January 10, 2025 // Friday after Epiphany Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 5:12-16. Reflect on the Word //  I looked out the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. Observing the Irish countryside, I pondered how the skies could be so gray, while the ground vibrantly wore a lush green color. In looking at my own heart, it made total sense.  I had spent the past year juggling both grief and hope. On one hand, I had a devastating recent family loss and an overwhelming, anxious transition out of college. On the other, I had new friendships growing, opportunities to travel, and a deeper prayer life than I ever had before. Every single day was filled with such a mix of both “gray” and “green.” It was those very clouds of my sadness and anxiety that the Lord was using most to grow new things, to love me, and to connect with me. As I shared honestly with Him how hard life felt to me, I was met with His companionship, His healing, and His joy. It didn’t ever change my circumstances, but time spent with Him in the “gray” always changed me into someone greener, more hopeful, and more at peace. In moments of suffering, our honesty is essential. We must extend our hearts to God, tender as we painfully ask why the Lord would allow such difficulty. Like the leper in Luke 5, we say boldly, “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean” (Luke 5:12).  Maybe in your prayer, it sounds like, Lord, if You wish, You can heal this, or If You wish, You can ease my pain. And we ask in our hearts, quietly to ourselves, Does He? Does He wish to heal us? He does. He proves it with His presence. Without fail, the Lord extends His hand back to us. “I do will it. Be made clean,” He offers to us, just as He did in today’s Gospel (Luke 5:13). He may not heal us how and where we expect, but we can always trust Him at His word; He wills our good. May we remain open and eager to receive it from Him. Relate to the Lord // Share the “gray” and “green” parts of your heart with Jesus today in prayer. 

"Take these out of here, and stop making my Father's house a marketplace." His disciples recalled the words of Scripture, Zeal for your house will consume me. // John 2:16-17 “I started doing this and everything changed . . .” As my finger swipes video after video, I am bombarded with posts on social media telling me how to hack my self-care routines. How to eat, how to exercise, how to relax, how to make friends, how to have a good work/life balance. This past year especially, I’ve fallen into the trap of the “how-to” rabbit hole. As a new college grad struggling to adjust, I tried implementing so many of these tips and tricks that “work wonders” until I reached the point of fatigue. As the noise grew, my ability to hear my own needs faded.  One year after graduating college, I sat down and honestly asked: What does it actually look like to care for myself?  Friend, don’t let the noise of the Internet be louder than the voice of your Father.  God cares for you deeply. He wants you to be healthy, joyful, connected, loved, and whole. He literally wants to dwell within you and bear much fruit. Scripture makes this clear in today’s Second Reading: “Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16) And in today’s Gospel, Jesus proclaims boldly that the dwelling place of God is not a place for selling, marketing, and reckless spending. It is a place of glory, worthy of being cared for as such. Saint Paul declared that we are the dwelling place of God. Therefore, zeal, or eagerness, to take care of ourselves—God’s home—should consume us! (see John 2:17) But it’s not the online “marketplace of ideas” that gets us there. In relationship away from the noise, God guides you and me specifically towards the next right step each day.  Maybe it is what you eat or how your work life needs to change. Regardless, with all of our different circumstances, gifts, and weaknesses, there is no universal life hack. There is no quick fix you can buy. All you need is an eager heart to heed the voice of your good Father every single day.

“Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more.” // Luke 12:48 Growing up close with my younger brother, I have many fond memories of companionship and joy. However, it also brought some of my earliest memories of feeling annoyed. Adorable as my brother is, naturally, I heard the following phrase often: “He’s younger than you; he doesn’t know better yet!”  I call it my “first pet peeve”—when my brother was held to a different standard than I was. Usually it was a small thing, like how to clean up after dinner. Other times it was bigger things, like kindness and generosity.  The truth was, my brother didn’t know better yet. He was being formed by my parents, but he was little. He had room to make mistakes and learn from them as he got older, just as I had. I couldn’t just do whatever I wanted anymore and claim ignorance as the reason. I had been taught how to do my chores, how to share, and how to forgive. Unfortunately, I often did it all with a bitter heart. The same feeling finds me today as a disciple of Jesus. He has entrusted me with much; I’ve been chosen to follow Him and live in relationship with Him. That’s a very sweet thing! But honestly, I still grow weary when I look around at a world that doesn’t care about prayer and virtue, which are so hard for me. I am tempted to envy how they have it much “easier,” even though I know how much they lack without Jesus. I know how much I lack without Him. In this bittersweet tension, my need for Jesus is so clear. I do not want a resentful heart, so I need His much stronger love. I love this quote from Saint Thérèse of Lisieux about learning to love an annoying fellow Sister: “What attracted me was Jesus hidden in the depths of her soul; Jesus who makes sweet what is most bitter” (source). Pray with me: Jesus, continually pour out Your sweetness over my weaknesses. When You do, I promise to receive it. I will joyfully follow You, even when it’s hard. Your love is worth it.

