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If you can make it through the night, there’s a brighter day… Everything will be alright if you hold on to Him.
When the pandemic rolled in, it upended our lives, our homes and our reality like a hurricane. Suddenly — Six Feet Apart; Wash your Hands; Stay Home, and Steer Clear of Everyone became the mantras of the day. We became afraid of the future, the person passing by, or the scratchy throat we feel first thing in the morning.
Do I have Covid-19? Does my husband? Is it in my home? Fear and anxiety took the centre stage as people whispered, ‘You will get sick and die alone, without your family around you. You will not be able to feed your family or pay the bills.” Updates on the latest restrictions and predictions of death figures filled our newsfeeds, ramping up our panic as we reeled under the weight of the invisible doom threatening us from all sides. ‘We will get through this’; ‘We are all in this together’, we were told, but where is God? Why did all this happen?
Many years ago, I was overcome by fear and panic as I was plunged deep into an indescribable anguish. A paediatric neurologist told my husband and me that our three and a half year old son would die from a rare disease and that there was nothing we could do about it. His words shattered me. They drove me into the depths of despair and they drove me to my knees, begging God for the life of my son. Desperate for prayers, miracles and hope, I sought the counsel of our local priest who advised me that I would learn to pray and teach my family how to pray. It was not the consolation I was looking for.
My husband and I sought out the best specialist in the world for this particular disease. She bluntly told us, “We don’t know the cause, so there is no cure, but I will try to help you.” My son was admitted into a large children’s hospital in Chicago— two thousand miles from our home where our trials continued. One day my son passed out after he was stabbed with a needle over and over again in a botched attempt to put in an IV line.
As I sank to the floor sobbing, a woman reached down to pull me up. Her eyes were full of love and compassion as she enquired, “Did you eat your breakfast this morning? Did you put on your makeup?”
I stared at her in disbelief. Was she kidding? “No”.
“What is your son’s ailment,” she asked. When I told her, she said, “Good, you have hope” then she pulled back the curtain to reveal a boy of about 12 in the next bed. “That’s my son Charles. He has a double brain tumour. They just operated on him, but couldn’t remove it. The operation took away his ability to speak.”
“What are they going to do?” I gasped.
“Nothing. They have given him two months to live” she revealed.
I was shocked, but she continued, “I get up every morning and I put my make up on and eat my breakfast, not for me but for that young boy right there and I pray ‘Thank you Jesus that I have my son Charles today. That’s all that matters.’”
I was speechless. She had no hope yet she was hopeful. I had hope but I was a wreck. Over the next eight days, I watched her go from room to room, bringing joy and hope as she checking on other suffering families. It was unbelievable. How could she do that while her son lay mute in his hospital bed where my son talked to him incessantly about Star Wars?
After returning home with a plan to surgically implant a port for infusions three times a week and an appointment to return to Chicago to see his doctor, my husband sent Charles a signed Gator football hat, since we had discovered Charles loved the Gators. Sadly, we never heard back from Charles or his mom.
When our son finally began to improve, I stayed on my knees. Our past dreams and ambitions had all disappeared. We stayed on tenterhooks watching our son get better, relapse, get better, relapse. Again and again, up and down, watching, waiting, praying, hoping.
About two years later, as we once again stood in the hospital corridor waiting for blood results, I heard my name. Whirling around, I was delighted to see Charles and his mother! He ran up to our son, picked him up and twirled him around saying, “I couldn’t talk to you then, but I can talk to you now.” She looked at me with tears glistening in her eyes as she declared, “He’s not number one on the basketball team and he’s not a straight A student, but Thank You Jesus. I have my Charles today and that’s all that matters.” Even a double brain tumour was not big enough to stop the will of God! As I marvelled at her faith, I heard the words of scripture,
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 40:28-31
My son was not supposed to make it to 4 years old, but he did. And then he went to kindergarten, then middle school, and then he graduated from high school. Today he is at the tail end of a doctorate program and is a theologian. He has been sick off and on his whole life and I have been on my knees off and on my whole life. The priest was right. Suffering has kept me in prayer and taught me how small I am, how little control I have and what really matters. My life is not the life I intended but looking back I see that so many blessings came about because of the suffering. It tenderized my heart and revealed to me that no matter what comes, with God’s help, I will make it through. I will continue to thank Jesus for all that comes, knowing that no matter how hopeless things may appear, I can trust in God’s goodness to care for my family and for me.
Rosanne Pappas is an artist, author, and speaker. Pappas inspires others as she shares personal stories of God’s grace in her life. Married for over 35 years, she and her husband live in Florida, and they have four children.
