Those who seek the Lord want for no good thing. // Psalm 34:11 Years ago, I wrote an article about the book Disposable People: New Slavery in the Global Economy. While interviewing the author, Kevin Bales, who has devoted his life to ending slavery in its current forms, I learned that contemporary slavery is even worse than slavery from antiquity. Slavery of old was legal and slave owners had reason to invest in the health and well-being of their slaves; they wanted them fit and strong to work. Now that slavery is illegal around the world, slave owners have no incentive to treat their slaves well. They wear them out, literally throw them away to die, and then get new ones. Thus, Bales’ disturbing expression, “disposable people.” In the course of our interview, he told me how very little money it often took to free a person. Then he gave me this shocking statistic: if you own your own car, you are in the top 3 percent of wealth in the world. If you own your own home, you’re in the top 0.5 percent of wealth in the world. Those stats are old now and the divide is even greater. I think of that interview often, especially when I struggle with resentment at the cost of living and inflation. My health insurance is like a second house payment without the second house! Money matters are too often a source of resentment and sometimes fear—even for me, sitting robustly in the top 0.5 percent. Today’s Responsorial Psalm professes that “the Lord hears the cry of the poor” (Psalm 34:7a). And I think one of the ways that he “hears” that cry is through those of us who can shed light on the reality they face. We can help the cry of the poor—whether through poverty, human trafficking, or homelessness—to be heard. We can bring their cry to lawmakers and voters. We can respond to their cry by supporting any number of organizations that work against these plagues. This week, pray with your family about how you might help the truly poor to be heard and delivered.

Suddenly a violent storm came up on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by waves; but [Jesus] was asleep. // Matthew 8:24 “It’s okay,” I whispered soothingly, trying to coax my shaking dog—all 120 pounds of him—into the vet’s office. It was a routine checkup, but he couldn’t understand that. To him, this environment was filled with scary things. As he squirmed and whimpered in the waiting room, I sat firmly in place and serenely patted his head. The most helpful thing I could do was set the tone and remain calm for him. Jesus does the same for us.  Often we don’t get it, assuming that the Lord is indifferent or absent in our difficulties. Fear prevents us from recognizing that these difficulties can be medicinal for our souls. It’s far easier to shout in accusation, “God, why are You asleep?!” Yet rather than asking Jesus why He’s seemingly sleeping on the job, what if we were to ask Him instead, “ . . . why are You not afraid?”  We might hear Him answer, “There’s no need to fear because I am here with you. Your danger is not the greatness of the storm, but in trying to weather it without Me.” When we doubt the Lord’s attentiveness and try to take matters into our own hands, we quickly begin to sink. When we invite the Creator of the Universe into our every circumstance, we will be eternally safe—even when external factors seem to rage out of control.  Without Him, we are ultimately helpless and have every reason to be afraid. But with Him in our boat, there’s no reason to fear—whatever the weather.  What voyages have you embarked on lately that exclude your Loving Lord? How have you been trying to bail out your sinking soul to no avail? What faulty life preservers do you reach for in lieu of Him?  Today, invite Him back into the boat with you. No physical or emotional storm, no seemingly uncharted waters, no weakness of yours can capsize Him. Let Him be unafraid for you. Let His presence be enough. Let Him be the only lifeboat you seek.

Go out to all the world and tell the Good News. // Mark 16:15 My dad was diagnosed with brain cancer last September and died in January. We as a family spent five beautiful and painful months walking beside him on his journey to eternal glory. During that time, I was watching to see if I would need to cancel any previously scheduled speaking engagements. I ended up having just enough time between the funeral and the first conference to keep my commitment.  When I stood in front of the crowd at my first talk that morning, I had no plans to talk about everything we had just endured. That’s not what you agreed to talk about, I told myself. That’s not what these women came to hear. But I also knew I had just been through something we all fear so much, and that I had felt God’s grace and mercy and faithfulness to me and to our family every step of the way. I had to tell the good news.   “Go out to all the world and tell the Good News,” says today’s Psalm Response (Mark 16:15), “[f]or steadfast is his kindness for us, and the fidelity of the LORD endures forever (Psalm 117:2).” What I needed to share was this reality: what God says He will do, He has done. For me, for my siblings and our mom and our families, the peace and consolation that the Lord offers was so present to us in those hard, sad days that we could not help but declare His goodness. When my dad was first diagnosed, I was fearful. I was afraid of losing my dad and also, of losing my faith. What if this death, which I knew would come, would be more than I could bear? What if this loss rocked me to my core? But it was not, and it did not. And only because of the goodness of God.  What has God done for you? Do you see His goodness? Do you see the kindness He has shown you and the faithful that endures? Go share it with the world! This is the Good News the world so desperately needs to hear. 

