The Sound of Love

Raymund Kolbe was born into a poor, Polish farming family in 1894. As a child he had such a mischievous nature that no one would have guessed he would be called Saint of Auschwitz, Founder of the Militia Immaculata, Apostle of Mary and Patron Saint of the 20th century! One day his mother was so frustrated with his behavior that she yelled at him in exasperation: “Raymund, what will become of you?!” This shook him to the core. Filled with grief, he went to a church and raised this question in prayer, “What will become of me?” Then he had a vision of the Virgin Mary appearing to him holding in her hands two crowns, one white and one red. She looked at him with love and asked him if he would like to have either. Raymund answered "Yes", he wanted both of them. The white crown of Purity came first, when he took the name Maximilian Kolbe and professed religious vows, one of which was Chastity. Back in the minor seminary, he often said to his classmates that he desired to consecrate his entire life to a great idea. Eventually he found the “Militia Immaculata” in 1917 with a goal to bring the whole world to God through Christ under the generalship of Mary Immaculate. In order to fulfill this mission, he sacrificed everything, and that brought him to the red crown of Martyrdom. In 1941 Kolbe was arrested by the Gestapo and sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp. A fellow prisoner wept for his wife and children after being arbitrarily chosen to be locked in the starvation bunker when a prisoner escaped. Hearing this, Father Kolbe volunteered to take his place. During those terrible days in the bunker, he led the men in prayer, and encouraged them. During every inspection, while the others lay on the floor, Father Maximilian knelt or stood in the middle, looking cheerfully at the officers. After two weeks nearly all the prisoners except Father had died due to dehydration and starvation. On the eve of the feast of Mary’s Assumption into Heaven, the impatient Nazis injected carbolic acid into Father Kolbe who raised his left arm to calmly take the deadly injection. In 1982 Pope John Paul II canonized Maximilian Kolbe as a Martyr of Charity and “patron saint of our difficult century.”

When I was about 15, my Dad passed away and I was in a desperate situation. One night while I was praying, I yearned for God because I needed His help. And He answered me. I saw Him in a vision. At first, I was shocked because I had never had any experience of that sort. Jesus answered my prayer by showing Himself with His hands opened wide, a crown of thorns on His head, and His heart glowing. He did not say or do anything, but I was deeply touched by His presence. This was the first time I felt extremely close to Jesus. As I look back, I realize that aspects of what I saw in the vision symbolized aspects of my life. The crown of thorns symbolized the pain I was going through at that time, and Jesus’ glowing heart communicated His great love for me. Every time I remember the vision, the image of Jesus’ wide-open arms reminds me that everything is going to be alright because He is always with me. Growing up in a Catholic family made it easy for me to practice my faith. Regular Mass attendance was part of our routine. But when I moved to South Africa to teach English, I lived in a rural area where Sunday Mass was not available. This made me aware of how grateful I should be for every opportunity to be in the presence of the Eucharist and to receive Holy Communion. When I went to Albania to teach English, I was fortunate to stay in a convent where adoration before the Blessed Sacrament was part of our daily routine. That experience helped form my love for adoration and deepened my love for the Holy Eucharist. During that time with the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament I opened my heart to Him and shared everything I was feeling. People ask me how I can be so sure that Jesus is present in the Blessed Sacrament. I believe without a doubt because I can feel Him. His presence—His warmth and love—surround my whole being. Adoration is crucial in my life because it gives me the opportunity to listen to what God wants me to do. The more I listen to Him, the better I am able to discern God’s purpose in my life. While I was at university, I had a wonderful experience going to World Youth Day at Copacabana beach in Rio de Janeiro. Four million of us celebrated adoration on the beach. The waves rolled in on one side, the sun shone upon us and when the Blessed Sacrament was raised, I was overwhelmed. The glory of Jesus, His invisible presence, was profound. As I knelt, with bowed head, surrounded by millions, I felt my burdens lifted and I was drawn closer to Him than ever before. Over the years, my relationship with Jesus has deepened and the Holy Eucharist has become central in my life. Even through the trials of my life, I have known Jesus is there for me. Whether at Mass or in Adoration, or in my own private prayer, I am always struck by His awesome, wonderful presence.

This past year my life went through a shrinking, as did most people’s due to the restrictions and lockdowns from the pandemic. After several months of slowly getting used to that, another big change occurred when my elderly mother came to live with me, and I became her main caregiver. That entailed further shrinking of my life and activities. It was a shrinking within a shrinking, and it has not been without its challenges.   Yet there is a deep peace and a joy in serving my aging mother, especially when I accept and embrace this new chapter in my life.  We live through different seasons of our lives, and each season has its own challenges, crosses, joys and rhythms. Sometimes we suffer during a particular season because we resist what is being asked of us. We become angry and resentful. But if we believe God is with us using circumstances to shape, guide and love us, then the season we find ourselves in can become beautiful and filled with meaning and peace.  Not that it is easy. Recently after a particularly challenging two weeks of health issues and doctor’s appointments for my mom, I was discouraged and exhausted. But during a conversation to which I was only half-listening I heard a friend talking about the rose bush outside the window. She said, “Keep cutting the roses as they come out. When you cut one, even more grow in its place.” Those words reverberated through me. I thought of what Jesus said about pruning. “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and every one that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit” (John 15:1-2). I desire to live a fruitful life for the Lord. But that means there are things in me that need pruning—selfishness, impatience, lack of charity, etc.  How is God going to prune us? Many times the pruning shears that the Lord uses are the specific circumstances in our lives. Those things that annoy us, prod us, or cause us to stretch beyond our personal comfort zone can actually be the sharp edge of the pruning knife. As it cuts, it makes way for new growth within us.  I have learned that if I start resenting my current season and the demands it brings, I get grouchy and miserable. However, if I lean into the present moment and embrace what today holds, knowing that God is with me, a gentle, peaceful strength seeps in and my inner equilibrium is renewed.  So after thinking about all of this, I pulled out a pair of pruning shears from my storage closet, went out to the rose bush and cut a rose. I put it on the table, and I am letting its lovely scent remind me that through every challenge and trial, the Lord can bring more fruit into my life. And perhaps I will be able to share that fruit with others who need it. 

Have you let the past with your earthly father define your future with your Heavenly Father? I was born and raised just north of Tampa, Florida, USA. My Mom and Dad were Catholic, and raised me as a Catholic from the cradle. However, things went downhill when I was six. My parents separated and my Dad filed for divorce. A custody battle ensued until my parents got back together when I was eight. Little did I know that this was just the beginning. When I was ten, my Mom filed for divorce. She was awarded custody, but I still had to visit my father. He had many good qualities—a hard-working, thrifty, and sporty guy—but there was one downfall to his personality that seriously damaged my relationship with God, and that was his lack of patience. One moment he would be happy, but if you accidentally spilled a glass of milk, he would blow up and start verbally berating you. This atomic-bomb type of anger could affect children in one of two ways. Either a child develops a thick skin and becomes uncaring, so it can be brushed off; or a child develops a tremendous fear of making mistakes and starts walking on eggshells. I did the latter. This is important to note because it was a perfect setup for me to develop scrupulosity. Our human fathers are supposed to be images of our Heavenly Father, God (Ephesians 3:14-15). Whatever your earthly father does, including his qualities, how he speaks, and how he acts will be reflected in your image of God. So, when I was a teenager, I started seriously fearing my Father in Heaven. I walked on eggshells each day, thinking that at any moment, I would commit a mortal sin and be destined for Hell. In every thought, every word, and every action, I thought I might be sinning. To give an example: when I would eat a small chicken sandwich from Wendy's, I thought it would be gluttony to eat a second. But I was not certain, and would go back and forth over the morality of eating the next sandwich. This obsessive-compulsive disorder caused me to drop twenty pounds off an already thin frame. I thought things were sinful when they were not. In fact, I would take up all of the priests' time in the confessional. Praise God, I had an excellent pastor at my church who patiently counseled my struggling conscience. But this was only the tip of the iceberg. My whole image of God was bizarre. What I needed was a gentle and patient father-figure. After I graduated from high school, I attended Ave Maria University in south-west Florida. It was there that I would start to have my fear dealt with. I would go to the chapel every day, and began to understand the love of God my Abba. A song kept coming back to me when I prayed— "Shoulders" by “For King and Country.” The words, "I don't have to see to believe that you're lifting me up on your shoulders, your shoulders", revolutionized my thinking and changed my heart. Over time, my fear started to change into love. God saw me as His Beloved Son, with whom He was well pleased (Mark 1:11). He is a gentle Father, who takes into account my weaknesses. As the Psalms say, He is "slow to anger." I developed a little litany for God, my true Father: Father most gentle (1 Kings 19:12). Father most kind (Isaiah 40:11). Father most generous (Matthew 7:11). Father most sweet (Psalm 23:1). Father most humble (Luke 2:7). Father most soft-spoken (1 Kings 19:12). Father most joyful (Zephaniah 3:17). Father most supportive (Hosea 11:3-4). Father most loving (1 John 4:16). Father most affectionate (Jeremiah 31:20). Father most tender (Isaiah 43:4). Father, my protector (Psalm 91). I urge you to read those passages as I have, and grow in your intimate relationship with the Father. The path towards healing and wholeness is open to you. Join me on that journey. Let us always remember these words from Saint Therese of Lisieux, "What sweet joy it is to think that God is just. He takes into account our weakness, He knows the fragility of our nature perfectly. What should I fear?" (Story of a Soul by Saint Therese).

Premier Christian Radio in the UK just sponsored a survey that investigated how the COVID crisis has affected religious beliefs and attitudes. There were three major findings—namely, that 67% of those who characterize themselves as “religious” found their belief in God challenged, that almost a quarter of all those questioned said that the pandemic made them more fearful of death, and that around a third of those surveyed said that their prayer life had been affected by the crisis. Justin Brierley, who hosts the popular program Unbelievable? commented that he was especially impressed by the substantial number of those who, due to COVID, have experienced difficulty believing in a loving God. I should like to focus on this finding as well. Of course, in one sense, I understand the problem. An altogether standard objection to belief in God is human suffering, especially when it is visited upon the innocent. The apologist for atheism or naturalism quite readily asks the believer, “How could you possibly assert the existence of a loving God given the Holocaust, school shootings, tsunamis that kill hundreds of thousands of people, pandemics, etc.?” But I must confess that, in another sense, I find this argument from evil utterly unconvincing, and I say this precisely as a Catholic bishop—that is, as someone who holds and teaches the doctrine of God that comes from the Bible. For I don’t think that anyone who reads the Scriptures carefully could ever conclude that belief in a loving God is somehow incompatible with suffering. There is no question that God loves Noah, and yet he puts Noah through the unspeakably trying ordeal of a flood that wipes out almost all of life on the earth. It is without doubt that God loves Abraham, and yet he asks that patriarch to sacrifice, with his own hand, his beloved son Isaac. More than almost anyone else in the biblical tradition, God loves Moses, and yet he prevents the great liberator from entering into the Promised Land. David is a man after the Lord’s own heart, the sweet singer of the house of Israel, and yet God punishes David for his adultery and his conspiracy to murder. Jeremiah is specially chosen by God to speak the divine word, and yet the prophet ends up rejected and sent into exile. The people Israel is God’s uniquely chosen race, his royal priesthood, and yet God permits Israel to be enslaved, exiled, and brutalized by her enemies. And bringing this dynamic to full expression, God delivers his only-begotten Son to be tortured to death on a cross. Once again, the point, anomalous indeed to both believers and nonbelievers today, is that the biblical authors saw no contradiction whatsoever between affirming the existence of a loving God and the fact of human suffering, even unmerited human suffering. Rather, they appreciated it as, mysteriously enough, an ingredient in the plan of God, and they proposed various schemata for understanding this. For instance, sometimes, they speculated, suffering is visited upon us as punishment for sin. Other times, it might be a means by which God effects a spiritual purification in his people. Still other times, it might be the only way that, given the conditions of a finite universe, God could bring about certain goods. But they also acknowledged that, more often than not, we just don’t know how suffering fits into God’s designs, and this is precisely because our finite and historically conditioned minds could not, even in principle, comprehend the intentions and purposes of an infinite mind, which is concerned with the whole of space and time. Practically the entire burden of the book of Job is to show this. When Job protests against what he takes to be the massive injustice of his sufferings, God responds with a lengthy speech, in fact his longest oration in the Bible, reminding Job of how much of God’s purposes his humble human servant does not know: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth . . .” Once again, whether they half-understood the purpose of human suffering or understood it not at all, no biblical author was tempted to say that said evil is incompatible with the existence of a loving God. To be sure, they lamented and complained, but the recipient of the lamentation and complaint was none other than the God who, they firmly believed, loved them. I don’t for a moment doubt that many feel today that suffering poses an insurmountable obstacle to belief in God, but I remain convinced that this feeling is a function of the fact that religious leaders have been rather inept at teaching the biblical doctrine of God. For if human suffering undermines your belief in God, then, quite simply, you were not believing in the God presented by the Bible. I want to be clear that none of the above is meant to make light of the awful experience of suffering or cavalierly to dismiss the intellectual tensions that it produces. But it is indeed my intention to invite people into a deeper encounter with the mystery of God. Like Jacob who wrestled all night with the angel, we must not give up on God but rather struggle with him. Our suffering shouldn’t lead us to dismiss the divine love, but rather to appreciate it as stranger than we ever imagined. It is perfectly understandable that, like Job, we might shout our protest against God, but then, like that great spiritual hero, we must be willing to hear the Voice that answers us from the whirlwind.

The popular historian Tom Holland has written an extraordinary book called Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World. The subtitle sums up his argument. Holland is deeply impatient with the secularist ideology that reigns supreme in the academy and that tends to regard Christianity as a debunked, outmoded religion, a holdover from a primitive, pre-scientific age, a block to progress both moral and intellectual. In point of fact, he argues, Christianity has been and continues to be the most powerful shaper of the Western mind, though its influence is so pervasive and so deep that it is easily overlooked. His very effective strategy for bringing this out into the open is first to de-familiarize Christianity through a brutally realistic accounting of what crucifixion meant in the ancient world. To be put to death on a Roman cross was just about the worst fate that anyone at that time could have imagined. The very fact that our word “excruciating,” which designates the most agonizing kind of pain, comes from the Latin ex cruce (from the cross) fairly gives away the game. But more than the awful physical suffering of the cross was its unsurpassed humiliation. To be stripped naked, nailed to two pieces of wood, left to die in the course of several hours or even days, while exposed to the mockery of passersby, and then, even after death, to have one’s body given over to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field was just about as degrading an experience as possible. That the first Christians, therefore, proclaimed a crucified criminal as the risen Son of God could not have been a more comical, unnerving, and revolutionary message. It turned upside down all of the ancient world’s assumptions about God, humanity, and the right ordering of society. If God could be identified with a crucified man, then even the lowest and most forgotten members of the human family are worthy of love. And that the earliest followers of Jesus not only declared this truth but concretely lived it by caring for the homeless, the sick, the newborn, and the aged made their message even more subversive. Though he explores many other ways that the Christian philosophy influenced Western civilization, Holland identifies this idea, radiating out from the crucified Jesus, as the most impactful. That we take for granted that every human being is worthy of respect, that all people are bearers of equal rights and dignity, that compassionate love is the most praiseworthy ethical attitude is, quite simply, a function, whether we acknowledge it or not, of our Christian cultural formation. Proof of this can be found by looking back to ancient civilization, where none of these notions held sway, and by looking, even now, at societies unshaped by Christianity, where these values are by no means unquestioningly revered. The bulk of Holland’s book is taken up with analyses of key moments in Western history, which reveal the influence of the master idea of the cross. I would put special stress on his reading of the Enlightenment, whose political values are unthinkable apart from the Gospel, and of the contemporary “woke” movements, whose preoccupation with the suffering of victims and the marginalized is the fruit of a culture at whose heart, for two thousand years, has been a crucified and unjustly condemned man. I particularly appreciated his coverage of the Beatles’ famous 1967 Abbey Road recording of “All You Need is Love” in front of a live audience. The sentiment conveyed by that iconic song is one with which neither Caesar Augustus nor Genghis Khan nor Friedrich Nietzsche would be the least bit sympathetic, but which in fact is deeply congruent with the thought of St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Paul the Apostle. Like it or not, the Christian revolution massively shapes the way that we in the West continue to see the world. With this part of Holland’s argument—and it takes up 90% of the book—I am in complete agreement. The point he is making is not only true; it is of crucial importance at a time when Christianity is, so often, put down or set aside. That said, for me, the entire book unravelled at the end, when the author admitted that he believes neither in God nor, obviously, in the divinity of Jesus or his Resurrection. The revolutionary ethic that flowed from those beliefs he finds compelling, but the convictions themselves are, he feels, without warrant. This distilling of an ethical system out of deeply questionable dogmas is a familiar move among the modern philosophers. Both Immanuel Kant and Thomas Jefferson endeavored to do just that. But it is a foolish enterprise, for it is finally impossible to separate Christian ethics from metaphysics and from history. If there is no God and if Jesus did not rise from the dead, how in the world is it the case that every human being is worthy of infinite respect and a subject of inviolable rights? If there is no God and if Jesus did not rise from the dead, how could we not conclude that, through the power of his awful cross, Caesar won? Jesus might be vaguely admired as an ethical teacher with the courage of his convictions, but if he died and remained in his grave, then power politics prevails, and the affirmation of the dignity of every person is just a silly wish-fulfillment. It is instructive that, when the first Christians evangelized, they did not speak of human rights or the dignity of all or of other such abstractions; they spoke of Jesus risen from the dead through the power of the Holy Spirit. They insisted that the one whom Caesar’s empire put to death God had raised up. Tom Holland is absolutely right that many of the best ethical and political instincts of the West have come from Christ. But just as cut flowers will last only a short time in water, so those ideas will not long endure if we deracinate them from the startling facticity of the cross of Jesus.