From being a healthy Uni-student to a paraplegic, I refused to be confined to a wheelchair… In the initial years of University, I slipped a disc. Doctors assured me that being young and active, physiotherapy, and exercises could make me better, but despite all effort, I was in pain every day. I had acute episodes every few months, which kept me in bed for weeks and led to repeated hospital visits. Nevertheless, I held on to hope, until I slipped a second disc. That's when I realized my life had changed. Angry at God! I was born in Poland. My mom teaches theology, so I was brought up in the Catholic faith. Even when I moved to Scotland for University and then to England, I held onto it dearly, maybe not in a do-or-die manner, but it was always there. The initial phase of moving to a new country wasn’t easy. My home had been a furnace, with my parents fighting among themselves most of the time, so I had practically run away to this alien land. Leaving my difficult childhood behind, I wanted to enjoy my youth. Now, this pain was making it difficult for me to hold down jobs and keep myself financially balanced. I was angry at God. Yet, He wasn’t willing to let me go. Trapped at home in acute pain, I resorted to the only available pastime—my mother’s collection of religious books. Slowly, the retreats I attended and the books I read led me to realize that despite my distrust, God really wanted my relationship with Him to be strengthened. But I was also not totally over the anger that He wasn’t healing me yet. Eventually, I came to believe God was angry at me and didn’t want to heal me so I thought maybe I could trick him. I started looking for a holy priest with good ‘statistics’ for healing so that I could get healed when God was busy doing other things. Needless to say, that never happened. A Twist in My Journey One similar day in a prayer group, I was in so much pain. Fearing an acute episode, I was planning to leave when one of the members there asked if there was something I would like them to pray for. I was having some trouble at work, so I said yes. As they were praying, one of the men asked if there was some physical illness that I needed praying over. They were way down on my ‘healing rating’ list, so I didn’t trust that I would receive any relief, but I said ‘Yes’ anyway. They prayed and my pain was gone. I returned home, and it was still gone. I started jumping and twisting and moving around, and I was still okay. But nobody believed me when I told them I was healed. So, I stopped telling people; instead, I went to Medjugorje to thank Our Lady. There, I had an encounter with a man who was doing Reiki and wanted to pray over me. I refused, but before leaving he gave me a goodbye hug which left me worried because I recalled his words that his touch has power. I allowed fear to take over and falsely believed this evil’s touch was stronger than God. I woke up the next morning in excruciating pain, unable to walk. After four months of relief, my pain returned so acutely that I thought I wouldn’t even be able to make it back to the UK. When I returned, I found that my discs were touching the nerves, causing even more drastic pain for months. After six or seven months, the doctors decided that they needed to do the risky procedure on my spine that they had been keeping off for a long time. The surgery damaged a nerve in my leg, and my left leg was paralyzed knee-down. A new journey began there and then, a different one. I Know You Can Do it The very first time I arrived home in a wheelchair, my parents were terrified, but I was filled with joy. I loved all the technological stuff…every single time someone pressed a button on my wheelchair, I was excited like a kid. It was over the Christmas period, when my paralysis started regressing that I realized the extent of damage to my nerves. I was admitted to a hospital in Poland for a while. I didn't know how I was going to live. I was just praying to God that I needed another healing: “I need to find you again because I know you can do it.” So, I found a healing service and was convinced that I would be healed. A Moment You Don’t Wanna Miss It was Saturday and my father had initially not wanted to go. I just told him: “You don't want to miss out when your daughter is healed.” The original schedule had a Mass, followed by the healing service with Adoration. But when we arrived, the priest said they had to change the plan as the team that was meant to lead the healing service was not there. I remember thinking I don’t need any team: “I only need Jesus.” When the Mass started, I did not hear a single word. We were sitting on the side where there was a Divine Mercy picture. I looked at Jesus like I had never seen Him before. It was a stunning image. He looked so beautiful! I never saw that picture anywhere after that. All through Mass, the Holy Spirit was enveloping my soul. I was simply saying in my head ‘Thank you’ even though I didn’t know what I was thankful for. I wasn’t able to ask for healing, and it was frustrating because I needed healing. When adoration started I asked my mom to take me to the front, as close to Jesus as possible. There, seated up front, I felt someone touching, and massaging my back. I was getting so warm and cozy that I felt like I would fall asleep. So, I decided to walk back to the bench, forgetting that I could not ‘walk.’ I just walked back and my mom ran after me with my crutches, praising God, saying: “You are walking, you are walking.” I was healed, by Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. As soon as I sat down, I heard a voice saying: “Your faith has healed you.” In my mind, I saw the image of the woman touching the cloak of Jesus when He was passing. Her story reminds me of mine. Nothing was helping until I reached this point where I started trusting Jesus. The healing came when I accepted Him and told Him: “You are all I need.” My left leg had lost all its muscles and even that grew back overnight. It was very significant because the doctors were measuring it before, and they found an astounding, unexplainable change. Shouting it Out This time around when I received the healing, I wanted to share it with everyone. I wasn't embarrassed anymore. I wanted everyone to know how amazing God is and how much He loves all of us. I'm no one special and I haven't done anything special to receive this healing. Being healed also doesn't mean that my life became super-comfortable overnight. There are still difficulties, but they are much lighter. I take them to the Eucharistic Adoration and He gives me solutions, or ideas on how I can deal with them, as well as the assurance and trust that He will deal with them.
By: Ania Graglewska
MoreEver experienced what it’s like to be in adoration? Colette’s beautiful account could be life-changing for you. I remember that as a child, I used to think that speaking to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament was either the most incredible or crazy notion. But that was long before I encountered Him. Years from that initial introduction, I now have a treasure trove of little and big experiences that hold me close to the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, leading me ever closer, one step at a time…The journey is still on. Once a month, the parish I attended then held an all-night vigil which would start with the celebration of the Eucharist, followed by adoration throughout the night, broken up into hours. Every hour began with some prayer, a Scripture reading, and praise; I recall, during the initial months, the first stirrings of that feeling of being so close to Jesus. Those nights were so focused on the person of Jesus and there, I learnt to speak to the Blessed Sacrament, as if Jesus Himself was standing there. Later on, at a retreat for young adults, I came upon silent Eucharistic Adoration, which felt strange to me at first. There was nobody leading, and no singing. I enjoy singing in Adoration and I've always enjoyed people leading us in prayer. But this idea that I could sit and just be, that was new…At the retreat, there was a very spiritual Jesuit priest who would start adoration with: “Be still and know that I am God.” And that was the invitation. Me and You, Jesus I remember one specific incident that brought a profound realization of this stillness to me. I was at Adoration that day, my designated time had come to an end and the person who was supposed to be taking over from me hadn't arrived. While I was waiting, I had a distinct impression from the Lord: “That person is not here but you are,” so I decided to just breathe. They'd be here any minute I thought, so I focused on the presence of Jesus and was simply breathing. I realized, however, that my mind was leaving the building, getting busy with other cares, whereas my body was still there with Jesus. Everything that was going on in my mind suddenly camped. It was just a sudden moment, almost over before I realized what was happening. A sudden moment of stillness and peace. All the noises outside the chapel felt like music, and I thought: “My goodness, Lord, thank You…Is this what adoration is supposed to do? Lead me into a space where it's just me and You?” This made a deep and lasting impression on me, that the Eucharist is not something, it is Someone. In fact, it's not just someone, it is Jesus Himself. Priceless Gift I think our perception of His presence and gaze plays a big role. The thought of the eye of God fixed on us may feel very scary. But in reality, this is a gaze of compassion. I experience that full-on in adoration. There is no judgment, only compassion. I'm someone who is very quick to judge myself, but in that gaze of compassion from the Eucharist, I'm invited to be less judgmental of myself because God is less judgmental. I suppose I'm growing into this in a lifetime of continuous exposure to the exposed Eucharist. Eucharistic adoration has thus become for me a school of presence. Jesus is 100% present everywhere we go, but it's when I sit in His Eucharistic presence that I'm alerted to my own presence and His. There, His presence meets mine in a very intentional way. This school of presence has been an education in terms of how to approach others too. When I'm on duty in the hospital or the hospice and I'm meeting someone very ill, being a non-anxious presence to them is the only thing I can offer them. I learn this from His presence in Adoration. Jesus in me helps me be present to them with no agenda–simply to ‘be’ with the person, in their space. This has been a great gift to me because it frees me to almost be the Lord's presence with others and to allow the Lord to minister to them through me. There is no limit to the gift of peace that He gives. Grace happens when I stop and let His peace wash over me. I feel that in Eucharistic adoration, when I stop being so busy. I think that in my lifetime of learning so far, that's the invitation: “Stop being so busy and simply be, and let Me do the rest.”
