Evangelize

The Gospel for Easter Sunday is from Saint John’s account of Easter morning (John 20:1–9). We are told that Mary Magdalene arrives at the tomb very early in the morning while it is still dark. She has come to anoint the body of the Lord, which had been buried in haste because of the onset of the Passover. She spies the great stone rolled back and assumes that the body has been stolen. So she runs immediately to Simon Peter and the other disciples: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him.” She doesn’t yet believe in the Resurrection, for she is operating still within a conventional framework.

So the two disciples, Peter and John, make a mad dash toward the tomb, the younger John outpacing the older Peter. What an odd detail, by the way—so peculiar in fact, that it led the novelist Graham Greene to accept the historicity of the account. Upon coming to the open tomb, John looks in and sees ‘the burial cloths.’ Then Peter arrives and spies the same clothes, as well as the cloth that had covered his head ‘rolled up in a separate place.’ Have you ever wondered why there is such an emphasis on the burial cloths? The most obvious reason is that their presence is peculiar. If the body had been stolen, why would the thieves have bothered taking the elaborately wound cloths off, and why in the world would they have taken the time and effort to fold the head cloth up so carefully?

But might they also be mentioned so prominently because they were treasured by the early Church? And might at least the principal cloth exist to this day? I’m speaking, of course, of the famous Shroud of Turin, which for centuries has been reverenced as a relic of the Crucifixion. I had a chance to see the shroud in 2010, when I was a visiting scholar in Rome and the cloth was exposed briefly for public display. It is remarkably long—long enough indeed to have covered a body front and back. On it can be seen, plainly enough, rust-colored markings that suggest the frontal and dorsal sides of a man about thirty years of age. Marks of violence can be seen on him, wounds from whipping and, quite clearly, from crucifixion—great gashes in the wrists and feet, as well as a gaping wound in the side of the torso.

However, the most remarkable feature of the shroud was revealed only in 1898, when it was photographed for the first time. When the photographer, a man named Secondo Pia, developed the film, he noticed that the negative of the photo revealed an exquisitely detailed depiction of the man of the shroud, anatomically exact to a degree that no artist could have produced. So, what we see of the shroud, he concluded, is itself a kind of photographic negative. And when scientists pored over the detailed version, what they saw took their breath away. Not only was the anatomy perfectly correct, but the details of the wounds were telling, corresponding to the very sort of scourges that ancient Romans used. The ‘crown’ of thorns was more of a cap, and the wound in the side gave evidence of both blood and pericardial fluid: the blood and water that Saint John spoke of. Furthermore, traces of coins, bearing the inscription of Pontius Pilate, could be seen covering the eyelids. Also, seeds and pollen from the Middle East were found within the strands of the fabric.

How was the image formed? Here, the scientists were truly stumped, for absolutely no trace of paint or pigment could be found, and the marks did not work their way down into the fabric but colored only the very surface of the shroud. The closest they could come to naming it accurately was to refer to it as a ‘scorch,’ something caused by an intense burst of radiation—which would furthermore explain the photographic negative quality of the image.

What in nature would produce such a phenomenon? Nothing that we know. Does it indicate the fact of the Resurrection, when in a great burst of light and energy, the body of Jesus was brought back to life? The extraordinary and mysterious Shroud of Turin speaks to us a great Easter truth—namely, that at the heart of Christianity stands, not a myth or a legend or a symbol, but a fact, the bodily Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. It was this historical truth that sent the first Christians careering around the world to announce the ‘Gospel,’ which means ‘good news.’ They were not trading in philosophical abstractions or spiritual musings; rather, they were grabbing their interlocutors by the shoulders and telling them that something had happened.

When Saint John entered the tomb and saw the burial cloths, he ‘saw and believed.’ There was something about those wrappings that convinced him. I wonder whether the same thing is true today in our hyper-skeptical age. We, too, can see the cloth in which Jesus’ body was wrapped, and we understand it far more thoroughly than Saint John ever could have. Does it cause us to ‘see and believe?’

ARTICLE originally published at wordonfire.org. Reprinted with permission.

Once you reach a certain age, you start seeing the real beauty embedded within.

As a young girl of nine, I was captivated by an embroidered image of the Last Supper that hung in my grandfather’s home. Amidst the scene of disciples engaged in lively conversation, my eyes were drawn to Jesus. In His gaze, I felt an inexplicable connection, a sense that He was speaking directly to me. Despite my limited understanding of the event’s significance, I knew instinctively that Jesus was calling me to something profound. I had not yet received any formal religious instruction, but His presence in that image ignited a spark within me as if He were inviting me to join Him at His table to share in the intimacy of His love.

