February 28, 2025 // Friday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Sirach 6:5-17 Reflect on the Word //  My heart warmed as I read this text from a friend: You are my priority. I read those four simple words once more, deeply touched by how much they moved me, meeting a need that I didn’t know I had.  Later that autumn, this friend and I found a few spare moments in our calendars to curl up on her couch with hot tea and squares of dark chocolate. She listened patiently as I shared all the goings-on in my life that were both hard and good, and I tried to do the same for her. I think we both left that evening with our cups full. “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter,” we read. “[H]e who finds one finds a treasure” (Sirach 6:14). How beautiful it is that an entire passage of Scripture is devoted to finding and cultivating true friendship! These true friends show up for us when life is easy breezy and without care, and all the more so when life is tumultuous and full of sorrow. True friends are Christ-like, pouring themselves out for the good of the other. Hand in hand with these friends, we find shelter from the storm of life, with an abiding assurance that we are seen, heard, and loved. In a world in which loneliness is on the rise and it is far too easy to feel forgotten or passed over, we must not forget the deep importance of both having and being a good friend.  It is not lost on me that the friendship described above is one that was cultivated within the Blessed is She community. Let us remember as we journey through this Christian life together that we are not meant to go it alone. We are made for communion. And we are worthy to be a priority in the life of another.  Relate to the Lord // Who makes you feel like you’re a priority? Send them a text or a card to thank them for their love and friendship.

December 25, 2024  // The Nativity of the Lord (Christmas) (Holy Day of Obligation) Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel from the Mass at Dawn: Luke 2:15-20 Reflect on the Word//  Swish, swish, swish proclaimed my snowpants as I entered my church for Midnight Mass one Christmas Eve many years ago. I parked my cross-country skis in the narthex and did my best to quietly enter the darkened church, my abundance of winter gear covered in equal parts of sweat and snow. Never before had I cross-country skied to Mass (and never since, mind you), but a blizzard that particular Christmas Eve kept the city sidewalks unshoveled, giving me the snow I needed to make the journey. “Let us go, then, to Bethlehem To see this thing that has taken place,  Which the Lord has made known to us.” (Luke 2:15) That story of the shepherds from the Gospel of Luke enlivened my heart that Christmas Eve as I made the multi-hour round trip in the dark of night. Many years later the story of the shepherds still speaks to my heart. They didn’t respond to the angels’ greeting with apathy or doubt or resentment that the Lord hadn’t come sooner (What took You so long, God?). No, they went in haste to Bethlehem to see “this thing that [had] taken place,” and they returned to their fields glorifying and praising God.  Do I respond “in haste,” I wonder? As I rediscover the manger with the Christ Child yet again today, do I live with the same anticipation, the same joy, and the same gratitude as those shepherds? I pray that the Lord will dispose our hearts this Christmas to approach Him like the shepherds did that first Christmas morning. Sister, pause with me before the Christ Child; look at Him in your prayerful imagination. And then let us return home glorifying and praising God for the miracle He has done again in our hearts this Christmas. This holy season we are asked to see with the eyes and hearts of those dear shepherds. We are here with them, in this sacred scene of Bethlehem. Relate to the Lord // Spend a few minutes in your holy imagination at the manger in Bethlehem. On this day of His birth, give Him your heart as a gift. 