By: Colette Furlong
MoreAdversities mark our lives on earth, but why would God allow that? About two years ago, I fronted up for my yearly blood test and when the results came back, I was told I had ‘Myasthenia Gravis.’ Fancy name! But neither I nor any of my friends or family had ever heard of it. I imagined all the possible terrors that may be ahead for me. Having lived, at the time of diagnosis, a total of 86 years, I had incurred many shocks. Rearing six boys was full of challenges, and these continued as I watched them build their families. I never gave into despair; the grace and power of the Holy Spirit always gave me the strength and trust I needed. I eventually depended on Mr. Google to learn more about ‘Myasthenia Gravis’ and after reading pages of what may happen, I realized I just had to trust my doctor to help me through. He, in turn, put me in the hands of a specialist. I went through a rocky road with newer specialists, changing tablets, more trips to hospital, and eventually having to give up my license. How could I survive? I was the one who drove friends to different events. After much discussion with my doctor and family, I finally realized that it was time to put my name down for acceptance into a nursing home. I chose Loreto Nursing Home in Townsville because I would have opportunities to nurture my faith. I was faced with many opinions and advices—all legitimate, but I prayed for guidance from the Holy Spirit. I was accepted into Loreto Home and made up my mind to accept what was on offer. It was there that I met Felicity. A Near-Death Experience A few years ago, there was a 100-year-flood in Townsville and a reasonably new suburb went under water with most houses inundated. Felicity’s house, like all others in the suburb, was low set, so she had about 4 feet of water throughout the entire house. As the soldiers from the Army Base in Townsville took up the task of a massive cleanup, all the residents had to find alternate accommodation to rent. She stayed at three different rental properties during the next six months, simultaneously helping the soldiers and working towards making her home livable again. One day, she began to feel unwell and her son, Brad, called the doctor on call, who advised on taking her to the hospital if things did not get better. The next morning, Brad found her on the floor with a swollen face and immediately called the ambulance. After many tests, she was diagnosed with ‘Encephalitis,’ ‘Melioidosis’ and ‘Ischemic attack,’ and remained unconscious for weeks. The contaminated flood waters she had waded through six months ago, it turns out, had contributed to an infection of her spinal cord and brain. As she floated in and out of consciousness, Felicity had a near-death experience: “As I was lying unconscious, I felt my soul leaving my body. It floated out and flew up very high to a beautiful spiritual place. I saw two people looking at me. I went towards them. It was my mother and father—they looked so young and were so happy to see me. As they stood aside, I saw something amazing, a stunning face of Light. It was God the Father. I saw people from every race, every nation, walking in pairs, some holding hands…I saw how happy they were to be with God, feeling at home in Heaven. When I woke up, I was so disappointed that I left that beautiful place of peace and love that I believed was Heaven. The priest who was tending to me all throughout my time in hospital said he had never seen anyone react as I did when I woke up.” Adversity into Blessings Felicity says she always had faith, but this experience of imbalance and uncertainty was enough to ask God: “Where are you?” The trauma of the 100-year-flood, the massive clean-up afterwards, the months of setting up her home while living in rental properties, even the nine months in hospital of which she had little memory of could have been the death of her faith. But she tells me with conviction: “My faith is stronger than ever.” She recalls that it was her faith that helped her deal with what she went through: “I believe I survived and came back, to see my beautiful granddaughter go to a Catholic High School and finish Year Twelve. She is going on to University!” Faith believes all things, heals all things, and faith never ends. It is in Felicity that I found the answer to a common question we all may face at some point in life: “Why does God allow bad things to happen?” I’d say that God gives us freewill. Men can initiate bad events, do evil things, but we can also call on God to change the situation, to change the hearts of men. Truth is, in the fullness of grace, He can bring good even out of adversity. Just as He led me to the nursing home to meet Felicity and hear her beautiful story, and just as Felicity found strength in faith as she spent endless months in the hospital, God can change your adversities into goodness too.
