When [Jesus] became aware of this he said [ . . . ] ”Do you not yet understand or comprehend?” // Mark 8:17
I don’t get it, I entreated the Lord in prayer. Help me understand?
I had felt Him invite me to ask for healing, despite my fear of more disappointment. I’d prayed the same novena and used the exact healing oil that had worked legitimate miracles in others’ lives. I did everything I was “supposed” to do, but things only got worse, not better.
What am I lacking, Lord? Not enough detachment? Too little faith?
Gently, I felt the Lord speak into my grief. Do you need to understand it? Or can you let Me understand for you?
Gradually, I learned His meaning. My desire to understand was undermined by a temptation to manipulate and control the outcome according to my own will, in response to my own fears. This left little room for His perfect will and zero room for mystery.
The disciples in today’s Gospel (see Mark 8:14-21) leaned on their own understanding to find Christ’s meaning, but their human assumptions simply brought pain and confusion. Their supposed understanding led them away from His heart of love and provision for them, right into forgetfulness and fearful self-sufficiency.
We put a lot of emphasis on our need to know. Yet this curiosity is often a fruit of fear that makes us grasp impatiently for answers and control. In truth, God will reveal what He needs us to know in the fullness of time. Until then, we need to understand far less than we think we do.
God has a plan—a good plan—for our lives.
He deeply desires to rescue us from our desperate “need” to know it all. His provision doesn’t depend on our knowledge or understanding of it. It depends on our willingness to rely on His understanding, that we might receive the fullness of His provision—mystery and all.
This Lent, ask the Lord if He’s inviting you to give up your “need” to know. Beginning tomorrow, for all of Lent, we’re switching our daily email content from our normal devotions based on the daily Mass Scripture readings to selections from our Lent Devotional, Rescued. Join the Blessed is She community as we give God permission to rescue us in our fears, and be carried by His infinite strength. ]]>
The Pharisees came forward and began to argue with Jesus, seeking from him a sign from heaven to test him. He sighed from the depth of his spirit and said, "Why does this generation seek a sign?” // Mark 8:11-12
I’ve been a Pharisee. Sometimes, I still am. I enter into the day focused on my list of to-dos and in a spirit of I can do this on my own.
It isn't before long that I plead with Jesus to come to me, to show me a sign that He’s with me. To either ease my load or send help. I crumble into a state of near despair as I march on with one fist in the air, clutching my list.
The laundry, the dishes, another snack for my daughter. In the midst of this monotony, His Spirit meets my own. I’ve been here with you all along, I sense Him gently say.
I am here with you, in all of the mundane. I am here with you, do you see? I go with you, I stand beside you, I accompany you as you go about this day.
It is not a sign you seek—it is Me.
May I remain here with you? May I enter into your activity and provide the peace you so desperately desire? May I show you that this list is not the way, but it is I Who Am. Will you loosen your grip on all that was “supposed” to be and look at Me?
I begin to see with clarity the help He’s extending to me.
It is Himself.
Immediately, I refocus. I lay down my list and pause. I breathe.
It is in this stillness that He pours the fruits of His Spirit into me—that I may carry my daily load with love, joy, kindness, peace, patience, and gratitude.
My day-to-day includes monotony, yes, but He helps me see each demand as pure gift. And there are signs around me, just not those I’d expect—the laundry, the dishes, and the little hand that reaches high to hold my own—reminding me that this is where He needs me. I reorient my heart beside His and carry on as He accompanies me.
Thank you, Jesus, for this perspective shift; please help me love as You do today.
]]>
Moved with pity, [Jesus] stretched out his hand, touched [the leper], and said to him, “I do will it. Be made clean.” // Mark 1:41
My husband has a wonderful sense of humor. For years, as I was getting ready for bed at night, he would serenade my rather voluminous chest. He’d often use the theme song from some movie we’d just watched to do so. You can imagine having your breasts serenaded to the tune of Darth Vader’s theme song.
Thanks to my husband, there’s a great deal of laughter in my house.
However, when I learned I would need a double mastectomy, I didn’t mourn my breasts for myself, but for my husband. And the thing that made me the most sorrowful was that my hugs for him would never feel the same. I was surprised at how sad that thought made me.
As I lamented this with my women’s prayer group one day before my surgery, one of my dearest friends in the group offered this insight. She said, “You know I’ve been thinking about your hugs feeling different. And as I was praying about that, it came to me that, yes, your hugs may feel different, but now, your hearts will be even closer.”
I burst into tears. What a remarkably merciful thought! When my dear friend made this observation, it was no different than the poor leper in today’s Gospel begging the Lord to heal him. Through my friend, Jesus was moved with pity. And in no less of a visceral way, He reached out through her, touched my heart, and healed me.
And, as it turns out, my friend was absolutely right: our hearts are closer when we hug now. I can feel it.
Can you recall a moment when you felt the mercy of the Lord in a very palpable way? A time when you sensed the touch of Jesus coming to you through another? Give thanks for this moment and then, just like the leper, go and tell someone about your experience of the healing love of Jesus (see Mark 1:45).
]]>
They ate and were satisfied. They picked up the fragments left over—seven baskets. // Mark 8:8
“N-u-m-e-r-a-t-o-r,” I spell aloud to my one son. His giggles alert me to the fact that I’ve messed something up. While attempting to proctor one child’s spelling test alongside helping another with math lessons, I’ve mashed the two lessons into one. Meanwhile, the toddler is gleefully spreading flour around the room because I abandoned the dough I’d begun when the mathematics query tugged my attention away.
I’ve created a kerfuffle of it all because of an incessant urge I have to be efficient, to cram in multiple things and make the most of my time. I leap for what I believe to be a shortcut only to have it leave me frustrated and no farther along in my day.
In today’s Old Testament reading (see 1 Kings 12:26-32; 13:33-34), Jeroboam realizes he could lose the hearts of the people if they travel to Jerusalem to offer sacrifice, so he creates a simpler path, one that seems easy on the surface but circumnavigates what God has asked of His people. And it works—the people choose the easy path of sin over obedience, with the final result being destruction. More times than not, efficiency stamps out love.