Through the Sacraments of the Church, I have since come to understand the full meaning of the Last Supper as a testament to Jesus’ sacrifice and a source of grace. But it was that initial encounter, that silent exchange of glances across the centuries, that first opened my heart to the transformative power of His love. A seed was planted that day.

In the annals of the sacred history, the Last Supper stands as a pivotal event that forever etched itself into the tapestry of our faith. It was a profound gathering where Jesus shared a final meal with His beloved disciples on the eve of His crucifixion. This sacred occasion holds immense significance not only for the faithful but also for each of us as individuals, evoking not only a commemoration of Jesus’ sacrifice but also an invitation to a personal encounter with Him.

The Lean of Love

Among the interactions that took place during this sacred event, one detail stands out for me—the affectionate gesture of the disciple John leaning into Jesus. A simple yet meaningful act that speaks volumes about the deep bond shared between Jesus and His beloved disciples.

In John 13:23-25, the Gospel provides a unique insight into this moment. It describes how John, known as ‘the disciple whom Jesus loved,’ was seated next to Jesus at the low table during the Last Supper. As the disciples reclined to dine, John leaned back against Jesus, a gesture that symbolized familiarity, trust, and friendship in the cultural context of the time. This physical closeness allowed John to speak to Jesus privately and seek His guidance, showcasing the intimacy and trust that existed between them. This scene captured my heart—it conveyed a sense of closeness as if John had sought to share in Jesus’ Passion by drawing near Him. The act of leaning against Jesus illustrates the deep bond and affection that characterized their relationship, emphasizing John’s unique position as a beloved disciple. By entering ourselves into that same narrative, we too can encounter that same friendship.

Windows to the Divine

In the realm of sacred art, holy icons such as the depiction of the Last Supper serve as more than mere images—they act as windows to the spiritual dominion, offering a visual representation of the divine. When we approach these icons with a contemplative and receptive attitude, we open ourselves to a deeper awareness of God’s presence and allow the image to elicit a powerful response from our hearts.

Personally, as I reflect on the Last Supper, I realize that it has been an invitation into a close friendship with Jesus. In moments of quiet contemplation before this sacred image, I have felt drawn to lean on Him with familiarity, seeking His guidance and solace for the questions that weigh on my heart. And in those silent moments deep within, Jesus answers me. This sacred visual representation has served as a portal to a deeper connection with Christ, inviting me to share in His love and grace.

As a Catholic convert, I have come to understand the deeper spiritual significance of the Last Supper and its connection to the sacrament of the Eucharist. In this transformative moment of communion, when Jesus instituted the Eucharist, where bread and wine are transformed into His body and blood, I unite myself with Jesus, acknowledging the spiritual significance of the Last Supper and embracing its transformative power in my life.

This powerful sacrament allows us to partake in a mystical union with Christ, nourishing our souls and strengthening our relationship with Him. If we truly understand this, then we simply cannot deny that Jesus is present in the Eucharist. The anticipation of the Heavenly banquet, as alluded to by Jesus Himself, instills in me a sense of hope and perseverance, sustaining me in times of trial. As I partake in the Eucharist, I anticipate the day when we will share in the eternal feast with Christ in Heaven, anchoring our faith in the promise of divine and eternal communion.

Q – I have a very solid prayer life, but I struggle with fasting. Is fasting really necessary for spiritual life? Do we have to fast outside of Lent? How can I be better at it?

A—Fasting has been essential to spiritual life since the beginning of the Church. Sacrifice makes our love for God concrete and tangible—’inscribing’ our love into our flesh, so to speak. A mature Christian who loves God will want to offer something to Him, and fasting is a beautiful way to deny ourselves out of love. So, yes, every Christian should practice some form of fasting or mortification daily!

Furthermore, fasting strengthens our will, making it easier to make virtuous choices. Many of our temptations feature the battle between our flesh and our will. We know that it would be gluttony to have the third piece of chocolate cake, but our flesh desires pleasure. So, fasting—giving up something that we are allowed to have—strengthens our will over our flesh. When I give up a chocolate bar or arise earlier in the morning or take a cold shower, my will becomes stronger, making it easier for me to resist sinful temptations.

Finally, fasting creates space for God to work in our lives. Hunger reminds us of our true hunger for the Lord. Turning off music in the car opens us to His still, small voice in silence. Fasting connects us with the economically disadvantaged, many of whom struggle for enough food. The money saved through fasting can be donated to help meet their needs.

So how do we fast? There are many ways to fast. The most obvious is to give up a certain amount of food. Some choose to skip entire meals, while others restrict themselves to one helping. We can also fast by eating foods that we don’t like. We can fast from other things as well—abstaining from listening to music in the car or browsing Facebook are a few examples. I know a young man who slept on the floor during Lent; others take cold showers or wake earlier, avoiding the snooze button. Anything causing discomfort can be a fast.

