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Gifts are part and parcel of Christmas, but do we realize the value of The Gift we have been so freely given?
I was awakened one December morning by my son Timmy’s exuberant proclamation: “Mom! Guess know what?” (his way of expressing an invitation to respond, without a requirement to wait). He was brimming over with the need to impart urgent information…so pronto!
Seeing my eyelids forced apart, he blurted out with glee, “Santa brought ME a bike and YOU a bike!” The truth, of course, was that the larger bike was for his big sister, but as you can imagine, that was actually a bit of irrelevant information; what really mattered was Timmy got his heart’s fondest wish—a new bike!
The season that causes many of us to pause and linger nostalgically on memories from the past is fast approaching. There is something about Christmas that brings us back to those times as children when life was simple, and our happiness was predicated on having the desires of our hearts filled as we opened the gifts under the tree.
As any parent knows, having a child completely shifts our perspective from life being about what is important to us to being all about meeting our child’s needs and often, wants. It’s almost as if we gingerly dusted off our own View-Master toy and handed it, freely and happily, to our offspring with nary a thought! For those of you fortunate enough to open one of those toys on Christmas morning, you will remember it came with a thin cardboard reel containing pairs of small Kodachrome photographs that, when viewed through the apparatus, created the illusion of three-dimensional scenes. Once a child comes into our family, we see everything not just through our own lens but through theirs. Our world expands, and we remember, and in some ways relive, the innocence of the childhood we left behind long ago.
Not everyone has a carefree, secure childhood, but many are fortunate to remember the good in their lives while the difficulties we experience growing up recede in time. Still, what we focus on repeatedly will shape the way we ultimately live our lives. Perhaps that is why it is said, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood!” What this requires, however, is intention and practice, especially through choices such as expressing gratitude. Repeated peering through a View-Master, which once enlarged the landscape of our small worlds, led us to recognize beauty, colors, and different dimensions in the pictures within our field of vision. In the same way, a frequent habitual practice of gratitude can lead to seeing of life as a prospect of opportunities, healing, and forgiveness rather than a series of disappointments, hurts, and offenses.
Social scientists, who examine and observe how individuals interact and behave with each other, have concluded that gratitude practices are psychologically helpful. “Thanking others, thanking ourselves, Mother Nature, or the Almighty – gratitude in any form can enlighten the mind and make us feel happier. It has a healing effect on us” (Russell & Fosha, 2008). A wise proverb says, “Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgiving, turn routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.”
Pondering the past leads to remembrance. Focusing on the things we should be grateful for reveals what we couldn’t grasp in our youth…that is, until we receive the gift of a View-Master one Christmas! In truth, we have all been given one, but not all have opened theirs. One present lying under the tree may remain there while other gifts topped with colorful bows are eagerly scooped up by outstretched hands. Was the reluctance of the recipient to select a particular package based on the subdued hues of the plain wrapping? Perhaps the lack of curled ribbons and gift tags? The View-Master inside would open new vistas, bring new adventures, and change the world of the one who opens it, but that recognition requires receptivity from the receiver. And when a gift is presented by another in a way that doesn’t invite curiosity, it will likely remain untouched.
Those who have been longing for a View-Master, who actively look for it under the tree, who are able to trust that something better lies underneath the simple exterior, won’t be disappointed. They know that the best presents often come unexpectedly, and once they are opened, their appreciation develops as their value is recognized. Eventually, as more time is spent exploring the many facets of the gift, the treasure now becomes a cherished part of the receiver’s life.
There was a certain group of people long ago who were hoping to be given what had been promised to them for years. Yearning for it, they lived in anticipation that one day they would receive it. When the time came for this promise to be delivered, it was wrapped in ordinary cloth, and was so small that in the darkness of the night, only a few shepherds knew of its arrival. As the light began to grow, some people tried to block it, but the shadows gave evidence of this light’s influence. Reminded of the value of becoming a child again, many people began walking with this Light that illuminated their path. With enhanced clarity and vision, meaning and purpose began to frame their daily lives. Filled with wonder and amazement, their understanding deepened. For generations since, numerous individuals’ devotion has been strengthened with the remembrance of receiving the promised Word that became flesh. The realization of what they were given changed everything.
This Christmas, may you receive the desire of your heart, as my son did many years ago. As our eyes open, we too may exclaim, “Guess know what?” God brought ME a “Wonderful Counselor” and YOU the “Prince of Peace!” If you have unwrapped this precious gift, you know the fulfillment and joy that follows. As we respond with gratitude, it causes us to want others to experience what we’ve received. Thoughtful consideration of how we present what we now want to give increases the likelihood that the gift will be opened. How will I deliver the treasure I’ve discovered? Will I swath it in love? Cover it with joy? Envelop it in a peaceful heart? Cloak it in patience? Enfold it with kindness? Package it in generosity? Protect it through faithfulness? Bundle it with gentleness?
Perhaps the final fruit of the Holy Spirit might be considered, if the recipient is not yet ready to open this gift. Could we then choose to encase our treasure in self-control?