Compare those people of the Old Testament reading with the crowd following Jesus in the Gospel reading (see Mark 8: 1-10). On the verge of collapsing, the crowd remains close to Jesus. He has compassion on them and their lack of sustenance and energy, and even though they did not plan ahead, He takes the little they do have and turns it into abundance.
Jesus shows us that God’s grace is present to carry us through wherever we lack. It covers all we cannot accomplish alone. He wants us to bring what we have, offer it back to Him, and He promises to give us what we need for today. God is generous beyond our capacity to understand. My best efforts will eventually end in a muddle, but when I put it in His hands and depend upon God’s grace, my basket will be full for what He calls me to.
]]>
Jesus left the district of Tyre and went by way of Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, into the district of the Decapolis. // Mark 7:31
During the pandemic, I got Covid-19 like so many of us did. I isolated myself upstairs, so my mom wouldn’t get it, and saw no one for days. That was until the doorbell rang, and at the front door was a priest friend of mine along with my best friend. They were there to bring me Holy Communion and for Father to give me a blessing as I looked down from my balcony to the front door. They went out of their way to give me what I needed most: Jesus, the Divine Physician.
In the Gospel for today (see Mark 7:31-37), we read about a puzzling trip for Jesus and His Apostles. If you’re unfamiliar with the geography of the Holy Land, you would never know that Sidon is north of Tyre and the Sea of Galilee is southeast. Jesus went way out of His way to visit Sidon. Why?
Christ chose to walk those many extra miles for one of His children. He longed for this man to hear not only His voice but also the voice of love the man’s friends had for him, who also went out of their way to bring him to the Divine Physician. Neither Jesus nor the deaf and mute man’s friends saw him as an inconvenience; they were only concerned with him and his healing.
How often I fail to go out of my way, more concerned with the time it will take me, the checklist of things I have to get done, or what it will cost. I selfishly think of myself rather than what it could mean for someone else if I went out of my way to bring Christ to them. Maybe you can relate.
What prevents you from going the extra mile or two for others? There are numerous reasons why we stop doing so, and God wants to remove our excuses and heal any wounds we might have.
Conversely, who is someone you are thankful for who has gone out of their way for you? Thank God for them in an extraordinary way today.
]]>
She replied and said to [Jesus], “Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.”// Mark 7:28
Lord, that I may be like the Canaanite woman in today’s Gospel (see Mark 7:24-30).
This woman really knew herself. She was no Israelite, no Pharisee, no “chosen” one of God(see 1 Kings 11:13). The culture at the time communicated this loud and clear, and in this interaction with Jesus Christ, she had nothing to cling to except for her utter dependence on His mercy. And He knew it.
I can imagine this moment shared between them, and I see it laden with such tenderness and humor. In the same way one of my kids might come to me and ask for a snack and I wrap them in my arms and say, “Why should I give you a snack? What will you give to me?”
In humility and trust they know there is nothing they can really give, but that I will care for them no matter what. I see this moment shared between our Lord and the Canaanite woman similarly, with so much more at stake. For she was seen to be worth nothing in the eyes of the Jews, which Christ Himself was, and yet she threw herself at the mercy of Him so completely, so humbly, for she knew He was all she had.
And truthfully, He is all any of us have.
Summing up a homily of Saint John Chrysostom, Scott Hahn and Curtis Mitch explain this Gospel passage well in their commentary in the Ignatius Study Bible: New Testament: “The Canaanite woman signifies repentant souls. Incapable of boasting, contrite sinners lean wholly on God’s mercy; they recognize their weakness before God and can only beg for blessings, unable to demand from God gifts that he freely bestows” (source).
Lord, help us to throw ourselves at Your most tender and merciful Heart, with no pretense and without reservation. Cover Your daughters in Your mercy, like the woman in this Gospel scene. Amen.
]]>
“Hear me, all of you, and understand.” // Mark 7:14
Months after our wedding day, my husband and I found ourselves joyfully anticipating our first child! It was the most surreal experience I’ve probably ever had (and I have had the blessing of experiencing it three more times). This idea that a child was growing inside of me while I was her safe haven was equally beautiful and terrifying. As a first-time mom, I was fixated on reading all the pregnant-mom blogs and following social media accounts of what I had to do, eat, listen to, etc. Cue the unsolicited advice from pretty much everyone around me and I had enough intel to keep me up at night thinking about the hot sauce I added to my dinner and what that would do to my baby . . .
We’ve all stressed over advice about things that can harm us or ways we should actually do something. The Gospel today demonstrates this when the Pharisees and scribes question Jesus about the way His disciples ate with unclean hands (see Mark 7:14-23). Jesus shifts the focus to matters of the heart. What do we allow to flow from our hearts? How do these ideas/standards shape who we are? The Lord invites us to live from a well-formed conscience and with the heart that He gave us, rather than merely living our lives following rules and restrictions without regard for His love for us.
If you notice yourself looking at others for the way you should be living more than you are looking to the Lord, I invite you to pause and seek His voice. (His voice does not pressure you like that perfectly curated social media account, lifestyle blog, or TV persona . . . ) When we focus on allowing Him to guide our discernment, we will be able to live as our authentic selves. Saint Irenaeus reminds us that, “For the glory of God is a living man; and the life of man consists in beholding God” (source). Today, I invite you to ask the Lord to show you how to be fully alive, without distractions and pressures from the world. Your life brings Him glory when you live the way He created you to live.
]]>
How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord, mighty God! // Psalm 84:2
I didn’t much like praise and worship music when I was in high school—I thought it was cheesy. And, to be fair, some of it was in the early 2000s. “Yes, Lord, Yes, Lord, Yes, Yes, Lord” with hand gestures did not help me have an open heart to Jesus.
But then one night, at a parish holy hour, there was a song that was one part catchy and two parts profound.
“Better is one day in your courts, better is one day in your house, better is one day in your courts, than thousands elsewhere . . . ”
Over and over, we sang about the desire to be in the court of God, and as I knelt in the church, my knees stuck to the faux leather kneeler, I realized what I was saying.
