Look Up and Behold!

In the interiors of Nigeria, sans adequate resources or assistance, this priest witnessed unbelievable supernatural interventions He was no stranger to fights. 6’2 with a black belt in kickboxing, he had a very colorful past before becoming a Catholic priest. But sensing divine direction, when he took on the assignment as the Superior of the Somascans in Usen, Nigeria, Reverend Varghese Parakudiyil got into what he calls the ‘ultimate brawl’—a direct war between good and evil in everyday life. He had indeed moved into the hotbed for Juju, i.e., African witchcraft. The local witch doctors were highly regarded throughout the continent for their ‘powers.’ Among their clients were many prominent figures, including important political figures and even some local Christians. But, “where sin abounds, grace abounds still more” (Romans 5:20), and Reverend Varghese surely experienced the power of God like never before. The very mention of the name of Jesus freed the afflicted from evil spirits; there was divine protection for Christians which the combined curses of the witch doctors could not penetrate, and many other powerful displays of divine power. But one incident of supernatural intervention stands apart. All that I Have It was in October 2012, just a few weeks after Father Varghese had moved to Usen from India. One day a lady walked up to him, and after greeting him, she lifted up the portion of her dress over her stomach. To his horror, she removed a patch of black plastic sheet stuck on her stomach and uncovered a hole as big as an orange next to her belly button. The hernia operation needed to heal her would take 400,000 nairas, something she could not afford: “Can you help?” she asked. The Reverend recalls that he was really broke, so he told her that he was not in a position to assist her. But, more as an act of dismissal, he encouraged her to get the operation done somehow... As she slowly walked away, Reverend Varghese felt like seeing his own mother (who had passed away recently) leaving. Helpless and with a heavy heart, he whispered one of his sincerest prayers for her. The Supernatural Clone The Sunday before the New Year, a lady accompanied by her two daughters came up to the priest’s dwelling, carting a big bunch of bananas and a bag full of fruits and vegetables. Kneeling, she rubbed her palms together—a gesture that expressed either extreme gratitude or apology—and offered him the bananas and the bag. The priest was puzzled; though she looked strangely familiar, he couldn’t recognize her. “Don’t you remember me, Father?” she asked. As she uncovered her stomach, he realized that it was the same lady who had come to him for help before. Now, she looked totally healed, obviously through an operation, because the suture marks were still visible. When she thanked him, the priest was at a loss, unable to understand what he had done to warrant that gratitude. “Because you paid the bill,” said the confused lady. Totally baffled by her comment, he asked her to elucidate. Following their fateful meeting, the lady had apparently got herself admitted to a hospital in Benin City for the hernia operation and hoped to be back home in time for Christmas and New Year celebrations. When she told the hospital staff that she would pay after the surgery, for some strange reason, they consented. Once the surgery was completed and she was taken back to her room, she told them she would go back home and sell her land to pay the bill. Understandably, they would not let her leave without paying. The next logical step would have been to hand her over to the police. But a little later, a nurse came into her room waving her bill and told her, “Praise the Lord, your parish priest just came and paid your bill. You can go now,” she added: “the Oyibo (as non-African foreigners are called), the tall one.” Unexplained Mysteries For Reverend Varghese, it was a wallop like nothing before! There were no other ‘Oyibo’ priests in the Benin City diocese at that time. “It wasn’t me,” says Father Varghese, “If it was some other priest who paid the bill, praise God. But I believe that it was my guardian angel who did it.” He is still unsure what gave the woman the nerve to get operated on without the money. Did she think that somehow the priest would manage to pay her bill? Or did she feel that being jailed was a better option than the suffering she was undergoing? Humbled by these and many other experiences that convinced him of the Lord’s enduring providence, Reverend Varghese continues his ministry with zeal. He is presently handling dual roles as Superior at the Somascan mother house in Italy and as the Director of the International Novitiate. “Definitely not as action-packed as Africa or India, but this is God’s assignment for me now,” he humbly remarks.