When beginning to fast, guidance from a spiritual director or parish priest is helpful. We do not want to fast in a way that hurts our health physically or mentally. I tried to fast from all music once, but since music is how I relax and how God often speaks to me, I soon became quite grumpy and unpleasant without music, so I had to find a different penance! In other words, while our penances should cost us something, they should not harm us.

One other danger to watch out for is spiritual pride. Sometimes, we ‘boast’ about our penances (even in our minds) thinking we’re better than others. Fasting isn’t about trying to ‘earn’ God’s love or ‘prove’ how much we care for Him. Instead, We fast to generously offer ourselves as an expression of love, a response to the love we’ve already received. Even if we can’t fast as often as we desire—whether due to weakness, illness, or daily life circumstances—we need not worry. God’s love for us remains constant and is a gift we can gratefully accept! The most meaningful sacrifices are often the ones God places in our daily lives: our inconveniences, sufferings, labors, and challenges. Offering these to Him can be the truest form of fasting.

In conclusion, I encourage all Christians to incorporate some form of fasting, mortification, or sacrifice into their daily lives, offering themselves to the Lord and making their love for Him incarnate!

Getting out of our comfort zones is never an easy task, so why go to the trouble at all?

At some point in life, Jesus asks all of us: “Are you ready to step out for My Kingdom?” There is no eligibility per se; no job description, no resumé screening…It’s a simple Yes or No question. When I received this call, I had nothing to offer Him. I entered my ministry with zero leverage. Time has proven that a willing and loving heart for Jesus was all I needed. He took care of the rest. Once you say yes, you can witness the change in yourself! Life becomes more meaningful, joyful, and adventurous. This is not to say that suffering will never be present.

“When the hour was near for Jesus to leave this world and return to His Father, He washed His disciples’ feet. He told Peter: ‘Unless I wash you, you have no part with Me.’” He continued: “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” (John 13:14) In a way, Jesus is asking: “Are you ready to get wet?” Like Peter, we naturally like to stay dry and comfy, but He is calling us to get wet in the waters of His love and grace. But the more beautiful part is, He isn’t calling us for ourselves…

When Jesus stooped down to wash the feet of His disciples, not only did His disciples get wet, but His hands also became wet and soiled in the process. As we follow in the footsteps of Christ, while interceding and serving others in His Name, we will also get a share of the burden and pain that the other person is going through. Scripture instructs us: “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)

After the transfiguration of Jesus, Peter said: “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” (Matthew 17:4) It seems that we take after Peter in more ways than one. We like to put up tents and stay inside that comfort zone, be it our church, home, or workplace. Luckily for us, the Scripture offers us worthy examples from which to learn.

To be or Not to be

Our parish priest Reverend Christopher Smith once reflected on how John the Baptist left the wilderness, his comfort zone, and came into the city to proclaim the coming of the Messiah. Moses ran away from Egypt and made a tent for himself with his father-in-law but God drew him out and gave him a mission. He was brought back to the same Egypt he had fled from, and God used him powerfully to rescue His people. Elijah fled from Jezebel and found refuge under a bush (1 Kings 19:4), but God brought him back to establish His will for His people. Abraham had to leave his relatives and journey where God led him, but look at the Kingdom that grew out of His trust in God!

If Moses had stayed home, what would the fate of the Israelites have been? And what if Elijah had retreated in fear and refused to come back? Look at Peter, who took that leap of faith from the boat to place his feet upon the raging waves at sea. He was all alone in the middle of nowhere, the fear of sinking was surely on his mind, but Jesus did not let him falter. His willingness to step out initiated an unforgettable miracle that none of the other fear-filled disciples inside the boat, who refused to let go of their comfort zones, could enjoy.

And so too, in our lives, God is waiting for us to take that first step of stepping out of our tents. When the Holy Spirit inspired me to evangelize through writing, it was so hard for me to say yes to it at first. I am timid and shy by nature, and just as Peter looked at waves, I looked only at my inabilities. But when I surrendered myself to His will and started trusting Him, He started using me for His glory.

Let us break out of our comfort zones and get wet in the anointing of the Holy Spirit because it was the mighty fire of the burning bush that anointed Moses. Remember how his first attempt at ‘saving’ the Israelites (by killing an Egyptian!) was rejected by them? Wait patiently for the call from above, receive His anointing, and go into the world to proclaim His Name!

A true Christian can never close their eyes to injustice or spite.

Ringo Starr once sang: “Got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues/ And you know it doesn’t come easy.” If we’re going to follow the way of Jesus, we must be prepared to accept the consequences, which will come hard and often.