God’s court, His lovely dwelling place, is where I belong. God’s presence, right before me in the Blessed Sacrament, was where my soul found rest. Even the threshold of God’s house was better than any luxurious offering of this world.
I was convicted in that moment, at seventeen, to make time in His house a priority.
His presence is not limited by church buildings. For truly, when we are in our own homes, sometimes messy and cluttered and noisy, we can remember the Lord’s presence and dwell with Him. Whether we are traveling, sitting at a desk, waiting in the school pickup line, cooking a dinner no one will say “thank you” for, or folding laundry for the tenth time this week, we can think of God’s altars, where our hearts and flesh cry out for the living God.
His dwelling place is lovely, and for what we long. His dwelling place is worthy of building in our hearts, a place where the living and true God can rest in our yearning souls. Do you long for his courts, just one day with the Lord, more than the thousands elsewhere? How can you build his court, dwell in His kingdom, today?
]]>
“I have truly built you a princely house, a dwelling where you may abide forever.” // 1 Kings 8:13
“Did you pack the kids’ water bottles?” I shout to my husband, who is buckling our youngest into her carseat. The kids have had breakfast, all five of us are dressed in our Sunday best, everyone’s hair is brushed, my makeup is applied. I grab “the Mass bag” filled with a few religious picture books and activities, glance at the clock, and hurry out the door. We should make it a few minutes before Mass begins. Whew. This is our Sunday morning rush.
My Sunday preparations have looked different in various seasons of my life. As a younger single woman in college, I was able to arrive as early as I wanted for Mass, centering myself in prayer before it began. Now, our family listens to a podcast on the readings of the day as preparation on the drive to our parish.
Today’s First Reading (see 1 Kings 8:1-7, 9-13) describes the extraordinary efforts the Israelites took in preparing the temple as a dwelling place for the ark of the covenant. We see a reflection of this each time we are before the sanctuary of a Catholic Church, where our Lord dwells in His tabernacle. What a gift to be in His presence! But our Lord desires far more for us: in His profound humility and wild generosity, He comes to dwell in the temple of our bodies (see 1 Corinthians 3:16). As we receive Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, we become a physical dwelling place for Him. What preparations are we making to receive Him? What kind of a dwelling will He find within us?
What one thing can we change this week to more fully prepare ourselves to receive Jesus? Maybe He is inviting us to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Perhaps He is calling you to arrive even five minutes earlier for Mass to spend more time with Him before the liturgy begins or to read the readings before Mass. Whatever it is, let us pray that the Lord will find the temples of our hearts more beautiful for Him. May they be dwellings where He will abide forever. Amen.
]]>
Christ took away our infirmities and bore our diseases. // Alleluia Verse (see Matthew 8:17)
Late November 2022, I watched my mother do physical therapy exercises in my dining room. She scrunched up sheet after sheet of magazine pages with her left hand. The tears running down her cheeks, however, were not from physical pain, but a result of the worry she felt over what her increasing hand weakness might mean.
Several months later we learned that she has the incurable degenerative nerve disease called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). And since then my family has been accompanying my mother through her increasing loss of physical ability as the nerves throughout her body die. We do not know how many months or years she has left, only that she will become less and less independent, needing more and more care.
She came to visit us again this past October, a few days after she returned from a trip to Lourdes, France. While we had prayed for a physical healing, we knew that the grace of the miraculous spring in Lourdes is more often a healing of the soul than of the body. Yet the grace she received there was not unlike that of Saint Peter’s mother-in-law, who physically rose from her sick bed to serve Jesus and His disciples in today’s Gospel (see Mark 1:30-31). For in my mother’s faithful acceptance of this suffering, she is serving Him through her witness of the goodness of God in her life. Her love for Him shines forth in her gratitude for each small blessing, in the words of faith she speaks about her diagnosis, in her desire to live her last months as she spent all of her adult life: devoted to regular prayer and spiritual conversations with her loved ones.
Her soul is being healed each passing day as her body surrenders its ability to her disease. And she increases in her desire to serve God with her whole being, speaking of God’s goodness and offering her suffering. For when I see her suffer and decline, I see Christ bearing her disease with her. And He will take it away when He leads her by the hand into eternity.
]]>
Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while. // Mark 6:31
My young son was joyfully pointing to a nearby screen that was showing images of scenic vistas in Europe. We were sitting together in the mall food court eating Chipotle on a quiet weekday afternoon, and it was a very peaceful moment. As a mother of small children, these moments are not easy to come by.
Life can often feel like I am riding on a bucking bronco from one chaotic moment to the next. As we sat eating our lunch together, the Lord gently nudged my heart . . . Enjoy the rest that is available to you in this brief but beautiful moment. So I intentionally leaned into it—the quiet, the peace, the heart of the Lord. It wasn’t long, but I made it a rest.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus invites the Apostles: “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31). They were so busy serving others they didn’t even have time to eat (sound familiar?). Jesus knows what they need is true rest, a rest that will refresh their souls so they can continue to love and serve.
What does Jesus’ invitation to you look like in the everyday for you, as you love and serve others in your work, your vocation, or your community? Notice Jesus does not say, “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and scroll on your phones. Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and listen to a podcast. Come away by yourself to a deserted place and think about your to-do list.”
Instead Christ makes this same invitation to you: “Come away by yourself to a deserted place and rest a while.”
Sister, I challenge you to find a way to do this every day this upcoming week. Perhaps you have time to “come away and rest” for an hour every day. Perhaps you only have five-minute moments in between waves of chaos to enter into the stillness of His presence within you. Whatever amount of time you take, slow down in true quiet, be at true peace, and rest in His Heart. Even for a moment, you will find the refreshment you are seeking.
]]>
“Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all the peoples: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory to your people Israel.” // Luke 2:29-32
At Sister’s prompting, I stood up, and applause exploded from the pews. It was equally exhilarating and terrifying being the center of attention, especially after having kept my vocation under the radar for so long. But now, after two years of prayerful waiting, I was finally being presented by my diocese as an official candidate for Consecrated Virginity.