Are there doors in your life that refuse to open, no matter your efforts? Know the secret behind those closed doors through this heartfelt experience. Opening the door to the Cathedral of Saint Jude, my husband and I found our seats amidst a large crowd gathered for the funeral of a woman I had met long ago when I was only 20 years old. She and her husband were the pastoral leaders of a Catholic Charismatic Prayer Community at the time. While she and I had not been close personal friends, she had touched my life in significant ways when I was involved with this dynamic faith-filled group. Her middle son, Ken, was now Father Ken, and that day was also the 25th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. Scanning the congregation revealed many familiar faces from both my past and present. Father Ken’s touching tribute to his mother and the loving eulogies by his siblings reflected the impact the prayer group had on their own family, as well as many in attendance that day. Their words prompted memories to course through my mind—of how the Holy Spirit used this community to change many lives, especially mine. Dragged into Love I had been raised by two very devout Catholic parents who attended Mass daily, but as a teen, I only grudgingly participated in the life of the Church. I felt resentful of my father’s insistence on family Rosary every night and saying grace not just before meals but after as well. Attending the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament on a Friday night at 10 PM didn’t bode well for my social status as a 15-year-old, especially when my friends asked what I had done over the weekend. Being a Catholic, for me then, was just about plenty of rules, requirements, and rituals. My experience each week was not one of joy or fellowship with other believers but rather one of duty. Still, when my sister invited me to join her at her college’s weekend retreat the fall after I graduated from high school, I agreed. My small town offered little in the way of new experiences, and this would definitely be out of the norm for me. As it turned out, this retreat would set the trajectory for the rest of my life! Between the warm camaraderie of the participants, as well as the huge smile that covered Father Bill’s face when he shared about the Lord with us, I saw something I had never seen in my home parish, and I knew that was what I truly wanted in my life: JOY! Near the end of the weekend, during the quiet time outdoors, I offered my life to God, not knowing exactly what that really meant. Hopeless Cases Less than two years later, my sister and I moved from the east coast of Florida to the west, first due to her job and later, because of my acceptance to a college in Saint Petersburg. Our efforts to find a place to live within our means were thwarted time and again due to the unwillingness of numerous apartment managers to rent a one-bedroom unit to two girls—even though we had shared a bedroom our whole lives and were sisters! Discouraged after yet another refusal, we stopped at the Cathedral of Saint Jude to pray. Knowing nothing about this Saint, we spied a prayer card and discovered that Saint Jude was the ‘patron of hopeless cases.’ After a bumpy search for affordable housing, our futile situation seemed to qualify as a hopeless case, so we knelt down to invoke Saint Jude’s intercession. Lo and behold, after arriving at the next apartment complex on our list, we were again greeted with the same hesitance. However, this time, the older woman looked at me, paused, and said, “You remind me of my granddaughter. I don’t rent one-bedrooms to two women, but...I like you, and I’m going to make an exception!” We came to find out that the nearest Catholic Church to our new home was the Holy Cross, where a group called 'Presence of God Prayer Community' met each Tuesday night. Had we been able to rent any other apartment, we would not have been led to this group of joy-filled people we soon came to call 'family!' It was clear that the Holy Spirit was at work, and His presence was revealed time and time again in the 17 years I was actively involved in the group. Completing the Circle Returning to Saint Jude’s, the celebration of life that day was not only of our long-ago pastoral leaders, but it was also very much my own! Remembering my brokenness as a young adult and the loneliness and insecurity I felt at that time, I marveled at how the Lord had changed my life. He used His Spirit and His people to heal me emotionally and spiritually, filling my life with deep and rich friendships that have stood the test of time. He helped me discover the gifts He had given me—the community offered me a place to serve in various ways until I realized that my natural abilities, like that of organization, could be used for spiritual purposes. After several years, I was invited onto a new Pastoral Team whose dynamic leader mentored me by example. Through his encouragement and support, I developed leadership skills that resulted in beginning new ministries to serve the 'household of faith' in the prayer community and the 'least of these' outside the doors of the church. When a new parish began nearby some years later, I was asked to join the music ministry there, and with the Spirit’s prompting, I also participated in various other ministries. Bringing in all that I had learned and experienced over the years, I was able to set up many events that offered opportunities for healing, conversion, and growth within our parish community. For the last 14 years, I have been blessed to organize a women’s fellowship group begun by myself and a friend, who, like me, was changed by the love and care of Christian communities. I have found all of God’s promises in the Scriptures to be true. He is faithful, forgiving, kind, compassionate, and a source of joy deeper than any I have ever thought possible! He has provided meaning and purpose in my life, and with His grace and direction, I have been able to partner with Jesus in ministry for over 40 years now. I didn’t have to 'wander in the desert' for those years, as did the Israelites. The same God Who led His people by the “pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night” (Exodus 13:22) has led me day by day, year by year, revealing His plans for me along the way. A song from my prayer group days lilts through my mind, “Oh how good, how wonderful it is when brothers and sisters live as one!” (Psalm 133:1). Looking around that day, I saw clear evidence of that. The Spirit at work in Father Ken’s mother brought much fruit from the seeds she planted, both in her home and in our community of faith. That same Spirit then brought forth a harvest from the seeds planted and watered in my life over the years. The Apostle Paul said it best in his letter to Ephesians: “Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen!” (3:20-21)