Karen Eberts is a retired Physical Therapist. She is the mother to two young adults and lives with her husband Dan in Largo, Florida
My new hero is Mother Alfred Moes. I realize that she is not a household name, even among Catholics, but she should be. She came on my radar screen only after I became the Bishop of the Diocese of Winona-Rochester, where Mother Alfred did most of her work and where she lies buried. Hers is a story of remarkable courage, faith, perseverance, and sheer moxie. Trust me, once you take in the details of her adventures, you will be put in mind of a number of other gritty Catholic Mothers: Cabrini, Teresa, Drexel, and Angelica, to name a few. Mother Alfred was born Maria Catherine Moes in Luxembourg in 1828. As a young girl, she became fascinated by the possibility of doing missionary work among the native peoples of North America. Accordingly, she journeyed with her sister to the New World in 1851. First, she joined the School Sisters of Notre Dame in Milwaukee but then transferred to the Holy Cross Sisters in La Porte, Indiana, a group associated with Father Sorin, CSC, the founder of the University of Notre Dame. After clashing with her superiors—a rather typical happenstance for this very feisty and confident lady—she made her way to Joliet, Illinois, where she became superior of a new congregation of Franciscan sisters, taking the name ‘Mother Alfred.’ When Bishop Foley of Chicago tried to interfere with the finances and building projects of her community, she set out for greener pastures in Minnesota, where the great Archbishop Ireland took her in and allowed her to establish a school in Rochester. It was in that tiny town in southern Minnesota that God commenced to work powerfully through her. In 1883, a terrible tornado tore through Rochester, killing many and leaving many others homeless and destitute. A local doctor, William Worrall Mayo, undertook the task of caring for the victims of the disaster. Overwhelmed by the number of injured, he called upon Mother Alfred’s sisters to help him. Though they were teachers rather than nurses and had no formal training in medicine, they accepted the mission. In the wake of the debacle, Mother calmly informed Doctor Mayo that she had a vision that a hospital should be built in Rochester, not simply to serve that local community, but rather the whole world. Astonished by this utterly unrealistic proposal, Doctor Mayo told Mother that she would need to raise $40,000 (an astronomical figure for that time and place) in order to build such a facility. She in turn told the doctor that if she managed to raise the funds and build the hospital, she expected him and his two physician sons to staff the place. Within a short span of time, she procured the money, and the Saint Mary’s Hospital was established. As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, this was the seed from which the mighty Mayo Clinic would grow, a hospital system that indeed, as Mother Alfred envisioned long ago, serves the entire world. This intrepid nun continued her work as builder, organizer, and administrator, not only of the hospital that she had founded, but of a number of other institutions in southern Minnesota until her death in 1899 at the age of seventy-one. Just a few weeks ago, I wrote about the pressing need in our diocese for priests, and I urged everyone to become part of a mission to increase vocations to the priesthood. With Mother Alfred in mind, might I take the occasion now to call for more vocations to women’s religious life? Somehow the last three generations of women have tended to see religious life as unworthy of their consideration. The number of nuns has plummeted since the Second Vatican Council, and most Catholics, when asked about this, would probably say that being a religious sister is just not a viable prospect in our feminist age. Nonsense! Mother Alfred left her home as a very young woman, crossed the ocean to a foreign land, became a religious, followed her instincts and sense of mission, even when this brought her into conflict with powerful superiors, including a number of Bishops, inspired Doctor Mayo to establish the most impressive medical center on the planet, and presided over the development of an order of sisters who went on to build and staff numerous institutions of healing and teaching. She was a woman of extraordinary intelligence, drive, passion, courage, and inventiveness. If someone had suggested to her that she was living a life unworthy of her gifts or beneath her dignity, I imagine she would have a few choice words in response. You’re looking for a feminist hero? You can keep Gloria Steinem; I’ll take Mother Alfred any day of the week. So, if you know a young woman who would make a good religious, who is marked by smarts, energy, creativity, and get-up-and-go, share with her the story of Mother Alfred Moes. And tell her that she might aspire to that same kind of heroism.
By: Bishop Robert Barron
MoreRani Maria Vattalil was born on 29 January 1954 to Eleeswa and Paily Vattalil in a small village called Pulluvazhy, in Kerala, India. From a young age, she was brought up in the Christian faith, having love for the poor. She attended daily Mass and led family prayers. During the final year of high school, Rani felt the Lord calling her to consecrated life and entered the Franciscan Clarist Congregation in 1972. It was Rani Maria’s ardent desire to do missionary work in North India and serve the poor, even if it cost her life. She was sent to Madhya Pradesh (a central Indian state) and served several mission areas there. Sister Rani Maria was given the responsibility of coordinating the social apostolate of the local diocese. She organized various educational programs for children and young people and worked relentlessly to empower the indigenous people. She understood how the poor, illiterate farmers were exploited and taken advantage of by their landlords. So, she educated them on their rights, helped them fight for justice, and spoke for those who were unjustly imprisoned. All this infuriated the upperclass landlords, who threatened her with dire consequences if she continued supporting the cause of the poor. But Rani Maria feared nothing and did not back down from her mission to 'love her neighbor.' A devious plan was then hatched by those who hated her. On 25th February 1995, while traveling by bus, she was mercilessly stabbed 54 times by Samundhar Singh—a man hired by the landlords. She breathed her last, repeating the Holy name of Jesus. Rani Maria worked her entire life to fight for the dignity and rights of her fellow men and bore witness to the Gospel through her social activities. Sister Rani Maria’s family, following the valiant example of their daughter, forgave her murderer wholeheartedly, even inviting him to their home! This act of mercy touched him deeply; he repented of his heinous crime and became a changed man. Sister Rani Maria was beatified by Pope Francis on 4th November 2017.
By: Shalom Tidings
MoreI was three when my life turned upside down. Nothing was ever the same again, until I met Him! At three years of age, I had a heavy fever followed by a sudden seizure, after which I started showing signs of facial palsy. By the time I was five, my face became visibly asymmetric. Life ceased to be smooth. As my parents kept reaching out to new hospitals, the pain and mental damage I went through became too much to bear—the repeated questions, the weird looks, the effects and aftereffects of new medications every once in a while… Crawling into a Cocoon I was comfortable alone because, ironically, groups made me feel lonely. I was so scared that the kids next door might cry out loud if I smiled at them. I remember the sweets my dad brought home every night to help me drink the unpleasant medicine, which was overloaded with bitterness. The weekly walks with my mother along the hospital corridors for the physiotherapy sessions were never a weekend trip—every time the vibrations from the stimulator hit my face, tears would start to roll down. There were some beautiful souls who soothed my fears and pain, like my parents, who never gave up on me. They took me to every hospital they possibly could, and we tried a variety of treatments. Later, I would also see them devastated when neurosurgery was suggested. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was being lived out somewhere else. I had to do something. So, in the first semester of college, unable to bear it any longer, I decided to discontinue the medicines. Discovering Beauty After I stopped the meds, I had an adrenaline rush to create something on my own. I welcomed a new life, but I was totally clueless about how I should live it. I started writing more, dreaming more, painting more, and searching for colors in all the grey areas of life. Those were the days I started actively participating in the Jesus Youth Movement (an international Catholic movement approved by the Holy See); I started to slowly learn how to open myself to God’s love and feel loved again… The realization of the importance of the Catholic lifestyle helped me understand my purpose. I started to believe again that I am so much more than everything that has happened to me. Now, when I look back at those moments marked by the closed doors, I can clearly see that within each rejection, the ever-compassionate presence of Jesus accompanied me, enveloping me with His boundless love and understanding. I recognize who I’ve become and the wounds I’ve healed from. Reason to Hold on Our Lord says: “Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you, I will give people in exchange for you, nations in exchange for your life. Do not be afraid, for I am with you.” (Isaiah 43:4-5) Finding Him in my insecurities was never an easy task. While having plenty of reasons to move farther, it was all about finding that one reason to stay. And it gave me strength and confidence to live through my vulnerabilities. The journey of finding my worth, dignity, and joy in Christ was simply wonderful. We often complain about not finding grace even after the struggles we go through. I think it’s all about seeing through the struggles. Expressing honesty in the slightest adjustment in life without any sort of wrath brings light to your life. It was quite a journey. And while He is still writing my story, I’m learning each day to embrace more, reach out without inhibitions, and make room for little joys in life. My prayers no longer hold the constant need for things I desire. Instead, I’m asking Him to strengthen me to say ‘Amen’ to the changes that keep happening along the way. I’m praying that He heals and transforms me from all the negative influences within and around me. I’m asking Him to revive the parts of me that were lost. I’m thanking Him for everything I’ve been through, all the blessings I receive every minute of the day, and for the person I’ve become. And I’m trying my best to love Him with all my heart and soul.