Throughout my discernment period, the probing question on my heart was not whether I was called to live as Jesus’ chaste bride, but rather how I was called to live that precious invitation out. Did Christ want me to keep my sacrifice hidden, or did He desire a public declaration of the promise?
My propensity to lay low, to avoid stirring up notice, nearly caused me to overlook the gift being presented to me—the “light for revelation to the Gentiles” that the prophet Simeon zealously acknowledges in today’s Gospel (see Luke 2:22-32). Although my eyes had seen Jesus’ salvation in my life, I was hesitant to share this marvelous sight. I desired to stay in the temple forever, savoring the glory that had been revealed to me in my secret soul-space.
Dearest sister, while a life of hidden sacrifice has its own merits, Pope Francis put it beautifully when he said that we, “like Mary and Simeon,” are meant “to take Jesus into our arms, to bring him to his people” (source). At our Baptism, we become living temples of God and signposts of the light that dwells in us. As children of the light (see 1 Thessalonians 5:5) we are entrusted with the sacred commission to carry Christ to all those who dwell in darkness. To not only see the light but be the light.
Beloved Jesus, You are the King of Glory and the Desire of Nations. On this blessed Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, beckon us toward the light as we acclaim You as our Savior. Help us to imitate Your devoted servant Simeon, so that, docile to the stirrings of the Spirit, we may boldly confess to the world that You are here, illuminating the very temples of our hearts.
]]>
“The Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel.” // Mark 1:15
There is a small lake near our home, and on certain days, the water glistens beneath the light of the sun. Gentle waves ripple across the surface. Ducks dive for fish, shaking their wings and sending droplets of water into the air. I love going to the lake on those days. However, there are other days when the water is murky and stagnant.
Recently, on one of those not-so-beautiful days, I sat on a grassy hill noticing the water frothing with impurities against the wooden dock, feeling exceedingly annoyed with this reality. While my five-year-old daughter ran through the grass, and shouted gleefully in her charming, raspy voice, I brooded. I brooded because the murky, churning lake reflected the disposition of my heart perfectly. I felt frustrated by a struggle I was having with a multitude of venial sins. Habits that I recognized were hurting those around me. I was bringing the same sins to Confession again and again. The reality of all of this left me feeling discouraged and ashamed.
As I thought of all that was going on in my heart, my daughter ran up to me with a smile on her face. She pointed to an old scrape she had on her knee and said, “It’s getting better.” I nodded in agreement. She continued, “It hurt when it was getting better. But I think sometimes getting better hurts.” After she ran off, I sat there completely in awe of her words and how they had struck my heart.
Sometimes when we let the Lord pour His mercy into our stagnant and sinful souls it is painful. We fear the exposure of our brokenness. Will the Lord love us here? Will He ever heal us from this? Jesus says, “The Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel” (Mark 1:15). If you are struggling, go to Confession. Go to the Sacrament of mercy, and do not grow weary. His love poured out for sinners like you and me. His love conquers all, and He offers you that reality today.
]]>
“A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house.” So he was not able to perform any mighty deed there, apart from curing a few sick people by laying his hands on them. He was amazed at their lack of faith. // Mark 6:4-6
“No it’s not!” My four-year-old self yelled at my older brother. “It’s the same, and you can wash your hands with it!” I stubbornly insisted, refusing to agree with his differing stance. For some reason, my young little mind had decided that the goat’s milk moisturizer my mother had next to the sink in our farmhouse kitchen was a beautiful alternative to hand soap. My brother tried to school me that the two are different, but I would not hear it.
“A prophet is not without honor except in his native place” (Mark 6:4).
Whether in humorous situations of a young child refusing to accept the truth that lotion is not used for cleaning purposes or in serious conversations that matter—our family members can sometimes be the most closed to hearing the truth of what we say, or we ourselves refuse to listen to what they share with us.
But the question is not whether we are listening to older brothers so we stop using the fancy moisturizer to wash our hands, but rather, the real question is whether we are hearing Jesus speak His truth into our lives so that we may truly be cleansed and healed.
Our insistence in believing what we think we know, rather than opening in faith to the ways God is leading us deeper, blocks Jesus from doing His mighty deeds in our lives.
Faith is the gift that softens our hearts to be receptive, opens our minds to accept what may feel difficult, and strengthens our wills to choose to take the steps forward with God even in uncertainty. In that beautiful surrender and trust, God can work.
May we never be so blocked by lack of faith that Jesus is only able to perform the minimal in our lives and moves on to others who are more open.
Consider truthfully: How are you blocking God’s work in your life? What do you need in order to soften and receive? What is your next step to move forward in trust and faith as Jesus does His work in you?
]]>
He took the child by the hand and said to her, "Talitha koum," which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise!" // Mark 5:41
The room was quiet. All I could hear were the ticking of the clock and the accusing voices in my head. I wondered to myself: How did I get so far from God? My heart ached, and I wanted to cry out to God, but the Liar whispered in my head: Why bother? You know if you try to make a change, you’ll just go back to your old ways. You’re pathetic.
Unexpectedly, my mind drifted to an overheard conversation about the mercy of God. In my mind’s eye I pictured Jesus on the Cross with the Blessed Mother beside Him. With pleading tears in her eyes, she repeated to me: He died for you . . . He died for you. The words echoed in my mind and a sudden wave of awareness swept over me that Jesus died on the Cross because of His deep, unfathomable love for me.
Crumpled on the floor, it was more than I could bear. I sobbed uncontrollably. All the bitterness, hatred, and cynicism were being washed away as I cried out to God. My soul, which had felt dead for so long, was being brought back to life. Jesus was whispering to me: Talitha koum . . . Little girl, I say to you, arise! (Mark 5:41)
That was a profound moment, but it’s not the only time Jesus has spoken this to my heart. Countless times life and circumstances have broken my spirit and I felt like I couldn’t go on. Sometimes it was during extreme grief, such as the death of a loved one. Sometimes it was during times of great stress and burnout when I just couldn’t give anymore. When my spirit was crushed on the floor, Jesus once again whispered in my heart: Little girl, arise.