When struggle and pain linger, what keeps us going? My 11-year-old son patiently sat on the examination table while the doctor tested his muscle strength as she had done so often before. Over the last eight years, I had watched her examine his skin and test his muscle strength, and each time, a panic ripped through me. After finishing her exam, she stepped back, faced my 11-year-old son, and gently uttered the words I had dreaded: “Your muscles are showing signs of weakness. I believe the disease is active again.” My son looked at me and then hung his head. My stomach twisted. She put her arm around his shoulders. “Hang in there. I know that, over the years, flare-ups haven’t been easy for you. I know they are very painful, but we’ve managed them before, and we can do it again.” Breathing out slowly, I leaned against the desk next to me to steady myself. She glanced back at me. “Are you okay?” “Yes, the baby is in a weird position, that’s all,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? With a painted-on smile, I murmured, “No, I’m good, thank you.” She turned back to my son. “We’re going to try a new medication.” “Why, he did fine on the old medication,” I said. “He did, but heavy doses of steroids are hard on the body.” Why did I ask questions when I really didn’t want to hear the answers, I thought. “I think it’s time to try a different medication.” My son looked away and rubbed his knees anxiously. “Try not to worry. We will get this under control.” “Okay,” he said. “The medication has some drawbacks, but we will meet what comes.” My heart pounded in my chest. Drawbacks? She turned to me, “Let’s get some blood work. I’ll call you in a week to come up with a plan.” After an anxious week, the doctor called with the test results. “My suspicions have been confirmed. He’s having a flare-up, so we’ll begin the new medication immediately. He may experience some difficult side effects, though.” “Side effects?” “Yes.” Panic set in as she listed possible side effects. Were my prayers being answered, or was I losing my son, bit by bit? “Call me immediately if you notice any of these,” she stated. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I shared the news with my husband, and said, “I’m not okay right now. I’m hanging on by a thread. The kids can’t see me like this. I need to cry it out and get myself together.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye, and said, “You’re trembling, I should go with you. I don’t want you to go into labor early.” “No, I won’t; I’ll be all right. I just need to get myself together.” “Okay. I’ve got everything under control here. It’s going to be all right.” Surrendering… Driving to the chapel, I sobbed, “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had enough. Help me, God. Help me.” Alone in the chapel, I stared sorrowfully up at Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. “Jesus, please, please...stop all of this. Why does he still have this illness? Why does he have to be on such a dangerous medication? Why does he have to suffer? This is too hard. Please, Jesus, please protect him.” I closed my eyes and pictured Jesus’ face. I drew in a deep breath and begged Him to fill my mind and heart. As the torrent of my tears waned, I recalled Jesus’ words in Archbishop Fulton Sheen’s book, Life of Christ. “I created the universe, I set the planets in motion, and the stars and the moon and the sun obey Me.” In my mind, I heard Him say:, “I am in charge! The effects of his medication are no match for Me. Let Me have your cares. Trust in Me.” Were these my thoughts, or was God talking to me? I wasn’t sure, but I knew the words were true; I had to let go of my fears and trust in God to care for my son. I breathed in deeply and breathed out slowly, intent on releasing my fears. “Jesus, I know You are always with me. Please wrap your arms around me and comfort me. I’m so tired of being scared.” Answer Arrives… Suddenly, arms wrapped around me from behind. It was my brother! “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I called the house looking for you. I figured you might be here. When I saw your car in the parking lot, I thought I’d come in and check on you.” “I was asking God to wrap His arms around me when you came up and hugged me.” His eyes opened wide. “Really?” “Yes, really!” As we walked out to the parking lot, I thanked him for coming to check on me. “Your hug reminded me that God reveals His presence in loving actions. Even as I suffer, He sees, hears, and understands. His presence makes it all bearable and enables me to trust and hold onto Him, So, thank you for being a vessel of His love to me today.” We hugged, and tears welled up in my eyes. I felt touched to the core by an overwhelming sense of God’s loving presence.

Do you know the first martyr who preferred to die rather than to reveal the secret of confession? In 14th-century Prague, there lived Father John Nepomucene, who was a famous preacher. As his fame spread, King Wenceslaus IV invited him to the court to settle arguments and take care of the needs of the people in the city. He eventually became the queen’s confessor, spiritually guiding her to patiently bear the cross of the King’s cruelty. One day, the King, who was infamous for his outbursts of anger and jealousy, called the priest into his chambers and started questioning him about the queen’s confessions. Father John refused to reveal the confession secrets despite the King’s attempted bribes and torture; consequently, he was imprisoned. The King kept coercing him, and even offered him riches and honor in return. When he saw that bribery wouldn’t work, he threatened the priest with the death penalty. Father John was made to undergo all manner of torture, including the burning of his sides with torches, but even that would not move him. Finally, the King ordered him to be put in chains, led through the city with a block of wood in his mouth, and to be thrown from Charles Bridge (the Karlsbrücke) into the river Moldau. The saint's response remained the same and he exclaimed: “I will rather die a thousand times.” The King’s cruel order was executed on March 20, 1393. The body of John of Nepomuk was thereafter drawn out of the Moldau and entombed in the Cathedral of Prague. In 1719, when his grave in the cathedral was opened, his tongue was found to be uncorrupted though shriveled. He was canonized by Pope Benedict XIII in 1729. Often pictured near a bridge with a finger to his lips and with five stars over his head, it is believed that on the night Father John was murdered, five stars were seen over the spot where he drowned. For his valiant act of faithfulness to the confessional norms, Father John Nepomucene is considered as the patron saint of confessors.