By: Emilin Mathew
MoreLife seems too difficult sometimes, but if you hold on and trust, unexpected gifts can surprise you. “Protect us from all fear and anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.” Being a lifelong Catholic, I’d recited this prayer at every Mass. Fear hasn’t been my companion for many years, though there was a time when it was. I’d come to know the “perfect love” described in 1 John 4:18, and was helped to live in the reality of He who conquers fear. I seldom experience anxiety at this point in my life, but one morning I did feel a sense of foreboding. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the cause. Recently, tripping on a curb resulted in a hard fall, and I was still feeling discomfort in my hip and pelvis. Sharp pains resurfacing every time I lifted my arms reminded me that my shoulders still needed more time to heal. New job stresses and the sudden death of a dear friend’s son added to my angst. The state of our world alone can cause significant distress for anyone who spends much time digesting the headlines. Despite the unknown origin of my unease, I knew how to respond. Closing my eyes, I surrendered the heavy burden I was feeling. Angels Working Overtime The next day, while I was driving to a patient’s home, a tropical storm developed unexpectedly. Traffic was heavy, and despite beaming headlights and decreasing speed, visibility was obscured by pounding sheets of rain. Out of nowhere, I felt another vehicle’s impact, pushing my car into the right lane! Surprisingly calm, I steered to the emergency lane, despite a now flattened tire’s drag. A fire rescue vehicle soon pulled up; a paramedic who hopped into my car to avoid the torrential downpour inquired if I was hurt. No...I wasn’t! That seemed highly unlikely since it had only been a few days since the lingering aftereffects of my fall had ceased. I’d prayed for protection that morning before setting out, knowing what the weather predicted. Clearly, the angels had been working overtime; cushioning first my fall, then the slam from this crash. With my car now in the body shop and insurance covering the repairs, my husband Dan and I packed for our long-planned vacation. Just before we left, I was disheartened to hear that our insurer was almost certainly going to total my car! Only five years old and in pristine condition prior to the crash, its Blue Book value currently was a mere $8,150. That wasn’t good news! We intended to keep this fuel-efficient hybrid as long as it would keep running, even purchasing an extended warranty to ensure our plan. Taking a deep breath, I again acted on what I’ve learned to do in situations beyond my control: I released it to God and asked for His intervention. Unfailing Prayer Once in Salt Lake City, we secured our rental car and were soon driving through the beautiful Grand Teton National Park. Pulling into the parking garage of the hotel that evening, I uncharacteristically backed into a narrow spot. While Dan unloaded our luggage, I noticed a screw in one tire. My husband’s concern about the puncture prompted him to call various service centers. Finding none open on Sundays, we decided to take our chances driving. The next morning, we said a prayer and set out, hoping the tire would hold while driving on the narrow mountain roads in and out of Yellowstone. Fortunately, the day was uneventful. Arriving at the Hampton Inn, where Dan had made a reservation months before, our jaws dropped! Right next door was a tire repair shop! Monday morning’s quick service meant we were on the road in less than an hour! It turned out that the tire was leaking, so the repair averted a possible blowout—a blessing since we ended up driving over 1200 miles that week! My body shop, meanwhile, authorized further investigation for “hidden damages” from the accident. If found, the cost would exceed the car’s value and definitely lead to totaling! Praying daily, I yielded the outcome and waited. Finally, I was informed that the cost of the repairs had come in just under the wire...they would fix my car after all! (A few weeks later, as I went to pick up my refurbished car, I found that the cost had indeed exceeded the Blue Book value, but my prayer was answered too!) A Spectacular Blessing Another example of God’s providential care came as we continued on our trek into Yellowstone National Park! The parking lot was jammed when we arrived. We circled aimlessly when suddenly, a spot was available near the front! We hurriedly parked and walked over to find out that the next eruption of the Old Faithful* was expected in ten minutes. With just enough time to get to the viewing area, the geyser exploded! We traced the path of the boardwalk through the various geological formations, springs, and geysers. My outdoors-loving husband busily snapped pictures, one after another! Marveling at the amazing spectacle surrounding us, I glanced at my watch...the next eruption of Old Faithful was expected soon. Sprays burst as expected into the air, this time not obscured by tourists since we were on the back side of the geyser! Feeling grateful, I thanked God for the day’s blessings—first, the tire shop’s perfect location, then the good news from the insurance company about my car, and finally, the amazing spectacle of nature. Reflecting on God’s active presence, I prayed: “Thank you for loving us, Lord! I know You love every other person on earth just as much, but Dan connects with You so strongly in Creation, would You reveal Yourself to him once more?” Continuing to amble along, my husband’s camera battery died. Sitting while he replaced it, I heard a strange sound. I turned around to see a huge explosion. It was spectacular—the Beehive was twice as high as Old Faithful! Looking into our guidebook, we read that this geyser was one of the best, but so unpredictable that eruptions could occur from anywhere between 8 hours to up to 5 days...but, it was at the moment we were there that it happened! For sure, God was manifesting Himself to my husband just as I’d asked! Our final stop featured several geysers where a gentleman offered to take our picture. The moment he clicked the shutter, that geyser let loose! We experienced yet another unexpected gift of God’s perfect timing and blessing! As if basking in the beauty of the incredible vistas, waterfalls, mountains, lakes, and rivers wasn’t enough, we also experienced beautiful weather! Despite the prediction of rain every day, we encountered only a few brief showers and lovely temperatures day and night! I had come full circle from my recent stress and anxiety. Surrender led to an immersion in Jesus’ care as well as in the awesome wonder of our Creator! That prayer I had said so many times at Mass was certainly answered! I had been protected, both from fear and serious injury, while being released from anxiety. Waiting had indeed resulted in joyful hope….the anchor for my soul.