We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life. // Romans 6:4 “I don’t know if I can do this,” I sputter as I spit sea water out and attempt to defog my goggles. I was standing on the shore of a beach during vacation and attempting to snorkel. Key word: attempting. I am a strong swimmer and have snorkeled before in the days of yore (pre-kids, pre-career, pre-responsibilities), but on that beach I was having a hard time getting past my knees in the water. Every time I put the mouthpiece in, I started to panic. When I put my face in the water, I was convinced I’d sink to the bottom.  My husband was next to me, standing in his flippers and mask, patiently waiting for me to wade back in. Vacation was going swimmingly (see what I did there?) and I was having fun, but worries were whispering to me in the back of my head: How were our kids doing at home with my parents? Had I applied enough sunscreen? And now, I was concerned that the great big ocean would swallow me whole. But somehow I gathered a bit of courage and tried again. The salt water kept me buoyant (whew) and I was kicking my fins with a semblance of gracefulness. Just when I was about to give up again, my friend shouted, “TURTLE!” I turned towards him and saw the biggest sea turtle. It was majestic, peaceful, and ancient. My heart rate immediately calmed, and I just floated there following my new friend as it rode the gentle current. It could have been ten minutes or three hours, but I was at peace. I let the gentle waves flow across my back and the current carry me away from the sand. After leaving the water, I felt brand new, with a peace I hadn’t felt in a long while. I said a little prayer of gratitude for the glimpse of this ancient creature.  Sister, how glorious is the Creator and how restoring His creation! Spend some time outside today. Whether it’s looking at a flower, feeling a breeze on your skin, or absorbing the sunshine, allow His creation to make you feel new.

“‘Now that you have come this close to your servant,  Let me bring you food, that you may refresh yourselves; And afterwards you may go on your way.’” // Genesis 18:5 In a modest house, located in the cloud forest of Nicaragua, I sat down to a meal with my host family, soaking in my surroundings with each of my senses. The chirping of birds and crickets floated through the open windows, bringing with them a cool breeze that provided relief from the day’s heat. The savory aroma of spices cooked into the food made my stomach rumble, excited for the beautiful meal laid before us.  As I looked upon my plate, I noticed something new accompanying the delicious, yet simple foods I’d grown to love in the short time I’d been on my first university immersion experience—chicken. Meat. Something I’d taken for granted back home, but knew was not an everyday option for the families our group had been staying with and learning from as we studied various trade practices and their impact on communities beyond our own.  When I read the story of Abraham’s profound generosity shared with the three men visiting him and Sarah (see Genesis 18:1-8), I couldn’t help but recall the lavish hospitality of the families I had the privilege of staying with during so many of my travels in early adulthood. And what is more, while Abraham’s hospitality was inspired by the strangers’ representation of the Lord, the families who hosted me unconditionally showered me with their love simply because I was a guest.  Sister, have you ever experienced such generosity? The charism of hospitality is so often overlooked, and one that acknowledges God’s presence in each one of us as made in His image. It is my prayer for each of us today that, guided by the Holy Spirit, we may share that gift with all those we encounter. We, too, like Abraham can show hospitality to the Lord.

Abraham prostrated himself and laughed as he said to himself, “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old?” // Genesis 17:17 I closed the back cover of the encyclical and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A few dozen pages of writing by Pope Saint John Paul II were mulling over in my mind, and I felt God nudging my soul in a way He hadn’t before. I had just earned my degree in broadcast journalism, yet as I closed the small book I felt God calling me to share the message of Mulieris Dignitatem (On the Dignity and Vocation of Women) with women in a way I did not yet understand.  I had to laugh as I asked the Lord, “I have spent tens of thousands of dollars on a journalism degree so you could call me to do something entirely different with my life? Seriously?” If you want God to laugh, tell Him your plans. Sometimes He tells us His plans, and we laugh right along with Him.  Have you ever laughed (anywhere between a good chuckle and absolute hysterics) when the Lord revealed a plan, a new path, or a plot twist in the story of His plan for you that seemed so unlikely or ridiculous there was no other response you could give? Sometimes we laugh out of disbelief, at times out of joy, and at times because what God has revealed just seems too good to be true. Abraham laughs at God’s plan, and Sarah goes on to laugh also (see Genesis 18:12) at her own disbelief at what the Lord has spoken. Sister, today I invite you to imagine yourself sitting with the Lord, laughing with joy over His plan for your life. Imagine yourself smiling together as you look back at specific moments of disbelief, the plot twists, and the surprises in your journey of faith and trust He has carried you through. Sit with Him and trust in His faithfulness for the future with a carefree, child-like sense of joy.  Laugh with delight in our God today, knowing He is always making all things work together for good.