By: Ellen Lund
MoreWhen your path is swarming with difficulties, and you’re feeling clueless, what would you do? The summer of 2015 was unforgettable. I was at the lowest point of my life—alone, depressed, and struggling with all my strength to escape a terrible situation. I was mentally and emotionally drained, and felt that my world was going to end. But strangely, miracles unfold when we least expect them. Through a string of unusual incidents, it almost seemed as if God was whispering in my ear that He has got my back. On that particular day, I had gone to bed desperate and broken. Unable to sleep, I was once again pondering the sad state of my life as I clutched my rosary, attempting to pray. In a strange kind of vision or dream, a radiant light began emanating from the rosary on my chest, filling the room with an ethereal golden glow. As it slowly started to spread, I noticed dark, faceless, shadowy figures at the periphery of the glow. They had been closing in on me with unimaginable speed, but the golden light grew brighter and drove them farther away whenever they tried to come close to me. I felt frozen, unable to react to the strangeness of the vision. After a few seconds, the vision suddenly ended, plunging the room into pitch blackness again. Deeply disturbed and afraid to sleep, I turned on the TV. A priest was holding up a Saint Benedict medal* and explaining how it offered a divine protection. As he discussed the symbols and words inscribed on the medal, I glanced down at my rosary—a gift from my grandfather—and saw that the Cross on my rosary had the same medal embedded into it. This triggered an epiphany. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I realized that God was with me even when I thought my life was crumbling into ruin. A fog of doubt lifted from my mind, and I found solace in the knowledge that I was no longer alone. I had never realized the meaning of the Benedictine medal before, so this newfound belief brought me great comfort, strengthening my faith and hope in God. With immeasurable love and compassion, God was ever-present, ready to rescue me whenever I slipped. It was a comforting thought that embraced my being, filling me with hope and strength. Revamping My Soul This shift in perspective propelled me on a journey of self-discovery and growth. I stopped viewing spirituality as something distant and remote from my everyday life. Instead, I sought to nurture a personal connection with God through prayer, reflection, and acts of kindness, realizing that His presence is not confined to grand gestures but could be felt in the simplest moments of everyday life. A complete transformation did not happen overnight, but I began to notice subtle changes within myself. I’ve grown more patient, learned to let go of stress and worry, and embraced a newfound faith that things will unfold in accordance with God’s will if I place my trust in Him. Moreover, my perception of prayer has shifted, evolving into a meaningful conversation stemming from an understanding that, although His benevolent presence may not be visible, God listens and watches over us. Just as a potter sculpts clay into exquisite art, God can take the most mundane parts of our lives and shape them into the most beautiful forms imaginable. Belief and hope in Him will bring better things into our lives than we could ever accomplish on our own, and enable us to remain strong despite all the challenges that come our way. *Saint Benedict Medals are believed to bring divine protection and blessings to those who wear them. Some people bury them in the foundations of new buildings, while others attach them to rosaries or hang them on their home walls. However, the most common practice is to wear the Saint Benedict medal on the scapular or embed it in a Cross.
By: Annu Plachei
MoreI approached Him for success in my studies, but He didn’t stop there… During my high school years, I experienced a remarkable journey of faith and academic growth. As a devout Catholic, I firmly believed that God's presence was constantly with me, especially when it came to my studies. I remember one particular semester, I was facing a daunting load of exams and assignments. The subjects seemed to pile up, and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information I needed to grasp. Doubt started to creep into my mind, making me question my abilities. In those moments of uncertainty, I turned to prayer as my source of solace and guidance. Each evening, I would retreat to my room, light a candle, and kneel before my crucifix. I poured my heart out to God, expressing my fears and doubts while asking for strength, wisdom, and clarity in my studies. An Invisible Guide As the weeks went by, I noticed something extraordinary happening. Whenever I encountered a challenging topic or struggled with a difficult concept, I would find unexpected clarity. It was as if a light was being shone upon my path, illuminating the way forward. I would stumble upon helpful resources or passages in books that perfectly explain complex ideas, or receive unexpected support from classmates and teachers. I started to realize that these were not mere coincidences but rather, the signs of God's presence and help in my academic journey. It was as if He was guiding me, gently nudging me towards the right resources, the right people, and the right mindset. As I continued to trust in God's guidance, my confidence grew, and my grades began to improve. I noticed a marked difference in my ability to absorb information and comprehend complex concepts. I was no longer studying alone; I had an unseen companion by my side, guiding me through every challenge and encouraging me to persevere. But it wasn't just about the grades. Through this experience, I learned valuable lessons about faith and trust. I learned that God's help was not limited to spiritual matters but extended to every aspect of our lives, including our studies. I learned that when we turn to God with sincere hearts, He not only hears our prayers but also provides the support we need. Keeping Connected This journey taught me the importance of maintaining a strong connection with God, seeking His guidance, and trusting in His plan. It reminds me that true success is not measured solely by academic achievements but also by the growth of character, resilience, and faith. Looking back, I am grateful for the challenges I faced during that semester, as they deepened my relationship with God and strengthened my conviction in His unfailing assistance. Today, as I continue my academic pursuits, I carry the lessons learned during that time, knowing that God's divine guidance will always be there to lead me on the path to knowledge and fulfillment. In a world where academic pressures can often consume us, it is essential to remember that we are not alone in our journey. As Catholics, we have the privilege of seeking God's guidance and finding solace in His presence all the time. Through this personal story, I hope to inspire others to trust in God's unwavering support, not only in their studies but in every aspect of their lives. May we all find comfort in knowing that God is our ultimate teacher, guiding us toward wisdom, understanding, and unshakeable faith.
By: Delon Rojes
MoreWhat would you do when a stranger knocks at your door? What if the stranger turns out to be a difficult person? He says his name with emphasis, in Spanish, with a certain pride and dignity, so you’ll remember who he is—Jose Luis Sandoval Castro. He ended up on our doorstep at Saint Edward Catholic Church in Stockton, California, on a Sunday evening when we were celebrating our patron feast day. Somebody had dropped him off in our relatively poor, working-class neighborhood. The music and the crowd of people apparently drew him like a magnet to our parish grounds. Unveiling the Truth He was a man of mysterious origins—we did not know how he arrived at the church, let alone who and where his family was. What we did know was that he was 76 years old, bespectacled, dressed in a light-colored, well-worn vest, and was pulling his luggage by hand. He carried a document from the Immigration and Naturalization Service granting him permission to enter the country from Mexico. He had been robbed of his personal documents and carried no other identification with him. We set about exploring and discovering who Jose Luis was, his roots, his relatives, and whether they had any contact with him. He hailed from the town of Los Mochis in the state of Sinaloa, Mexico. Anger, vitriol, and venom spewed from his mouth. He claimed that his relatives had ripped him off and robbed him of his pension in the United States, where he had worked for years, as he went back and forth to Mexico. The relatives we contacted claimed they tried to help him on various occasions, yet he called them thieves. Who were we to believe? All we knew was that we had a wandering, regular drifter from Mexico in our hands, and we could not abandon him nor put the old, infirm man out on the street. Coldly, callously, one relative said: “Let him fend for himself on the streets.” He was a man of bluster, bravado, and gruffness, yet he flashed signs of vulnerability again and again. His eyes would water, and he would almost sob as he told how people had