On life’s winding journey, it’s interesting to know that there are blind spots to look out for! We know how important it is to check our car’s blind spots, especially before changing lanes, reversing, or turning. Unfortunately, we learn the hard way sometimes. Lately, I’ve been struck with the notion that we all possess physical and spiritual blind spots. Jesus taught us to be wary of the latter when He said, “I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.” Some Pharisees who were with Him heard Him say this and asked, “What? Are we blind too?” Jesus said, “If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains” (John 9:39-41). What is Jesus telling us here? We need to be very careful that we stay sitting at Jesus’ feet, heeding His instruction, learning from Him, and staying open to His corrections. As soon as we think we have ‘arrived’ or ‘have this Christian lifestyle down,’ we’re in dangerous territory. Our wisest thoughts, greatest sacrifices, and deepest loves are mere breaths compared to God’s infinite loving wisdom. For we only see partially; we do not see the whole picture, the master plan. Only God does. Saint Paul puts it like this, “Now we see only a reflection as in a mirror, then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). Learning the Hard Way Looking back on my life, I recall that I was completely unaware of my pride, sins, shortcomings, judgments, presumptions, biases, fears, and lack of trust more times than one. Thankfully, God introduced people and events into my life, which helped uncover some of these areas of spiritual blindness. I tend to learn the hard way. For years, I couldn’t quite put my finger on why one woman actively avoided me. It created a lot of tension, as we were in the same play-and-pray group. Eventually, I got the courage and humility to ask how I had offended her. The answer hurt like the dickens, and although we never became friends, at least now I am aware of one of my blind spots that were previously under the radar. It takes a humble heart to allow people to remove splinters from our eyes. And our trouble is, we are not often humble enough. There are many instances in my life when I was unaware of the harm that my unforgiveness, pride, need to control, tolerance for sin, or lack of gratitude caused. I do not wish to make a public confession here, but God has slowly been peeling off layers of spiritual blindness from me. Although it can be painful, I have gained greater spiritual freedom. More to Learn Every Day A wise friend once told me that she looks forward to Lent each year. I have never been one of those holy souls, so my ears perked up when she said that. She told me that she does not choose what she gives up or does for Lent. She lets her husband do that for her. I was absolutely floored by that concept. What if we went to our spouse or a trusted fellow Christian and asked them how we could grow spiritually or what sinful habit we should confess? So many times, our root sin is buried under more obvious issues. For instance, anger might be due to unforgiveness, worry might stem from the need to control, and perfectionism often involves pride. Most sins stem from a lack of trust in God’s goodness. The Power of Direction There is a real power that comes with being able to name your root sin. If you can identify it, you can repent and be free of it. However, root sins are tricky; they like to stay buried. A good regular confessor or spiritual director is a huge help. “Oh, if only I had had a spiritual director from the beginning, then I would not have wasted so many of God’s graces,” wrote Saint Faustina. We can seek out accountability partners. God often uses other people to help us ‘see’ ourselves better. Family members, especially those who are actively following Christ, can be great blind spot checkers, as they see us at our best and our worst. And let’s not forget to simply ask God to reveal our blind spots to us. What if we prepared for confession by asking the Holy Spirit to reveal an area of sin that we are oblivious to or ignoring? What if we did the same at the end of each day? I particularly recommend seeking the advice of wise Christians before making big decisions. Just as it’s more important to check blind spots when we are planning to set out or change direction in a vehicle, we need to be extra careful to do the same when we are discerning our vocations, career choices, and other major life decisions. Heavenly Father, give us humble, listening hearts so that You can change us for the better. Grant us Your vision to grow in our love for You and for our neighbors.

At the beginning of February, the Church in the United States celebrates Catholic Schools Week. I would like to take this opportunity to sing the praises of Catholic schools and to invite everyone—Catholic and non-Catholic alike—to support them. I attended Church-affiliated educational institutions from first grade through graduate school, from Holy Name Elementary School in Birmingham, Michigan, to the Institut Catholique in Paris. That years-long immersion massively shaped my character, my sense of values, my entire way of looking at the world. I am convinced that, especially now, when a secularist, materialist philosophy largely holds sway in our culture, the Catholic ethos needs to be inculcated. Certainly, distinctive marks of the Catholic schools I attended were the opportunity for Mass and other sacraments, religion classes, the presence of priests and nuns (a bit more common in the early years of my formation), and the prevalence of Catholic symbols and images of saints. But what was perhaps most important was the manner in which those schools showed the integration of faith and reason. To be sure, there is no “Catholic” mathematics, but there is indeed a Catholic way to teach math. In his famous parable of the cave, Plato showed that the first step away from a purely materialist vision of the world is mathematics. When someone grasps the truth of even the simplest equation, or the nature of a number, or a complex arithmetical formula, he has, in a very real sense, left the realm of passing things and has entered a universe of spiritual reality. The theologian David Tracy has remarked that the commonest experience of the invisible today is through the understanding of the pure abstractions of mathematics and geometry. Properly taught, mathematics, therefore, opens the door to the higher spiritual experiences offered by religion, to the invisible realm of God. Similarly, there is no peculiarly “Catholic” physics or biology, but there is indeed a Catholic approach to those sciences. No scientist could ever get her work off the ground unless she believed in the radical intelligibility of the world—that is to say, the fact that every aspect of physical reality is marked by an understandable pattern. This is true of any astronomer, chemist, astrophysicist, psychologist, or geologist. But this leads rather naturally to the question: Where did these intelligible patterns come from? Why should the world be so marked by order, harmony, and rational patterning? There