I am numbered with those who go down into the pit; I am a man without strength. // Psalm 88:5 Without fail, grabbing a cup of coffee at my hometown coffee shop means I will cross paths with at least one long-lost person from my childhood. I always look forward to these blasts from the past and the chance to reconnect. Recently, my cherished connection was a former teacher who not long ago lost her adult son. It was an honor to give her a hug and, for just a few moments, to accompany her in her suffering and share in her grief. Sometimes the Psalmist’s cries (see Psalm 88:2-8) or Job’s words of anguish (see Job 3: 1-3, 11-17) from today’s Readings feel word for word like the cry of my own heart: I am at the bottom of a pit and I just can’t see the way out. In these instances I consider myself a world-class coping expert: I wipe the tears away and pretend I am okay. I launch myself headfirst into a Netflix binge and tell myself it is a healthy distraction. I avoid time in Adoration because I just don’t want to go into those hard places with the Lord.  And yet, almost on the daily, I am challenged and invited to do what Job and the Psalmist do: I learn to give in and simply cry out to Him. Like Job and like the Psalmist, I’ve learned that the best way, the most healing way to carry the burdens of my heart is to make my sorrows heard. The Lord is not uncomfortable with my tears. He won’t tell me to buck up or awkwardly change the subject when I bring my sorrows to Him. He walked our broken world, and He is willing to walk with us through the landscape of our broken hearts, if only we will let Him. Whatever your grief is today, sister, you are not alone in the pit. Cry out to Him for help, and trust that He is right there with you.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord. // Luke 4:18-19 “Because your voice is so valuable,” I gently encouraged my foster son as we sat at the dining room table late one spring evening. He had initially given a firm no to the opportunity to speak on a panel for youth in the foster care system, but I felt a tug on my heart to nudge him to reconsider. Isn’t it striking how often we disregard the opportunities put before us, thinking something similar? My story isn’t that important. I really don’t have the time to do this well. I sincerely doubt I’d add anything to the conversation. Part of my job as a foster mom is to speak for kids in the foster care system. Another part of my job, I’m learning, is to give them the support, love, and encouragement they need to speak for themselves. Because as children of God, we all have something of value to say.  Today’s readings are full of themes of proclamation and of truth (see 1 Corinthians 2:1-5 and Luke 4:16-22). Saint Paul writes of speaking not with “persuasive words or of wisdom” but rather “with a demonstration of spirit and power” (1 Corinthians 2:4). And Jesus preached boldly in the synagogue to people whose hearts couldn’t quite come to grips with the truth that He was the fulfillment prophesied in the Scriptures. Nonetheless, both shared boldly with those aching for the truth. You have a unique and unrepeatable voice to offer today. It isn’t replaceable by that girl in your Bible study who you are convinced is holier than you or by that Catholic at work who goes to daily Mass more often. The Spirit of the Lord is upon you, my friend. Your voice is valuable. Ask the Lord where you can offer your voice in truth today.

Jesus went around to all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness. At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them, because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. // Matthew 9:35-36 It is one of my most favorite things to do on a Saturday morning. Cup of coffee in hand, I make a beeline to my local thrift store to check out all the pretty treasures that beckon from the shelves. Last weekend, what caught my eye was a gorgeous vintage walnut rocking chair.  Do I need another rocking chair? No. Do I have space for another rocking chair? Nope. Is said rocking chair in my budget? Not even close. But did I take a few extra spins around the store just to sit in said chair (more than once) and contemplate how adorable it would look in my living room? Yes, oh yes. There is something about the thrill of a deal and the discovery of “something-old-made-new-to-me” that makes me love thrifting. A single fella could make me swoon with seven simple words: “Can I take you thrifting this weekend?” So when today’s First Reading reminds us of the idols we can so easily make for ourselves (see Hosea 8:4-7) I can’t help but ask: What idols have I made for myself?  Last week it was the rocking chair. A few days later it was that super cute home in the countryside that I could never afford. A few days after that, it was the pervasive thought that I would never measure up to those more financially successful than myself. Over time I’ve discovered certain idols that surface often in my heart, while others pop up out of the blue whenever I feel lonely, unloved, tired, or afraid.  The Good Shepherd is the antidote to these idols, friend (see Matthew 9:35-36). He sees our lost little hearts and our longings for pretty walnut rocking chairs, financial assurance, and vocational certainty. He reminds us that He will provide for our every need, and (more than any thrift store idol), He will shepherd us into greater joy than we could ever dream possible. Let’s reflect today on the idols that take up space in our hearts, and ask for the grace to give Him that room instead.