I, Paul, am already being poured out like a libation,and the time of my departure is at hand.I have competed well; I have finished the race;I have kept the faith. // 2 Timothy 4:6-7 The Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul bring us face-to-face with men who became the cornerstones of our Church. Here are two men who had very different encounters with Christ. Saint Peter walked with Christ, dined with Him, denied Him, and proclaimed Him to be, "Christ, the Son of the living God" (Matthew 16:16). Saint Paul, on the other hand, persecuted and killed the early Christians, until a divine encounter with Christ radically changed His life. He became the greatest Apostle in the early Church, composing over half the New Testament.  Both made life-altering mistakes, repented, and were forgiven and healed. Both were martyrs for God and the Church. Both were rescued from prison repeatedly. Both competed well, finished the race, and kept their faith. They were both “poured out like a libation” (2 Timothy 4:6), giving all they had to witness to Jesus Christ and build the Church He tasked them to establish. Whenever I look at the early Church and see the actions of Peter and Paul, I see men "rejoicing that they had been found worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name" (Acts 5:41). I see men unwilling to be silenced to bring the Good News of Christ to everyone around them. I see men whom "the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against" (Matthew 16:19).  Sister, we may not have been martyred or imprisoned for proclaiming Christ, but like Peter and Paul, we have made life-altering mistakes, repented, and were forgiven and healed. With the virtue of hope, we pray that at the end of our lives, we will have competed well, finished the race, and kept the faith. It won't come without trials, but today let us ask the intercession of Saints Peter and Paul to always guide our steps that we will always stay close to Christ and His Church. [bctt tweet="With the virtue of hope, we pray that at the end of our lives, we will have competed well, finished the race, and kept the faith. //" via="no"]

Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and said: “Holy Father, I pray not only for these, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me.” // John 17:20-23 A silent sea of lights glimmering before me, I savored the scent of incense rising from the gently-swinging thurible. This is the night when Christ broke the prison bars of death. Normally sung by a deacon, the proclamation of the Exsultet by a lay cantor only happens by necessity. I had been preparing for weeks for this privilege. Standing tall, I clicked the tiny booklight on the ambo. Nothing happened. Click. I had tested it just moments before! Still, nothing. Behind me, the priest had my twin daughters, both altar servers, bring their candles close beside me. Flanked by my girls in their white albs, I began the chant: Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven! As a musician and liturgist, I am often reminded that ritual perfection is impossible. Preparation and practice, though essential, only help us brush against the divine. Our imperfect earthly liturgies leave our hearts yearning for heaven. Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, whose feast is today, thanked God for our human frailty. Defending the faith against those who denied Christ’s humanity, Irenaeus wrote that Christ’s Incarnation did not merely restore humans to their original state before the Fall—it improved our situation by changing our relationship with God. Through Jesus’ saving action of pure love, our humanness, the thing that had separated us from God, became a core part of God’s identity. Today’s Gospel shows it clearly: Jesus, praying that we will be one with Him just as He is one with the Father, has given us the glory that the Father gave Him. Because of Jesus, all people have the capacity to be gathered into the Divine Love of the Trinity. As Saint Irenaeus wrote, “The glory of God is the human person fully alive” (source). As I sang, “O happy fault, that earned so great, so glorious a redeemer,” the pages stuck together. Pausing to separate them, I had to smile. O happy fault. Our humanity keeps us from perfection here on earth, but because of Jesus, it is our path to glory.