Choices & Consequences

Jesus had predicted that His disciples would be flogged, dragged before governors, delivered up to councils, made to flee from town to town, ostracized, and hated—all because they are associated with Him. Why should they be surprised? After all, Jesus had the same things done to Him. The Cross of Jesus will be the Cross of His followers. Persecution is inevitable. As someone once said: “If you’re going to follow Jesus, you’d better look good in the woods.”

Why? Put simply, a Christian, as a sign of contradiction grounded in sacrificial, self-giving love that promotes justice and peace, will call into question the prevailing values of the dominant consciousness of our society. The false kingdom of this world is based on the illusion that one can be happy by obtaining the goods of the world; so, we pursue the idols of money, status and acclaim, control and manipulation, and hedonistic pleasure. In our society, we see this displayed in over-the-top consumerism, nationalism, autonomous individualism, and a warped sense of freedom that is understood as free from external constraints. The false kingdom, which is the collective extension of the ego, needs to suppress the Good News, or it will die; it knows that. That’s why Jesus’ followers are persecuted.

Confronted with such hostility, anger, and resentment, we may wonder: “I go to church, I play by the rules; why am I not loved and admired? Why is there all this negative blow-back?” We may think to ourselves that it would be better to soft-pedal the truth. After all, why should I put myself and those whom I care about through such an ordeal? Why don’t we settle for a domesticated Christianity or a beige Catholicism in which we lean into the dominant consciousness of our society by going along, and even embracing its secular values?

But if we don’t denounce the idolatrous practices of our culture—the exploitation of the poor by the wealthy, the toxicity of racism, the lies and deceit of those who exercise temporal power—can we live with this cowardice? Can we be true to our baptismal promises in which we were anointed priest, prophet, and king? As members of the Body of the Christ, each one of us is called to give witness to the Gospel values by word and example and that may mean, at times, being a ‘sign of contradiction’ in our families, in our working places, and in the wider society.

The Only Way

If we become homogenized, safe, and comfortable Catholics, then we will become people described by T. S. Elliot as “living and partly living.” The choice we have is either living a willful and egocentric life or embracing the Way of Jesus in which He is the center, and our life is about Him, and He is in control. We can’t have it both ways. As our Lord says quite clearly, “Whoever is not with Me is against Me, and whoever does not gather with Me scatters.” (Matthew 12:30)

The way a seed withstands the scorching heat of the sun is by developing roots. By extension, we need to know and hold onto the deeper realities of faith, which can only be cultivated by a deep and abiding prayer life, by a daily reflection of Scripture and Tradition, by active participation in the Sacraments, especially Confession, and the Eucharist, and by serving others, especially those who are most vulnerable.

These deeper realities of faith always involve knowing who we truly are, namely, beloved children of God, who are meant to be in communion with the triune God and in solidarity with our brothers and sisters. The only people who can accept the consequences of following Jesus are those who are in touch with their own souls and who have grounded themselves in the energy of God’s love. Only they will have the courage and resolve to persevere in the face of persecution.

Tom Holland’s magnificent book Dominion develops in detail what amounts to a very simple proposition—namely, that Christianity is responsible for many of the central values that we take for granted and that we assume to be universal. In point of fact, he avers, our insistence upon the dignity of the individual, fundamental human rights, the principle of equality, and perhaps above all that the poor, the marginalized, and the victimized ought to be specially cherished, flows from basic Christian convictions.

What prompted Holland to investigate this claim initially was his extensive work in the history of ancient Rome. The longer and more deeply he looked at Roman society, the stranger it seemed, the less like our own time. And the more he studied the great heroes of Rome, the more alien and morally problematic they appeared. To give just one example among many, he urges us to consider perhaps the most impressive of ancient Roman personalities, Julius Caesar. Eager to enhance his political reputation, Caesar embarked on a military campaign in Gaul (present-day France). His remarkable success in subduing this land and making it a Roman province served to cover him in glory and became the subject of his book The Gallic Wars, which is read to this day. But what is rarely remarked upon is the staggering fact that in the course of this conquest, Caesar killed, by conservative estimate, one million people and enslaved another million or so more. Now, Caesar had a boatload of enemies in Rome who suspected him of lusting after kingly power. But what Holland finds fascinating is that none of his opponents were scandalized by his murderous rampage through Gaul. In fact, all of Rome praised him for it. So the question arises: Why would we today consider someone who killed and enslaved on such a massive scale a scoundrel while even the best and brightest in ancient Roman society considered Caesar a hero? The answer, in a word, is Christianity.