As I sat in Mass listening to the priest proclaim the Gospel according to Luke (6:12-19), I heard the words with fresh ears and understood them in a way I never had before. The message of the Gospel: Jesus chose Twelve. Twelve! Out of all of His followers, he chose only Twelve. What did it take to become one of the Twelve? I wondered what Jesus prayed on the mountain the night before. Was the decision difficult to make or was the deliberation brief because the soon to be Twelve Apostles were an obvious choice? What criteria did Jesus use to make his decision? Then, all of a sudden, my heart started to pound and I saw RED. A bit of panic came over me as I placed myself inside the Gospel story. Imagining myself among the other disciples, standing there quietly waiting for the names of the chosen Twelve to escape the lips of the Son of God, I looked around at those beside me. Suddenly, I was struck by the gravity of every decision I had ever made, each action I had taken, and every word I had spoken. Jesus was choosing His core group of followers—the ones who would carry out His works. My mind ferociously scanned over my own life and I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Am I living in such a way that Jesus would have chosen me? Would I have made the cut?” Certainly, there were many disciples, not chosen to number in the Twelve Apostles, who accomplished incredible works in the name of the Lord. Good works were not exclusive to the Twelve, but we know the Apostles did play a very intimate, integral role as Jesus’ closest friends and followers. To have been selected was an unparalleled honor. Additionally, Jesus gave us a glimpse of His incredible love and mercy by including Judas Iscariot among the Twelve. Even though Judas would later betray Jesus I don’t think we can argue the Twelve were a very special, handpicked group of followers. What would it have been like to be one of the Twelve? Maybe the Apostles were grateful and excited, but also nervous about the path the Lord had chosen for them. Did the other disciples react in disappointment because they were not chosen among the Twelve, or was there a feeling of relief because the road laid out before Christ’s Apostles would certainly be difficult? Just to be chosen was a sacrifice. Becoming an Apostle would prove to be a heavy cross to carry. Being chosen was just the beginning. The Christian life isn’t easy, but the reward is divine. Do you live your life to be “chosen” or do you live your life to simply get by?