Enter through the narrow gate . . . How narrow the gate and constricted the road that leads to life. And those who find it are few. // Matthew 7:13-14 When I read this verse in today’s Gospel, this saying of Saint Jane Frances de Chantal came to mind: “Hold your eyes on God and leave the doing to Him. That is all the doing you have to worry about.” Saint Jane was a wife and mother, as well as a nun and founder of a religious community later in her life. She lived through and persevered through a lot of suffering. She lived in the 1500s, was mentored by Saint Francis de Sales, and is known for experiencing spiritual dryness and anguish in her prayer life. And yet, in all of this she kept her eyes on God and the narrow gate leading to eternal life.  When we consider that the gate is narrow and the road is constricted, we might get caught up thinking of our own limitations and weaknesses—the things we know make it difficult for us to enter. But I think a more helpful way to pray with this verse would be to move our gaze from ourselves to God—and to invite Him to work through these things within us, striving to trust that He will. Striving to trust that He wants this for us (He does), and if we seek it, He can make it attainable. Sister, we can’t become saints on our own, just looking to ourselves. We have to look towards the Lord, like Saint Jane recommended and did herself. We have to rely on God and know that it’s Him who strengthens us, and it will be Him and His graces that may allow us to enter that narrow gate. So today, let’s turn our focus towards the Lord who can do all things.

Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye? // Matthew 7:3 I rushed through the living room, gathering miscellaneous items from the steadily growing piles around the house. Everything had to be cleaned today, for no particular reason, other than I had determined that we had gone long enough with a messy house. I ignored my achy body, feverish from a flu virus that had slowed me down for an entire week. “Just push through . . . ” I whispered as I scrubbed and swept with prideful indignation—determined to prove I was capable of productivity, even when I was sick. Surely, I could show how tough I was, and wasn’t that admirable? Therefore, as my husband and children looked on, offering to help, offering me rest, I pushed the dampened strands of hair from my face and said I was fine. With arrogance and shimmering resentment, I leaned into the hurried state of my heart. Then the Lord in His mercy revealed to me that this was not of Him. My oldest daughter came down with the same virus, and I saw her hunched over the dining room table, bleary-eyed and exhausted, working on homework. I told her she had to rest and she said, “But Mom, I can push through . . . just like you do.”  This is the witness I was giving her. This was the false Gospel that I was preaching without a single spoken word, and Jesus was calling me to repentance, to see how I had harmed myself and my daughter with my pride. In the Gospel for today, Jesus says, “Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3)  My dear sister, Jesus is meek and humble of heart. I lovingly encourage you to contemplate how you witness this truth to those around you. How do you witness this beautiful truth to your family? To your friends? To the stranger online who disagrees with you? Let us not be consumed by our pride, but rather let our pride be consumed by the flames of His most Sacred Heart. Let us be loved by our merciful Lover and find rest.

Fear no one. Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed,  nor secret that will not be known. // Matthew 10:26 We’ve all experienced fear in the last three years. Fear was an appropriate initial emotion to experience when the world seemed to be completely collapsing in on itself. But the sustained climate of fear that took over our society was one which told of most people putting their faith and peace in happiness and health in this life instead of in our Heavenly Father.  Now more than ever I have come to know that Jesus’ words to us today in the Gospel (see Matthew 10:26-33) are critical to whether I can say I am a believing Christian or not. Through the ups and downs of prayer, I see Christ’s words today as the endpoint to all the worries and fears I’ve confronted over the past few years. For He tells us, “Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:30-31).  One of the most defining and glorious aspects of Christianity is Christ’s call to not live in fear. Christians have the wonderful reality of living not for this world of suffering and pain, but for eternal life with our Creator, Who loves us and cares for us. We are right to be prudent about caring for our bodily health and needs, but we also live in the freedom and knowledge that our heavenly life is more important than this earthly life we want to cling to so tightly. I don’t want to live a life afraid of the brokenness of the world. These days I understand the power faith can have when encountering the trials of the world. We can trust in the words of Jesus that we don’t need to fear the death of our bodies, that Heaven awaits those of us who have faith in Him and that this is all a reflection of the deep love and care God has for each one of us.  What fear do you have in your life today? Pray to Jesus, asking him to relieve you of the emotion of fear, and choose to live in the light and trust in God’s love and tender care for you.