What the early Christians brought to Roman culture was the belief in the one God who made every human being in His image and likeness and who thereby endowed them with rights, freedom, and dignity. Moreover, the Christians taught, the Creator God became human and went willingly to the very limits of suffering and degradation, in Saint Paul’s words, “accepting even death, death on a cross.” They proclaimed a Savior who was a victim of Roman tyranny and whom God raised from the dead. And by this proclamation, they brought all the tyrannized, all of the victimized, all of the weak and forgotten from the margins to the center. These beliefs were, of course, initially regarded as absurd, and the early Christians were brutally persecuted for them. But over time, and through the witness and practice of courageous people, these beliefs soaked into the fabric of Western society. So deeply did they penetrate our consciousness that we came, as Holland has argued, to take them for granted and to mistake them for general humanistic values.

Now, why is all this important to us today? We live in a time when the Christian faith is rather regularly denigrated by those in the upper echelons of elite society, in the universities, and in the media. Moreover, armies of people, especially the young, are disaffiliating from the churches and ceasing to engage in religious ritual and practice. Harmless enough, you might think, or even to the advantage of a society reaching maturity through secularization? Think again. As Christian faith and praxis evanesce, the values that Christianity has inculcated in our culture evanesce as well. Cut flowers may bloom for a time once they’ve been ripped from the soil and placed in water, but they will fade soon enough. We delude ourselves if we think that the values instilled in us by Christianity will long survive the demise of Christianity itself.

Signs of the emergence of a neo-paganism in fact abound. In many states in our country, as well as in Canada and many European countries, a regime of euthanasia holds sway. When elderly or sick people become inconvenient, they can and should be eliminated. And, of course, in most countries in the West, when a child in the womb is judged to be a problem, he or she can be aborted at any point in pregnancy, up to the moment of birth. In my home state of Minnesota, a proposal has been made to enshrine this ‘right’ to the murder of the unborn in the constitution. How like this is, by the way, to the ancient Roman practice of exposing unwanted newborns to the elements and the animals. And how fascinating, in light of Tom Holland’s analysis, that the early Christians got the attention of the environing Roman culture precisely by their willingness to rescue and take in these abandoned babies.

So, what is the needful thing? Christians must raise their voices in protest against the culture of death. And they must do so by claiming and publicly proclaiming the values that come from their faith. For too long, believers have been cowed into silence by the insinuation that religion is a ‘private’ matter. Nonsense. Christian values have informed our society from the beginning and have provided the coherent moral framework that most of us still take for granted. Now is not the time for quietude. It is time for us to shout our convictions from the rooftops.

In the year 1240, Emperor Frederick II of Sweden was at war with the Pope, and he sent his warriors to attack Italy. The cruel soldiers decided to break into the cloistered convent of San Damiano, which was located on the border of the town of Assisi. This was where Mother Clare and the nuns under her care resided. The poor nuns were terrified and immediately rushed to their Mother to share the news.

Mother Clare was bedridden, but with the help of the sisters, she got up and calmly went to the chapel. Prostrating herself in front of the Eucharist, she tearfully implored God to protect the helpless sisters. Suddenly, she heard a voice from the tabernacle: “I will always protect you!”

Filled with confidence and trust, she took the ciborium containing the Blessed Sacrament and went to face the invaders. As she raised it in front of them, the soldiers were thrown into confusion and utter fear. They instantly fled the convent, abandoning their evil schemes.

To the nuns, their mother’s unwavering devotion to the Holy Eucharist was a great lesson. Saint Clare, in her great humility, instructed the sisters not to reveal the voice they heard from the Blessed Sacrament until after her death.

Let us, inspired by Saint Clare, grow in our devotion to Jesus in the Eucharist and put our complete trust in Him.

Suffering is not bitter anymore, it’s now way more sweeter…

Back at the height of the pandemic, affected by COVID-19, I went into acute respiratory failure and was admitted to the hospital for four days. I was given medicines through my veins to help my lungs. The illness caused scarring in my lungs, so I went home with some prednisone and oxygen to help alleviate the inflammation.

Prior to this, I was an active senior who enjoyed gardening, walking my dog, journaling, writing, reading, and spending time with my family and friends. I attended Mass and Adoration and prayed at Planned Parenthood. However, life took on a new challenge.

I had a sinus headache for months, and no medicine could relieve the pain. I became easily fatigued and had to lay down several times a day. Often, I would start to do something around the house and would get completely depleted. I lost my sense of taste and even some of my hearing. At times, I was unable to drive because I would get confused and dizzy driving. The doctors determined that I was suffering from long-Covid, and that lasted for months.

In addition, my mind and thinking became foggy. I was very forgetful—they called it brain fog. I couldn’t read or concentrate and was very anxious. I began to pray for relief and asked other people to pray for me as well. I tried to offer up my suffering for those who needed God’s mercy, but it was so difficult to do.