[T]hey caught a great number of fish and their nets were tearing. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come to help them. // Luke 5:6-7 I love a good side character. Side characters are often loveable and silly, and I love them for that. However, I don’t think we give them enough credit for how crucial they are to the stories. Take, for example, the bystander that mentions something to the main character that finally “cracks the code.” Or my favorite—a group of sea turtles that guide two fish down the East Australian Current. (Finding Nemo with today’s fish story . . . I had to!) I personally wish every movie ended with a “Where are they now?” segment, specifically for these rockstar sidekicks. Do they repeat the story of their unexpected encounter with the main character to all their friends? Do they still wonder if it all worked out? Better yet, if they even made a difference? In today’s Gospel, we happen to know where the side characters end up.  Simon Peter is the one singled out by Jesus and asked to let down his net (the “main character,” if you will). Yet by the end of the story, two boats are filled and four men walk away as Jesus’ new closest friends (see Luke 5:6-11). The miracle, offered to one, was received by many. James and John are mere mentions in these verses, and Peter’s brother Andrew is not even named in Luke’s Gospel until chapter 6. They help Peter physically handle the abundance of fish. Then, they leave everything and follow Jesus too (see also Matthew 4:18-22).  This miracle was meant for them as much as it was meant for Peter. This is their story of receiving a call and saying yes. It overlaps with Peter’s; they aren’t mere tag-alongs.  And friend, neither are you. I know how it feels to witness amazing things in other people’s lives, only to feel left in the dust as if they’ve taken the only share. But there is no limited measure of the miraculous. If you need help believing that truth, start by noticing (and treasuring) the ways your story crosses paths with someone else’s. Pull up your boat, make some room, and get excited! God’s giving has only just begun.

Why have you struck us a blow that cannot be healed? We wait for peace, to no avail; for a time of healing, but terror comes instead. // Jeremiah 14:19 At 30,000-something feet, I opened my sleepy eyes. I blinked repeatedly in an attempt to move the contacts that had stuck to my eyes. With blurry vision, I glanced out the window into the bright light.  Oh look, the ocean, I thought. I blinked a few times, and laughed to myself. Totally not the ocean. Those are clouds.  (Besides, I was flying over Kansas, not the Pacific.) From a post-nap, foggy plane window, oceans and clouds (two very different things) look the exact same. And from a weary heart, life can feel just as confusing. Let this be your reminder today: your feelings are not always telling you the truth.  When I count up all the tiring tasks to get done in a day, the horrific news reaching my ears, and the constant suffering of the people I love, it’s easy to say God is far away. It’s extremely real—the weight of life, the exhaustion in our bodies, the pain in our hearts.  Bring that to God. Like the prophets and the psalmists, tell Him how you look around at your lack of peace and wonder when He’s going to step in (see Jeremiah 14:19). Then, listen. Give Him some room to be truthful too. Lean into the sound of His voice as He tells you that He is who He says He is. That He really was born into poverty, and He really did die on a cross. That His life set yours free, and that He walks every single day by your side. Your honest laments do not scare the Lord. Unlike us, He can see the film over our eyes, and He isn’t surprised that it tricks us into doubt.  He just wants to set it straight. He wants you to blink a few times, to breathe deep, and to look closer. He wants to show you Who He really is.  Will you let Him?

