take for granted that every human being is worthy of respect, that all people are bearers of equal rights and dignity, that compassionate love is the most praiseworthy ethical attitude is, quite simply, a function, whether we acknowledge it or not, of our Christian cultural formation. Proof of this can be found by looking back to ancient civilization, where none of these notions held sway, and by looking, even now, at societies unshaped by Christianity, where these values are by no means unquestioningly revered.

The bulk of Holland’s book is taken up with analyses of key moments in Western history, which reveal the influence of the master idea of the cross. I would put special stress on his reading of the Enlightenment, whose political values are unthinkable apart from the Gospel, and of the contemporary “woke” movements, whose preoccupation with the suffering of victims and the marginalized is the fruit of a culture at whose heart, for two thousand years, has been a crucified and unjustly condemned man. I particularly appreciated his coverage of the Beatles’ famous 1967 Abbey Road recording of “All You Need is Love” in front of a live audience. The sentiment conveyed by that iconic song is one with which neither Caesar Augustus nor Genghis Khan nor Friedrich Nietzsche would be the least bit sympathetic, but which in fact is deeply congruent with the thought of St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Paul the Apostle. Like it or not, the Christian revolution massively shapes the way that we in the West continue to see the world.

With this part of Holland’s argument—and it takes up 90% of the book—I am in complete agreement. The point he is making is not only true; it is of crucial importance at a time when Christianity is, so often, put down or set aside. That said, for me, the entire book unravelled at the end, when the author admitted that he believes neither in God nor, obviously, in the divinity of Jesus or his Resurrection. The revolutionary ethic that flowed from those beliefs he finds compelling, but the convictions themselves are, he feels, without warrant. This distilling of an ethical system out of deeply questionable dogmas is a familiar move among the modern philosophers. Both Immanuel Kant and Thomas Jefferson endeavored to do just that. But it is a foolish enterprise, for it is finally impossible to separate Christian ethics from metaphysics and from history. If there is no God and if Jesus did not rise from the dead, how in the world is it the case that every human being is worthy of infinite respect and a subject of inviolable rights? If there is no God and if Jesus did not rise from the dead, how could we not conclude that, through the power of his awful cross, Caesar won? Jesus might be vaguely admired as an ethical teacher with the courage of his convictions, but if he died and remained in his grave, then power politics prevails, and the affirmation of the dignity of every person is just a silly wish-fulfillment.

It is instructive that, when the first Christians evangelized, they did not speak of human rights or the dignity of all or of other such abstractions; they spoke of Jesus risen from the dead through the power of the Holy Spirit. They insisted that the one whom Caesar’s empire put to death God had raised up. Tom Holland is absolutely right that many of the best ethical and political instincts of the West have come from Christ. But just as cut flowers will last only a short time in water, so those ideas will not long endure if we deracinate them from the startling facticity of the cross of Jesus.