A Wake-up Call

Then, I had an inspirational thought which I am sure, was from the Holy Spirit. I had heard of Father Stu, a boxer-turned-priest who gave in to Inclusion Body Myositis (IBM) in the early years of a robust life, but not in vain.

Raised without religion by alcoholic parents, Stewart Long grew up filled with rage. During his teenage years, he began street fighting every night. He soon took up boxing as a sport, until he was hit in the jaw that ended his boxing career. As an adult, he moved to California to try getting into the movies but without much success. A near-miss accident and his girlfriend’s conversion to Catholicism gave him a much-needed wake-up call. As he was being baptized, he had a distinct impression that he was going to be a priest. For a few years, he ignored the nudges of the Holy Spirit, but he eventually made the pivotal decision and entered the seminary.

It was there that he was diagnosed with IBM, a progressive muscle deterioration disorder that is resistant to all therapies. Incurable, it slowly leads to organ collapse, swallowing and breathing difficulties, and inevitable death. Father Stu spent the last four years of his life in a long-term care facility, where his room 227 became a place where people came to seek spiritual direction and confessions, and even just to hang out with him to watch movies. There was always a line of people waiting to get in to see him. His Masses at the facility were always filled with people. Masses with him were incredible. Father Stu ministered to so many suffering souls and offered up all his suffering till the end of his life on June 9, 2014.

Father Stu used to say: “The Cross is a call to trust, even when things are going horribly wrong.” So, asking for his intercession, I started to pray: “Father Stu, if anyone knows how to suffer well, it is you. Please show me how.”

Within a day, Father Stu answered my prayer and showed me how to suffer well with Jesus. The peace of Christ filled my entire being with His strength and mercy. I still can’t quite explain it in words. My suffering and pain became lighter and easier. I began to pray my Rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet, and I also started to do the Liturgy of the Hours which I had never done before. The peace of Christ filled me with so much joy and comfort. This peace lasted for almost a month, a most beautiful month filled with Divine Love amidst my suffering.

Yes, I continued to have long-Covid symptoms, but the suffering became sweet. Even though I was unable to attend daily Mass and receive the Eucharist, I would make a spiritual communion every day. Jesus said: “I will never leave you or forsake you.” I couldn’t go to Jesus, but Jesus came to me daily.

More Untold Stories

I am so grateful for the intercession of Father Stu. He has truly shown me how to offer up my little and big sufferings for those in need of Jesus’ mercy and healing. This was, to me, a touching testimony that Father Stu’s mission, to help other suffering souls, continues today from his Heavenly home. This is just one of the many stories of healing that remain yet untold.

Father Bart Tolleson who was ordained the same day as Father Stu has written an incredibly easy-to-read book about his brother priest and friend entitled That was Father Stu. The book shares how, in our sufferings, there is hope eternal. The legacy of Father Stu’s life even inspired Mark Wahlberg, a Hollywood actor and producer, to make a movie entitled Father Stu in April 2022. In his words: “Father Bart’s book picks up where Father Stu left off. We come to realize in God’s mercy that Father Stu is still watching out for us.”

When suffering becomes unbearable, let’s not forget that we have Heavenly helpers ever ready to lend a hand.

Watch Mark Wahlberg share his experience of making the movie Father Stu on Shalom World’s Beyond the Vision. (shalomworld.org/episode/father-stu)

I was so busy teaching my kids all about faith, that I forgot this integral lesson…

“Wait! Don’t forget the Holy Water!” My six-year-old had decided he was ready to lead bedtime prayers by himself. Shaking the bottle of Holy Water—in case the ‘holy’ had sunk to the bottom—he blessed us and began: “God, we love You. You are good. You love us. You even love bad guys. We thank you, God. Amen.” My stunned silence filled the room. This simple prayer touched my heart deeply. My son had just shown me how to pray with the simplicity of a child of God.

As a parent, sometimes it’s hard for me to step out of my ‘grown-up’ mindset. I spend a lot of energy trying to help my kids form good habits and grow in the faith, but often I lose sight of what my kids teach me about loving Jesus. When my son mustered courage and prayed aloud, he reminded me that simple, spontaneous prayer is important in my daily relationship with Christ. He taught me that, despite feeling unsure or clumsy, my prayers still please the Lord.

A Real Challenge

As adults, the swirling complexities of family life, schedules, and work responsibilities often consume us and make it difficult to simply talk with the Lord. Saint Teresa of Calcutta understood this real challenge and gave some advice to her own Missionary of Charity sisters: “How do you pray? You should go to God like a little child. A child has no difficulty in expressing his little mind in words, but they express so much … Become as a little child.” Jesus Himself showed us the importance of learning from children: “He called a little child to Him, and placed the child among them. And He said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven.’” (Matthew 18:2-4)

How can you and I learn to pray like a child? First, ask God for courage and humility, and invite the Holy Spirit to guide you. Next, find a quiet place away from noise and technology. Begin your prayer with the sign of the Cross and your favorite devotional name for God. I have found in conversation that using someone’s name deepens connection. (The Hebrew name for Jesus–Yeshua–means ‘the Lord is salvation’ so if you are not sure which name to use, go simple. “Jesus” will do!)