is a marvelous article composed by the twentieth-century physicist Eugene Wigner entitled “The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Mathematics in the Natural Sciences.” Wigner’s argument was that it cannot be mere chance that the most complex mathematics successfully describes the physical world. The answer of the great Catholic tradition is that this intelligibility comes, in fact, from a great creative intelligence that stands behind the world. People who practice the sciences, therefore, should have no problem believing that “in the beginning was the Word.” There is no “Catholic” history either, though there is most certainly a Catholic way of looking at history. Typically, historians do not simply recount the events of the past. Rather, they look for certain overarching themes and trajectories within history. Most of us probably don’t even realize this because we came of age within a liberal democratic culture, but we rather naturally see the Enlightenment as the turning point of history, the time of the great revolutions in science and politics that defined the modern world. No one could doubt that the Enlightenment was a pivotal moment, but Catholics certainly don’t see it as the climax of history. Instead, we hold that the pivot point was on a squalid hill outside of Jerusalem around the year 30 AD, when a young rabbi was being tortured to death by the Romans. We interpret everything—politics, the arts, culture, etc.—from the standpoint of the sacrifice of the Son of God. In his controversial Regensburg address from 2006, the late Pope Benedict argued that Christianity can enter into a vibrant conversation with the culture precisely because of the doctrine of the Incarnation. We Christians do not claim that Jesus was one interesting teacher among many, but rather the Logos, the mind or reason of God, made flesh. Accordingly, whatever is marked by logos or rationality is a natural cousin to Christianity. The sciences, philosophy, literature, history, psychology—all of it—find in the Christian faith, therefore, a natural dialogue (there is that word again!) partner. It is this basic idea, so dear to Papa Ratzinger, that informs Catholic schools at their best. And this is why the flourishing of those schools is important, not simply for the Church, but for our whole society.

Get a hands-on experience on how God can use the stuff of earth to communicate the stuff of heaven When I walked out my front door to bring in the garbage cans one day, I stopped short in fear. There was a fresh snakeskin draped over the drain cover next to the house. I immediately called out to my husband, since I have this thing with snakes.  When it became clear that this was only snakeskin and there were no snakes nearby, I relaxed. and asked God what lesson He was trying to teach me that day. What’s the whole point? I’m what teachers call a kinesthetic learner. I learn best by moving or interacting with things. Lately, I’ve noticed that God often reveals Himself to me through material objects. This divine pedagogy is even alluded to in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. “God, who creates and conserves all things by his Word, provides men with constant evidence of himself in created realities.” (CCC, 54) For instance, God sent a smoking fire pot and flaming torch to Abraham, a wrestling angel to Jacob, and a burning bush to Moses. God sent a dove carrying an olive branch and then a rainbow to Noah, some dew to Gideon, and a raven with bread and meat to Elijah. The God of Abraham, the God of Jacob, and the God of Moses is also our God. Why wouldn’t the God of all creation use the visible, tangible matter of earth to communicate invisible and intangible realities of Heaven? Fr. Jacques Philippe has written, “As creatures of flesh and blood, we need the support of material things in order to attain spiritual realities. God knows this, and it is what explains the whole mystery of the Incarnation” (Time for God, p. 58). God can send us messages via a license plate or a bumper sticker. Last week the words on the back of a truck, “keep moving,” resonated with me. They reminded me of the homily insight I heard that very morning — that we are called to keep sharing the Gospel. God might also use nature to teach us. While picking cherries recently, I was reminded of how the harvest is abundant, and the laborers are few. A stormy day might bring to mind that “we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1). A beautiful bird or gorgeous sunset might be God’s way of lifting our sagging spirit. Whenever I am particularly surprised by something, I try to ask God what lesson He might be teaching me. The other night, for instance, when I was debating about getting out of bed to check on my daughter, a prayer card honoring St. Monica, the patron saint of mothers, suddenly fell off my dresser. I immediately got up and checked on her. Or the time when I woke up in the wee hours of the night and felt called to pray a rosary on behalf of a recently deceased family member and was delighted to see the most glorious shooting star. Sometimes God sends His message through other people. How many times have you received a card, phone call, or text from someone that was just the encouragement you needed? One summer, while on a bike ride mulling over the possibility of discontinuing my Bible study, I ran into a friend. Out of the blue, she brought up the fact that she planned to keep her Bible study going because once you stop something, it is very hard to get it going again. God might also use concrete objects to discipline us or help us grow in our discipleship. One morning I stumbled across three large nails. They were identical, but I had found them at three different places: a gas station, my driveway, and down the street. By the third nail, I stopped and asked God what He was trying to tell me and realized I was in need of repentance about something in my life. I’ll never forget the time I stepped outside, and instantly a fly flew into my eye. I'll let you use your imagination for that lesson learned. Learning Style God teaches us all the time, and He accommodates all types of learners. What works for one person may not work for another. Some will hear God more clearly at Mass, others at Eucharistic Adoration, when reading the Bible, or in their private prayer time.  However, God is always at work and continually teaching us through our thoughts, feelings, images, Scripture passages, people, imagination, words of knowledge, music, and each event of our day. I personally appreciate it when God communicates through physical objects, as I tend to remember the lesson better that way. You might be wondering what I learned from the snakeskin. It brought the following scripture to mind: “People do not put new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise the skins burst, the wine spills out, and the skins are ruined. Rather, they pour new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved” (Matthew 9:17). Holy Spirit, help us to be more aware of any lessons You might be teaching us today.  