When Jesus had risen, early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. She went and told his companions who were mourning and weeping. When they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they did not believe. // Mark 16:9-11 This had never happened to me before. There I was, unpacking a beloved Nativity scene from my Christmas decorations. It was Christmas Eve, and I was a little delayed in decorating. As I carefully placed Joseph, Mary, and the others on my mantle I realized that the most important piece was not in the box. Jesus Himself was nowhere to be found. Who in the world loses the baby Jesus? Dumbfounded and still in my pajamas, I felt tears form in my eyes. This was more, you see, than simply misplacing a favorite ornament or cherished Christmas stocking. It felt as though the spiritual loneliness I had endured over the past several months was now physically manifested in a wooden baby Jesus who could also not be found. Determined not to allow Jesus to be MIA on Christmas, I spent every extra minute that Christmas Eve digging through every single box of decorations where I thought He might be found. But Christmas morning came and went, and there was no baby Jesus to place in the manger. Still more time went by until one day, simple as can be, I found Him. Thank God for that moment of humility! Today’s Gospel reading (see Mark 16:9-15) paints a stark picture of those too mired in grief to really believe that Jesus had risen. Like them, I have sometimes struggled to see with the eyes of faith. Maybe this has been hard for you too. What I want you to know, here in this octave of Easter, is that it is okay if today the Risen Christ feels hidden. It is okay if we are past the beauty and grandeur of Easter Sunday and are feeling stuck in the muck of something hard again.  It’s okay.  Jesus is here. He accompanies us through our day-to-day moments, weeps with us in our sorrows, and cheers with us in our times of joy. It may feel at times like we have lost Him, but He has not lost us. Let’s pray today to find Him more deeply in every facet of our lives.  

Saul then said to David: "You are in the right rather than I; you have treated me generously, while I have done you harm. Great is the generosity you showed me today, when the LORD delivered me into your grasp and you did not kill me. For if a man meets his enemy, does he send him away unharmed? May the LORD reward you generously for what you have done this day. // 1 Samuel 24:18-20 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.

Resplendent and unfading is wisdom, and she is readily perceived by those who love her, and found by those who seek her. She hastens to make herself known in anticipation of their desire; whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate. // Wisdom 6:12-14 It was another late night with a friend, and I found myself trying to speak peace and reassurance into the heart of a mother who was struggling to adjust to life with a fussier-than-usual newborn: “You are a good mom.” “God sees you and loves you.” “I know you can do hard things.” Over the years I have had conversations just like these, time and time again, both personally and professionally. They have taken place in cramped hospital rooms, during late-night breastfeeding sessions, and in kitchens with sinks filled with dirty dishes. Sometimes I take notice of how readily I can speak words of wisdom to the special people in my life—new moms, friends, coworkers—but fail to give the same care and attention to the crevices of my own heart. It’s almost as though the persistent, nagging thought running in the background of my mind is: “Karen’s heart need not apply.” What a lie from the evil one who seeks only to breed confusion and despair! God’s gift of wisdom is for all, sister, and today’s First Reading gives sound evidence of this: “She hastens to make herself known [ . . . ] and whoever waits for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate” (Wisdom 6:13-14). Do we honor our own hearts with the same truths that we speak to others?  Dear Father, help us to be lovers and receivers of wisdom in every facet of our lives. May we know how deeply you desire to share your wisdom with us, and may we find it waiting today at the doors of our homes and at the doors of our hearts. Amen.

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means "God is with us." // Matthew 1:22-23 It was a well-known fact in my Midwest town: The very best birthday cakes were baked out of a small kitchen in a renovated barn, by a semi-retired lady named Donna. Year after year and with childlike wonder I would watch as she airbrushed onto her sheet cakes the things that meant the most to me and my brothers: flowers and dolphins and whales for me, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and footballs for my brothers. Her cakes blessed not just my own family, but many in our small town. Every birthday, every First Communion, every Boy Scout awards ceremony, every high school graduation, almost always included a cake baked by Donna. It’s a beautifully thoughtful tradition in the Church that, nine months after our celebration of our Blessed Mother Mary’s Immaculate Conception on December 8th, we celebrate Mary’s own birthday today. Each and every September 8th we honor Mary’s birthday as the day of “dawn of our own salvation” (Marialis Cultus 7), for it is through Mary’s birth and subsequent yes that our world is redeemed from sin and death. But today is also special for a different reason: Mary’s own parents, Saints Joachim and Anne, once struggled to conceive. They knew the heartache of disappointment and the fear of the unknown. Their dear little Mary was (and still is) a sign of God’s abiding Providence, a glimmer of hope in times of doubt. Her life reminds us that God is faithful, and that we are never overlooked.  Dear Blessed Mother Mary, may our celebration of your birthday today remind us of all of these things. As we light a candle in honor of you today, pray for us that we might hold fast to hope as your own parents did. Amen.