Securing a Direct Line

Now, it’s time to talk with the Lord. Pray out loud, spontaneously, and tell God whatever comes to your mind—even tell Him if you feel awkward or distracted. Still unsure where to start? Thank God for something, ask Him to transform your heart and pray for someone by name. Do your best and be patient with yourself. Your willingness to discover the simplicity of child-like prayer pleases the Lord very much. God delights in His children!

So, embrace the invitation to learn from your children. Together you can learn to enter into a deeper relationship with Christ. Pray for courage and humility as you learn to talk with the Lord. Be intentional, and you will discover the joy and simplicity of praying as a child of God!

From the time I could talk, Mom mildly lamented that I was a chatterbox. What she did about it changed my life!

“You certainly have the gift to gab,” my mother would tell me. When she’d sense a particularly chatty mood developing, she’d proceed to recite a version of this little verse:

“They call me Little Chatterbox, but my name is Little May. The reason that I talk so much, is because I have so much to say. Oh, I have so many friends, so many you can see, and I love every one of them and everyone loves me. But I love God the best of all. He keeps me through the night and when the morning comes again, He wakes me with His light.”

In hindsight, the little verse was probably meant to distract me from talking and allow Mom’s ears a temporary respite. However, as she recited the sweet rhythmic poem, its meaning provided more things to ponder.

As time taught lessons of maturity, it became clear that many of the thoughts or opinions rattling around in my head should be filtered or quieted, simply because they weren’t necessary to share. Learning to stifle what came naturally took a lot of practice, self-discipline, and patience. However, there were still moments when some things needed to be said aloud or certainly I was going to burst! Fortunately, my mother and Catholic education were instrumental in introducing me to prayer. Prayer was simply talking to God as I would a best friend. What’s more, to my extreme delight, when informed that God was always with me and very eager to listen anytime and anywhere, I thought: “Now, this MUST be a match made in Heaven!”

Learning to Listen

Along with maturity came the feeling that it was time to develop a deeper relationship with my friend, God. True friends communicate with each other, so I realized that I shouldn’t be the one who did all the talking. Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminded me: “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under Heaven” and it was time to allow God some chatting opportunities while I listened. This new maturity also took practice, self-discipline, and patience to develop. Making time to regularly visit the Lord in His home at the church or adoration chapel assisted this growing relationship. There I felt freer from the distractions that tempted my thoughts to wander. Sitting in silence was uncomfortable at first, but I sat and waited. I was in His house. He was the host. I was the guest. Therefore, out of respect, it seemed appropriate to follow His lead. Many visits were spent in silence.

Then one day, through the silence, I heard a gentle whisper in my heart. It wasn’t in my head or in my ears…it was in my heart. His tender yet direct whisper filled my heart with a loving warmth. A revelation took hold of me: That voice…somehow, I knew that voice. It was very familiar. My God, my friend, was there. It was a voice I’d heard all my life, but to my dismay, I realized that I had so often naively drowned it out with my own thoughts and words.

Time also has a way of revealing the truth. I had never realized that God had always been there trying to get my attention and had important things to say to me. Once I understood, sitting in silence was no longer uncomfortable. In fact, it was a time of longing and anticipation to hear His tender voice, to hear Him lovingly whisper again to my heart. Time strengthened our relationship so that was no longer just one or the other speaking; we began to dialogue. My morning would start in prayer by giving Him the day ahead. Then, along the way, I’d stop and update Him how the day was going. He’d console, advise, encourage, and sometimes reprimand me as I tried to discern His will in my daily life. Trying to understand His will drew me to Scripture where, once again, He’d whisper to my heart. It was amusing to realize that He too was quite a chatterbox, but why should I be surprised? After all, He told me in Genesis 1:27 that I was created in His image and likeness!

Quieting the Self

Time does not stand still. It’s created by God and it’s a gift from Him to us. Thankfully, I’ve walked with God a long time, and through our walks and talks, I’ve come to understand that He whispers to those who silence themselves to hear Him, just as He did to Elijah. “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” (1 Kings 19: 11-12)

In fact, God instructs us to silence ourselves so that we can come to know Him. One of my favorite Scripture verses is Psalm 46:10, where God explicitly told me to “Be still and know that I am God.” Only in quieting my mind and body could my heart be quiet enough to hear Him. He reveals Himself when we listen to His Word because “Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ.” (Romans 10:17)

A long time ago, when my mother recited that childhood verse, little did she know that a seed would be planted in my heart. Through my conversations with God in prayer, that little seed has grown and grown, until at long last, I do ‘love God the best of all!’ He does keep me through the night, especially the dark times in life. Furthermore, my soul awakened when He spoke of my salvation. Thus, He always wakes me with His light. Thank you, Mom!