By: Karen Eberts
MoreLife is full of unexpected turns. Nearly six years after the death of her mother, Bernadette had to suffer the loss of her father too. Since leaving Lourdes to join the religious order, she never had a chance to see him. When assailed by this sudden demise, this is how Bernadette found strength—A sister found her crying in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary, and when the sister tried to console her, she said: “My sister, always have great devotion to the agony of our Savior. Last Saturday in the afternoon, I prayed to Jesus in agony for all those who would die in that moment, and it was precisely the very moment my father entered eternity. What a consolation it is for me to have helped him.” For Bernadette, the Saint who, as a little girl, had the apparition of Mary at Lourdes, life was not without troubles. She had to go through many tribulations; big and small humiliations bombarded her. She often said: “When my emotions are too strong, I remember the words of Our Lord: 'It is I, don’t be afraid.' I immediately appreciate and thank Our Lord for this grace of rejection and humiliation from those in authority. It is the love of this Good Master who would remove the roots from this tree of pride. The more little I become, the more I grow in the Heart of Jesus.”
By: Shalom Tidings
MoreAt the age of six, a little girl decided she did not like the words ‘prison’ and ‘hanged’. Little did she know that at the age of 36, she would be walking with death-row prisoners. In 1981, the shocking murders of two young children became front-page news in Singapore and around the world. Investigation led to the arrest of Adrian Lim, a medium who had sexually abused, extorted, and controlled a string of clients by fooling them into believing that he had supernatural powers, torturing them with electro-shock ‘therapy.’ One of them, Catherine, had been a student of mine who had gone to him to be treated for depression after her grandmother’s death. He had prostituted her and abused her siblings. When I heard that she was charged with participating in the murders, I sent her a letter and a beautiful picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Six months later, she wrote back, asking, “How can you love me when I have done such bad things?” For the next seven years, I visited Catherine weekly in prison. After months of praying together, she wanted to ask forgiveness from God and all the people that she had hurt. After she had confessed her sins, she had such peace, she was like a different person. When I witnessed her conversion, I was beside myself with joy, but my ministry to prisoners was just beginning! Tracing Back I grew up in a loving Catholic family with 10 children. Every morning, we would all go to Mass together, and my mother would reward us with breakfast in a coffee shop near the church. But after a while, it stopped being about food for the body and became solely about nourishment for the soul. I can trace my love for the Eucharist to those early morning Masses with my family where the seed of my vocation was sown. My father made every one of us feel especially loved, and we never failed to run joyfully into his arms on his return from work. During the war, when we had to flee Singapore, he would home-school us. He’d teach us phonetics every morning, asking us to repeat a passage in which someone was sentenced to death at Sing Sing prison. At the tender age of six, I already knew that I didn’t like that passage. When it was my turn, instead of reading it, I recited the Hail Holy Queen. Little did I know that I would one day be praying with prisoners. It’s Never Too Late When I began visiting Catherine in prison, several other prisoners showed interest in what we were doing. Whenever a prisoner requested a visit, I was glad to meet with them and share God’s loving mercy. God is a loving Father who is always waiting for us to repent and turn back to Him. A prisoner who has broken the law is similar to the Prodigal Son, who came to his senses when he reached rock bottom and realized, “I can go back to my Father.” When he returned to his Father, asking for forgiveness, the Father came running out to welcome him back. It is never too late for anyone to repent of their sins and turn back to God. Embracing Love Flor, a Filipino woman accused of murder, learned about our ministry from other prisoners, so I visited her and supported her as she appealed her death sentence. After the rejection of her appeal, she was very angry with God and wanted nothing to do with me. When I passed her door, I would tell her that God still loved her no matter what, but she sat in despair staring at the blank wall. I asked my prayer group to pray the Novena to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour and offer their sufferings specifically for her. Two weeks later, Flor had a sudden change of heart and asked me to come back with a priest. She was bubbling over joy because Mother Mary had visited her cell, telling her not to be afraid because she would stay with her until the end. From that moment, until the day of her death, there was only joy in her heart. Another memorable inmate was an Australian man who was imprisoned for drug trafficking. When he heard me singing a hymn to Our Lady to another prisoner, he was so touched that he asked me to visit him regularly. His mother even stayed with us when she came to visit from Australia. Eventually, he also asked to be baptized as a Catholic. From that day on, he was full of joy, even as he walked to the gallows. The superintendent there was a young man, and as this former drug dealer walked to his death, this officer came forward and embraced him. It was so unusual, and we felt it was like the Lord Himself embracing this young man. You just can’t help but feel God's presence there. In fact, I know that every time, Mother Mary and Jesus are there to receive them into heaven. It has been a joy for me to truly believe that the Lord who called me has been faithful to me. The joy of living for Him and for His people has been far more rewarding than anything else.
By: Sister M. Gerard Fernandez RGS
MoreAt the age of fourteen, Rosario Rodriguez was innocently unaware that she had become one of many young women to be stalked by a serial rapist and murderer. According to police, the suspect would choose and follow his victim for months near local high schools before he attacked. Rosario was abducted on her way to the bus stop and she was dragged into a wooded area. The attacker attempted to rape Rosario as he firmly pressed his hand against her mouth. Rosario screamed the words of the Hail Mary as he fought to break her and silence her forever. In a 2011 interview with Tony Rossi, host and producer of Christopher Closeup, Rosario recalled, “His eyes got really big. He looked afraid, jumped up and ran away. My first reaction was to turn around to see what he saw, but I saw nothing … We have always had guesses [that he saw] Saint Michael or my guardian angel or our Lady because I was screaming the Hail Mary. But I believe he saw something divine.” Rosario was the first and only victim to have escaped the clutches of this man with her life and without physical injury. Rosario was raised in a loving family with a vibrant Catholic faith. For five years following the attack, Rosario sought healing in her personal relationship with the Lord through the Holy Mass and Eucharistic adoration. Her faith and the sacraments of the Church undoubtedly held Rosario back a step from the brink of total collapse. Admittedly, as