Is there something in your life bringing you great stress, worry, or grief? Close your eyes and picture Jesus walking to you with an outstretched arm. Notice the tender love and compassion in His eyes. Hear Him speak the words, “Talitha koum” (Mark 5:41). Take hold of His hand and let Him breathe new life in you.
]]>As [Jesus] was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed pleaded to remain with him. But Jesus would not permit him but told him instead, “Go home to your family and announce to them all that the Lord in his pity has done for you.” // Mark 5:18-19
There is a fascinating recurring contrast that happens when Jesus encounters different people in the Gospels. Sometimes Christ invites the person to follow Him more closely and other times Christ immediately sends the person out to proclaim the Good News. Throughout my own life, I have experienced both of these invitations.
There have been times when I have felt drawn to follow Jesus more closely. He equipped me with the gifts of contemplative prayer, studiousness, and stillness. I desired to remain near to Him in steadfast prayer, especially Eucharistic Adoration. I also became a voracious reader, wanting to learn as much as I could through the Scriptures and spiritual classics. I set aside time to receive this formation, staying so close to His Sacred Heart. These were times when I felt like I was not doing enough, but I remained with Him in peace.
There have been other times when I have felt like Jesus has sent me out to share the Good News. He equipped me with gifts of boldness, zeal, and courage. I felt empowered to go out into the world and witness to His loving faithfulness. I was confident that He would lead and guide my every step. These were times when I felt like I was not doing enough, but I remained with Him in peace.
Both of these kinds of experiences help me to enter more deeply into the Gospels. When I contemplate the encounter between Jesus and the Gerasene Demoniac in today’s Gospel (see Mark 5:1-20), I see a miracle story of healing where Christ brings restoration and hope to an isolated man who was in desperate need of freedom. Jesus restored his dignity and humanity. This man wanted to stay with Jesus, but was sent in a different direction. Jesus desired to bring further healing to this outcast by commissioning him to be a messenger of Good News who would return to his community. As you encounter Jesus in the Scriptures today, be docile and attentive to Him—ready to stay with Him and be sent out.
]]>I stared down at the black and glossy white page at a picture of high-school me, the title “Teacher’s Pet” emblazoned over it on the “Senior Superlative Page.” To be honest, I’d forgotten I’d earned that illustrious distinction from my peers that year. It caused me to ask, Why? Then I realized it was because I was afraid. I was the teacher’s pet because I followed the rules, but not for the reasons my peers thought. I respected authority in school not out of true virtue, but because I was afraid of getting in trouble. In my fear, I lacked freedom to be authentic, and I lived in that place of fear for a long time.
Through further reflection, I realized I was also relating to Christ’s authority over me in the same way. I wanted to please the Lord not because I loved Him or believed in His love for me, but because I saw the power of His authority and was afraid of where not obeying would bring me. My relationship to Christ’s authority was very much like that of the demons in today’s Gospel (see Mark 1:21-28). They saw His authority held true power and were afraid of what that power would do to them.
Sister, living in fear of Christ’s authority is hardly living the life for which He created us. The authority of Christ, of His teaching, of His power, of His very being, is meant to bring us freedom, not cause us to live in fear. He invites us to embrace His authority so that we can let go of control in our own lives and allow Him to lead us to a place of authenticity and joy.
I once heard someone say, “Jesus is a gentleman; He will not go where He is not invited.” Sister, invite Him into your heart today, invite Him to take authority over whatever it is that is causing you fear, whatever it is that is holding you back from living in authentic freedom. Invite Him in and allow yourself to be astonished by His love for you. ]]>There are many evenings when I can’t wait to sit down, sink into a comfy chair, cover myself with a soft, cozy blanket, and drink a glass of wine in relative peace and quiet. I have spent the entirety of the day running from one place to another, my mind in a million places thinking of everything I need to get done. But finally, after everything is accomplished, the relief of reaching evening and a time of rest feels wonderful.
But we all know the evenings where we do not reach a restful conclusion. There are sleepless nights with sick children, short nights when we have to wake up for the early shift at work, late nights filled with worry over family members . . . the list goes on.
I can’t help thinking that the Apostles may have already been exhausted when Jesus asked them to sail to the other side of the sea on an evening when they needed rest. Think of how much worse the fear of an incoming storm would have been to them. It becomes so much easier for us to imagine why the disciples threw words at Jesus and doubted the power of God in their midst.
When we face storms in our lives it can be easy to doubt that God will calm the wind and the sea. But how much more difficult is prayer, surrender, and faith when our human bodies are exhausted? When we’re exhausted and depleted it becomes much easier to allow fear to determine our actions instead of trust.
When we want to cry out to the Lord, asking if He cares that we are perishing (see Mark 4:38), we need to remind ourselves that He does. Maybe we need to pay attention to what our bodies need, to give ourselves rest, nutrition, and time outside in nature in order to make a heartfelt prayer for faith in times of difficulty, and in turn, entrust our problems to the loving power of the Lord.
Think of the problems you are currently facing today. What healthy choices do you need to make for your body in order to better serve your soul?
]]>or what parable can we use for it?
It is like a mustard seed that, when it is sown in the ground,
is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth.
But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants
and puts forth large branches,
so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.” // Mark 4:30-32
My first post-college job was at a newspaper, and each week, I did a “Man on the Street” series. A photographer and I would approach people in public places and get their opinion and picture to run later in the week.
I was still learning how to be a “faith-filled” person living and working in the real world. How vocal would I be about my own experience with the Kingdom of God? I was a twenty-year-old, born and raised in a strong Catholic family. But did I need to advertise?
Sharing anything faith-related felt scary to me.
The photographer was a woman a few years older than me. She was also Catholic but no longer practicing her faith. We talked about faith here and there, but I admit trying to hide my light under a bushel so that I wouldn’t seem weird.
This weekly experience lasted for a few months and we each moved. About ten years later, I ran into that woman and she looked completely different—happy and deeply joyful.
“I know you didn’t talk about it a lot,” she told me, “but your faith inspired me.” Because of our time together, she said, she started going back to Mass and found her way into a deeper relationship with God.
I was blown away. I held back tears. Even in the midst of almost hiding my faith, God found a way. The mustard seed of truth was still able to be planted because God is so much bigger than my human weakness.
Years later, I have now tasted so much of God’s goodness that I can’t help but sing. As today’s Psalm says, I want to proclaim God’s marvelous deeds, singing a new song to the Lord (see Psalm 96:1, 3).
The Lord doesn’t need us to do His work, but I’m humbled that He allows us to be a part of it. He invites us to share his goodness to the people He loves so much.
Lord, please continue to give us the freedom to share Your goodness with those around us! You are so good; Your deeds are marvelous indeed.
]]>I walked into the packed church, blessed myself with holy water, genuflected before entering the pew, and knelt down to pray. It was so incredibly noisy that I couldn’t seem to focus. Instead of gazing at the crucifix, I decided to close my eyes to block out the surrounding chatter. It wasn’t working. I opened my eyes and saw football jerseys, short skirts, and workout attire. Parishioners walked by the altar and neglected to genuflect before the tabernacle.
Where is the reverence here? I thought. I will never become a parishioner here.
I could feel myself becoming more and more agitated at what I judged to be poor church etiquette. I was here to scope out a new parish since becoming a Mrs. and moving across town.
I had been formed by an Irish priest who had zero tolerance for anyone who showed any disrespect in God’s house. From the pulpit, he would tell parishioners to dress their very best for Sunday Mass as it wasn’t optional. I can still hear him say, “If you wouldn’t wear it to meet the president of the United States, don’t wear it here.”
As God would have it, I did join this parish. But I didn’t forget the truths about showing reverence that were instilled in me. On the contrary, Jesus softened my heart to have compassion for those who hadn’t encountered Him or been taught that physical posture and dress have meaning. Only through a real relationship with Jesus Christ do you learn reverence for love broken open on the Cross and desire to show it with your body. Instead of seething at my pew, Jesus asked me to see the good of my neighbor despite his or her lack of understanding.
I have since learned reverence cannot be imposed on a person that has never been taught. The flock is always teaching and lifting up one another in whatever we lack collectively through our witness.
Sisters, let us ask Jesus in humility to break down the barriers of judgment that we carry. May our Good Shepherd unify us and guide us towards radiating His mercy towards one another.
]]>I was sipping away my cappuccino when I began (yet again) complaining about how hard teaching has been, freely wallowing in self-pity and frustration. My dear priest friend gently interrupted my sharing with a question that left me awe-struck. He simply asked me, “Mary, how long have you wanted to be a teacher?”
I did not know why he was asking me this but I sheepishly replied, “Since I was in 6th grade.” I added an uncomfortable giggle, hoping he would offer wisdom or encouragement.
He said, “Just think, Mary: you are living your twelve year-old dream. You are where that little girl dreamed of being that long ago.You are doing so much for these little souls and planting the seed that will bear so much fruit.” I nodded in agreement as I pondered those words.
In today’s Gospel (see Mark 4:1-20), Jesus teaches the large crowd using the parable of the sower. He leaves them each to their own interpretation of the parable, but to the Twelve He intentionally explains its meaning.
The subject of this parable is not physical seeds. Rather, the subject is the Word of God, and the object of this teaching is to see the Word produce to its fullest potential, or “a hundredfold.”
I forget so often that the Lord does so much with the little I bring to the table. I will selfishly mope that what I am doing is not enough, I need to do more, or that it’s my work that brings about growth.
When I do His work, I am a mere instrument of the Holy Spirit. It’s God’s Word, the movement of the Spirit that produces its fullest potential. I often measure His Word on whether or not it was clearly received. And my measurements draw boundaries on the potential growth I might not ever see. Our thirty- and sixtyfold mentalities never reach the hundredfold opportunities.
Friend, the Lord desires to have our full potential. No boundaries, no hesitations, no measurements. If we give Him everything, every seed that’s sown produces a hundredfold.
Fullness is a hundredfold.
]]>When I was preparing to marry my husband, one of the recurrent themes was family. I became deeply aware that more than anything else, Peter and I were becoming family to each other through the sacrament. Coming from the Dominican Republic, the word family in itself holds so much meaning for me.
I am immediately reminded of warm welcomes, big embraces, lots of laughs, tears, and love. So when I thought about the vows I would make before the Church, our family, and friends, I knew that through this act Peter would be welcomed into my family as son and brother, as I would be welcomed into his family as a daughter and sister. Moreover, together we would become our own new little family, bound by love and the vows of the marriage covenant.
When I reflect on today’s Gospel passage (see Mark 3:31-35), I admit I have often only focused on the roundabout way in which Christ compliments His Mother. He says that those who do the will of God are His siblings and mother. We know that of all the disciples then and now, Mother Mary did the will of the Lord most perfectly. She’s the most deserving of the title of “mother.”
Yet, today, I am struck by what Jesus is doing by saying these words to those who were “seated in the circle” around him (Mark 3:34). He was extending to them the title of family. They were invited to come close to Him, not just as disciples following a teacher but as brothers, sisters, and mothers. The ones who drop in for that unexpected visit, who pass by just to say hello and ask how it’s going, who extend not only their hands but come in for a kiss and embrace.
The Lord invites you and me, sister, through our Baptism into His Church, to be a part of His family. He invites us each day to come and sit next to Him in the circle, have a meal, exchange words of love, and pass the time together—not as strangers, not even as friends, but as family.
]]>Jesus comes out swinging in today’s Gospel reading, which happens to fall on the Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children,* the day upon which American Catholics pray, fast, and make sacrifices for the intention of an end to abortion.
He refers to what is known as “the Unforgivable sin” or “the Sin unto Death” which is mentioned in other parts of the New Testament as well (see Matthew 12:30-32, Mark 3:28–30, Luke 12:8–10, Hebrews 6:4–6, Hebrews 10:26–31, and 1 John 5:16). Jesus says unequivocally that there are sins that are so great as to be unpardonable and that, if committed, will necessarily result in damnation and eternal separation from God.
It’s a heavy thing to think about, especially on this day.
Is there forgiveness for women and men complicit in abortions? For us in any of our great sins? Do they even have to be great sins? Could a careless comment about the Holy Spirit be unforgivable? Is there hope for any of us?
The answer is yes: there is hope. There is forgiveness. Any sin can be pardoned, no matter how great, as long as we repent and believe in God’s ability and willingness to forgive us. It is only our own refusal to allow God to forgive us that is, in the end, unforgivable.
Pope Saint John Paul II wrote, "If Jesus says that blasphemy against the Holy Spirit cannot be forgiven either in this life or in the next, it is because this ‘non-forgiveness’ is linked, as to its cause, to ‘non-repentance,’ in other words to the radical refusal to be converted. This means the refusal to come to the sources of Redemption, which nevertheless remain ‘always’ open in the economy of salvation in which the mission of the Holy Spirit is accomplished" (Dominum et vivificantem, 1986).
What sins in our lives are we using as an excuse to refuse conversion? Reconciliation with God and the Church is available to all of us in the Sacrament of Confession. Will we trust God enough to ask for it?
*Note: This Gospel reading is from the daily Mass for Monday of the Third Week in Ordinary Time. There is an optional different set of readings specifically for the Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children.
]]>Every October, I am stunned by the rapid transition from summer to autumn in Michigan. I shouldn’t be surprised—the familiar signs of impending changes are all around me. Sweaters, boots, and Christmas catalogs all make an appearance, and our beautiful array of blazing trees meet their destiny in leaf bags and bonfires. By the time you read this, I will be plunged into another season of dark days and icy winds, with the promise of spring buried deep beneath the frozen earth.
I love the four seasons (although I wish winter was shorter). Each one is like the changing scenery on the stage of a play, and a tangible reminder that nothing in this world lasts forever. One day, sooner than we expect, the final curtain will signal not only the end of our individual lives, but also the glorious consummation of salvation history.
In today’s Second Reading (see 1 Corinthians 7:29-31), Saint Paul encourages us to live with the awareness that life on this earth—the changing seasons, both in nature and in our own lives, are all temporary and fleeting. Remembering this truth shouldn’t generate apathy or ingratitude for the temporal gifts of God. It means, however, that I ought to hold everything loosely, not clinging to anything but Christ as the means to my salvation and ultimate happiness.
Some days this eternal perspective is sharp and clear to me, but many days it remains in the background, an out-of-focus future reality. Sister, the Lord wants us to live with a sense of urgency that directs our decisions, orders our desires, and helps us live daily in joyful expectation of Christ’s return. If time is indeed running out, let’s use it wisely, investing in the things that will never pass away.
]]>Lately, I’ve begun each morning by asking our Lady to open my heart just a sliver.
Trials and traumas calloused parts of my heart that I can’t even detect, and I’m too weary to open my heart with my own parched strength. I need my heavenly Mother to do it. And I know the Holy Spirit can enter my heart through a mere sliver and move mightily.
In today’s First Reading, David is wracked with grief over the loss of Israel’s king and his best friend (see 2 Samuel 1:1-4, 11-12, 19, 23-27). He is clearly shaken. In the Gospel, the people who knew Jesus while He was growing up were hardened against His preaching because they refused to or were unable to see Him as He was (see Mark 3:20-21).
How often do we find ourselves in these states? Broken and desperate, cold and unbelieving.
But the Gospel Acclamation reveals the proper response in these moments: “Open our hearts, O Lord, to listen to the words of your Son.”
Particularly in these overwhelming moments, we need the truth of Christ’s words to penetrate our hardened hearts and heal what cannot be healed by human effort. Yet we cannot even open our hearts by ourselves. We need His grace to do so. We must simply desire to be open to God, to turn our gaze toward Him, and to invite Him to help us.
And He will. Every single time.
He will “rouse [His] power, and come to save us” (Psalm 80:3). Jesus longs to save, heal, and restore us. He begins that work here on earth, for most of us will complete it in purgatory, so that we will be completely healed when He leads us into Heaven. He is aware of our weaknesses. He is not deterred.
So today, ask Jesus to open your heart. Invite Mary to help you do so. Ask the Lord for the grace of healing and belief, direction and salvation. Be faithful in this request, and you will witness how much He can do with a sliver of supplication.
]]>I felt a little manipulated (and more than a little miffed).
I had agreed to offer support for a foster parent who needed a break from the intensity of caring for a child with difficult needs. As the weekend progressed my multiple messages to this foster mom went unanswered. When I finally reached her she blithely assumed that I would, at a moment's notice, care for her little one for an additional day despite the plan to which we had agreed. No apology, no kind request, just an assumption.
Sometimes manipulations are so slight that we don’t even take note until the wrong is long over. The burning Now, wait just one minute! feeling comes too late, and we are left feeling the sting of injustice in our hearts, powerless to undo what wronged us in the first place.
I love today’s reading from the First Book of Samuel (see 1 Samuel 4:3-21) because at its heart, it is a story of justice. Our dear David did the right thing, the just thing. He could have slain King Saul, right then and there. He knew, though, that God’s timing is sublimely perfect. He trusted that God would see His plan of justice through.
Like David, you and I can’t force the hand of justice either. We can’t make our coworkers, family, or friends do the right thing. Nor can we force an outcome just because we are too impatient to wait. Like the roster of Apostles introduced in today’s Gospel passage (see Mark 3:13-19), you and I and everyone else can act sinfully through being greedy, dishonest, cowardly, entitled, and so on. Our relationships are so very imperfect.
If you are feeling the pain of an injustice in one of your relationships today, know that the Lord sees you. We need not force the hand of anyone. Let’s pray with Psalm 57 for today that He might shower His mercy on all of our relationships, and that we might live and love with a just heart.]]>There’s a joke among mothers that moms of toddlers cannot even use the bathroom in peace and quiet. Little fingers show up under the door, reaching for Mom. The pursuit doesn’t end in toddler-hood, either. My tweens and teens have frequently walked past Dad to ask me a question—one which he could easily have answered. I once answered a call while on retreat, thinking an emergency happened at home, only to have my son ask a rather unimportant question, “because Dad is working on the car."
Talk about a relentless pursuit. Kids don’t seem to care or notice if it’s inconvenient for Mom. They just know it’s her they want.
Imagine being even more persistent in seeking the Lord.
Imagine being so intent on Him, that you would walk miles to follow Him, to seek His healing, to hear His voice—like the people in today’s Gospel—relentless and determined to be near the only person who can fulfill our hearts’ desires. They weren’t deterred by distance or convenience, or Jesus’ apparent unavailability when He withdrew to the lake. In fact, they seem even more determined as they “were pressing upon him to touch him” and be cured (Mark 3:10).
Perhaps the persistence of children is what Mark had in mind when he wrote this passage, especially as later in his Gospel he records Jesus saying, “[W]hoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” (Mark 10:15). I can see a parallel between my young children constantly following me and the people following after Jesus. My children haven’t been deterred by my apparent unavailability, just as the people were not deterred by Jesus’ retreat to the lake. There’s a childlike quality in this kind of pursuit of the Lord, and in pressing in until we’re near enough to touch Him and be healed by His love.
Sister, I encourage you today to press in, to keep pursuing the Lord in prayer. If you have a chance, stop by your local church and pray before His Real Presence in the tabernacle, drawing near the Lord’s loving presence.
]]>My announcement of upcoming changes planned by the new pastor to our parish retreat ministry was met by the team members with an uncomfortable silence; the kind of silence that clamors inside hearts and minds resistant to change.
In today’s Gospel (see Mark 3:1-6), Jesus is angered and grieved at the hard hearts of religious leaders resistant to change even when it brings life and health. The Pharisees are not prepared for Jesus to exercise a higher authority than their own.
Yet, how do we respond to the changes Jesus allows in our own lives? Do we prioritize divinely given or man-made rules without charity for those they serve? When we close our hearts to His invitation to grow, He ought to be grieved. His ways are always life-giving, healing, and restorative.
Obedience to legitimate authority always bears good fruit. Team members open to their pastor’s revisions were rewarded with life-giving fruits in an abundance they’d not previously experienced. That’s the way it works in God’s kingdom.
In today’s Gospel, we are challenged to let go of our own way of doing things and open our hearts and minds to the healing power of Jesus.
Is there a hard place in your heart? Our Lord wants to soften it. Come to Him, just as you are, and tell Him that you’re ready to receive His love and healing. Is your mind set on an idea or perceived injustice of which you can’t seem to let go? Pray for the grace to have your thoughts shaped by the humility and love of Christ.
Let’s pray:
Oh God, nothing in my life is hidden from you.
You know me better than I know myself.
Remove any walls of fear or pride.
I’m sorry for listening to doubt.
Doubt whispers lies that I’m alone and unworthy.
I am not alone. I am Yours.
Help me to surrender everything to You.
Help me to trust You to fulfill my dreams and desires.
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, shelter me in Your Communion of Love. Help me to remain with You now and always. Amen.
I had an image come to me in prayer of an empty cell. An austere place with cold stone walls and not a single window to let in the sunlight. Amid the silence of this lonely cell, I called out to Jesus: Lord, can You be with me here?
With these words came a flicker of light, and soon the room was filled with the warm flames of candlelight. Jesus was present, adorning the cell, and transforming it into a beautiful room. A place where I would find rest. A place where I would find peace. A place where I would find Him.
In prayer I asked the Lord what this place was. And He answered: Your heart, daughter. This is your heart.
This all happened after a particularly dry season in prayer. I was feeling overwhelmed, distracted, and alone. Restlessness crept in and prayer became a daily struggle. The Lord felt far away. But of course, as the lover of my soul, He was never far away. Jesus was so very close. He was in the darkest depths of my heart.
He is in the places that I am afraid to go. The places that I hide from. Places that have grown cold and lonely. Places surrounded by thick stone walls. Places that I would rather pretend do not exist. Yet, my Savior was waiting for me there. Waiting for me to welcome Him, and allow Him to bring warmth. Allow Him to bring beauty. Allow Him to bring love.
For a long time I ran and hid, and He continued to wait with such tenderness. Then into the darkest depths, He brought the light of grace.
“Not as man sees does God see, because he sees the appearance but the Lord looks into the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). Maybe your heart feels lonely and abandoned, devoid of beauty and light. But the Lord is with you. Welcome Him in. He sees a place to abide and adorn. You are not alone. You are not forgotten. From the depths of your soul, you are loved.
]]>It is too easy for me to leap to conclusions in regards to what our Lord is asking of me. Oftentimes, self-imposed sacrifice seems the clear-cut path to holiness. I’ll give up this, I’ll do that . . . and on and on. Now, I don't mean to disparage sacrifice. What I do want to consider is this: What is the Lord asking of me in this moment?
A few years back, I had an experience that has been burned into my heart with my then eight-year-old daughter. I had planned to spend my afternoon car ride to school totally alone so that I could pray. I don’t often find silence unless I’m in the car and I had said to Jesus and to myself, This is the moment! I had arranged my schedule accordingly, and I was sure this devoted time of silence was exactly what Jesus was asking of me. As I got ready to leave, I was followed outside by my daughter, who asked if she could come along with me. I quickly shut her down.
“This is my time to pray,” I told her. And I drove away.
The situation didn’t settle well with me and I later brought it up to my confessor. After recalling the scene, the response was simple and to the point: “Maybe our Lord was asking you to make that your prayer—time alone with your daughter.” Thank God for those words.
You see, I had contrived a very human plan for how God wanted me to spend my time, and I had become attached to it. Too attached to see our Lord offer me a new plan, and a better one. One that would have served my humility, and my flexibility, my cheerfulness, and my relationship with one of the little ones He had entrusted to me.
“Obedience is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22).
Lord, help me to see when my sacrifice only serves myself and to respond in obedience when You call. Amen.
]]>