Having a bad day? Get out of the “‘stinkin’ thinkin’” now! I woke up grumpy and out of sorts this morning.  You know the saying, ‘I got up on the wrong side of the bed’—that was me, for sure.  It certainly wasn’t good to start the day like I ate a bunch of sour gummy worms. However, as I sat at my kitchen table eating breakfast and reading my daily scriptures, I opened the front door to let the sunshine and brightness in. Then it happened!  I heard the glorious sound of a symphony of birds singing. I sat there with my eyes closed and listened, as the birds were praising their Creator for yet another day.  “Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.”  Psalm 104: 12.             It was as if the Holy Spirit poured into my heart a melody of praises. My grumpiness crumbled in the midst of the choir of birds joyfully chanting praises to God, their Creator.  “Oh come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!” Psalm 95. This Holy Spirit moment helped me realize that my best shield, to deflect a bad mood, is to sing praises to Our God. I am not sure if birds ever have a bad day or get grumpy. But even if they do, they still sing praises to their Creator. Jesus tells us: “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” I have heard it said that the way to stop stinking thinking is to counter it with three positive thoughts. A sure remedy, to bring myself out of a negative attitude, is to read the Psalms and thank God for all my blessings and His loving care for me and my family and friends. Sure, sometimes I just want to stay in my stinking thinking world for a while with its doom and gloom.  But then the Holy Spirit invites me to sit down on my deck, close my eyes and listen to the orchestra of birds singing.  When I do, I breathe in the Light of Christ, changing my gloom into a joyful attitude of thanksgiving and praise. Thank you, Jesus for showing me, through the singing birds and the wildflowers, that I too can rejoice and sing praises to Our Creator.  “The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.” Song of Solomon 2:12

Want to change the world?  Here are some simple tips The lecturer in Church History at our local seminary asked his first-year seminarians to name the best year in the Church’s history. The fresh faced young men, only just embarking upon their vocational journeys, fidgeted in their seats. As each suggestion was judged incorrect, the seminarians began to wonder if it had been a trick question. Eventually the lecturer conceded that it had been something of a trick because the Church has never experienced a perfect era. Every age brought its own fresh challenges to the Christian faithful - everything from violent persecutions, scandals, and rifts within the hierarchy, to dangerous ideologies and heretical teachings, to present day secularism. The Church and her faithful have weathered these storms, bruised but not beaten. Saints and martyrs and holy men and women stood up in the midst of those storms and carried on bravely. And while we might feel as though our present age is bleak, that the Church we love is constantly attacked, persecuted, and betrayed in many ways, we can take comfort in the knowledge that the Catholic Church has withstood it all before. And will do so again. But as we strive to trust and endure, we can also seek ways to change the world around us and walk a path that leads to sanctification. We might never be recognised as canonised saints, but we can become saints nonetheless and spend eternity with God.  Here are some simple starting points for a journey to holiness: 1.Practice the Ordinary We might feel the urge to do something heroic but feel incapable of doing anything to strengthen the faith of the world. But heroic feats for Christ is not what most of us are called to.  For many of us, our vocations and apostolates are much closer to home and are on a much smaller scale. Saint Thomas More, a great defender of the Church and her teachings, understood this reality well. “The ordinary acts we practice every day at home,” he said, “are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.” It may very well be our simple, everyday witness to our faith that influences others, planting seeds in them that we may never get to see bear fruit. Our homes, parishes, and communities are where we can cultivate our faith, the faith of others, and the overall health of Christ’s body the church. 2.Connect with the Extraordinary The life of faith appears radical to our secular society. Many do not grasp the supernatural and assign religion to the realm of make-believe and fairy tales. But living an authentic Catholic life as befits our individual circumstances takes extraordinary faith and trust in God and, above all, a love that compels greater reliance on Him. Mother Angelica put this very succinctly when she said: “Faith tells us that God is present when we pray, and hope tells us that He listens, but only love makes us continue to pray when darkness, boredom and even disgust fill our souls.” So, pray, trust, love, and pray again. What might seem like routine spiritual acts, in fact, connect us with the extraordinary—the sublime, supernatural presence of our Heavenly Father; His only Son, our Saviour and Redeemer; and the Holy Spirit who endows us with gifts of awe and understanding. 3.Practice Holy Stubbornness None of us are perfect and we are all prone to sin, so it goes without saying that we are going to make mistakes. In fact, we’re likely to make a lot of mistakes and often the same mistakes, over and over again. But it is important that we do not give in to discouragement. Saint Josemaria Escriva spurs us on: “Don’t forget that the saint is not the person who never falls, but rather the one who never fails to get up again, humbly and with a holy stubbornness.” Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and step forward with a holy stubbornness that perceives that the path to sanctification is worth pursuing. 4.Sanctify Society “Sanctify yourself and you will sanctify society,” says Saint Francis of Assisi. To me, this has always seemed easier said than done, given my sinful human nature and the enormity of the task. But just because this seems an unrealistic goal, does not mean that we cannot achieve it. Jesus tells us very clearly that what is impossible for us is not impossible for God (cf. Matthew 19:26). Make sure you establish and remain faithful to your daily prayer life. Practice the virtues, and undertake a nightly examen to better understand yourself and your spiritual progress. 5.Hold onto Hope Saint Padre Pio regularly encouraged people to “pray, hope, and don’t worry.” Our world is not perfect. It is often chaotic and riddled with tension. But this must not disturb our spirit.  Padre Pio’s comments on the storms of life are very consoling: “God will never permit anything to happen to us that is not for our greater good. The storms that are raging around you will turn out to be for God’s glory, your own merit, and the good of many souls.” So, do not lose hope amidst the storms in your life and in the world.  These are the times in which God has placed us, and it therefore follows that these are the times that can make us holy.  We just need to carry on bravely until we come to rest in God’s Heavenly kingdom.

Is anger or resentment the only way to deal with unfaithfulness in your life? Sarah Juszczak unravels the path less trodden, through her story of pain and triumph. The Meet-Cute I come from a lovely, Italian family. I was raised and grew up Catholic, but in my teens, although I was going to Mass on Sundays, I wasn’t really living the faith. When I was sixteen, I joined a youth group and that's where I met Tomasz. Tom and I were asked to lead a youth weekend together, so we ended up spending a lot of time together trying to organise it. Soon after, we started “seeing each other”. Neither of us were keen to give our relationship a label- there was no intentionality about it. I was pretty rebellious in my younger years, which Tom hated.  Being Polish, his Catholic faith was important to him, and he had a lot of traditional values. Neither of us really knew our faith or lived it—and because he didn’t really understand the reasons behind his values, it wasn’t hard for me to convince him otherwise. It wasn’t clear where this relationship was headed and it wasn’t the healthiest, but we cared about each other. Fog in the Glass After nearly three years together, Tom and I were starting to think about marriage. Tom was finishing up at university and had always dreamed of spending a few months travelling Europe before getting a full-time job. I was very unsure about this, but something in my heart told me that it was important. This time apart would either make or break us. Just before Tom left for Europe, we joined our youth group at World Youth Day 2008 in Sydney. At that point in my life, I was realizing that my faith life needed to change. I couldn’t continue floating along in what was really a ‘practical atheism’. I went to World Youth Day with this question on my heart: “God, if You exist, show yourself to me. I want to know You”. A couple of talks and experiences really spoke to me that week. As I sat on the train ride home one evening, mulling over the things I had been hearing, I opened the pilgrim’s handbook to a quote from Saint Augustine: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You”. At that moment, I had a sudden and overwhelming awareness of the presence of God. My centre of gravity shifted. I knew that God was real and nothing would be the same again. Soon after, Tomasz left for Europe and I suddenly had a lot of time to spare. I listened to talks on the Theology of the Body, read more about the lives of the Saints and attended weekly Holy Hours. The six months that Tom was away were a time of conversion for me, culminating in a one-month, live-in youth leaders formation course. During that time, I realized that if I wanted to continue on this journey with God, I needed to let go of the things that were leading me away from Him, so that I could follow him wholeheartedly. The Worst Part? With Tomasz away in Europe, I wondered if things would work out for us when he returned home. He was still caught up in a world that I had decided to leave behind, and our values and priorities were now miles apart.  I kept taking this to prayer, and praying for Tom. I tried to plant some seeds, and when some of his travel plans were derailed I managed to convince him to make a detour to Lourdes, which was a powerful experience for him—but he wasn’t ready to make changes yet. When he returned from Europe, I knew we had to have an honest conversation. We went out to dinner and I tried to tell him about some of the things that had been happening in my life. I told him things needed to change about our relationship. For the most part he seemed okay with it, until I told him I wanted him to stop using pornography. He barely hesitated before responding with a flat out “No”. This was quite a shock for me. I thought he’d at least be open it to it. He’d later tell me that he was struggling with a porn addiction, although he wasn’t really aware of that at the time. As the Fog Fades As we continued to recount our experiences during our time apart, it became clearer to him that I was different, and he became somewhat uneasy. When I revealed that I really wanted to pray the Rosary with my family every day when I was married, he reacted very strongly against that. I would try to challenge him and encourage him. As I described my image of family life and how I hoped to live my life, he would push back. He was no longer the most important thing in my life and he didn’t like it one bit. I started to feel that I wasn’t supposed to be in this relationship, so, I asked the Lord for an answer. I knew He wanted me to break up with Tom, but it was difficult because we were in so deep. I tried to break it off several times, but for Tom it was all or nothing. I loved him and didn’t want him out of my life completely. I told the Lord that I didn’t have enough strength to end the relationship myself. The only way it could happen is if Tom messed up big time, but I was certain that it wasn’t possible. Completely Oblivious Not long after, Tom came to see me. He was clearly very nervous, but he finally worked up the courage to come clean. He’d been cheating on me. I was shattered. How could he have betrayed me, when I trusted him so completely? How could he have lied so convincingly, without even batting an eyelid? How could I have been so oblivious? This revelation made me question a lot of things I thought I knew. I never thought Tom was capable of being deceptive and I had thought I was a pretty good judge of character. I discovered he was in the habit of lying and had been for some time. He was frighteningly good at it. Naturally, I threw Tom out straight away. I’ve always had a flair for drama, so I packed up a box of his things that night and called him back to collect them. When I met him outside my house, I completely lost it. I was enraged. To my surprise, he didn’t try to explain or defend himself, he just fell to the ground and wept. Embraced by God It’s hard to articulate what happened in that moment. As I saw Tom crying, all anger in me instantly dissolved. I was so moved with pity and love that I knelt down next to him and embraced him. I can only describe that moment as a glimpse of the Heart of the Father. I felt God’s love and mercy flowing through me, and saw that I was no different to Tomasz. In that moment, God gave me a glimpse of His own Heart as He embraced me and forgave me my own infidelity. Tomasz later described this experience similarly, as if it was God enfolding him within His merciful, loving embrace. I’m not one to let go of things quickly, so the grace to forgive Tomasz so magnanimously definitely came from God, not me. Connecting the Dots Although I forgave Tom, we both knew we needed to go our separate ways. Tom would later say that being dumped was one of the best things that ever happened to him. God had been leading Tom on his own journey, and he needed to do this part without me. On that detour to Lourdes, months earlier, he experienced God guiding him. In fact, God guided him straight to the confessional. When he started to put things into the light, he received the grace to eventually be honest with me. Following our breakup, Tomasz made a conscious effort to turn his life around. He started making regular Holy Hours, going to a priest friend of ours for guidance, and finally got around to listening to the CDs on Theology of the Body that I had been nagging him about since his return from Europe. Little Did I Know Tom and I were together three years before we broke up, and were apart for three years before God brought us back together. During that time, we were able to rebuild our friendship. I was completing my studies, enjoying a new career in marketing and communications and discerning my vocation. I was pretty sure I was going to be a religious Sister. Tom was earning a good living as a rehabilitation consultant, but growing increasingly restless. Both of us earnestly wanted to discover God’s will for our lives. The opportunity to attend WYD 2011 in Madrid came up for each of us on separate pilgrimages. Both of us went with the intention of discovering what God wanted next. I was hoping to meet the religious order I was supposed to join, and Tom was preparing to leave his job, but didn’t know where to go next. By the end of the pilgrimage, Tom had decided to enrol in a Theology course. I was not successful in finding a religious order. Instead, while visiting Poland with my pilgrimage group, I found myself thinking about Tom and how it didn’t seem right to be visiting his homeland without him. Shortly after returning home, I realized that I really needed to pray about God’s will regarding my relationship with Tom, so I started a novena. The same day, Tom invited me to join him in a fifty-four day Rosary Novena for a particular intention–27 days to pray for the intention and 27 days to give thanks. I agreed, but added on my secret, second intention for our relationship. Twenty-seven days into that novena, Tom and I were both at a leadership retreat. Tom was helping to run the retreat while I served in the kitchen.  I dropped in to listen to him give a talk and was struck by how much he had grown. He was really becoming a man of God. I thought to myself, “Here is a man I could entrust myself to.” It turned out that he shared the same intention in the Novena. When we resumed dating, I felt total peace because both of us were seeking God’s will - so there was nothing to fear. To cut a long story short, Tom and I were engaged on the Solemnity of the Assumption of Our Lady. Tom told me that he chose that day, not just because he loved Our Lady, but because it pointed to the ultimate end of the marriage he was proposing: Heaven. We were married on Easter Saturday, or the eve of Divine Mercy Sunday and prayed that our marriage could give witness to the transforming power of God’s Mercy. God had taken the mess that we had made of our relationship the first time around and made it into something completely new. Marriage is a commitment, a vocation, a union. When we made that commitment at the altar to love one another, it was till death do us part. This is where we really learn about love. God doesn’t often ask us to die for our spouse, like Jesus did for us: His Church, but He is asking us to die to ourselves by forgiving each other in little ways every day. Marriage has to be based on loving forgiveness. God forgave us before we even said sorry. He told us to “Love one another as I have loved you.” When we imitate Him and forgive without rancour, then we share real love in a relationship centred on Christ. That relationship will last into eternity.