When everything around you turn to chaos, have you ever asked, “What does God want?” My life, like each of ours, is unique and irreplaceable. God is good, and I am thankful for my life, even with all the ups and downs. I was born to Catholic parents and baptized Catholic on the Feast of Christ the King. I attended a Catholic grammar school and one year of Catholic High School. I couldn’t wait to be confirmed and become a soldier for Christ. I remember telling Jesus I would never miss Mass. I married a Catholic man and raised our children Catholic. My faith, though, was in my head and hadn’t yet moved to my heart. Tracing Back Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of Jesus as my friend. As a young, newly married woman, I remember missing Mass a few times because I thought I would enjoy doing whatever I wanted. I was so wrong. I thank my mother-in-law’s unwitting intervention: on one of those Sundays, she asked me how Mass was. I managed to ignore her question and change the subject, but God reached me through her question. The next Sunday, I went to Mass and resolved never to miss again. Like many moms, I was busy with family life, volunteering at school, teaching religious education, working part-time, etc. Frankly, I did not know how to say “no” to anyone. I was exhausted. Yes, I was a good woman and tried to do good things, but I did not know Jesus very well. I knew He was my friend and received Him at Mass every week, but I realize now I was simply going through the motions. When my kids were in junior high, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and experienced constant pain. I would come home from work and rest. The pain caused me to stop doing many things. One day a friend called to ask how I was. All I did was complain about myself and my pain. Then my friend asked me, “What does God want?” I became uncomfortable and began to cry. Then I got angry and quickly hung up. “What does God have to do with my pain,” I thought. My friend’s question haunted me. It was all I could think about. Though to this day, I can’t remember who invited me to the women’s weekend, the minute I heard about a retreat at my parish called Christ Renews His Parish (CRHP), I immediately said, “Yes!” All I could think about was a weekend away from home, catching up on sleep, and having someone waiting on me. Again, I was so wrong. Practically every minute of the weekend was planned. Rest? I got some, but nothing like I had expected. Notice the focus on “me, myself, and I.” Where was the Lord? Little did I know that my “yes” to this Spirit-filled weekend would open the door to my heart. Overwhelming Presence During one of the talks, I was moved to tears. I felt compelled to pause, and in my heart, say directly to God words that would change my life, words that I meant with all my heart, words that opened the door for Jesus to enter and began to move my knowledge of God from my head to my heart! “Lord, I love you,” I said, “I am all yours. I will do whatever you ask of me, and I will go wherever you send me.” My heart needed to expand so I could learn to love like God loves me. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life” (John 3:16). That conversation sparked a conversion, a metanoia, a turning of my heart toward God. I had experienced the unconditional love of God, and suddenly God became first and foremost in my life. It’s just so hard to describe, except that I will never forget it. I felt like God took my hand in the darkness and ran with me. I was on fire and happy and surprised at what the Lord was doing and continues to do in my life. Shortly after my conversion and following a Life in the Spirit seminar, I was healed of my fibromyalgia. I looked at my life and asked the Lord to help me become more like Him. I realized that I needed to learn forgiveness, so I asked God to show me who I needed to forgive or to ask forgiveness from. He did, and little by little, I learned how to forgive and accept forgiveness. I experienced healing in one of my most important relationships - my relationship with my mom. I finally learned how to love her as God did. My family experienced healing, as well. I began to pray more. Prayer was exciting to me. Silence was where I met the Lord. In 2003 I felt God calling me to Kenya, and in 2004, I volunteered at a hospice orphanage for three months. Since CRHP, I had felt called to become a spiritual director and went on to be a certified spiritual director. There is so much more. There is always so much more when you come to know Jesus Christ. Looking back at my life, I wouldn’t change a thing because it has made me who I am today. However, I do wonder what may have happened to me had I not said those life-changing words. God loves you. God knows you completely —good and bad— but still loves you. God wants you to live in the light of His love. God wants you to be happy and bring all your burdens to him. “Come to me all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). I encourage you to say this prayer from the depths of your heart: “Lord, I love you. I am all yours. I will do whatever you ask of me, and I will go wherever you send me.” I pray your life will never be the same and that no matter what is going on around you, you will find rest and peace because you walk with the Lord.