The time has come to remind you, dear friend, that God loves you! Just like me, you too are created in the image and likeness of God. He wants to whisper to your heart, but for that, be still and get to know Him as God. I invite you, let this be your time and season to allow yourself to develop a deeper relationship with the Lord. Chat with Him in prayer as your dearest friend and develop your own dialogue with Him. When you listen, it won’t take long to realize that when He whispers to your heart, He too is a ‘chatterbox.’

It was fully my intention to have all of the Winona-Rochester seminarians stand at one point during my installation Mass homily. I had told the people that, in the words of John Paul II, ecclesia de eucharistia (the Church comes from the Eucharist), and since the Eucharist comes from priests, it logically follows that if there are no priests, there will be no Church. So I wanted everyone to see and acknowledge the young men in our diocese who are actively discerning a call to this indispensably important way of life. During the ovation, something came to me as an inspiration. I hadn’t planned to say it. It wasn’t in my text. But I blurted out, as the applause was dying down: “Let’s double their number in the next five years!” A confirmation that this was perhaps from the Holy Spirit is that people, at every stop I’ve made so far in the diocese, have, with enthusiasm, echoed those words back to me. In fact, the leader of one of the Serra groups has told me that she and her colleagues have decided to take up the challenge. 

We have twenty seminarians, at both the college and major theology levels, which is pretty good for a diocese our size. And we have a wonderful coterie of priests, both active and ‘retired,’ who are busily serving our nearly one hundred parishes. But those under retirement age number only around sixty, and all of our priests are stretched thin. Furthermore, there will be no priestly ordinations in Winona-Rochester for the next two years. So, there is no question: We need more priests.

Now, bishops and priests do indeed have a key role to play in the encouragement of vocations. What draws a young man to the priesthood is, above all, the witness of happy, healthy priests. Some years ago, the University of Chicago conducted a survey to determine which professions were the happiest. By a rather large margin, those deemed most content were members of the clergy. Moreover, a variety of surveys have demonstrated that, despite the troubles of recent years, Catholic priests report very high levels of personal satisfaction with their lives. Given these data, one recommendation I would make to my brother priests is this: Let people see it! Let them know how much joy you take in being a priest. 

But I believe that lay people have an even more important role to play in the cultivation of vocations. Within the Protestant context, sometimes the son of a great preacher follows in his father’s footsteps so that one minister effectively begets another. But this, for obvious reasons, can’t happen in a Catholic setting. Instead, priests, without exception, come from lay people; they come from families. The decency, prayerfulness, kindness, and encouragement of parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles make an enormous difference in the fostering of a vocation to the priesthood. One of the most vivid memories of my childhood is of my father, kneeling in intense prayer after Communion one Sunday at St. Thomas More Parish in Troy, Michigan. I was only five or six at the time, and I considered my father the most powerful man on earth. That he was kneeling in supplication before someone more powerful shaped my religious imagination profoundly and, as you can tell, I’ve never forgotten the moment. Both of my parents loved and respected priests and made sure that we kids had steady contact with them. Trust me, their openness of spirit in regard to priests affected my vocation deeply.

And please remember that non-family members can light the flame of a vocation as well. Study after study has shown that one of the most important factors in convincing a young man to enter the seminary is that a trusted friend, colleague, or elder told him that he would make a good priest. I know that there are lots of folks who harbor in their hearts the conviction that a young man should enter the seminary, for they have noticed his gifts of kindness, prayerfulness, intelligence, etc., but they have never summoned the courage or taken the time to tell him. Perhaps they’ve assumed that others have done so. But this is tragically to miss an opportunity. I would say simply this: if you have remarked virtues in a young man that would make him an effective priest, assume that the Holy Spirit has given you this insight so that you might share it with that young man. Believe me, the plainest words you speak could be seeds that will bear fruit thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold. 

Finally, if you feel strongly about vocations, pray for them. In the Bible, nothing of moment is ever accomplished apart from prayer. God delights in our cooperation with His grace, but the work of salvation is, at the end of the day, His. So ask Him! Might I suggest a particular intercessor in this regard? Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower, said that she entered the convent “in order to save souls and especially to pray for priests.” She also said that she would spend her Heaven doing good on the earth. Let us, therefore, petition her intercession as we ask the Lord to double the number of our seminarians in the coming years.