He went off and beheaded [John] in the prison. He brought in the head on a platter and gave it to the girl. The girl in turn gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb. // Mark 6:27-29   It’s a summer memory that I think might be burned into my brain for all eternity: I can picture my ten-year-old self, persuaded by friends to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl at the local 4th of July carnival. It was painted sparkling red and blue, with concave seats that spun round with enough centrifugal force to make you feel as though your stomach could, in fact, truly leave your body.  I remember my friends letting go of the center wheel and leaning all the way back into the shelled seats, letting the pull of the ride take control as we spun faster and faster. I also remember my own clenched fists white-knuckling the center wheel, and I remember the uncontrollable swirling of my stomach. Every fiber of my being seemed to be shouting, “Stop the ride, I want to get off!” Years later, I’ve found that this phrase takes root in my heart whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed in navigating the life that the Lord has chosen for me: This life demands too much.  I’m not made for this. Stop the ride, Lord. I want to get off. When I read today’s Gospel on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist (see Mark 6:17-29), I can’t help but marvel at the intensity of his life, and the simple docility with which he lived it. John paved the way for the Messiah. His steady courage prepared many hearts to hear the words of Jesus. He died a martyr’s death at the hands of a few shallow and vengeful people who hated him. His ride, so to speak, was one for the books.  When I feel overwhelmed, it is Saints like John the Baptist that help me to again fix my vision. Whether our current tumult is related to vocation or family or finances, John’s witness reminds us that we can cast our gaze on the Messiah and ask for enough courage to cling to Him.  Jesus, in our overwhelm, help us to hold tight to You in this ride of life. Amen.

This poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood. // Mark 12:43-44 She was a quiet woman, the kind who really didn’t have the headspace for a lot of idle chit-chat. She found herself welcoming home her newborn nephew whose parents could not care for him. I sat with her as we talked about options to feed this baby who would be separated from his mother. I urged her to take two cans of formula from our center’s donated items instead of only one. Resolutely she shook her head and thanked me for one, and then swiftly left to return home to her nephew and the other little ones in her care.  I knew what she knew . . . that despite her difficult circumstances there were those in her community who likely needed that extra can of formula even more than she did. And that she would manage, by God’s provision, with what she had. Her generosity in that moment stayed with me for a long time, sister. How easily I cling to things that I feel are owed to me, while this woman so willingly shared from her lack to bless another woman in her community. Just like the widow in today’s Gospel (see Mark 12:38-44) she gave from the very little she had. No one would have judged her for taking a little extra, but she chose instead to trust. Where is the Lord asking you today to loosen your grip and give where you think you just don’t have enough? Does He desire that you tweak your budget so that you can tithe a little more to the Church? Has He placed it on your heart to share your limited time with a person who you know feels lonely and abandoned? Ask Him today to multiply what is meager and to embolden you with a spirit of generosity.

Venez à lui, pierre vivante, rejetée des hommes mais choisie et précieuse aux yeux de Dieu, et, comme des pierres vivantes, laissez-vous édifier pour devenir une maison spirituelle[.] // 1 Pierre 2:4-5 C'était une acquisition quelque peu impulsive, je l'admets : un cabanon sans prétention que mon père avait construit il y a des décennies pour ranger notre pléthore d'équipement de camping excédentaire et d'autres accessoires familiaux assortis. Des décennies plus tard, il a atterri entre mes mains en tant que noble projet de « bricolage ». Il me faudra beaucoup de temps avant de pouvoir le réinventer comme quelque chose de merveilleux, mais pour l'instant je me réjouis simplement du fait que mon cher père et mes frères ont scié chaque planche et martelé chaque clou. Et j'aime ça. La deuxième lecture d'aujourd'hui nous rappelle que lorsque nous avons le Christ comme pierre angulaire de nos vies, alors chaque offrande, grande ou petite, construit pour nous une maison spirituelle qui est précieuse aux yeux de Dieu ( voir 1 Pierre 2 :4-9). Certains jours, nous construisons bien : Nous prévoyons du temps pour une contemplation tranquille et du temps avec le Seigneur. Nos paroles sont (pour la plupart) patientes et bienveillantes, et nos actions sont authentiques et révèlent la vérité de ce à quoi la vie chrétienne devrait ressembler. Notre foyer spirituel commence à grandir et à s'épanouir. D'autres jours, ma sœur, nous martelons (spirituellement) nos pouces : Nous parlons trop vite et trop durement. Nous laissons la jalousie et le ressentiment s'envenimer. Nous évitons la Confession. Nos foyers spirituels deviennent pourris, usés et fatigués. Le fait est, mon ami, que nous savons que rien de ce côté-ci du Ciel n'est parfaitement construit. C'est une vérité que mon cœur perfectionniste apprend à accepter. Et pourtant, tout comme mon cabanon vieillissant, rien ne se perd non plus dans le bâtiment. Lorsque nous coopérons au plan du Seigneur pour notre cœur, il rachète les pouces martelés et les « réparations » hâtives. Il s'occupe correctement du toit qui fuit et il protège nos cœurs des pensées intrusives qui volent notre paix. Lorsque nous le plaçons comme notre véritable pierre angulaire, nos foyers spirituels s'épanouissent. Prenez quelques instants aujourd'hui pour vous reposer avec l'idée de votre foyer spirituel. Qu'est-ce qui vous y apporte joie, réconfort et paix ? Qu'est-ce qui a besoin d'être réparé (grand ou petit) ? Invitez à nouveau le Seigneur à sa place appropriée dans votre cœur et demandez-lui de s'occuper de ce qui doit être réparé.