wronged and betrayed him. It seemed like he was all alone, deserted by others. The truth was—it was not easy to help him. He was ornery, stubborn, and proud. The oatmeal was either too chewy or not smooth enough, the coffee was too bitter and not sweet enough. He found fault with everything. He was a man with a gigantic chip on his shoulders, angry and disappointed with life. “People are bad and mean, they’ll hurt you,” he lamented. To that, I retorted that there were ‘Buena gente’ (good people) too. He was in the arena of the world where good and evil intersect, where people of goodness and kindness mixed together, like the wheat and chaff of the Gospel. More than a Welcome No matter his defects, no matter his attitude or his past, we knew we should welcome him and help him as one of the least of the brothers and sisters of Jesus. “When you welcomed the stranger, you welcomed me.” We were ministering to Jesus himself, opening the doors of hospitality to him. Lalo Lopez, one of our parishioners who took him in for a night, introduced him to his family, and took him to his son’s baseball game, observed: “God is testing us to see how good and obedient we are, as His children.” For several days, we put him up in the rectory. He was weak, spitting out phlegm every morning. It was obvious he could no longer roam and drift freely as he was accustomed to doing in his younger days. He had high blood pressure, over 200. On one visit to Stockton, he said he was hit behind the neck near a downtown church. A son in Culiacan, Mexico, said he “engendered me” and that he never really knew him as his dad, for he was never around, always traveling, heading for El Norte. The story of his life began to unfold. He had worked in the fields, harvesting cherries, many years ago. He had also sold ice cream in front of a local church a few years ago. He was, to quote the Bob Dylan classic song, “like one with no direction home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.” As Jesus left the 99 sheep behind to rescue one stray sheep, we turned our attention to this one man, apparently shunned by his own. We welcomed him, housed him, fed him, and befriended him. We came to know his roots and his history, the dignity and sacredness of him as a person, and not just as another throwaway on the streets of the city. His plight was publicized on Facebook by a woman who transmits video messages of missing persons to Mexico. People asked: “How can we help?” One man said: “I’ll pay for his ticket home.” Jose Luis, an illiterate man, rough and unrefined, came to our parish fiesta, and by the grace of God, we tried, in some small way, to emulate the example of Saint Mother Teresa, who welcomed the poor, the lame, the sick, and the outcasts of the world into her circle of love, the banquet of life. In the words of Saint John Paul II, solidarity with others is not a feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress at the misfortunes of others. It is a reminder that we commit to the good of all because we are all responsible for one another.
By: Father Alvaro Delgado
More‘Set a timer for five minutes and thank God for this person.’ I bet you are wondering what on earth I’m talking about. Sometimes, we forget to talk to God about unsettled situations regarding the people God places in our lives. Many times, I forget this. One day, by God’s grace, I chose to do something about the lack of peace in my heart. Several years ago, I was having a difficult time with someone in my life. I’ll skip the details. My problem was that it really bothered me. Have you ever been in a situation like this? I made a decision to talk to a priest about it and went to Confession. After he heard my confession, the priest gave me absolution and my penance. Guess what my penance was? If you said ‘set a timer,’ you are absolutely right! He said: “I want you to spend five minutes thanking God for this person.” Five Minutes Five Minutes? Yikes! Determined, I said to myself, I can do this. I left the Church and went to my car. I set my watch for five minutes, and immediately, I was stuck. Wow, this is really difficult! Slowly, I found little ways to thank God for this person. I checked my watch…ugh, only one minute passed. I continued to pray with all my heart. I want to do this! Again, I began thanking God. As the minutes slowly passed by, it became easier and easier. My five minutes still wasn’t up. Continuing with a renewed sense of determination, I found myself thanking God even for the small difficulties. Inside, my heart was leaping! Praying for this person was really working to change my heart. Why was I so consumed by these difficulties? This is really a good person. Remembering I often remember that day. When I face difficulties with someone, I attempt to apply what I learned from that particular penance. Do you remember the promise made when we recite the Act of Contrition? Those final words before we are absolved from our sins? “… I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, do penance, and amend my life. Amen.” Now, when I find myself ruminating over some difficulty I’m experiencing with someone, I stop, set a timer, and spend five minutes thanking God for them. It always astounds me how God can turn my heart around in such a short time. Jesus looked at them and said: “For human beings, this is impossible, but for God, all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26) Thank you, Jesus, for the priest who sometimes gives us a difficult but much-needed penance. Thank you, Jesus, for your healing touch. Thank you, Jesus, for each person You put on our paths. Thank you, Jesus, for loving us so much! Five minutes was and is so little time to have received such a great reward: peace of heart. “Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you!’” (John 20:21)
By: Carol Osburn
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
MoreMy husband was given a death sentence; I did not want to live on without him, but his firm convictions surprised me. Five years ago, my world came crashing down when my husband was diagnosed with a terminal disease. The life and the future I envisioned were forever changed in an instant. It was terrifying and confusing; the most hopeless and helpless I’ve ever felt. It was as though I had been plunged into an abyss of constant fear and despair. I had only my faith to cling onto as I faced the darkest days I’ve ever known. Days of caring for my dying husband and days of preparing to face a life completely different than what I had planned. Chris and I had been together since we were teenagers. We were best friends and nearly inseparable. We had been married for over twenty years and were happily raising our four children in what seemed like an idyllic life. Now he was given a death sentence, and I didn’t know how I could live without him. In truth, part of me didn’t want to. One day, in a moment of brokenness, I confided in him that I thought I might die of a broken heart if I had to live without him. His reaction was not as desperate. He sternly but empathetically told me that I had to keep living until God called me home; that I couldn’t wish or waste my life away because his was coming to an end. He confidently assured me that he would be watching over me and our children from the other side of the veil. The Other Side of Grief Chris had an unshakeable faith in God’s love and mercy. Convinced that we wouldn’t be separated forever, he would often recite the phrase: “It’s just for a little while.” This was our constant reminder that no heartache lasts forever—and these words gave me boundless hope. Hope that God will guide us through this, and hope that I will be reunited with Chris in the next life. During these dark days, we clung to Our Lady in the Rosary—a devotion we were already familiar with. The Sorrowful Mysteries were recited more often than not because contemplating the suffering and death of Our Lord brought us closer to Him in our own suffering. The Divine Mercy Chaplet was a new devotion that we added to our daily routine. Like the Rosary, this was a humbling reminder of what Jesus willingly endured for our salvation, and somehow it made the cross we had been given seem less heavy. We began to more clearly see the beauty in suffering and sacrifice. I would mentally repeat the small prayer: “Oh, Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in You” every hour of the day. It would bring a wave of calm over me whenever I felt a rush of uncertainty or fear. During this time, our prayer life deepened tremendously and gave us hope that Our Lord would be merciful to Chris and our family as we endured this painful journey. Today, it gives me hope that Chris is at peace, watching over and interceding for us from the other side—just as he promised. In these uncertain days of my new life, it’s hope that keeps me going and gives me strength. It has given me immeasurable gratitude for God’s endless love and tender mercy. Hope is a tremendous gift; an inextinguishable interior glow to focus on when we feel broken. Hope calms, hope strengthens, and hope heals. Hope takes courage to hold onto. As Saint John Paul II said: “I plead with you! Never, ever give up on hope. Never doubt, never tire and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.”