Who is your favorite hero? Have you ever met a superhero in your life? As a kid growing up in San Francisco in the ‘50s, we had our heroes, usually of the cowboy variety— paramount of whom was John Wayne, who could go where he wanted to go, had a code that he lived by, defeated the bad guys (or those whom the society at that time deemed to be ‘bad guys’), got the girl at the end, and rode off into the sunset. As the USA was moving from a victory over the Axis powers following WWII into the perils of the Cold War (nuclear war drills, the Cuban Missile Crisis, etc.), the heroic figure of John Wayne was appealing, as we longed for a time when our trails were indeed ‘happy.’ Meet the Real Hero Fast forward to 2022, and the desire for heroes still persists. Just look at the superhero franchises that dominate mainstream movies. The Marvel movies and their ilk, which resemble more ‘theme park’ experiences than exploring the complexities of our human experience, offer us a seemingly endless supply of superheroes (not just ‘heroes’ but ‘superheroes’!) who defeat our enemies. When dealing with the ravages of the global pandemic, the war in Europe, nuclear saber-rattling, global warming, economic uncertainty, and violence on the streets of the United States, superheroes address our desire that great men and women can overcome the dangers that are thrust upon us. At this juncture, a Christian may raise his hand and say, “Well, we have a hero that tops any and all ‘superheroes,’ and His name is Jesus.” That raises the question, is Jesus a hero? I don’t think so, because a hero does something that the ordinary person can’t or won’t do, so, we vicariously watch them overcome enemies, which temporarily relieves us of our anxiety until it inevitably returns with the next crisis. While Jesus is not a hero in the conventional sense, He definitely is a warrior of a unique kind: He is the Word of God who became human to save us from sin and death. He is going to battle with these arch-enemies, but He is not going to use weapons of aggression, violence, and destruction. Rather, He will overcome them through mercy, forgiveness, and compassion, all brought to the fore through His Passion, Death, and Resurrection. Notice how He overcame sin and death. Beginning in the Garden of Gethsemane, He absorbed our sin—our dysfunction, disorder, inhumanity, self-absorption—and became sin. According to St. Paul: “For our sake He made Him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21). Though Jesus is not a sinner because He is divine—the second person of the Trinity—He took our sin and for a time ‘became sin,’ which killed Him. The harsh reality is that our sins killed Jesus, the Son of God. But, the Christian story did not end on Good Friday because three days later, God the Father raised Jesus from the dead through the power of the Holy Spirit. In so doing, our arch-enemies—sin and death—were vanquished. So, Jesus is definitely the supreme spiritual warrior, but He’s not a hero in the conventional sense. Why not? Thread in Divine Tapestry Jesus’ Passion, Death, and Resurrection are the key marks of the Paschal Mystery, the mystery of our Faith. Notice the ‘our.’ Jesus went through His suffering and dying —not to spare us from going through it— but to show us how to live and suffer so that we may experience resurrected life now and for eternity. You see, as baptized members of His mystical Body, the Church, we “move, live, and have our being” in Jesus (Acts 17:28). To be sure, He wants us to believe in Him because, as we hear in John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Building on that foundational belief, we’re called to be His disciples to carry out His Mission, which He gave to His Church at His Ascension (cf. Mark 16:19-20 and Matthew 28:16-20). More to it, we’re called to participate in His very Being. As Romano Guardini notes in his spiritual classic, The Lord, “we are like a thread in a divine tapestry: we realize our humanity in and through Him.” In other words, we do as Jesus modeled for us. Participating in the Resurrected and Glorified Presence of Jesus through the Sacramental life of the Church, especially the Eucharist, we live the Paschal Mystery through the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. So, is Jesus a hero? Listen to what Peter said when Jesus asked him: “Who do people say that I am?” Peter’s reply: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:17). Jesus is more than a hero; He is a warrior of a unique kind. He is the sole and universal SAVIOR!