Maintenant, il y avait là six jarres d'eau en pierre pour les lavages cérémoniels juifs, chacune contenant vingt à trente gallons. Jésus leur a dit, 'Remplissez les jarres d'eau.' Ils les ont donc remplis à ras bord. // Jean 2:6-7 Le petit berger est l'un de mes préférés pour prier pendant la saison de Noël. C'est un jeune garçon de la crèche, très en retrait dans la foule. Il est petit, peut-être neuf ou dix ans, arborant un manteau bleu usé et des cheveux bruns ébouriffés. Il n'a pas de chaussures aux pieds ni quoi que ce soit de remarquable en sa possession. Mais dans ses bras, il porte un agneau, et il regarde la crèche avec espoir, plein de fierté du cadeau qu'il partagera bientôt avec l'Enfant Jésus. Dans son visage, il n'y a pas de honte dans la petitesse de son don. Il n'y a aucune inquiétude quant à la façon dont il sera reçu ou s'il sera jugé suffisant. Son visage dit tout : Anticipation. Joie. Aimer. Confiance. Peut-être que ce petit garçon savait que le Messie, le Fils de Dieu, prendrait plaisir à son don, aussi petit soit-il. N'est-ce pas un endroit merveilleux pour que nos coeurs se reposent, soeur? Dans l'évangile de saint Jean d'aujourd'hui, nous lisons qu'un autre don a été reçu et transformé par Notre-Seigneur : des litres d'eau humble sont devenus du vin - pas n'importe quel vin, mais du bon vin ( voir Jean 2 : 7-10). Là encore, Jésus ne se moque pas de la simplicité de l'offrande. Il reçoit gracieusement le cadeau et le transforme en quelque chose qui dépasse de loin ce que tout invité de mariage pourrait anticiper. Sœur, si vous entrez dans la nouvelle année avec un pincement au cœur pour vous donner d'une manière particulière, je vous encourage à vous asseoir en prière avec ceux de la Nativité. Réfléchissez au petit berger qui a donné avec autant de générosité et de confiance. Qu'il s'agisse du discernement d'un nouveau travail ou des plans provisoires d'un nouveau ministère ou de la réflexion sur une grossesse, Notre-Seigneur se réjouit en vous. Il prend plaisir à votre cœur généreux ( voir Psaume 149:4). Et Il désire transformer le plus petit de vos dons en le plus grand des fruits.