By: Mary Therese Emmons
MoreWhatever the situation you are going through, God will make a way where there seems to be no way… Today, my son Aaric brought home his dictation book. He got a red star with a ‘good’ remark. This might not be a big deal for a kindergartener, but for us, it is a celebrated achievement. The first week of school, I got a call from his class teacher. We dreaded this call, my husband and I. As I tried hard to explain his communication skills (or lack thereof) to his teacher, I remember confessing that while I cared for his big sister with special needs, I had fallen into this pattern of doing things without being asked. As she could not utter a single word, I had to guess her needs. The same mode was turned on for Aaric, too, in his early days. Even before he asked for water, I would give it to him. We had a bond that didn’t need words, a language of love, or so I thought. How miserably wrong I was! Not much later, when his little brother Abram turned three months old, I had to take those heavy steps again to see the counselor at school. This time, it was about Aaric’s poor writing skills. His dear class teacher panicked when she saw him drop his pencil on the table and stubbornly fold his hands as if to say: “I won’t write.” We dreaded this, too. His little sister Aksha was an expert at scribbling at the age of two, but Aaric wouldn’t even hold the pencil. He just didn’t fancy it. The First Step After receiving instructions from the counselor, I visited the principal, who insisted that we undergo a thorough assessment if his communication continues to be weak. I couldn’t even think of that back then. For us, he was a miracle baby. After what we went through with our firstborn and three miscarriages, Aaric had defied all odds. He was born full-term, unlike what the doctors had predicted. His vitals were normal at birth. “He’s a big baby!” exclaimed the doctor on bringing him out through a C-section. We watched him grow step by step with almost bated breath, praying nothing would go wrong. Aaric soon reached all his milestones. However, when he was just one year old, my father mentioned that he may need speech therapy. I brushed it off as being too early to diagnose. The truth was, I didn’t have the strength to face another problem. We were already worn out with all that our firstborn was going through. Anna was born preterm at 27 weeks. After many grueling days in the NICU, she was diagnosed with severe brain damage at three months and had epileptic seizures. After all the treatments and medications, our now 9-year-old daughter still battles with cerebral palsy and intellectual disability. She is unable to sit up, walk, or talk. Countless Blessings There’s a limit to holding off the inevitable, so six months ago, we reluctantly took Aaric to get an initial assessment. The ADHD diagnosis was hard. We struggled to accept it, but we still put him through speech therapy. At this point, he was only stuttering a few words. A few days back, I mustered the courage to go to the hospital with Aaric and get a full, thorough assessment. Mild autism was what they said. As we were going through the process of assessment, several questions were asked. To my surprise, my response to most of these questions was: “He wasn’t able to, but now he can.” Praise God! By the power of the Holy Spirit living in him, everything is possible. I believe that praying and blessing him every day before going to school has made a difference. The change was radical when he began to memorize Bible verses. And the beauty is that he recites those verses just when I need them. Indeed, the Word of God is living and active. I believe the transformation is ongoing. Whenever I feel low, God surprises me by making him say a new word. Amid the tantrums he puts up, and when everything seems to crumble down, my little girl, three-year-old Aksha, simply comes up and gives me a hug and a kiss. She really knows how to comfort her mama. I believe that God will surely intervene and heal our eldest daughter, Anna, too, for nothing is impossible for Him. Change is already visible—the number of times she goes into epileptic seizures has gone down tremendously. In our walk of life, things may not be going as expected, but God never leaves nor forsakes us. Just like oxygen that is essential yet invisible, God is ever present and provides the life we need so badly. Let us cling to Him and not doubt whilst in the darkness. May our testimony reveal the truth of how beautiful, wonderful, and loving our God is and how He transforms us to say: “I was …, but now I am ….”
By: Reshma Thomas
MoreFrom the time I could talk, Mom mildly lamented that I was a chatterbox. What she did about it changed my life! “You certainly have the gift to gab,” my mother would tell me. When she’d sense a particularly chatty mood developing, she’d proceed to recite a version of this little verse: “They call me Little Chatterbox, but my name is Little May. The reason that I talk so much, is because I have so much to say. Oh, I have so many friends, so many you can see, and I love every one of them and everyone loves me. But I love God the best of all. He keeps me through the night and when the morning comes again, He wakes me with His light.” In hindsight, the little verse was probably meant to distract me from talking and allow Mom’s ears a temporary respite. However, as she recited the sweet rhythmic poem, its meaning provided more things to ponder. As time taught lessons of maturity, it became clear that many of the thoughts or opinions rattling around in my head should be filtered or quieted, simply because they weren’t necessary to share. Learning to stifle what came naturally took a lot of practice, self-discipline, and patience. However, there were still moments when some things needed to be said aloud or certainly I was going to burst! Fortunately, my mother and Catholic education were instrumental in introducing me to prayer. Prayer was simply talking to God as I would a best friend. What’s more, to my extreme delight, when informed that God was always with me and very eager to listen anytime and anywhere, I thought: “Now, this MUST be a match made in Heaven!” Learning to Listen Along with maturity came the feeling that it was time to develop a deeper relationship with my friend, God. True friends communicate with each other, so I realized that I shouldn’t be the one who did all the talking. Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminded me: “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under Heaven” and it was time to allow God some chatting opportunities while I listened. This new maturity also took practice, self-discipline, and patience to develop. Making time to regularly visit the Lord in His home at the church or adoration chapel assisted this growing relationship. There I felt freer from the distractions that tempted my thoughts to wander. Sitting in silence was uncomfortable at first, but I sat and waited. I was in His house. He was the host. I was the guest. Therefore, out of respect, it seemed appropriate to follow His lead. Many visits were spent in silence. Then one day, through the silence, I heard a gentle whisper in my heart. It wasn’t in my head or in my ears…it was in my heart. His tender yet direct whisper filled my heart with a loving warmth. A revelation took hold of me: That voice…somehow, I knew that voice. It was very familiar. My God, my friend, was there. It was a voice I’d heard all my life, but to my dismay, I realized that I had so often naively drowned it out with my own thoughts and words. Time also has a way of revealing the truth. I had never realized that God had always been there trying to get my attention and had important things to say to me. Once I understood, sitting in silence was no longer uncomfortable. In fact, it was a time of longing and anticipation to hear His tender voice, to hear Him lovingly whisper again to my heart. Time strengthened our relationship so that was no longer just one or the other speaking; we began to dialogue. My morning would start in prayer by giving Him the day ahead. Then, along the way, I’d stop and update Him how the day was going. He’d console, advise, encourage, and sometimes reprimand me as I tried to discern His will in my daily life. Trying to understand His will drew me to Scripture where, once again, He’d whisper to my heart. It was amusing to realize that He too was quite a chatterbox, but why should I be surprised? After all, He told me in Genesis 1:27 that I was created in His image and likeness! Quieting the Self Time does not stand still. It’s created by God and it’s a gift from Him to us. Thankfully, I’ve walked with God a long time, and through our walks and talks, I’ve come to understand that He whispers to those who silence themselves to hear Him, just as He did to Elijah. “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” (1 Kings 19: 11-12) In fact, God instructs us to silence ourselves so that we can come to know Him. One of my favorite Scripture verses is Psalm 46:10, where God explicitly told me to “Be still and know that I am God.” Only in quieting my mind and body could my heart be quiet enough to hear Him. He reveals Himself when we listen to His Word because “Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ.” (Romans 10:17) A long time ago, when my mother recited that childhood verse, little did she know that a seed would be planted in my heart. Through my conversations with God in prayer, that little seed has grown and grown, until at long last, I do ‘love God the best of all!’ He does keep me through the night, especially the dark times in life. Furthermore, my soul awakened when He spoke of my salvation. Thus, He always wakes me with His light. Thank you, Mom! The time has come to remind you, dear friend, that God loves you! Just like me, you too are created in the image and likeness of God. He wants to whisper to your heart, but for that, be still and get to know Him as God. I invite you, let this be your time and season to allow yourself to develop a deeper relationship with the Lord. Chat with Him in prayer as your dearest friend and develop your own dialogue with Him. When you listen, it won’t take long to realize that when He whispers to your heart, He too is a ‘chatterbox.’
By: Teresa Ann Weider
MoreEver gazed into someone’s eyes with unending wonder, hoping that the moment will never pass? "Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks." (1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18) The most important question that people ask is: “What is the purpose of human life?” At the risk of appearing to oversimplify reality, I will say and have often said it from the pulpit: “This life is about learning how to pray.” We came from God and our destiny is to return to God, and to begin to pray is to begin to make our way back to Him. Saint Paul tells us to go even further, that is, to ‘pray without ceasing’. But how do we do that? How do we pray without ceasing? We understand what it means to pray before Mass, pray before meals, or pray before we go to sleep, but how does one pray without ceasing? The great spiritual classic The Way of a Pilgrim, written by an unknown 19th-century Russian peasant, tackles that very question. This work focuses on the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Those in the Eastern rite say this repeatedly using a prayer rope, which is like a rosary, but has 100 or 200 knots, some have 300 knots. Burning Candle Obviously, one cannot be constantly saying that prayer, for example when we are talking to someone, or in a meeting, or working on some project...So how does this work? The purpose behind this constant repetition is to create a habit in the soul, a disposition. Let me compare it to someone who has a musical disposition. Those who are musically gifted almost always have a song playing in the back of their minds, perhaps a song they've heard on the radio, or a song they're working on if they are musicians. The song is not at the forefront of their minds but at the back. Similarly, to pray without ceasing is to pray in the back of one's mind, constantly. An inclination to prayer has been developed as a result of the constant repetition of this prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” But the same thing can occur for those who pray the Rosary very often: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” What happens is that eventually, the actual words are no longer necessary because the very meaning that the words express have become a habit imprinted in the subconscious, and so although the mind may be preoccupied with some matter, such as paying a phone bill or shopping or taking an important phone call, the soul is praying in the background, without words, like a candle that is burning constantly. That's when we have begun to pray without ceasing. We begin with words, but eventually, we go beyond words. Prayer of Wonder There are different kinds of prayer: the prayer of petition, prayer of intercession, prayer of thanksgiving, prayer of praise, and prayer of adoration. The highest kind of prayer that each one of us is called to achieve is the prayer of adoration. In the words of Father Gerald Vann, this is the prayer of wonder: “The still, wordless gaze of Adoration, which is proper to the lover. You are not talking, not busy, not worried or agitated; you're not asking for anything: you are quiet, you are just being with, and there is love and wonder in your heart.” This prayer is much more difficult than we might tend to believe. It is about placing oneself in the presence of God, in silence, focusing all our attention on God. This is difficult, because what soon happens is that we are distracted by all kinds of thoughts, and our attention will be pulled this way and that way, without our being aware of it. Once we do become aware of it, however, we just have to refocus our attention on God, dwelling in His presence. But, within a minute, the mind will be drawn away again, distracted by thoughts. This is where short prayers are so important and helpful, like the Jesus prayer, or a short phrase from the Psalms, like “God come to my assistance, Lord make haste to help me,” (Psalm 69:2) or “Into your hands, I commend my spirit.” (Psalm 31:6) These short phrases repeated will help us to return to that interior dwelling place within. With constant practice, one eventually is able to dwell in silence, in the presence of God within, for a long time without distraction. This is also a kind of prayer that brings tremendous healing to the subconscious. Many of the thoughts that come to the surface during this time are often unhealed memories that have been stored in the subconscious, and learning to leave them behind brings about profound healing and peace; for much of our day-to-day lives is driven by these unhealed memories in the unconscious, which is why there is typically a great deal of turmoil in the interior lives of the faithful. A Peaceful Departure There are two types of people in this world: those who believe that this life is a preparation for eternal life, and those who believe that this life is all there is and everything we do is only a preparation for life in this world. I've seen a lot of people in the hospital these past few months, people who have lost their mobility, who have had to spend months in a hospital bed, many of whom died after a long period. For those who do not have an interior life and who have not cultivated the habit of prayer throughout their lives, these final years and months are often very painful and very unpleasant, which is why euthanasia is becoming more popular. But for those who have a rich interior life, those who have used the time in their lives to prepare for eternal life by learning to pray without ceasing, their final months or years, perhaps in a hospital bed, are not unbearable. Visiting these people is often a joy, because there is a deeper peace within them, and they are thankful. And the wonderful thing about them is that they are not asking to be euthanized. Instead of making their final act an act of rebellion and murder, their death becomes their final prayer, a final offering, a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving for all they've received throughout their lives.