And when Jesus saw that he answered with understanding, he said to him, "You are not far from the Kingdom of God." // Mark 12:34 My mom had a rule for us growing up—if you say you’ll be there, you’ll be there.  Still, I was quick to ask her if I could get out of things. One specific instance comes to mind from high school where I had committed to assisting weekly at my parish. People were counting on me, yet when the first tired weeknight came along, I went to her for permission to cancel. I knew before I had even asked the question. I should go. She had already taught me that value of responsibility through the years. As I presented my “I’m-not-in-the-mood” excuses, the simple look in her eyes said it all. I grabbed my keys and drove to our church. She still has this effect on me. I called her recently for advice on what to do in a friendship. I slowly realized that it was harder and harder to make a case for “my side.” I talked in circles until I finally said, “Yeah, yeah. I know what to do.”   My mom always guides me to the right choice (or rather, the loving choice). It’s rarely her words at that exact moment, but it’s what she planted in my heart from the years I spent in her home. Many of us are quick to complicate holiness, confusing ourselves as we treat relationships like data to analyze and love like a puzzle to solve. We claim that we’re “just trying to do the right thing.” The truth is, love is more simple, and much more free. It’s talking to God often, and reading His Word. It’s following the Holy Spirit’s tugs on your heart, that voice in your head that helps you know how to respond. It’s staying quiet enough that you hear what others are actually saying, and choosing to make little sacrifices to stay by their side. Jesus often gives me the same look my mom does. It’s not demeaning, but completely confident.  You already know what to do. Stop doubting what you know. Love God, love others. Do that, and “you are not far from the Kingdom of God” (Mark 12:34).

He replied, “How can I [understand], unless someone instructs me?” So he invited Philip to get in and sit with him. // Acts 8:31 I decided to be a graphic designer about halfway into college. I remember switching my major and eagerly signing up for design classes the next semester. I had zero experience. I can totally do this. How hard can it be? Around the same time, I connected with an older design student. I would watch as she whipped up projects like it was nothing. She knew every shortcut, effortlessly used all the software, and had the most brilliant ideas. The more I watched her, all I thought about was how much I didn’t know. With pure generosity, she would ask me often: “Do you want me to show you how to do that?”  Absolutely not. How embarrassing to admit that I didn’t know everything yet! I’d always say no thanks, that I could “figure it out.”  Of course, “figuring it out” always meant secretly Googling, accidentally deleting files, and throwing myself into pits of stress. If I would have let her show me, it would have been so simple. I could’ve asked specific questions and truly had fun learning from someone who enjoyed design as much as I did. Learning could have been a positive experience, instead of one filled with anxiety and self-criticism. In today’s remarkable First Reading (see Acts 8:26-40), I’m honestly astounded at the court official’s radical openness. When asked if he understood what he was reading, he replied, “How can I, unless someone instructs me?” (Acts 8:31) Talk about true humility. This man had a heart that was begging to be taught, eager to enjoy the company of someone wiser than him. Because of it, he was practically running to be baptized and walked away dancing with joy. I want my heart to look like that. From the tiniest task to the biggest doubts in your mind, it’s not embarrassing to be the one asking questions. It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, I would argue that it’s the fastest track to a joyful life. Jesus, give me the grace to be a life-long learner. Teach me the joy of asking for help.

They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. // Matthew 2:10-11 I recently had some unfamiliar bouts of anxiety. My body took on the weight of a certain circumstance in a way that I didn’t recognize, for no obvious reason and far beyond my control.  As I rambled off my racing thoughts, a friend texted me, “What is the Lord saying?”  Before typing something back, my own heart responded honestly to itself.I don’t know. I couldn’t hear Him in the ways I usually do. I was too tired to journal, process out loud, or drive to the chapel. With a headache and a weary spirit, I knew I had to take a smaller step.  I ate what I had in my pantry, shuffled a random playlist, and stepped outside on my porch. I sat really still and let messy prayers enter the mix of all the other things in my head. In tiny increments, like on tiptoes, my soul was redirected toward the closeness that God and I both desired.   In the Gospel for today’s feast of Epiphany, the Magi were “overjoyed at seeing the star” (Matthew 2:10). They knew that by following it, they were closer to something better. Sure enough, when they reached the end of the star’s path, they found what they were really looking for.  Our own “stars” are great gifts to us—the daily, sweet things (like music or fresh air) that help us smile and walk one more step. They are “epiphanies” that signify the presence of Jesus, little instruments of His very practical hope.  That day, when my “stars” had helped as much as they could, I found what I actually needed. It was the newborn Jesus, Who wasn’t speaking or thinking clearly either. Like babies do, He just cried with me, and we sat helpless in the arms of Mary together. I still sit wordless like this in His presence a lot. The circumstances keep changing and the anxiety still ebbs and flows. Yet, at the very sight of Him, my joy just continues to multiply.  I imagine myself kneeling with the Magi, just saying to each other, “The star was beautiful, but He is extraordinary.”

“Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.” // Matthew 5:12 There’s a scene in The Chosen TV Series that I really love.  Jesus has been preparing His famous Sermon on the Mount, and He comes to Matthew to share words that He wants to include. “Directions,” He says. “Where people should look to find Me.” What follows are the words that we now know as the Beatitudes. As each phrase is said, the screen flashes to images of the close friends of Jesus.  “Blessed are the poor in spirit . . . ” Nathanael under the fig tree. “Blessed are those who mourn . . . ” Andrew mourning John the Baptist’s arrest. “Blessed are the meek . . . ” James and Jude quietly doing tasks to aid Jesus’ ministry.  And so on.  Of course it’s not certain that this scene is actually what occurred when this Scripture was written, but the imaginative prayer that it has given me makes the words of Jesus even more personal.  Jesus notices every heart that walks with Him. He sees every wound, every effort, and every sliver of hope in their stories. With a look of pure love on His face, He knows that these are the stories of saints.  Often, no one sees the Beatitudes in action. Poverty, grief, meekness, hunger, mercy, purity, peacemaking, persecution—these are quiet, hidden places to live out of faith.  The heavy sigh from a spirit that feels too tired to handle any more bad news. The act of generosity or humility that never gets recognized. Seasons of mourning that feel utterly hopeless.  Jesus sees every hidden moment, and He promises endless reward for our perseverance.   Today we celebrate All Saints Day. Sainthood is fostered in a heart that is attentive to the things that Christ is attentive to. In today’s Gospel (see Matthew 5:1-12a), Jesus tells us explicitly the kind of hearts that will live forever in Heaven. May we look for people like this now, love them well, and walk with them closely.  And if you see your own messy story in these words, may you also see the message of hope tucked in the second half of every Beatitude: Jesus sees you.

When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said, "Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." // Luke 5:8 My eyes open and I fumble for my phone, ready to check the time. I think to myself: Wow, I feel pretty rested. It has to be what, 8:30 a.m.? Maybe 9?  Nope. 12 p.m. Ugh. This happens to me all the time. I’ll make plans in my head for the most productive morning ever, only to wake up disappointed that I slept through multiple alarms. In a world that’s always up and moving, I constantly feel one step behind. Even still, the Lord works with me in generous ways every single day. Rather than early mornings of to-do lists and perfect routines, it’s a random idea coming to life in the quiet of a late night or an unplanned joyful time with a friend. And these moments are great miracles. I’m not a productivity machine, but I am participating in God’s work with an open heart for the unexpected. Almost every morning, like Peter in the face of God’s abundance, I fall wearily at the feet of Jesus. Depart from me, Jesus—there has to be someone else. Someone with more energy and less moodiness. Someone with better ideas and fewer bad habits.  Every time, He gently reminds me that He’s equipping me to do the work He’s called me to. He intimately knows my unique strengths and my chronic weaknesses, and He simply asks me to join Him.  I’m laughing to myself as I write this truth: My human limitations don’t shock the Lord, and they definitely won’t stop Him from working miracles. He is not thrown by our tiredness or shaken by our moods. He’s not even surprised by our bursts of inspiration or amazing accomplishments. Our best ideas and most fruitful days are always from Him. Desperate productivity will achieve nothing; He’s the steady One filling our lives, just like He filled Peter’s boat.  I’ll continue to fall at the feet of Jesus in the moments where I don’t feel enough. You probably will too. Without hesitation, He’ll lift us up every time. Day after day, we can leave our doubts behind and follow Him into an ordinary life of extraordinary miracles. 