time passed, the cross of her interior wounds—unforgiveness, crippling depression, anxiety, self-loathing, hatred and rage—became too heavy for Rosario to humanly bear on her own. Jesus accepted the help of Simon of Cyrene to carry His Cross. Understanding that God often fulfills His will in our lives in relationship with others, Rosario accepted both spiritual and psychological guidance from her parish priest and a Catholic therapist. With much intensive work and prayer, these two men of God helped Rosario carry her cross and led her to a place of peace, joy and healing through the virtue of forgiveness. Unknown to all, Rosario’s personal journey to the top of Calvary had not ended. The first attack served only to pave Rosario’s path for another Via Dolorosa—a way of grief and suffering—that she would be forced to walk many years later, with a heavier cross, bringing her closer to death in a second act of unimaginable violence. In 2009, at the age of thirty-one, Rosario became the victim of a gang-related robbery on an otherwise peaceful Los Angeles street. A woman grabbed Rosario’s purse from around her arm and shot her point blank in the chest with a nine-millimeter gun. The bullet tore Rosario’s esophagus and collapsed her lungs. According to the attending physicians, Rosario should have died instantly. Miraculously, not only did she survive, but the bullet missed Rosario’s heart by one centimeter and she was able to pursue the attacker and remember the license of the fleeing vehicle, which led to her capture and conviction. Rosario’s three-year journey of healing and recovery following the robbery and attempted murder came with many heavy and painful crosses. One cross she refused to carry was the cross of unforgiveness toward the woman who shot her. “I knew I did not ever want to live the way I lived before. I did not want to live shackled. I wanted the freedom of forgiveness. In December at one of the hearings … I looked at her and told her that I have forgiven her and that I pray she might come to know the incredible love, mercy and forgiveness of our Lord Jesus Christ.” “Rosario Rodriguez has cheated violent death twice. In her body she still carries a bullet; in her soul, only forgiveness.” —"Cheating Death and Loving God,” by Tony Rossi Rossi’s statement of Rosario resounds of grace rarely grasped by one who has endured such evil. It is an alltoo- rare gift to the world that someone who has risen from not one but two life-threatening attacks is willing to forgive and re-live the horror in the telling, for the purpose of witnessing the necessity, the beauty and the healing power of faith, forgiveness and the mercy of God. Consider the witness of Immaculee Ilibagiza, whose story of faith and forgiveness, “Left To Tell,” has been translated into 15 languages. Consider the powerful witness of Saint Pope John Paul II as he visited and forgave his would-be assassin, Turkish terrorist Mehmet Ali Agca. “When we forgive evil, we do not excuse it, we do not tolerate it, we do not smother it. We look the evil full in the face, call it what it is, let it’s horror shock and stun and enrage us, and only then do we forgive it.” —Lewis B. Smedes As Christians, we understand that God does not restrict our free will. We understand that God has not caused such wickedness to befall His children. The terror of Auschwitz, Rwanda, Columbine, Virginia Tech, 9/11, Tucson, Aurora and Newtown is incomprehensible, but we know—we must trust—from the heart-piercing agony of Calvary on Good Friday that though God has allowed evil to occur and in His infinite love and mercy, He will always bring a greater good from it. The world is searching for witnesses of the greater good. Humanity is desperately in need of these witnesses and God is raising them up. They are few, but their testimony is strong and universally inspiring. Rosario understands worth in brokenness, joy in suffering and peace in forgiveness. Rosario Rodriguez is poised to be that witness.
By: Brian Kravec
MoreHe knows every hair on our heads. I remember the first time I ran my fingers through my hair in the shower and a clump of hair fell out. From what I had heard growing up, growing some hair above your lip was pretty normal for a lot of women, but I did not know what to make of the hair growing out of my chin or the unpleasant sideburns that began cropping up on the side of my face. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) when I was fifteen years old and had not had a normal cycle in more than a year. Turns out, one in ten women are diagnosed with PCOS. My blood work results said my androgen levels were through the roof, and all I could see was myself feeling less and less like a woman. But what I could not see when I was fifteen was that I would be made whole through the "brokenness" of my body. Starting at the age of fifteen, I began to believe the lie that my worth came from my body. As I grew up, that lie manifested itself in different ways—insecurity about my appearance, reliance on make-up to feel decent about myself, and feeling unlovable because of the possibility of being unable to bear children due to my PCOS. I threw myself into relationships with boys, hoping that I could make them like me, that maybe I could earn their love. Instead, I was left more and more empty until, in my emptiness, I was finally forced to face how I truly felt about myself. Even after I met our Holy one, I still struggled to accept this seemingly unacceptable part of myself. Heck, I still struggle today to love myself because of my PCOS. But at some point along the way, between the frustrated tears as yet another clump of hair fell out and the exhaustion of hoping against hope for a normal cycle after seven months of nothing—somewhere in between the fears and the loss and the pain—I found the truth. The truth, which is so hard to accept some days, is that for some reason, because of some providential purpose, this is how our good Lord made me. Not only did He make with broken ovaries and jacked-up cycles, but He delights in me this way. He loves the hell out of this woman, her body, her past, present and future, and, most of all, her heart. That, my dear friends, is what I have been overlooking all of my life; I have been so busy trying to have this perfect body that does not belong to me that I have forgotten to strive for a more Christ-filled heart. I have been so overcome by my past mistakes and the ways I have found my identity in nothing more than my body that I have completely brushed past the unalienable goodness of my own heart. I have been so busy saying “I'm sorry” for all my imperfections that I have lost the ability to say "Thank you" for all my blessings. Not long ago, a dear friend of mine prayed over me as I cried in anger, feeling as if I was drowning in my own waves. I will never forget what she told me: “Know that there is nothing wrong with you. Even your PCOS belongs to the Lord, and it's time that you reclaim it for Him.” Too often we let the evil one use our "imperfections" to beat us down and we blame it on ourselves. For you it may be a physical condition, a vice or a fear, but whatever it is, no matter how overwhelming it may seem, our Jesus has already overcome. Whatever oceans you are sinking in, reclaim them for the one that “even the wind and seas obey” (Matthew 8:27). He “knows every hair on your head” (Luke 12:7), even the ones you have lost and even the ones that grow in places they are not supposed to. There is nothing wrong with you. He made you good and it is well, even if you do not believe that yet.
By: Claire Buede
MoreI really did not want another cesarean (“C”)-section. I asked everyone I knew (and even those I did not know) to pray, that I would be able to avoid the procedure that had lengthened my recovery period so dramatically after having my twins (only 15 months ago). I enlisted all my favorite saints and assured new saint recruits that they would be listed among my favorites in gratitude for their intercession. Saint Therese sent me a rose to let me know she had my back and my little ones added their powerful intercessory prayer to every family rosary. But in the end, God said no. Every factor that needed to fall into place to allow for an attempted vaginal birth after C-section (VBAC) fell through. I had been given little glimpses of hope, contractions starting the morning I needed them to but stopping instead of intensifying. Every spark of hope became a source of torture, like someone holding an iced cappuccino (my severe prego craving) in front of my face and whisking it away just as I reached out for it. I stared at the rose from Saint Therese and almost wished I could send it back. I was hurt and felt so abandoned by a Heavenly Father who had so often given me more than I deserved. How could He say no to something that would clearly be better for my family and me? Why would He want to increase my suffering? I knew He loved me, so it pained me knowing that the Lord of my heart, the One who could easily move mountains and make paths in the desert, was choosing not to move this baby out in a way that would be less traumatic for my body and would end up laying a heavier burden on my family. "I can't believe He's not answering my prayer," I told my husband. My husband's response was, "He always answers our prayers." My eyes were burning with tears at that point. "But His answer is no, so it doesn't really feel like an 'answered prayer.'" Then God brought me to the garden of Gethsemane, at least mentally. Every time I prayed my mind was filled with the image of Christ begging His Father to save Him from the suffering that lay ahead—praying and weeping with such intensity that His sweat and tears became drops of blood. "Father, if You are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but Yours be done" (Luke 22:42). And so I wanted to joyfully pick up my cross and follow Him, but I could not—because I am weak, because I hate pain, because I liked my plan for how things should go MUCH more than the plan God had for me. I was comforted to see that even Christ could cry out with the voice of humanity and be struggling with the sacrifice He was being called to make, but I realized fully being His follower would mean that I also would have to say, "Thy will be done," and find a way to offer the trial at hand for the good of others. Do not laugh at me, but first I needed to grieve. I had to grieve the loss of MY will. As pathetic as it may seem, I went through the five stages of grief within two days. I experienced denial, fantasizing about secretly giving birth at home or devising some sort of plan to avoid the inevitable. I hit up the anger stage. I was so mad and frustrated that I took it out on ... well, puzzle pieces. Usually, when I would find the kids' stray puzzle pieces I would locate the proper box and put them away but not this time! I took those babies and whipped them into the recycling bin, "HA! Say bye, bye!" (I know pretty lame, but we do have too many incomplete puzzles). I bargained with God (along with all my enlisted saints) and assured Him I would write a very flattering blog about how He always comes through in the end, if He would just make a way for me. Next, I just gave up and entered the depression stage where I cried hard, distanced myself from everyone and generally felt sorry for myself. Finally, I reached the coveted stage of acceptance and here is where I began to ask those around me if there was something that was weighing on their hearts for which I could offer my disappointment and impending recovery period. I offered my pain in hearing no from God and asked if He would in turn say yes to the other women I knew who were hoping for a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC), as well as all those women who were praying for safe and healthy deliveries. Because in the end, God's ‘no’ to one thing is often a huge ‘yes’ to something else. A friend of mine who prayed for years that God would fill her womb with a child was met with a firm ‘no’, but elsewhere another woman was bringing several children into the world (in spite of not being able to care for them) and those children are now in my friend's arms. Had God said ‘yes’ to her, in her desire to mother her own biological children, she would never have considered adopting the little ones God had intended for her. I do not fully understand why God said ‘no’ to me. I know there is a ‘yes’ somewhere. Perhaps I would have ruptured if I had attempted the VBAC, which could have caused serious harm to our newest little member, Callista Therese (I obviously got over my disappointment regarding the rose), or me. I may never know the reason, but I do think that in surrendering my will, perhaps I was able to offer more than I otherwise could have. Thanks be to God, Callista arrived safely in May twentieth. Being the month of Mary, I am grateful to have been able to follow the example of Our Lady in her submission to God's will, that I could come to echo her fiat: "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done unto me according to Thy word" (Luke 1:38).
By: Carissa Douglas
MoreThe baby found my belly. It seems every baby has gone through this stage where during or after a nursing session they are fascinated with and amused by my mid-section. Each time it has gotten softer—the skin that was five times stretched to fullness of life displaying the evidence of its past work more with each new life it is housed. A few more silver streaks here, some new creases there, the skin a bit looser and softer everywhere. Not to mention the quirky looking belly button that popped out and never went back in. The baby thinks it is hysterical. My husband says it is beautiful. My mom taught me that it is my battle scars. If our bodies speak a language, then I want mine to say that I gave. I do not want to be embarrassed that my belly was six times blessed to be swollen with life, my breasts filled and emptied tens of thousands of times. I do not want to look with disgust on the hips widened by the passage of five fully grown, fully healthy babies. I do not want to try to erase the creases caused by too loud laughter or sick with worry nights. I do not want to spend precious energy seeking cures for what is simply the risk of my vocation. I want to offer my body, given up for them. For Him. And I do not want to look like it did not happen. We will not have our bodies immediately upon death. But as Christians we do believe that at the end of time we will. Our bodies will be resurrected. While we do not know what that will look like, the fact that Christ's resurrected body still had the wounds of His love, makes me wonder if we, too, will still have ours. Perhaps at that point, viewed in the Presence and with the eye of God, they will not be deemed ugly or offensive, disgusting or embarrassing. Perhaps they will be our glory. Perhaps they will be a bit like His wounds, an eternal testimony that we chose to love beyond ourselves, to sacrifice our bodies for another. They will be the scars of a battle won. My battle is now. It is against powers and principalities and the voices of the world. It is not against others' flesh and blood but it is against my own. It is a battle to choose love, to give until it hurts, to be like Him, offering my very flesh and blood for the sake of another. It is a battle to reject the voices around us that scream our worth is in our youth, our purpose mere pleasure. And just like Him, we who are called to this vocation will often bear the marks of battle on our bodies. This is my specific call from Him. What a tragedy it would be if I were to die having preserved my body from any signs of that love. What a waste if at the end I found I could have squandered my energy on perfectly manicured hands and cellulite-free thighs. God help me if I stand in front of Him one day and have to answer for a talent buried in the ground, kept clean and perfect, but bearing no interest. I cannot bring Him much but I can bring Him this body, the wrinkles and scars a testament to how I tried, albeit imperfectly, to love. My goal, my calling, is to love and love—if it is real—costs something. It is an action. Mother Teresa said, “Love to be real, it must cost, it must hurt, it must empty us of self.” She had more pressing things to do than worry about her crow's feet or sagging skin. She was too caught up in love to be dissecting herself in the mirror. I will do what I can to be healthy, yes. I am weaker than I should be and I am obliged to care for my body in the way I eat and exercise. I honor Him by honoring how my body was designed to work—with real food from the earth and with real movement from work and play. I respect His design for my body enough to only use medicines and supplements insofar as they help my body to function as He created it. I can be more open to life and available to love when I take care of what He has give, yet I refuse to mourn that using my body in love will leave its mark. If my back aches let it be from carrying one of His children. If my eyes grow weak, let it be from straining to see the little people around me. I do not want to be a person whose eyes are turned inward, mourning what we all know is passing anyway. I do not want to grasp at the exalted body of a teenager, a body that has never known the joy of a baby's smile, drunk with milk from its mother’s breasts, a body that has never known the triumph after the last agonizing push as new life slips out from it and into aching arms. I want to rejoice that He gave me the opportunity to love and I want to honor that this love was so real it changed my very skin and bones. If we are to be running a race, I hope to show up at the finish line sweaty and aching, knees bloody and heart pounding. What I want is to reach the end of my days, wrinkled and worn, scarred and used up. I want to give it back to Him and say, "This is what I did with what you gave me. I lived. I loved." No doubt I will grapple a lot with letting go of the image of me in my head, an image formed by the world's eye, to meet the reality of what I have become, what I hope is an image formed by His. But I will try. I want to be a woman who gives my assent to continue that fiat started long ago. Be it done unto me, Lord, even the stretch marks. I do not want to look back and regret what I did not give and when in doubt, I hope I will err on the side of giving too much. I want to reach the end of my days having held nothing back. I want to reach His feet, exhausted and scarred from the battle, and hear Him say those words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. The battle has been won."
By: Mary Haseltine
MoreWhen she lost her mobility, eyesight, listening, voice, and even the sense of touch, what prompted this young girl to describe her life as ‘sweet?’ Little Benedetta, at age seven, wrote in her diary: “The universe is enchanting! It is great to be alive.” This intelligent and happy lass, unfortunately, contracted polio in her childhood, which left her body crippled, but nothing could cripple her spirit! Hard Times on Roll Benedetta Bianchi Porro was born in Forlì, Italy, in 1936. As a teenager, she began to go deaf, but despite this, she entered medical school, where she excelled, taking oral exams by reading the lips of her professors. She had an ardent desire to become a missionary doctor, but after five years of medical training and just one year short of completing her degree, she was forced to end her studies due to increasing illness. Benedetta diagnosed herself with neurofibromatosis. There are several iterations of this cruel disease, and in Benedetta’s case, it attacked the nerve centers of her body, forming tumors on them and gradually causing total deafness, blindness, and later, paralysis. As Benedetta’s world shrank, she demonstrated extraordinary courage and holiness and was visited by many who sought her counsel and intercession. She was able to communicate when her mother would sign the Italian alphabet into her left palm, one of the few areas of her body that remained functional. Her mother would sign letters, messages, and Scripture painstakingly into Benedetta’s palm, and Benedetta would reply verbally despite her voice having been weakened to a whisper. “They’d come and go in groups of ten and fifteen,” said Maria Grazia, one of Benedetta’s closest confidantes. “With her mother as interpreter, she was able to communicate with each one. It seemed as though she could read our innermost souls with extreme clarity, even though she couldn’t hear or see us. I will always remember her with her hand extended ready to receive the Word of God and her brothers and sisters.” (Beyond Silence, Life Diary Letters of Benedetta Bianchi Porro) It’s not that Benedetta never experienced agony or even anger at this disease that was robbing her of the ability to become a medical doctor, but in accepting it, she became a doctor of another sort, a kind of surgeon to the soul. She was, indeed, a spiritual doctor. In the end, Benedetta was no less a healer than she ever desired to be. Her life had shrunken all the way down to the palm of her hand, it was no bigger than a Communion host—and yet, just like a Blessed Communion Host, it had become more powerful than she would have ever imagined. It is impossible to miss the correlation between Benedetta’s life and Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament who is hidden and small too, silent and even weak, but an ever-present friend to us. Towards the end of her life, she wrote to a young man who suffered similarly: “Because I'm deaf and blind, things have become complicated for me … Nevertheless, in my Calvary, I do not lack hope. I know that at the end of the road, Jesus is waiting for me. First in my armchair, and now in my bed where I now stay, I have found wisdom greater than that of men—I have discovered that God exists, that He is love, faithfulness, joy, certitude, to the end of the ages … My days are not easy. They are hard. But sweet because Jesus is with me, with my sufferings, and He gives me His sweetness in my loneliness and light in the darkness. He smiles at me and accepts my collaboration.” (Venerable Benedetta Biancho Porro, by Dom Antoine Marie, OSB) A Compelling Reminder Benedetta passed away on January 23, 1964. She was 27 years old. She was venerated on December 23, 1993, by Pope John Paul II and beatified on September 14, 2019, by Pope Francis. One of the great gifts that the Saints bring to the Church is that they give us a clear picture of what virtue looks like, even in incredibly difficult circumstances. We need to ‘see ourselves’ in the lives of the Saints in order to be strengthened for our own. Blessed Benedetta is truly a model of sanctity for our times. She is a compelling reminder that even a life filled with serious limitations can be a powerful catalyst for hope and conversion in the world and that the Lord knows and fulfills the deepest desire of every heart, often in surprising ways. A Prayer to Blessed Benedetta Blessed Benedetta, your world became as small as a communion wafer. You were immobilized, deaf, and blind, and yet you were a powerful witness to the love of God and the Blessed Mother. Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament is hidden and small too, silent, immobilized, and even weak—and still all-powerful, ever present to us. Please pray for me, Benedetta, that I will collaborate, as you did, with Jesus, in whatever way He wishes to use me. May I be granted the grace to allow the Almighty Father to speak through my littleness and loneliness, too, for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Amen.
By: Liz Kelly Stanchina
MoreWe are all looking for ‘immersive’ experiences, but what of the ultimate experience we have been freely given? During the Worldwide Developers Conference in California, Apple introduced its Vision Pro headset, a head-mounted device resembling oversized swimming goggles. Essentially, it functions as a comprehensive computer, smartphone, and home theatre, incorporating virtual reality, augmented reality, and mixed reality technologies. Many consider this product to be the future of smartphones. With the Vision Pro headset, users can control their visual experience, actions, and even thoughts using voice commands and hand and finger gestures in the air. My brain popped. Imagine the possibilities! But could the use of this headset raise concerns about increased social isolation and a decline in shared experiences? For instance, if it replaces the traditional cinema room with large televisions where families not only watch something together but also bond with each other, wouldn’t this technology endanger core human connections? But what if there is an immersive experience that does not destroy the experience of communion? Getting Connected Have you ever considered that when we receive the Blessed Sacrament, God is giving us the most amazing immersive experience ever? By creating us in His image and likeness, God gifted us with His desire for shared experience and union. In its fullness, this is a desire for union with God Himself. As the psalmist writes: “As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God.” (Psalm 42: 1-2) However, our contemporary culture has perverted this longing into an obsession with sex, power, money, and belongings. Sin has corrupted our desire for holistic union. Jesus expresses His longing for communion with us when He tells the apostles: “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you…” (Luke 22:15). He desired to be in communion with us so much, that He commanded us to eat and drink Him–to be so united with Him that our bodies are commingled. The Eucharist is not a one-man show. It is a shared experience of a community around the table sharing one cup and one bread. Participation is its core. Richard Hooker, a theologian writes that 'participation' refers to the reciprocal and intimate connection between Christ and believers where Christ holds us, and we hold Christ. In this bond, there is a sense of sharing one another through a unique relationship, shared interests, and a profound union. Christ is truly present in the bread and wine, and it is radical faith. If we believe Christ is present universally, why would it be hard to believe that he is truly present in the consecrated host and wine? This presence is designed for intimate communion by eating and drinking. As we leave the church, we carry His presence into the world. Then, as we pour out ourselves in service to others, we draw them into His presence.
By: Father Bony Abraham
MoreLoneliness is the new normal worldwide, but not for this family! Read on for this incredible tip on staying connected always. I recently became an empty nester. All five of my children live hours apart from one another, which makes family gatherings few and far between. This is one of the bittersweet consequences of successfully launching your children; they can fly pretty far sometimes. Last Christmas, our whole family had the happy occasion of visiting with each other. At the end of those three joyful days, when it was time for goodbyes, I overheard one sibling say to another: “I’ll see you in the Eucharist.” This is the way. This is how we stay close to one another. We cling to the Eucharist. And Jesus binds us together. We certainly miss one another and wish we had more time together. But God has called us to work in different pastures and to be content with the time we’ve been given. So, in between visits and phone calls, we go to Mass and continue to stay connected. Feeling Alone? Attending the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass allows us to enter into a reality that’s not bound by space and time. It’s the stepping out of this world and into a sacred space where Heaven touches Earth in a real way, and we are united with the entire family of God, those worshiping both here on Earth and in Heaven. By partaking in Holy Communion, we find that we indeed are not alone. One of Jesus’ last words to His disciples was: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) The Eucharist is the immense gift of His continual Presence with us. Naturally, we miss loved ones who are no longer with us; sometimes, the ache can be quite fierce. It is in those moments that we must cling to the Eucharist. On particularly lonesome days, I make an extra effort to get to Mass a little early and linger a little longer afterward. I intercede for each of my loved ones and receive comfort knowing I am not alone and that I am close to Jesus’ Heart. I pray that each of my loved one’s hearts are also close to Jesus’ Heart, so we can also be together. Jesus promised: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to Myself.” (John 12:32) Incredibly Close One of my favorite lines during the Eucharistic Prayer is this: “Humbly we pray that partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we may be gathered into one by the Holy Spirit.” God gathers what once was scattered and draws us into the one body of Christ. The Holy Spirit at Mass has been tasked in a particular way with uniting us. We absolutely need God’s help to be in true communion with others. Have you ever been in the same room with someone, but yet it felt like you were a million miles away? The opposite of that can also be true. Even if we are miles apart, we can feel incredibly close to others. Ultimate Reality Last year, I felt particularly close to my grandmother at her funeral Mass. It was very comforting, for I felt like she was right there with us, especially during the Eucharistic prayer and Holy Communion. My grandmother had a strong devotion to the Eucharist and strove to attend daily Mass for as long as she physically could. I was so grateful for that time of intimacy with her and will always treasure that. This reminds me of another portion of the Eucharistic prayer: “Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection and all who have died in Your mercy: welcome them into the light of Your face. Have mercy on us all, we pray, that with the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, with Blessed Joseph, Her Spouse, with the Blessed Apostles, and all the Saints who have pleased You throughout the ages, we may merit to be co-heirs to eternal life, and may praise and glorify You through Your Son, Jesus Christ.” While at Mass or Eucharistic Adoration, we are in the Real Presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We are also joined by the Saints and Angels in Heaven. One day we will see this reality for ourselves. For now, we believe with the eyes of faith. Let us take courage whenever we feel lonely or are missing a loved one. Jesus’ Loving and Merciful Heart is constantly beating for us and yearning for us to spend time with Him in the Eucharist. This is where we find our peace. This is where our hearts are fed. Like Saint John, let us rest peacefully on the loving breast of Jesus and pray that many others will find their way to His Sacred Eucharistic Heart. Then, we will be truly together.
By: Denise Jasek
MoreQ - My many Christian friends celebrate ‘Communion’ every Sunday, and they argue that the Eucharistic presence of Christ is only spiritual. I believe Christ is present in the Eucharist, but is there any way to explain it to them? A – It is indeed an incredible claim to say that at every Mass, a small piece of bread and a small chalice of wine become the very flesh and blood of God Himself. It is not a sign or a symbol, but truly the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus. How can we make this claim? There are three reasons why we believe this. First, Jesus Christ said so Himself. In John’s Gospel, Chapter 6, Jesus says: “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For My flesh is true food, and My blood is true drink. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood remains in Me and I in him.” Whenever Jesus says, “Amen, Amen, I say to you…”, this is a sign that what He is about to say is completely literal. Further, Jesus uses the Greek word trogon which is translated ‘to eat’—but really means ‘to chew, gnaw, or rip with one’s teeth.’ It’s a very graphic verb which can only be used literally. Also, consider the reaction of His hearers; they walked away! It says in John 6: “as a result of this [teaching], many of His disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied Him.” Does Jesus chase them down, tell them that they misunderstood Him? No, He allows them to leave—because He was serious about this teaching that the Eucharist is truly His flesh and blood! Second, we believe because the Church has always taught it from its earliest days. I once asked a priest why there was no mention of the Eucharist in the Creed which we profess every Sunday—and he replied that it was because no one debated His Real Presence, so it wasn’t necessary to officially define it! Many of the Church Fathers wrote about the Eucharist—for example, Saint Justin Martyr, writing around the year 150 AD, penned these words: “For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but we have been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.” Every Church Father is in agreement—the Eucharist is truly His flesh and blood. Finally, our faith is strengthened through the many Eucharistic miracles in the history of the Church—over 150 officially documented miracles. Perhaps the most famous occurred in Lanciano, Italy in the 800s, where a priest who doubted Christ’s presence was shocked to find that the Host became visible flesh, while the wine became visible as blood. Later scientific tests discovered that the Host was heart flesh from a human male, type AB blood (very common among Jewish men). The heart flesh had been badly beaten and bruised. The blood had congealed into five clumps, symbolizing the five wounds of Christ, and miraculously the weight of one of the clumps is equal to the weight of all five taken together! Scientists cannot explain how this flesh and blood has lasted for twelve hundred years, which is an inexplicable miracle in itself. But how can we explain how this happens? We make a distinction between accidents (what something looks like, smells like, tastes like, etc) and substance (what something actually is). When I was a young child, I was at my friend’s house, and when she left the room, I saw a cookie sitting on a plate. It looked delectable, smelled like vanilla, and so I took a bite…and it was soap! I was so disappointed, but it taught me that my senses could not always decipher what something actually is. In the Eucharist, the substance of bread and wine change into the substance of Christ’s body and blood (a process known as transubstantiation), while the accidents (the taste, smell, look) remain the same. It does indeed take faith to recognize that Jesus is truly present, since it cannot be perceived by our senses, nor is it something we can deduce with our logic and reason. But if Jesus Christ is God and He cannot lie, I am willing to believe that He is not a sign or symbol, but truly present in the Most Blessed Sacrament!
By: Father Joseph Gill
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