This family’s story seems like a bad movie, but the ending is sure to startle you Our story starts at home, where I grew up in San Antonio, Texas, with my two younger brothers, Oscar and Louis. Dad was the music minister at our church, while Mom played the piano. Our childhood was happy– all about church and family, with my grandparents living nearby. We thought everything was fine, but when I was in sixth grade, Mom and Dad told us they were getting divorced. We didn’t know what that meant at first because nobody in my family had been divorced, but we soon found out. We were bounced from house to house as they fought for custody. About a year later, Dad went out of town for the weekend. My brothers and I were supposed to be with Mom but ended up staying with some friends at the last minute. We were surprised when Dad flew home early and came to collect us but devastated when he told us why. Mom had been found dead in her car in a deserted parking lot. Apparently, two men had robbed her at gunpoint and stolen her purse and jewelry. Then, both of them raped her in the back seat before shooting her in the face three times and leaving her to die on the floorboard of her car. When Dad told us, we couldn’t believe it. Why would anybody want to kill Mom? We wondered if they were going to come after us. Fear became part of our young lives. The Aftermath After the funeral, we tried to return to normal life with Dad, but I’ve learned that normal never returns for victims of serious crime. Dad had a construction business. A year after Mom’s murder, Dad was arrested with two of his employees and charged with capital murder and criminal solicitation for hiring these two men to kill Mom. The three of them were all blaming each other. One of the employees claimed he overheard Dad hiring the other guy to commit the murder. Dad proclaimed his innocence, and we believed him, but his bail was denied, and everything changed for us. When Mom was killed, we were the victim’s kids. People, especially at church, wanted to help us through the process. They were giving and kind. However, after Dad was arrested, we suddenly got treated differently. There’s a stigma about being an offender’s kid. People described us as damaged goods who wouldn’t amount to anything. We moved in with my aunt and uncle, and I started high school in Austin, but kept visiting Dad in the county jail because we loved him and believed in his innocence. Two and a half years later, Dad was finally put on trial. It was really hard for us seeing all the details splashed all over the news, especially for me because I shared the same name. When he was found guilty, we were devastated, especially when he was sentenced to death and transferred to Huntsville to await execution. If you’re the family member of an inmate, it’s like your life is on hold. Shocking Confession During my senior year in college, there was a new development in the case. The secretary to the District Attorney disclosed that the prosecutor had altered evidence to prove Dad was guilty. We had always believed in Dad’s innocence, so we were overjoyed. Dad was taken off death row and sent back to the county jail to await a new trial which took place four years later. My brothers and I testified for him, and the jury found him not guilty of capital murder, which meant he would never be executed. I can’t express the relief I felt to know that I wasn’t going to lose Dad like that. However, they found him guilty of the lesser charge of murder, which came with a life sentence. Despite this, everyone knew that he would be released on parole soon. We had done all we could over all these years to get Dad home, so we were so excited that it was about to happen and that he would come and live with our family. While I was visiting him before his release, I asked him to clarify some of the issues that had come out during the trial. He said I could ask him anything, but when I got to this one particular question, he looked me right in the face and said, “Jim, I did it, and she deserved it.” I was shocked. He was confessing, and he wasn’t even sorry about what he had done. He was blaming it on Mom. He thought he was the victim because he was in prison. I was furious. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t the victim. My mom, who was buried, was the victim. I can’t describe how betrayed we all felt that he had been lying to us for all this time. It felt like we were all grieving for Mom for the very first time because when Dad got arrested, it all became about him. My family protested his parole, so the parole board denied it. I went back to see him in jail to tell him that he would go back to prison, not to Death Row, where he was safe from other prisoners, but to a maximum security prison for the rest of his life. I told him that he would never see any of us again. We had been visiting him all these years, writing to him, and putting money in his prison account. He had been a big part of our lives, but now we were turning our backs on him. Letting the Hook Off After four years of no contact, I went back to see Dad in prison. I had my own son now, and I couldn’t comprehend ever hurting him, especially since I’d learned that Dad had also hired the men to kill my brothers and me as well. I wanted some answers, but the first thing he did was apologize to me for what he had done to Mom, my brothers, and me. He was a man who had never said sorry for anything. I didn’t believe it, but I learned that when you hear somebody say they are sorry, you start healing. The next thing he said was, “Jim, I finally gave my life to God and became a Christian after I hit rock bottom in prison.” For the next year, I visited Dad once a month. During that time, I went through a forgiveness process. On the face of it, it seems impossible to be able to forgive your dad for killing your mom. I work with a lot of crime victims. What I have learned is that if you don’t forgive an offender or someone who has hurt you, you become bitter, angry, and depressed. I didn’t want Dad to control me any longer, so I forgave Dad, not to let him off the hook, but to let myself off the hook. I didn’t want to be that bitter, angry, depressed man. In this process of reconciliation, I spoke up for Mom, who had had her voice taken from her. Over that year, as we talked through the issues, I saw a life change in Dad. About a year after I resumed contact, I got a call from the prison chaplain telling me that Dad had suffered a brain aneurysm. He was brain-dead, so we had to make the decision to take him off life support, which sounds easy, but it wasn’t. Despite everything, I still loved him. We claimed his body so we wouldn’t have the legacy of having our father buried on prison grounds. We were surprised to see the warden and prison chaplain at the funeral, and they told us that, for the first time, approval had been given to have a memorial service for our dad at the prison chapel. When we attended, we sat in the front row with 300 prison inmates seated behind us, surrounded by guards. For the next three hours, the men came up to the microphone, one by one, looked us straight in the face, and told us their stories of how they had turned to Christ because Dad had shared his faith with them and changed their lives. By admitting and repenting his bad choices, taking responsibility for his actions, and asking God for forgiveness, he had taken his life in a new direction and led others with him. When you hear one person say that, it is powerful–300 is overwhelming. I started speaking in churches, in prisons, and in restorative justice programs - to victims and to offenders wanting to rehabilitate, sharing our story of restoration after a forgiveness process. I have witnessed over and over how people can change. When I tell our story, I get to honor both our parents–Mom for the positive impact she had on our lives and Dad for his decision to truly repent of his sins. The ending of our story is that we have been able to see how God can take horrible situations and turn them into good. What we have learned about repentance and forgiveness has made us much better husbands and fathers because we were intentional in giving our families something better. We have learned through bitter experience that to truly repent, you have to keep repenting, and to truly forgive, you have to keep forgiving, not once, but constantly.