By: Deacon Doug McManaman
MoreIt was fully my intention to have all of the Winona-Rochester seminarians stand at one point during my installation Mass homily. I had told the people that, in the words of John Paul II, ecclesia de eucharistia (the Church comes from the Eucharist), and since the Eucharist comes from priests, it logically follows that if there are no priests, there will be no Church. So I wanted everyone to see and acknowledge the young men in our diocese who are actively discerning a call to this indispensably important way of life. During the ovation, something came to me as an inspiration. I hadn’t planned to say it. It wasn’t in my text. But I blurted out, as the applause was dying down: “Let’s double their number in the next five years!” A confirmation that this was perhaps from the Holy Spirit is that people, at every stop I’ve made so far in the diocese, have, with enthusiasm, echoed those words back to me. In fact, the leader of one of the Serra groups has told me that she and her colleagues have decided to take up the challenge. We have twenty seminarians, at both the college and major theology levels, which is pretty good for a diocese our size. And we have a wonderful coterie of priests, both active and ‘retired,’ who are busily serving our nearly one hundred parishes. But those under retirement age number only around sixty, and all of our priests are stretched thin. Furthermore, there will be no priestly ordinations in Winona-Rochester for the next two years. So, there is no question: We need more priests. Now, bishops and priests do indeed have a key role to play in the encouragement of vocations. What draws a young man to the priesthood is, above all, the witness of happy, healthy priests. Some years ago, the University of Chicago conducted a survey to determine which professions were the happiest. By a rather large margin, those deemed most content were members of the clergy. Moreover, a variety of surveys have demonstrated that, despite the troubles of recent years, Catholic priests report very high levels of personal satisfaction with their lives. Given these data, one recommendation I would make to my brother priests is this: Let people see it! Let them know how much joy you take in being a priest. But I believe that lay people have an even more important role to play in the cultivation of vocations. Within the Protestant context, sometimes the son of a great preacher follows in his father’s footsteps so that one minister effectively begets another. But this, for obvious reasons, can’t happen in a Catholic setting. Instead, priests, without exception, come from lay people; they come from families. The decency, prayerfulness, kindness, and encouragement of parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles make an enormous difference in the fostering of a vocation to the priesthood. One of the most vivid memories of my childhood is of my father, kneeling in intense prayer after Communion one Sunday at St. Thomas More Parish in Troy, Michigan. I was only five or six at the time, and I considered my father the most powerful man on earth. That he was kneeling in supplication before someone more powerful shaped my religious imagination profoundly and, as you can tell, I’ve never forgotten the moment. Both of my parents loved and respected priests and made sure that we kids had steady contact with them. Trust me, their openness of spirit in regard to priests affected my vocation deeply. And please remember that non-family members can light the flame of a vocation as well. Study after study has shown that one of the most important factors in convincing a young man to enter the seminary is that a trusted friend, colleague, or elder told him that he would make a good priest. I know that there are lots of folks who harbor in their hearts the conviction that a young man should enter the seminary, for they have noticed his gifts of kindness, prayerfulness, intelligence, etc., but they have never summoned the courage or taken the time to tell him. Perhaps they’ve assumed that others have done so. But this is tragically to miss an opportunity. I would say simply this: if you have remarked virtues in a young man that would make him an effective priest, assume that the Holy Spirit has given you this insight so that you might share it with that young man. Believe me, the plainest words you speak could be seeds that will bear fruit thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold. Finally, if you feel strongly about vocations, pray for them. In the Bible, nothing of moment is ever accomplished apart from prayer. God delights in our cooperation with His grace, but the work of salvation is, at the end of the day, His. So ask Him! Might I suggest a particular intercessor in this regard? Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower, said that she entered the convent “in order to save souls and especially to pray for priests.” She also said that she would spend her Heaven doing good on the earth. Let us, therefore, petition her intercession as we ask the Lord to double the number of our seminarians in the coming years.
By: Bishop Robert Barron
MoreAs a cradle Catholic, I was taught that forgiveness is one of the cherished values of Christianity, and yet I struggle to practice it. The struggle soon became a burden as I started focusing on my inability to forgive. During Confession, the priest pointed to the forgiveness of Christ: “He did not just forgive them, but he prayed for their redemption.” Jesus said: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” This prayer of Jesus reveals an often-neglected fragment. It clearly unveils that the gaze of Jesus was not on the pain or the cruelty of the soldiers but on their lack of knowledge of the truth. Jesus picked this fragment to intercede for them. The message dawned on me that my forgiveness has to sprout from giving space to the unknown fragments of the other person and even myself. I now feel lighter and more joyful because previously, I was dealing exclusively with the known factors—the hurt that others caused, the words that they spoke, and the brokenness of hearts and relationships. Jesus has already left the gates of forgiveness wide open for me, I just have to tread on this path of humbly acknowledging the unknown fragments within myself and others. The awareness of the unknown fragments also adds layers of meaning to what Jesus means when He invites us to walk the extra mile. It occurred to me that forgiveness is a journey commencing from the act of forgiveness to an honest intercession. This moment of walking the extra mile, by praying for the good of those who have hurt me, is my walk through Gethsemane. And this is my total surrender to His will. He has lovingly called everyone to eternity and who am I to cause a barrier with my ego and resentment? Opening our hearts to unknown fragments mends our relations with one another and leads us to a deeper relationship with God, giving us and others access to His abundant peace and freedom.
By: Emily Sangeetha
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