Les gens qui marchaient devant lui le réprimandaient en lui disant de se taire, mais il n'arrêtait pas de crier : « Fils de David, aie pitié de moi ! Alors Jésus s'arrêta et ordonna qu'on le lui amenât ; et quand il s'est approché, Jésus lui a demandé: 'Que veux-tu que je fasse pour toi?' Il a répondu, 'Seigneur, s'il te plaît, laisse-moi voir.' // Luc 18:39-41 Puis-je te confier un secret, ma sœur ? Cette semaine je fête mes 41 ans de vie ! J'ai honte d'admettre que pendant quelques années, dans la trentaine, j'ai regardé les anniversaires avec pas mal d'appréhension. Un tour de plus autour du soleil n'était qu'un rappel des faux pas passés, des espoirs déçus et des opportunités "manquées". Je n'étais pas physiquement aveugle comme l'homme de l'Évangile d'aujourd'hui (Luc 18:35-43), mais j'étais certainement spirituellement aveugle à la providence de Dieu et à la vérité que ma vie était pure, imméritée et (soyons honnêtes ) cadeau assez génial du créateur. Quelques années après le début de ces anniversaires "malheur à moi", j'en ai eu assez de patauger (merci, Jésus) et j'ai plutôt pris la décision consciente d'attendre mon anniversaire avec impatience plutôt qu'avec crainte. Gratitude au lieu de regret. L'espoir au lieu du désespoir. Avec une profusion d'esprit d'anniversaire, j'ai pris un autre engagement d'anniversaire : j'allais anticiper mon anniversaire avec autant de zèle qu'un enfant de huit ans. C'est vrai - apportez le gâteau et les bougies et réveillez-vous avec un sourire sur mon visage parce que j'avais un an de plus. J'étais prêt à célébrer : là où j'en étais. Juste là où Dieu voulait que je sois. Quel que soit le tournant autour du soleil que vous célébrerez au cours de l'année à venir, ma prière est que nous puissions tous célébrer chaque anniversaire avec les paroles de cet homme dans l'Évangile d'aujourd'hui : "Seigneur, laisse-moi voir." Fais-nous voir ta présence, tes bénédictions et ton appel dans nos vies. Et célébrons chaque année de notre vie avec le zèle ardent d'un enfant de huit ans. Amen. [bctt tweet="Laissez-nous voir votre présence. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] écouter la dévotion d'aujourd'hui

"N'as-tu pas lu ce que David a fait quand lui et ceux qui étaient avec lui ont eu faim ?" // Luc 6:3 "Ma vieille grand-mère adoptive habite dans cette rue !" une petite voix gazouillait depuis mon siège arrière. "Est-ce vrai?" demandai-je distraitement. Mais quand il l'a répété, dans un effort pour apaiser, j'ai fait demi-tour pour faire un passage en voiture. « Est-ce que cela vous semble familier ? » lui ai-je gentiment demandé pendant que nous nous promenions. J'ai jeté un coup d'œil dans le rétroviseur, le regardant par la fenêtre avec impatience, et j'ai dit une prière pour qu'il ne soit pas déçu quand notre petit détour serait sûrement un échec. Et puis, elle était là : tasse de café à la main, assise sur une chaise de patio, profitant de la fraîcheur du matin d'été. Elle (bien sûr) était tout aussi surprise de le voir que je l'étais de la voir. Il bondit hors de la voiture, nicha sa tête contre sa poitrine et l'embrassa. (J'ai appris plus tard que les enfants ayant des antécédents de traumatisme peuvent avoir une conscience très sensible de leur environnement. Ce petit garçon n'avait pas vu son ancienne famille d'accueil depuis des mois, mais il connaissait ce lieu d'amour et de sécurité aussi sûrement que n'importe quoi.) Dans l'évangile d'aujourd'hui, nous lisons que Jésus a fait quelque chose d'illégal le jour du sabbat : Il a permis que ses bien-aimés qui avaient faim soient nourris (voir Luc 6:1-5). Pour nous aussi, parfois, nourrir les affamés parmi nous exige que nous nous éloignions des conventions et de la routine et que nous soyons attentifs à notre appel à l'amour. Il veut que nous répondions dans la joie et la confiance, même lorsque cela ressemble à une perte de temps, d'argent ou d'énergie, ou lorsque le résultat semble au mieux trouble. Dieu m'a donné l'occasion de nourrir les affamés en ce magnifique jour d'été. Je remercie Dieu souvent que je n'étais pas si coincé dans ma tête que j'ai manqué de nourrir le cœur de ce petit garçon. Prions aujourd'hui pour la capacité d'être attentifs à ceux qui ont faim parmi nous et d'être prêts à sortir avec foi et à répondre à ce besoin. [bctt tweet="Sortez dans la foi. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] écouter la dévotion d'aujourd'hui

"Tous ceux qui appartiennent à la vérité écoutent ma voix." // Jean 18:37 Le son de mon réveil à 2 heures du matin m'a frappé comme un train. Je me suis lentement roulé sur le lit des volontaires à l'hospice des Missionnaires de la Charité et me suis frotté les yeux. La chaleur intense de la chaleur du radiateur facilitait un peu le fait de repousser les couvertures, de glisser hors du lit et de marcher sur la pointe des pieds vers les chambres des résidents où un certain nombre de femmes dormaient. Alors que mes yeux s'habituaient à leur chambre sombre, je pouvais les distinguer dans son lit. L'une marmonnait dans son sommeil en espagnol. Une autre serrait fermement son sac sous les couvertures. Encore une autre qui avait la maladie d'Alzheimer était éveillée et perdue profondément dans un souvenir de son passé. Tranquillement, je vérifiais chacun d'eux, changeant les sous-vêtements de ceux qui en avaient besoin et lissant les plis de leurs draps. Sainte Thérèse de Calcutta remarquait souvent qu'elle et ses sœurs Missionnaires de la Charité servaient Jésus sous le "déguisement le plus affligeant" des pauvres. Lorsque nous pansons la blessure de quelqu'un qui souffre, nourrissons celui qui ne peut plus se nourrir ou veillons dans les derniers instants de la vie, même quand c'est inconfortable, nous servons Jésus. La détresse que je ressentais parfois en servant les personnes en hospice est similaire à ce que mon cœur ressent aujourd'hui le Vendredi Saint. J'ai honte de Judas. Embarrassé par Simon Peter. Consterné par ces tirages au sort pour les vêtements de notre Seigneur. Je grince des dents à mes propres paroles de "Crucifie-le!" même si je sais que mes propres péchés très réels blessent Christ aujourd'hui. Le Vendredi Saint est affligeant. Et pourtant, il est bon que nous soyons ici dans ce lieu du Triduum. Il est bon de rappeler à notre moi oublieux la passion de notre Seigneur. Il est bon de passer du temps dans l'adoration de la Croix, en se rappelant qu'Il est mort pour vous, pour moi, pour les hospices au passé indicible, pour nous tous. Veillons à la Croix aujourd'hui et permettons-lui de dire la vérité à nos cœurs. [bctt tweet="C'est bien que nous soyons là. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] écouter la dévotion d'aujourd'hui

Il est comme un arbre planté au bord des eaux qui étendent ses racines jusqu'au ruisseau. // Jérémie 17:8 Ses petites jambes enroulées autour de ma taille alors qu'elle se blottissait sur mes genoux, partageant une balançoire avec moi par une journée paresseuse de fin d'été. « Peux-tu avoir mon autographe pour que tu te souviennes toujours de moi ? demanda-t-elle tristement en se serrant contre elle, les larmes aux yeux. « Oh mon cœur ! » J'ai dit. « Comment pourrais-je t'oublier ? Mais tu es une grande fille qui va bientôt aller à la maternelle, et les grandes filles n'ont pas besoin de nounous. Mais je ne pourrais jamais, jamais t'oublier. Avez-vous un "moment de swing set" à vous, mon ami ? Pouvez-vous fermer les yeux et repenser à un moment où vous vous êtes senti le plus en sécurité, aimé et chéri ? Prenez une minute pour permettre à votre esprit et à votre cœur de revenir à ce souvenir. Qu'est-ce-qui l'a rendu si spécial? Quels sons, touchers et odeurs vous ont fait ressentir ce que vous avez ressenti ? Ce doux souvenir, mes amis, n'est qu'un avant-goût de l'union intime que Jésus désire pour vous et pour moi. Jésus est le courant par lequel nous pouvons plonger dans nos racines et trouver de l'espace pour respirer. C'est Lui que nous pouvons câliner et avoir la ferme assurance qu'Il est digne de toute notre confiance. Quelle que soit votre croix aujourd'hui - le début de quelque chose de nouveau ou un sentiment embêtant d'inadéquation ou la pierre d'achoppement du péché - demandons à Jésus de nous aider à lui tendre les bras. Demandons que nous puissions nous sentir aimés, en sécurité et chéris dans son étreinte. [bctt tweet="Il est digne de toute notre confiance. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] écouter la dévotion d'aujourd'hui