But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard.” // Luke 1:13 The pudgy little girl with pink glasses and fluffy hair wrote hard in her little pink and yellow diary. Pausing to think, she put the eraser to her lips and narrowed her eyes, nodded in agreement with herself, and added to her list. She was recording all the details of what she wanted in her future husband in big, juvenile cursive: Brown eyes Handsome Good with his hands/can fix and build stuff Funny Goes to Mass Smart Will be a good dad Rich She closed the diary, held it to her chest, and prayed to God that He would give her everything she wanted in a husband.  That little girl living her best 1980s life was me, and fifteen years later I would meet the brown-eyed, hard-working, kind, pious man I prayed for. And after seventeen years of marriage I can tell you that, while we are not wealthy, we are living a life of abundant richness in blessings.  God answers prayers in His own time and in His own, great ways. Consider the words the angel spoke to Zechariah: “Do not be afraid… your prayer has been heard” (Luke 1:13). The prayer for a child is the prayer of a young man, though maybe even a middle-aged man may still hold out hope. Yet the Gospel tells us “both [Elizabeth and Zechariah] were advanced in years” (Luke 1:7). Did Zechariah still pray for a child, even as an old man? Or was the angel referring to a prayer last whispered in his heart more than a decade previously?  Perhaps God was answering all the prayers. The prayer for a son. The prayer to see his beloved Elizabeth as a mother. The prayer to be used by the Lord for His honor and glory. The prayer to not be overlooked.  I propose that today, on the Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, we are reminded that God hears and remembers all our prayers. We can trust that He will answer them when and how He sees best, even if it takes decades.  Readings referenced from the Vigil of the Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist.

For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be. // Matthew 6:21 I’ve often felt that mothers have it easy. In some ways, no . . . the long days, the unending work, the physical, emotional, and mental giving that is required almost constantly. But in some ways, yes.  I think of the monks in their hair shirts, sleeping on stiff boards in the night in order to mortify themselves and suffer, even if just a bit, in union with the suffering of Our Lord. The life of a mother is so different from a monk’s that it’s hard to see the vocation, at times—it’s hard to see it “supernaturalized.” But as I examine my life, I see it littered with little sufferings. Some are simple—interruptions, inconveniences, annoyances. Some are a bit bigger—the disaster of a kitchen after a birthday party, the budget going awry, the really expensive broken window, the vomiting child in the middle of the night, and beyond—beyond to the suffering and illness and even death. Trauma, tragedy, it’s all there. It’s there no matter what our vocational state—suffering is part of all lives. Sister, it’s easy to let our daily sufferings go to waste, but we ought not to waste them. They are the little thorns handed to us to suffer through, and to suffer through well. We don’t have to look for our crosses. They are right here. In the Gospel today Jesus tells us to not store up treasures for ourselves on earth . . . for the things of earth are fleeting. We need to seek the things above by detaching ourselves from the things of this life. This might feel too lofty or cerebral, but remember, we have it easy—it’s all right here. Our little discomforts, the desire to be right, to smile when we’d rather not, to give even more when we feel we’ve got nothing left to give. This is how we store up our heavenly treasures, this is how we live a life detached, this is how we become souls who cling to Heaven. Lord, help me to see all the tiny crosses You offer me each day, and help me to embrace them with all the tenderness that You embraced Yours.  

As the serpent deceived Eve by his cunning, your thoughts may be corrupted from a sincere and pure commitment to Christ. // 2 Corinthians 11:3 Looking back to the time after my reversion, I can see how my vision of the identity that I had been gifted with was twisted. As I was struggling to build a relationship with Christ, instead of experiencing His love, I began to take deeper notice of my flaws, weaknesses, or the things I couldn’t love about myself. In fact, I found it easier to cling to false identities than to cling to what He thinks of me. In today’s First Reading, we hear from Saint Paul, “As the serpent deceived Eve by his cunning, your thoughts may be corrupted from a sincere and pure commitment to Christ” (2 Corinthians 11:3). Eve’s identity as a daughter wasn’t taken away after the fall, but her perception of the Lord and the way He sees her was altered, because of the lies that the enemy placed on her heart. How often do we listen to the lies of the enemy, instead of sitting in the Lord's tender silence, and allowing Him to tell us who we are? Sister, can I gently encourage you to go to Eucharistic Adoration or to just simply sit and acknowledge His presence?  In the presence of Divine Love, you are seen, wanted, deeply desired and delighted in, heard, known, and infinitely loved beyond comprehension. His Eucharistic Heart desires you. That’s all He wants. You.  I know it’s sometimes easier to cling to shame, flaws, and insecurities, but as St. Augustine says, “Our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee”(source). When we invite the loving presence of Jesus into our hearts, we are allowing Him to slowly and gently root ourselves in our identity as God’s beloved daughters.  The truth of our identity is found in Him and Him alone.  Allow Jesus, Who is Divine Love, to speak the truth of your identity to your heart.  Jesus, we love You and we praise You. Help our restless hearts to be rooted in how You see us, as God’s beloved daughters. May You help our hearts to be planted firmly in that truth. Amen.

Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father. When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win the praise of others. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. // Matthew 6:1-2 When my oldest was just a baby, I used to put him on the counter in a baby seat while I cooked. We talked as he watched me bustle about the kitchen. As he grew bigger he would imitate little phrases or gestures, even trying one day to nurse his baby doll while I nursed his infant sibling. That little guy is now a young man living in another state, yet he is still watching how I respond, what I post or say or do, and how I live my daily life.  I am conscious that I continue to be a model for him. Our children will choose what to do (and what not to do), using their childhoods as a foundation. Am I modeling righteousness? Consistently modeling virtue is at the same time both important and difficult. Jesus instructs us to perform righteous deeds, but not so that we are seen. This does not mean doing them in darkness in some invisible way, rather it means our intentions should be pure. We should conduct ourselves with virtue out of love for the Lord, not to be seen or simply to be a good role model.  It is good to watch our speech or actions carefully, but the orientation of our hearts needs to be on the Lord, not on the world. I admit there are times when I simply bite my tongue because I don't want to say something in the presence of my children. I am still striving to consistently orient my heart to such a love for God and union with His will, that righteousness comes as an extension of love. Sister, we should respond with kindness because it is the right thing to do, not just because we want to be a good example. We need not blow a trumpet so that our friends or family can see how holy we are. Rather, if we consistently live a life of love for the Lord, we spread light in the darkness, and draw others to that light.

For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that for your sake he became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich. // 2 Corinthians 8:9 “But mama, if I get it then I’ll be happy!” Sighing, I decided a different tactic was needed in explaining to my 6-year-old where actual happiness came from. “Ok, I want you to think of someone you’ve met who always seems happy.” I expected him to mull over this and was curious who he’d define as such. Immediately, he blurted out the names of one of our diocesan priests and a Sister of Life we met years ago, declaring them to be always happy. “Do you think they are always getting the newest building sets and that’s why they are happy?” Realizing the false connection, he admitted that probably wasn’t the case. In today’s First Reading (see 2 Corinthians 8:1-9), Saint Paul extolled the Church in Macedonia, sharing not only of their sheer generosity and overwhelming joy, but of how their first offering of themselves was to God.  We are called to be imitators of Christ, becoming one with Him. We are also to give of ourselves without measure. In spirituality, we are poor, and He is richness itself. And yet Christ came to empty Himself fully, impoverishing Himself to humanity’s level to exemplify love, and offering true happiness. And what He asks of us is to give ourselves back to Him.  Both people who immediately came to my young son’s mind were defined by whose they were and how that manifested. No matter how much or little time we spent with these two individuals, what was clear to him was how much they loved Jesus and the sheer joy they received from serving people who desperately needed that love and joy too.  Sister, I invite you today to pray the Prayer for Generosity from Saint Ignatius of Loyola and ask God to teach you the path to happiness, that of true generosity. 

We are treated . . . as having nothing and yet possessing all things. // 2 Corinthians 6:8-10 I walked into the bare room, devoid of any color or decorations. I lamented that there were no pictures on the walls. But then I reminded myself that it wasn’t my college dorm room, after all, but my new cell in a Carmelite monastery. The straw mattress, wooden kneeler and a small shelf up on the wall plus the big cross at the head of my new bed was all I had. They were not even mine because in the Garden of Carmel, everything is referred to as “ours.” There I was, supposedly poor by the world’s standards, yet in just one year, I would be leaving back out through those doors, rich by Heaven’s standards. What does it mean to have nothing, according to society, and yet “possess all things” (2 Corinthians 6:10)? I thought it meant leaving my whole life as I knew it—my family and friends who loved and supported me, my ministry and public life—for a hidden life in the austerity of Carmel. That must be it, I thought.  Yet, truly, how abundant was my pride and self-reliance. I was stripped of all things exteriorly, but my heart was not yet poor enough to turn fully to Him who is the greatest treasure.  Most of my life I struggled with pride and vanity. In that small cell of the cloister, I experienced the extent of my true lack and my dire need for Him. I had become so rich in possessions: things, comforts, people, and their opinions of me. In the safe place of the enclosure, He slowly, but steadily, began removing from my hands all that I clung to. Until all that was left was Him and His steadfast love.  Sister, more than serving Him, more than being known, more than others considering us to be whatever it is we hope they see in us, more than all of these things, it is about Him. Possessing Him, knowing Him and loving Him—that’s it. That is what it means to be rich and yet have nothing to your name. He is our greatest treasure.