Had not the LORD been with us—When men rose up against us, then would they have swallowed us alive. // Psalm 124:1-3 I love the unique quiet after Christmas. The hustle slows down, and the New Year awaits us in only a few days, with new life and fresh starts in the air. A year ago today, I felt this joy more deeply than I ever have. My adult brothers and I were back together in our childhood home with my oldest brother newly engaged. I spent time with my grandmother, whom I had struggled being apart from during college. I eagerly looked to the New Year, when I’d start my senior year and live in my first apartment. Right after New Years’ Eve, this joy rapidly shifted with the sudden loss of my grandmother and other rising health concerns in my family. For weeks, it was one piece of bad news after another, and I only felt the fragility of the lives around me. It was all unexpectedly soon after just celebrating Jesus’ new life at Christmas. In today’s Gospel, I imagine the stress of Joseph and Mary frantically leaving the danger of Herod. I always wonder if they cried together or tried to make each other laugh to help ease the fear, like my family did. The praises of the shepherds and Magi were gone, and now this vulnerable family of three was moving blindly through a time of unrest. As the Psalmist writes, “had not the Lord been with us” when grief surrounded my family, our loss would have swallowed our trust and joy. When nothing felt steady this past winter, I clung to the simple Christmas message: God is with us. Almost a year later, this unexplainable peace still anchors me, as I cling to nothing but His presence near my still aching and healing heart. Entering the dark night with no time to prepare, the Holy Family had nothing to cling to but their Baby Emmanuel, truly “God with us.” We rarely feel prepared for the suffering we face, but He is always prepared to journey by our side, present and steady as our Prince of Peace. How is your peace, sister? [bctt tweet="Cling to nothing but His presence. // Aubrey Major " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. // Galatians 3:27-28 Over the summer, I dove headfirst into a new skill of videography for the first time at a high school faith leadership institute hosted by my university. By the end of the week-long event, I had pushed myself far out of my comfort zone and created a video that captured the week’s experiences of prayer, community, and joyful faith. I was extremely proud of it, and the community loved it as much as I did. I had never felt so fulfilled after accomplishing something that moved people so deeply. However, in the face of this fruitful work that I had done, my heart was drawn to the other things I had witnessed: the friendships I had made, the prayer I had experienced, and the community of faith that God transformed right before my eyes. My work capturing the week was beautiful and good, but it paled in comparison to the work that God had done. We often base our thought of the goodness of something on how productive, successful, or even moving that it is. Especially as an artist, it can be easy to measure my own worth on the talent I have or finished products that I create. We can be tempted to think that our titles are the most important thing about us. I don’t want to measure goodness in that way anymore. After all, the most important thing about me is Christ. It’s the way I am loved by Him and the ways I go out to love like Him, too. To be clothed in Christ, like Saint Paul wrote in Galatians, is what makes us good (Galatians 3:27). When we believe this, our titles, accomplishments, and talents that set us apart from one another become reflections of Christ in us, an opportunity to give Him honor and glory, not ourselves. This doesn’t mean that we can’t work hard at the things we are passionate about. In fact, when we see our identity as children of God first, we are free to explore work that is fruitful, relationships that are united, and lives lived beautifully for Him. [bctt tweet="Give Him honor and glory. // Aubrey Major" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

O LORD, you have probed me and you know me; you know when I sit and when I stand; you understand my thoughts from afar. // Psalm 139:1-3 When I started college a few years ago, I began the typical freshman year experience of meeting new people at every turn. I slowly became obsessed with explaining myself so that people wouldn’t assume things about me or read me the wrong way. “Oh sorry, that’s just not me.” I wanted to be sure that people knew I was an introvert so they didn’t expect me to pick up the phone if they called randomly. I told people “I’m not a morning person” relentlessly so they wouldn’t hear a rude tone before class and assume that I’m always an irritable person. I created my picture-perfect list of traits to describe myself so that I could keep control of who I am and who people know me to be. As my college years went on, I felt unexpectedly outgoing and creative, but I would shut myself down because it didn’t fit this existing image of me. I began seeing all these different versions of myself from other people’s perspectives, and none of them aligned with who I thought I was. Most importantly, I saw myself more through God’s eyes, who already understands my thoughts completely, as the Psalmist writes. To this day, as God constantly shakes up this ideal version of my life that I try to craft, He is drawing me closer to Himself. God knows when I sit and stand, and He sees more clearly than anyone the versions of myself that I’ve been and the versions of myself that I will be. His view reveals the complete, complicated daughter who is fully loved by Him. Seeing ourselves change can feel overwhelming. I pray you find comfort in knowing that God understood you before, and He understands you still as you grow before His eyes. You don’t need excuses to be known and delighted in by God. Draw nearer to Him so He can reveal the woman He is calling you to be. [bctt tweet="You don’t need excuses to be known and delighted in by God. // Aubrey Major" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion