Trinity Sunday
By: Brenda Chávez
Every Sunday at 8pm Mass, I sit in the first pew and look up at St. Patrick holding the three leaved shamrock. It is a constant reminder of the Holy Trinity and our call to discipleship, just like St. Patrick used the shamrock to teach others.
I sit and ask, “who, me, a disciple?” That is why I can relate to today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 28:16-20, because we witness a profound moment of both worship and doubt among the disciples. As they gather on the mountain in Galilee, they are met by Jesus, who delivers a transformative (and may I say, shocking) call. However, it's noteworthy that even in the presence of the resurrected Christ, some of the disciples still harbor doubts.
I love this moment because it is so perfectly human and we see that doubt is not an uncommon companion on the journey of discipleship. We can commonly put high expectations on our discipleship, but today I am reminded that doubt can coexist alongside worship, belief, and even profound spiritual experiences. For those of you reading this who feel unworthy or inadequate, know that this passage offers solace and reassurance. God is calling YOU to discipleship and their call is inclusive of all.
Jesus' words transcend the doubts that may plague our minds: "All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me." This statement serves as a reminder that our limitations do not define the extent of God's power or our capacity to serve as disciples. Despite our doubts or perceived shortcomings, Jesus calls us to action and his inclusive call, regardless of background or circumstance.
Furthermore, Jesus promises his enduring presence: "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age." This assurance is particularly comforting, especially for those of us that feel imposter syndrome. God's presence knows no bounds and is not contingent upon our feelings of worthiness. In every moment, God is with us, guiding, comforting, and empowering us to fulfill our calling as disciples.
So, whether you sit in our pews on Sundays or watch us from the livestream, today we are reminded of our call to discipleship. Doubt, or feelings of inadequacy, does not disqualify us from discipleship. Instead, it serves as a catalyst for deeper exploration and growth in faith. As we embrace our identity as disciples, we do so knowing that God is with us every step of the way, empowering us to fulfill our purpose and share the love of Christ with all.
By: Brenda Chávez
Every Sunday at 8pm Mass, I sit in the first pew and look up at St. Patrick holding the three leaved shamrock. It is a constant reminder of the Holy Trinity and our call to discipleship, just like St. Patrick used the shamrock to teach others.
I sit and ask, “who, me, a disciple?” That is why I can relate to today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 28:16-20, because we witness a profound moment of both worship and doubt among the disciples. As they gather on the mountain in Galilee, they are met by Jesus, who delivers a transformative (and may I say, shocking) call. However, it's noteworthy that even in the presence of the resurrected Christ, some of the disciples still harbor doubts.
I love this moment because it is so perfectly human and we see that doubt is not an uncommon companion on the journey of discipleship. We can commonly put high expectations on our discipleship, but today I am reminded that doubt can coexist alongside worship, belief, and even profound spiritual experiences. For those of you reading this who feel unworthy or inadequate, know that this passage offers solace and reassurance. God is calling YOU to discipleship and their call is inclusive of all.
Jesus' words transcend the doubts that may plague our minds: "All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me." This statement serves as a reminder that our limitations do not define the extent of God's power or our capacity to serve as disciples. Despite our doubts or perceived shortcomings, Jesus calls us to action and his inclusive call, regardless of background or circumstance.
Furthermore, Jesus promises his enduring presence: "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age." This assurance is particularly comforting, especially for those of us that feel imposter syndrome. God's presence knows no bounds and is not contingent upon our feelings of worthiness. In every moment, God is with us, guiding, comforting, and empowering us to fulfill our calling as disciples.
So, whether you sit in our pews on Sundays or watch us from the livestream, today we are reminded of our call to discipleship. Doubt, or feelings of inadequacy, does not disqualify us from discipleship. Instead, it serves as a catalyst for deeper exploration and growth in faith. As we embrace our identity as disciples, we do so knowing that God is with us every step of the way, empowering us to fulfill our purpose and share the love of Christ with all.
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God is the Ultimate Romantic
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“We love because He first loved us. 1 John 4:19
When I was a little girl, my Dad used to always sing Dean Martin’s "You’re Nobody til Somebody Loves You" around the house.
So, I may have been groomed at a young age to be searching for what has eluded me thus far…true love... that Somebody who would change me from a Nobody to a Somebody.
I expected the all-consuming, head over heels kind of true love! I have always considered myself unlucky in love so Valentine’s Day hasn’t been my favorite holiday. But I didn’t always feel that way. When I was younger I held onto the hope that it “just hadn’t happened yet”. And I have had a couple of pretty great relationships but never “the right one” that magically turned me into "Somebody Loved".
However, when I turned 50 a few years ago I resigned myself to the fact that I may be unlovable when it came to the romantic, heart fluttering kind of love. Valentine’s Day turned into Galentine Day celebrations and that was okay with me. I have a great group of single and married friends who make me feel loved in many ways!
Funny thing is, that when I signed up to write this article, I began to wonder why God had not given me the romantic love I desired and I kind of got to feeling a little mad at Him. Why wasn’t I given the intimate, soulmate relationship so many others have been blessed with? What was wrong with me? Am I destined to be a "Nobody" like Dean croons?
And then I began to think about my first Beloved Retreat experience in 2012. I remembered how I felt when I walked into the 2nd floor at St. Mary’s in Mundelein – I really didn’t even know how much I was hungering for the “love connection” that this community was going to give me. That was the beginning of me knowing myself as a Beloved child of God – in whom He is well pleased. I then realized that Sneaky Jesus was at work this whole time and I was looking at it the wrong way. God loves us intimately and unconditionally. Faults and all. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN SOMEBODY in God's eyes! If that isn’t true romantic love I don’t know what is. So through the lens of being Beloved I have realized that I have always had a soulmate…He has created me in an image of love so how can I be unlovable? And while I still do hunger for getting my “in real life” soulmate, I am fed in the realization that I am Beloved by the true romantic – a God who is well-pleased in me.
So, for those of you that have the feeling that I did of being unlovable, remember to celebrate this Valentine’s Day! You are a Beloved child of God and it doesn’t get more romantic than that. Happy Valentine’s Day!
When I was a little girl, my Dad used to always sing Dean Martin’s "You’re Nobody til Somebody Loves You" around the house.
So, I may have been groomed at a young age to be searching for what has eluded me thus far…true love... that Somebody who would change me from a Nobody to a Somebody.
I expected the all-consuming, head over heels kind of true love! I have always considered myself unlucky in love so Valentine’s Day hasn’t been my favorite holiday. But I didn’t always feel that way. When I was younger I held onto the hope that it “just hadn’t happened yet”. And I have had a couple of pretty great relationships but never “the right one” that magically turned me into "Somebody Loved".
However, when I turned 50 a few years ago I resigned myself to the fact that I may be unlovable when it came to the romantic, heart fluttering kind of love. Valentine’s Day turned into Galentine Day celebrations and that was okay with me. I have a great group of single and married friends who make me feel loved in many ways!
Funny thing is, that when I signed up to write this article, I began to wonder why God had not given me the romantic love I desired and I kind of got to feeling a little mad at Him. Why wasn’t I given the intimate, soulmate relationship so many others have been blessed with? What was wrong with me? Am I destined to be a "Nobody" like Dean croons?
And then I began to think about my first Beloved Retreat experience in 2012. I remembered how I felt when I walked into the 2nd floor at St. Mary’s in Mundelein – I really didn’t even know how much I was hungering for the “love connection” that this community was going to give me. That was the beginning of me knowing myself as a Beloved child of God – in whom He is well pleased. I then realized that Sneaky Jesus was at work this whole time and I was looking at it the wrong way. God loves us intimately and unconditionally. Faults and all. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN SOMEBODY in God's eyes! If that isn’t true romantic love I don’t know what is. So through the lens of being Beloved I have realized that I have always had a soulmate…He has created me in an image of love so how can I be unlovable? And while I still do hunger for getting my “in real life” soulmate, I am fed in the realization that I am Beloved by the true romantic – a God who is well-pleased in me.
So, for those of you that have the feeling that I did of being unlovable, remember to celebrate this Valentine’s Day! You are a Beloved child of God and it doesn’t get more romantic than that. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Sacred Visitations
By Bernadette Gibson | Director of Pastoral Care
I love thinking about the embrace and joy of Mary and Elizabeth in today’s Gospel. Two women who believed in the promise of God's mercy and justice for the future and who gave their hearts, minds, spirits and whole selves to this vision. They were women of faith who welcomed the Word within; who shared their story and who believed in the dream of a God who would come to heal, to redeem and to liberate. It brings peace to my heart to imagine that after her fiat, her “yes”, Mary takes another, more immediate risk and travels a long distance to see Elizabeth, an older relative also miraculously pregnant with her first child. Mary does what many of us do when faced with grueling challenges or adversity: we seek out the wisdom, affirmation, and comfort of a loved one. In other words, we seek the hospitality offered through another’s acceptance of our vulnerability and need. And Elizabeth does not disappoint. She welcomes Mary with open arms and words of joy and affirmation. Just imagine the relief Mary must have felt when she heard Elizabeth exclaim: “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” It must have been much easier to grapple with her life-altering decision with those words echoing in her mind and heart. I envision both Mary and Elizabeth as women with a story to tell and hearts for receiving those stories. A table where meaningful conversation was welcome. I suspect between them was a willingness to set aside agendas to really be present to one another. Sharing a space with not only an open door but also an open spirit and mind. I have been blessed with such relationships and special women and men in my life. There is an element of flexibility, spontaneity and an openness to share the gift of presence.
Hospitality is about believing that the other carries gifts and promises that our hearts need to receive. Mary was filled with joy, bursting with good news to share with someone who would listen and understand. This threshold of connection empowered them to tell their unique faith story while realizing their hearts and beings were being stretched to what seemed impossible. The image of Mary and Elizabeth celebrating their pregnancies brings us what we want in our own lives. A flood of hope for the future. The joy of creation and the love of these mothers gives us the hope we need for the future. As they hold each other in this most sacred of moments, they become a vessel for God. A vessel that God invites us to be as well. The intimate story of Mary and Elizabeth invites us to reflect on how we can become instruments of acceptance and love in our family lives, our work, and our prayer. Our desire for community, our seeking for connection, is something that we can all understand. Thresholds where we find kindred spirits to understand us, and we them, in the realm of our inward journeying to find the strength to do what is beyond ourselves. I am sure Mary and Elizabeth prayed for the quiet strength and patient wisdom to embrace the threshold of change before them. It was a symbolic act - this visit - an outward sign of a deep inward mystery as well as a search for understanding: a sacrament moment: an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
Hospitality is about believing that the other carries gifts and promises that our hearts need to receive. Mary was filled with joy, bursting with good news to share with someone who would listen and understand. This threshold of connection empowered them to tell their unique faith story while realizing their hearts and beings were being stretched to what seemed impossible. The image of Mary and Elizabeth celebrating their pregnancies brings us what we want in our own lives. A flood of hope for the future. The joy of creation and the love of these mothers gives us the hope we need for the future. As they hold each other in this most sacred of moments, they become a vessel for God. A vessel that God invites us to be as well. The intimate story of Mary and Elizabeth invites us to reflect on how we can become instruments of acceptance and love in our family lives, our work, and our prayer. Our desire for community, our seeking for connection, is something that we can all understand. Thresholds where we find kindred spirits to understand us, and we them, in the realm of our inward journeying to find the strength to do what is beyond ourselves. I am sure Mary and Elizabeth prayed for the quiet strength and patient wisdom to embrace the threshold of change before them. It was a symbolic act - this visit - an outward sign of a deep inward mystery as well as a search for understanding: a sacrament moment: an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
You and I perhaps have experienced a visitation moment or several visitation moments in our lives. I am drawn to Mary and Elizabeth’s encounter. As I re-read the Gospel today I feel a visceral longing for my grandma Mabel who herself is now in the arms of God. I close my eyes and call her to me, as I often do. In this sacramental moment I can see her smile and hear the sound of her laughter and remember vividly the companionship we shared. I see her waiting for me in her rocking chair on my many visits to share the latest “hot skinny” of my life journey. She has been in the arms of our God for seventeen years this weekend and still I feel the safety and acceptance of Her presence in the marrow of my being. My grandmother and I belong to one another. A sacred relationship where the Kingdom continues to break forth in our midst. And inside of it, if I listen closely, I can hear Her witness the Good News to me, “God is with us.” Wherever there is reciprocal acceptance, listening, making room for another, God is there, as well as the Joy that comes from sacred moments with the people and places which help us to celebrate our relationship with God. Today we are invited to make a visit, to embrace the God who loves us and to hold each other in the heart of God.
Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty
By Bernadette Gibson | Director of Pastoral Care
We live as hungry people in a hungry world. Everyone is looking for something that will sustain and nourish life, something that will feed and energize, something that will fill and satisfy. The gospel today is a mixture of two foods - people came for more bread from Jesus. He knows their needs and many times he feeds people. He also knows the need of the soul and the life for the soul which the food of the Eucharist brings.
When we believe in Jesus – eating, ingesting, and taking him into our lives, we live differently. We see ourselves and one another as persons created in the image and likeness of God rather than as obstacles or issues to be overcome. We listen for God’s voice rather than our own. God prepared us for the mystery of the Eucharist in several ways. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, a town whose name means “House of Bread.” His mother laid him in a manger, a feeding trough, a hint that someday he would be bread for the world. Jesus understood in the Gospel today, as he does now, that many of us face struggles in our faith. Sitting on the ground, he taught and fed the large crowd which later dispersed. Jesus withdrew by himself to pray. That night disciples set out in a boat to the busy waterfront fishing town of Capernaum on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus shares with those awaiting his return “I am the bread of life,” Jesus tells the people, “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He is offering the people himself. He is the imperishable bread that nourishes and sustains a challenged life. We can so easily give in to discouragement or forget our visions and dreams when we do not take time to integrate our outer world with our inner world. We remain fragmented instead of drawing together all the pieces into a wholeness that gives our life meaning. The table is one of the most intimate places in our lives. It is there that we give ourselves to one another. When we say, “Take some more, let me serve you another plate, let me pour you another glass, let us feed each other with togetherness”, we say a lot more than our words express. We invite our friends to become part of our lives. We want them to be nurtured by the same food and drink that nurture us. We desire communion together.
Life experience is vital to Jesus. Recently my husband was diagnosed with the tonsil and base of tongue cancer. As his chemo and radiation continue his ability to eat becomes more limited. Everyone suffers somehow. It might be chronic pain, cancer, broken relationships, disability. One way God preserves our joy in him in the midst of suffering is through one another. I believe that this “knowing God” comes about in many ways but that it can only be deeply rooted in us with the nourishment of friends who are literally feeding us with support on the journey. When we hold our suffering in a way that opens us to greater compassion, heartbreak becomes a source of healing, deepening our empathy for others who suffer and extending our ability to reach out to them.
In the Gospel today, Jesus is talking about being the one who can feed us when we are emptied. Unlike other food, which becomes part of us, Jesus is the sacred bread and wine who wants to make us more like Him. Therefore we, too, are to be bread for the world. God wants our lives to overflow with mercy, love, and compassion - the marks of His kingdom. As followers of Jesus, we have a choice to respond to unsettling realities in fear and withdraw, or follow Jesus in responding to the greatest needs of our day with love and hope. Even now, even especially now, Jesus uses the languages of love to connect with us, to change and restore us, and to turn us in love toward one another. So great is our God, and so deep is God’s love, that even the absence of food is a feast; even the absence of togetherness is an embrace. Jesus transforms even the absence of Eucharist into a way of expressing and receiving love. Jesus is an invaluable companion on our journey of faith, leading us to the One who has been encouraging and wooing us to enter more fully into relationship, and helping us to respond in hope and joy to the love that God constantly offers. Jesus awaits us to return us to our sacred home and be fed. In times of plenty and times of deep need; Jesus will be our nourishment in the wilderness. “Love one another,” Jesus commands us. And that will be food enough.
When we believe in Jesus – eating, ingesting, and taking him into our lives, we live differently. We see ourselves and one another as persons created in the image and likeness of God rather than as obstacles or issues to be overcome. We listen for God’s voice rather than our own. God prepared us for the mystery of the Eucharist in several ways. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, a town whose name means “House of Bread.” His mother laid him in a manger, a feeding trough, a hint that someday he would be bread for the world. Jesus understood in the Gospel today, as he does now, that many of us face struggles in our faith. Sitting on the ground, he taught and fed the large crowd which later dispersed. Jesus withdrew by himself to pray. That night disciples set out in a boat to the busy waterfront fishing town of Capernaum on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus shares with those awaiting his return “I am the bread of life,” Jesus tells the people, “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He is offering the people himself. He is the imperishable bread that nourishes and sustains a challenged life. We can so easily give in to discouragement or forget our visions and dreams when we do not take time to integrate our outer world with our inner world. We remain fragmented instead of drawing together all the pieces into a wholeness that gives our life meaning. The table is one of the most intimate places in our lives. It is there that we give ourselves to one another. When we say, “Take some more, let me serve you another plate, let me pour you another glass, let us feed each other with togetherness”, we say a lot more than our words express. We invite our friends to become part of our lives. We want them to be nurtured by the same food and drink that nurture us. We desire communion together.
Life experience is vital to Jesus. Recently my husband was diagnosed with the tonsil and base of tongue cancer. As his chemo and radiation continue his ability to eat becomes more limited. Everyone suffers somehow. It might be chronic pain, cancer, broken relationships, disability. One way God preserves our joy in him in the midst of suffering is through one another. I believe that this “knowing God” comes about in many ways but that it can only be deeply rooted in us with the nourishment of friends who are literally feeding us with support on the journey. When we hold our suffering in a way that opens us to greater compassion, heartbreak becomes a source of healing, deepening our empathy for others who suffer and extending our ability to reach out to them.
In the Gospel today, Jesus is talking about being the one who can feed us when we are emptied. Unlike other food, which becomes part of us, Jesus is the sacred bread and wine who wants to make us more like Him. Therefore we, too, are to be bread for the world. God wants our lives to overflow with mercy, love, and compassion - the marks of His kingdom. As followers of Jesus, we have a choice to respond to unsettling realities in fear and withdraw, or follow Jesus in responding to the greatest needs of our day with love and hope. Even now, even especially now, Jesus uses the languages of love to connect with us, to change and restore us, and to turn us in love toward one another. So great is our God, and so deep is God’s love, that even the absence of food is a feast; even the absence of togetherness is an embrace. Jesus transforms even the absence of Eucharist into a way of expressing and receiving love. Jesus is an invaluable companion on our journey of faith, leading us to the One who has been encouraging and wooing us to enter more fully into relationship, and helping us to respond in hope and joy to the love that God constantly offers. Jesus awaits us to return us to our sacred home and be fed. In times of plenty and times of deep need; Jesus will be our nourishment in the wilderness. “Love one another,” Jesus commands us. And that will be food enough.
The meal that is meant to be shared is meant to bring everyone to the table
By Bernadette Gibson | Director of Pastoral Care
My husband Gary loves to cook. We love to entertain, make food for people, and share a meal. But I must admit… I do not like leftovers. Never have. Leftovers are just not my jam. Fortunately for me Gary will happily consume whatever leftovers are in the fridge if it means he doesn’t have to buy lunch the next day.
Recently I have been reading Tish Harrison Warren’s Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Everyday Life. In her book she shares, “Food has so much to teach us about nourishment, and as a culture we struggle with what it means to be not simply fed, but profoundly and holistically nourished.” These last 18 months of the pandemic have caused me to reflect on the Eucharist. Rooted in our Christian faith is the experience of being truly nourished in body and soul through this humble and holy food.
To truly appreciate the Gospel of Jesus feeding the five thousand, we must take a minute to understand the context. Two significant events took place that prompted Jesus to withdraw from Capernaum and sail over to Bethsaida. Matthew, Mark, and John record that some time before our story, Jesus had sent the disciples out to every surrounding village to proclaim the Kingdom of God, to heal the sick and cast out demons, and to prepare people to meet Jesus. The disciples were tired. The second significant event that happened just before our story takes place is the execution of John the Baptist. I think we can assume that part of the reason Jesus is withdrawing with His disciples is out of grief following the unjust execution of a man whom they all loved and admired very much. Clearly the intent of Jesus and His disciples was to escape...to hunker down...to retreat from the crowds and demands of ministry, to rest, and to process their grief. If ever there was a time that they felt justified to “take care of our own,” it was on this day.
But things did not go as planned. When He went ashore, Jesus saw a great crowd, and He had compassion on them. The problem is this: the followers of Jesus are emotionally strung out and their only desire is to have Jesus for themselves and find solace in being with Him and being together. Some of the disciples were clearly frustrated and perhaps annoyed by the presence and the needs of this crowd. And like the disciples we can feel justifiably selfish about our needs...our losses...our safety...our self-preservation...and we can simply ask Jesus to “send them away.”
Jesus assumes that He and His church will minister to the needs of the shepherd-less sheep. Jesus didn’t tell the disciples to launch a fundraiser to feed the crowd, he told them to get started with what they had. The disciple Andrew asks for those in the crowd to volunteer whatever leftovers they have with them to see what was available to feed the 5000. Amazingly, the only person to step forward and to sacrifice his own meal so that others might eat...is a child. We can assume this child is not wealthy; not overly educated; but this boy has been listening to Jesus, and his heart is moved to bring what he has. Andrew asks the question that we all ask when faced with such incredible need and limited resources, “What is this in our hands as compared to the needs of so many?” Jesus will bless what has been given to Him, and distribute that which He has been blessed...and that’s where the miracle begins!
The miracle was that everyone had all they needed, and there was even a surplus. What if Jesus knew that He did not need to manufacture bread and fish when, in fact, all the food that was necessary was already in our possession? What if the true miracle here is the way Jesus powerfully moved the hearts of people from fear to hearts of generosity? Scarcity can serve as both a reminder of our dependence on one another and an opportunity for generosity that creates community. The familiar scenes of long lines of cars waiting for food assistance this past year have been tragic in a land of plenty but also reassuring that there were people able and willing to provide for others. Scarcity becomes a feast with leftovers as Jesus invites the crowd to imitate a child who offered his meagre provisions to others. Jesus’ Empathy is not faceless; it is not a glance. Empathy is about making a human connection. Our call to action is to feed because the meal changes us, and the company and community we participate in during the meal changes us. The Meal that is meant to be shared – is meant to bring everyone to the table. Tish Harrison Warren shares “in this alternative economy of the true bread of life, we are turned inside out so that we are no longer people marked by scarcity, jockeying for our own good, but are new people, truly nourished, and therefore able to extend nourishment to others. The economy of the Eucharist is true abundance. There is enough for me, not in spite of others, but because we receive Christ together as a community.”
Recently I have been reading Tish Harrison Warren’s Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Everyday Life. In her book she shares, “Food has so much to teach us about nourishment, and as a culture we struggle with what it means to be not simply fed, but profoundly and holistically nourished.” These last 18 months of the pandemic have caused me to reflect on the Eucharist. Rooted in our Christian faith is the experience of being truly nourished in body and soul through this humble and holy food.
To truly appreciate the Gospel of Jesus feeding the five thousand, we must take a minute to understand the context. Two significant events took place that prompted Jesus to withdraw from Capernaum and sail over to Bethsaida. Matthew, Mark, and John record that some time before our story, Jesus had sent the disciples out to every surrounding village to proclaim the Kingdom of God, to heal the sick and cast out demons, and to prepare people to meet Jesus. The disciples were tired. The second significant event that happened just before our story takes place is the execution of John the Baptist. I think we can assume that part of the reason Jesus is withdrawing with His disciples is out of grief following the unjust execution of a man whom they all loved and admired very much. Clearly the intent of Jesus and His disciples was to escape...to hunker down...to retreat from the crowds and demands of ministry, to rest, and to process their grief. If ever there was a time that they felt justified to “take care of our own,” it was on this day.
But things did not go as planned. When He went ashore, Jesus saw a great crowd, and He had compassion on them. The problem is this: the followers of Jesus are emotionally strung out and their only desire is to have Jesus for themselves and find solace in being with Him and being together. Some of the disciples were clearly frustrated and perhaps annoyed by the presence and the needs of this crowd. And like the disciples we can feel justifiably selfish about our needs...our losses...our safety...our self-preservation...and we can simply ask Jesus to “send them away.”
Jesus assumes that He and His church will minister to the needs of the shepherd-less sheep. Jesus didn’t tell the disciples to launch a fundraiser to feed the crowd, he told them to get started with what they had. The disciple Andrew asks for those in the crowd to volunteer whatever leftovers they have with them to see what was available to feed the 5000. Amazingly, the only person to step forward and to sacrifice his own meal so that others might eat...is a child. We can assume this child is not wealthy; not overly educated; but this boy has been listening to Jesus, and his heart is moved to bring what he has. Andrew asks the question that we all ask when faced with such incredible need and limited resources, “What is this in our hands as compared to the needs of so many?” Jesus will bless what has been given to Him, and distribute that which He has been blessed...and that’s where the miracle begins!
The miracle was that everyone had all they needed, and there was even a surplus. What if Jesus knew that He did not need to manufacture bread and fish when, in fact, all the food that was necessary was already in our possession? What if the true miracle here is the way Jesus powerfully moved the hearts of people from fear to hearts of generosity? Scarcity can serve as both a reminder of our dependence on one another and an opportunity for generosity that creates community. The familiar scenes of long lines of cars waiting for food assistance this past year have been tragic in a land of plenty but also reassuring that there were people able and willing to provide for others. Scarcity becomes a feast with leftovers as Jesus invites the crowd to imitate a child who offered his meagre provisions to others. Jesus’ Empathy is not faceless; it is not a glance. Empathy is about making a human connection. Our call to action is to feed because the meal changes us, and the company and community we participate in during the meal changes us. The Meal that is meant to be shared – is meant to bring everyone to the table. Tish Harrison Warren shares “in this alternative economy of the true bread of life, we are turned inside out so that we are no longer people marked by scarcity, jockeying for our own good, but are new people, truly nourished, and therefore able to extend nourishment to others. The economy of the Eucharist is true abundance. There is enough for me, not in spite of others, but because we receive Christ together as a community.”
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Belief, Truth, Love, and God’s Kingdom
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It’s unbelievable! How many times in your life have you said or heard that phrase if you or another person had serious doubts about a situation? Was there a day when you finally accomplished something nobody thought you would? People may have looked at you with surprised expressions and said, “I cannot believe you did that!” Did you ever make a decision people either absolutely disagreed or totally agreed with that took them by surprise? Maybe they said, “We’re shocked!” How about that time you saw or heard something so appalling that you wondered, “Why on earth would any sane person ever do that sort of thing?” Stupid mistakes, outcomes we don’t like, phenomena that totally catch us off guard and other unexpected occurrences can cause us think, speak, or act out our serious dismay. They conjure up our skepticism and doubts. Some things are just difficult to believe.
Now, to be clear, doubts are not all bad. We all have them from time to time. Our present doubts are usually somehow related to past mistakes, disappointments and times we were fooled. Doubt protects us from being taken advantage of, disappointed or even seriously hurt. When we say, “I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” we express a desire for confirmation, a yearning for reality, a search for truth. We need to be certain. However, strangely, there may be times we see with our own eyes and even hear with our own ears but still don’t accept the facts. Clear evidence laid out before us simply might not be acceptable because we’ve already made up our minds about what we’d prefer the outcome to be. Does a recent national election come to mind here? Surely there are differences between our beliefs, the facts and truths, it’s just that sometimes we are not ready for the truth.
Thomas, one of the 12 disciples, was a great example. He had serious doubts that Jesus had appeared before the other disciples eight days prior when he was not present in the room to see it for himself. Thomas knew the Master had been crucified many days prior, so how in the world could Jesus have appeared there? It took Jesus’ reappearance and physical presence eight days after His first appearance to personally convince Thomas of His love. Thomas needed proof, and the proof was in Christ’s presence. By placing his fingers into the wounds of Jesus’ hands and side, Thomas was then able to believe the truth of the resurrection and God’s proximate love. Thomas believed. He was freed from doubt. His faith was fortified.
You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. John 8:32 As we at Old St. Patrick’s endeavor to be agents of change within our Church through radical inclusivity, exquisite worship, and transformative kinship, may we too be agents of proximate love and truth. May God’s truth be revealed to others through our physically close and hospitable presence with them (even if it needs to be done socially distanced). May we believe in each other. May we humbly bear our own wounds and feel the wounds of others with faith fortifying empathy and compassion. And May we continue doing these things in close proximity to those living on society’s margins. This is how we build the Kingdom of God.
Vincent Guider is a staff member of Old St. Patrick’s and Director of the North Lawndale Kinship Initiative, now in its tenth year.
Now, to be clear, doubts are not all bad. We all have them from time to time. Our present doubts are usually somehow related to past mistakes, disappointments and times we were fooled. Doubt protects us from being taken advantage of, disappointed or even seriously hurt. When we say, “I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” we express a desire for confirmation, a yearning for reality, a search for truth. We need to be certain. However, strangely, there may be times we see with our own eyes and even hear with our own ears but still don’t accept the facts. Clear evidence laid out before us simply might not be acceptable because we’ve already made up our minds about what we’d prefer the outcome to be. Does a recent national election come to mind here? Surely there are differences between our beliefs, the facts and truths, it’s just that sometimes we are not ready for the truth.
Thomas, one of the 12 disciples, was a great example. He had serious doubts that Jesus had appeared before the other disciples eight days prior when he was not present in the room to see it for himself. Thomas knew the Master had been crucified many days prior, so how in the world could Jesus have appeared there? It took Jesus’ reappearance and physical presence eight days after His first appearance to personally convince Thomas of His love. Thomas needed proof, and the proof was in Christ’s presence. By placing his fingers into the wounds of Jesus’ hands and side, Thomas was then able to believe the truth of the resurrection and God’s proximate love. Thomas believed. He was freed from doubt. His faith was fortified.
You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. John 8:32 As we at Old St. Patrick’s endeavor to be agents of change within our Church through radical inclusivity, exquisite worship, and transformative kinship, may we too be agents of proximate love and truth. May God’s truth be revealed to others through our physically close and hospitable presence with them (even if it needs to be done socially distanced). May we believe in each other. May we humbly bear our own wounds and feel the wounds of others with faith fortifying empathy and compassion. And May we continue doing these things in close proximity to those living on society’s margins. This is how we build the Kingdom of God.
Vincent Guider is a staff member of Old St. Patrick’s and Director of the North Lawndale Kinship Initiative, now in its tenth year.
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Miracles on the Shore with the God of Second Chances
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Perhaps you have felt the presence of miraculous places when, in a darkened concert hall, the music makes the moon rise, as if the roof has opened up above you, or when the sun unexpectedly pores in at the perfect time as if God is talking right to you. They do exist, these miraculous places, although some days they are so hard to find that it is tempting to believe they are illusions.
The resurrected mind is the mind that understands. It understands that only love is real, and nothing else exists. It understands that illusions dissolve in the presence of love. It understands that we, and everything about our lives, can change. I think we need to remember that as awe-struck as Christ's first followers felt after His resurrection, they still didn't know what it fully meant…for humanity or for their personal lives. While the resurrection brought their beloved friend back to them, he was different now.
The resurrection simultaneously healed some wounds while opening a new can of questions, insecurities, fears, and even pain - at least temporarily. In their grief it is no surprise to me that they decided that going fishing was preferable to anything else they might do. The resurrected Jesus, fresh from the tomb, instructed His followers to return to Galilee and to wait for Him there. The first disciples rushed home no doubt, away from the city back to the countryside again, back to what was familiar and comfortable, but there was no sign of Jesus. So the followers decided to go back to fishing. Many over the years have interpreted the disciples decision to go back to their day job, as disobedience. A kind of loss of faith. But I’m not so sure. I think they wanted to go back to where they first met their friend. A place where there longing could be met. So they fished. And the end result is a huge, miraculous catch.
This Easter I am pondering thresholds that begin in great absence and end in huge abundance. The rich catch of fish comes from that dark and seemingly empty lake. For when the disciples see the resurrected Jesus cooking breakfast for them on the shore after a fruitless night fishing, they obey His command to cast their nets over the other side of the boat, and the waters they previously thought barren now teem with life and sustenance. It is surely worth noting that Jesus is recognized by them in the midst of the everyday. In this case, cooking breakfast. In obedience to Jesus request they learned to look differently at what they were doing, to try again in a different way. It was then that they recognized the Lord. The resurrected Jesus blesses in the midst of the everyday, the boring and repetitive, the apparently empty, fruitless work done in the hopes of something more. As a principle, resurrection does not require our recognition in order to exist. But as a practical reality, it requires our willingness in order to manifest. Our openness to infinite possibility - the willingness to consider that there might be another way, that a miracle might be possible - makes us available to Easter. We become co-creators with God. The heart of the matter is not "beauty in the ordinary" or the rites of spring, but a unique historical miracle that transformed women and men from doubters to believers 2,000 years ago, and has continued to do so ever since.
In great and small ways, Easter miracles have touched me personally. They represent the triumph of love and the healing potential of every moment. Easter represents a reason to hope when all hope seems lost, and the potential for light that exists within the dark night of the soul. In many Resurrection scenes, we find Jesus offering reconciliation. No wonder, then, that Jesus’ appearance to the disciples is not immediately met with a sense of “all is well.” Remarkably, Jesus is uninterested in talking about the past. Instead, he is focused on offering healing, peace, and love in the present, with an eye to the future. There is a quiet joy in our coming together today, proclaiming that life is a sacred gift, trusting that our being here for each other will bring comfort and healing. When we look at the troubles of our world, our fear is that we are powerless. Easter is the miracle refusing to give in to that fear. There is great joy in trusting that what we do matters. There is even greater joy in the discovery that when we work together, our efforts are multiplied. Easter requires a leap of Faith. If the pandemic has taught us anything it is that Life is too short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make the journey with us. Easter is the perfect reminder to be swift to love, and make haste to be kind. And the blessings of God, who made us, who loves us, and who travels with us on the Road of Love might miraculously awaken our hearts. We are an Easter people who embrace this Easter day in faith because we too have seen the light, and we are grateful today that Christ is Risen! Alleluia!
The resurrected mind is the mind that understands. It understands that only love is real, and nothing else exists. It understands that illusions dissolve in the presence of love. It understands that we, and everything about our lives, can change. I think we need to remember that as awe-struck as Christ's first followers felt after His resurrection, they still didn't know what it fully meant…for humanity or for their personal lives. While the resurrection brought their beloved friend back to them, he was different now.
The resurrection simultaneously healed some wounds while opening a new can of questions, insecurities, fears, and even pain - at least temporarily. In their grief it is no surprise to me that they decided that going fishing was preferable to anything else they might do. The resurrected Jesus, fresh from the tomb, instructed His followers to return to Galilee and to wait for Him there. The first disciples rushed home no doubt, away from the city back to the countryside again, back to what was familiar and comfortable, but there was no sign of Jesus. So the followers decided to go back to fishing. Many over the years have interpreted the disciples decision to go back to their day job, as disobedience. A kind of loss of faith. But I’m not so sure. I think they wanted to go back to where they first met their friend. A place where there longing could be met. So they fished. And the end result is a huge, miraculous catch.
This Easter I am pondering thresholds that begin in great absence and end in huge abundance. The rich catch of fish comes from that dark and seemingly empty lake. For when the disciples see the resurrected Jesus cooking breakfast for them on the shore after a fruitless night fishing, they obey His command to cast their nets over the other side of the boat, and the waters they previously thought barren now teem with life and sustenance. It is surely worth noting that Jesus is recognized by them in the midst of the everyday. In this case, cooking breakfast. In obedience to Jesus request they learned to look differently at what they were doing, to try again in a different way. It was then that they recognized the Lord. The resurrected Jesus blesses in the midst of the everyday, the boring and repetitive, the apparently empty, fruitless work done in the hopes of something more. As a principle, resurrection does not require our recognition in order to exist. But as a practical reality, it requires our willingness in order to manifest. Our openness to infinite possibility - the willingness to consider that there might be another way, that a miracle might be possible - makes us available to Easter. We become co-creators with God. The heart of the matter is not "beauty in the ordinary" or the rites of spring, but a unique historical miracle that transformed women and men from doubters to believers 2,000 years ago, and has continued to do so ever since.
In great and small ways, Easter miracles have touched me personally. They represent the triumph of love and the healing potential of every moment. Easter represents a reason to hope when all hope seems lost, and the potential for light that exists within the dark night of the soul. In many Resurrection scenes, we find Jesus offering reconciliation. No wonder, then, that Jesus’ appearance to the disciples is not immediately met with a sense of “all is well.” Remarkably, Jesus is uninterested in talking about the past. Instead, he is focused on offering healing, peace, and love in the present, with an eye to the future. There is a quiet joy in our coming together today, proclaiming that life is a sacred gift, trusting that our being here for each other will bring comfort and healing. When we look at the troubles of our world, our fear is that we are powerless. Easter is the miracle refusing to give in to that fear. There is great joy in trusting that what we do matters. There is even greater joy in the discovery that when we work together, our efforts are multiplied. Easter requires a leap of Faith. If the pandemic has taught us anything it is that Life is too short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make the journey with us. Easter is the perfect reminder to be swift to love, and make haste to be kind. And the blessings of God, who made us, who loves us, and who travels with us on the Road of Love might miraculously awaken our hearts. We are an Easter people who embrace this Easter day in faith because we too have seen the light, and we are grateful today that Christ is Risen! Alleluia!
Holy Week is a journey within ourselves, when we acknowledge those things that separate us from God.
By Bernadette Gibson
By Bernadette Gibson
It is fitting on this Palm Sunday that we enter Holy Week, welcoming Jesus into our lives and asking Him to allow us a share in His suffering, death and Resurrection. There’s a lot going on when Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. There’s a deep pain there. But, what we also have is Jesus moving towards conflict, questions and the reality that he would end up being a great disappointment to others who had laid so many expectations upon him. Love asked him to go there anyway…
Brené Brown, speaks often about how creativity and living fully requires vulnerability. If we’re going to do great things, then we need to be willing to bear risk. This demands us to risk failure, risk of disappointing others and ourselves over and over again. The Gospel of John tells us that darkness will last until someone believes in the Risen Jesus. We know that love enables us to see things that have been there all the time, but which we could never see until the light shines. Our God reveals love and light.
Following Jesus requires we love people not only with words and theology but in costly solidarity and with a determination to reverence the truth. This week we have received many calls of concern for Father Hurley and for the staff following his courageous decision to step away for replenishment and healing, thank you. Father Hurley’s candor is a reminder that Holy Week is a journey within ourselves. It is a time when we acknowledge those things that separate us from God. It is a time we are asked to be brutally honest with ourselves, surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who bless our efforts to walk by faith, but not by perfect sight. My heart has been focused this week on the Annunciation of our Lord. I have always been moved, and intrigued, by the faith of the Blessed Mother. Mary’s fiat captures both her faith and her mystery. The great hour of Mary’s encounter with God’s messenger, in which her whole life is changed, and she remains there alone, with a task that truly surpasses all human capacity. She must continue along the path that leads to many dark moments - from her fiancé Joseph’s dismay at her pregnancy, to many long days following her son in his ministry, right up to the night of the cross. How often in these situations must Mary have returned inwardly to the hour when God’s angel had spoken to her, pondering afresh the greeting: “Rejoice, full of grace!” And the consoling words: “Do not be afraid!” The angel departs; her mission remains, and with it matures her inner closeness to God, a closeness that in her heart she is able to see and touch Jesus.
Mary and Jesus shaped each other in their relationship on their mutual faith journeys to Easter. As we enter Holy week we will encounter Mary again gently and compassionately present at the foot of the Cross. It is her darkest hour, but surely all those years of pondering and reflecting on these things in her heart helps to sustain her. She says little, silently standing by, silently supportive of Jesus in his suffering. Yes, this is the Mary, this is the Mother that I know: a woman of faith but also a human being like you and me who had to make a journey of faith without knowing how everything will work out.
Like Mary we will find Jesus: wherever stones have been rolled back and barriers torn down; where those who thought life had ended for them, and are given hope. We will become Jesus living witnesses whenever we feed the hungry, raise up the disheartened, nurse the injured, or become the voice of the voiceless. Jesus is living within us when we turn from what was destructive in our lives, when we have the courage to forgive one another, and when we gather the strength to begin anew. Jesus is not found among the dead, but among the living. We are called this week to listen and to the love story that triumphs over everything. We need to remind one another of the journey of hope and joy that begins on Palm Sunday and continues after Good Friday. We need to tell the story of new life found where none was thought possible. And we need to tell it together. Because each of us holds a piece of that story, and each of those pieces needs to be heard. Today as we take bread, bless it, break it, share it, Jesus will be present with us, sharing our tears, bearing our sorrow, and comforting us until Easter arrives. This doesn’t mean our grief will simply vanish. But it does mean that our grief, a grief we believe Jesus understands and shares, does not overwhelm us. It means that, even in the midst of our grief, we can still walk together towards Easter Joy.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old Saint Patrick’s Church.
Brené Brown, speaks often about how creativity and living fully requires vulnerability. If we’re going to do great things, then we need to be willing to bear risk. This demands us to risk failure, risk of disappointing others and ourselves over and over again. The Gospel of John tells us that darkness will last until someone believes in the Risen Jesus. We know that love enables us to see things that have been there all the time, but which we could never see until the light shines. Our God reveals love and light.
Following Jesus requires we love people not only with words and theology but in costly solidarity and with a determination to reverence the truth. This week we have received many calls of concern for Father Hurley and for the staff following his courageous decision to step away for replenishment and healing, thank you. Father Hurley’s candor is a reminder that Holy Week is a journey within ourselves. It is a time when we acknowledge those things that separate us from God. It is a time we are asked to be brutally honest with ourselves, surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who bless our efforts to walk by faith, but not by perfect sight. My heart has been focused this week on the Annunciation of our Lord. I have always been moved, and intrigued, by the faith of the Blessed Mother. Mary’s fiat captures both her faith and her mystery. The great hour of Mary’s encounter with God’s messenger, in which her whole life is changed, and she remains there alone, with a task that truly surpasses all human capacity. She must continue along the path that leads to many dark moments - from her fiancé Joseph’s dismay at her pregnancy, to many long days following her son in his ministry, right up to the night of the cross. How often in these situations must Mary have returned inwardly to the hour when God’s angel had spoken to her, pondering afresh the greeting: “Rejoice, full of grace!” And the consoling words: “Do not be afraid!” The angel departs; her mission remains, and with it matures her inner closeness to God, a closeness that in her heart she is able to see and touch Jesus.
Mary and Jesus shaped each other in their relationship on their mutual faith journeys to Easter. As we enter Holy week we will encounter Mary again gently and compassionately present at the foot of the Cross. It is her darkest hour, but surely all those years of pondering and reflecting on these things in her heart helps to sustain her. She says little, silently standing by, silently supportive of Jesus in his suffering. Yes, this is the Mary, this is the Mother that I know: a woman of faith but also a human being like you and me who had to make a journey of faith without knowing how everything will work out.
Like Mary we will find Jesus: wherever stones have been rolled back and barriers torn down; where those who thought life had ended for them, and are given hope. We will become Jesus living witnesses whenever we feed the hungry, raise up the disheartened, nurse the injured, or become the voice of the voiceless. Jesus is living within us when we turn from what was destructive in our lives, when we have the courage to forgive one another, and when we gather the strength to begin anew. Jesus is not found among the dead, but among the living. We are called this week to listen and to the love story that triumphs over everything. We need to remind one another of the journey of hope and joy that begins on Palm Sunday and continues after Good Friday. We need to tell the story of new life found where none was thought possible. And we need to tell it together. Because each of us holds a piece of that story, and each of those pieces needs to be heard. Today as we take bread, bless it, break it, share it, Jesus will be present with us, sharing our tears, bearing our sorrow, and comforting us until Easter arrives. This doesn’t mean our grief will simply vanish. But it does mean that our grief, a grief we believe Jesus understands and shares, does not overwhelm us. It means that, even in the midst of our grief, we can still walk together towards Easter Joy.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old Saint Patrick’s Church.
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“Grace Notes: More on the Music”
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I believe OSP thrives on music that challenges with its text, energizes with its composition, and weaves together a liturgical fabric of sacred word, ritual, and art. The texts we sing––the words––matter. And like scripture, who authors the words, who speaks the words, who receives them, this also matters. Today’s scripture gives us words of commands, ordinances, laws, and decrees. We have words of zeal, prediction, testimony, and sign. And in that always-needed twist, St. Paul’s words guide us to seek wisdom and strength. The psalm refrain tells us, cross referencing John, that God has “the words of everlasting life”. I would like to offer some perspective on today’s music in light of this.
Our prelude music begins with psalm 95, inviting us to soften our hearts when we hear God’s voice. The next prelude piece comprises the words of psalm 19 (today’s psalm) but paired with a different, yet equally familiar, refrain (this one from Matthew’s Gospel): “one does not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God”. Composed by M. Roger Holland, II, we turn from Bolduc’s contemporary writing, to this more stately composition in the gospel idiom. For more information about Holland, please take a look at the online worship aid for a Composer Feature that I plan to include on a periodic basis. Finally Ubi Caritas by Chris de Silva adds the peace and justice theme to our prelude and, musically, is crafted around an ancient chant tune (you’ll hear it as a lower countermelody in the refrain).
Our liturgy begins with the music of Irish composer, Liam Lawton. Calling upon echoes of ancient songs (chant perhaps), the refrain proclaims that “we shall gather to sing the sacred word.” Our words turn to Greek as we seek God’s mercy in the Kyrie, before entering the Liturgy of the Word.
Choosing not to use the published words or music of David Haas at Old St. Pat’s (since May 31 of last year, in fact) afforded us the opportunity to sing new songs to our God and to explore just how much it matters to consider who writes the texts, and who writes the music. It means that our psalm response is not simply “Lord, you have the words of everlasting life”, but “Tú tienes, Señor, palabras de vida eterna”, composed by Cuban American composer Tony Alonso.
Our music during preparation invites us to learn through previously hardened hearts and to be Christ-like light to the world. As we receive communion and pray for shared spiritual communion, Receive Who You Are offers Augustine eucharistic theology with Lenten themes of healing.
In looking back on 2020, I analyzed data on how much of each composer we used in liturgies. Not including mass parts, the Top 15 included one woman and one person of color (not black). Number 16 was G. F. Handel. Since December, Dominic and I have committed ourselves to listen more broadly, and to plan at least one piece of music per liturgy that is written by a female or Black composer. In addition, our next two virtual choir recordings will feature the music of black composers (Lift Every Voice, and another piece by Holland).
We won’t always get this right though. I minister for a church whose vision, words of challenge and hope, calls us to ecclesial and musical inclusivity, to reconsider what exquisite worship means, and to foster kinship that transforms in both directions. May we become what we receive today, may it give us strength and wisdom; and may Christ’s body, and the holy words of our God, lead us to everlasting life.
Our prelude music begins with psalm 95, inviting us to soften our hearts when we hear God’s voice. The next prelude piece comprises the words of psalm 19 (today’s psalm) but paired with a different, yet equally familiar, refrain (this one from Matthew’s Gospel): “one does not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God”. Composed by M. Roger Holland, II, we turn from Bolduc’s contemporary writing, to this more stately composition in the gospel idiom. For more information about Holland, please take a look at the online worship aid for a Composer Feature that I plan to include on a periodic basis. Finally Ubi Caritas by Chris de Silva adds the peace and justice theme to our prelude and, musically, is crafted around an ancient chant tune (you’ll hear it as a lower countermelody in the refrain).
Our liturgy begins with the music of Irish composer, Liam Lawton. Calling upon echoes of ancient songs (chant perhaps), the refrain proclaims that “we shall gather to sing the sacred word.” Our words turn to Greek as we seek God’s mercy in the Kyrie, before entering the Liturgy of the Word.
Choosing not to use the published words or music of David Haas at Old St. Pat’s (since May 31 of last year, in fact) afforded us the opportunity to sing new songs to our God and to explore just how much it matters to consider who writes the texts, and who writes the music. It means that our psalm response is not simply “Lord, you have the words of everlasting life”, but “Tú tienes, Señor, palabras de vida eterna”, composed by Cuban American composer Tony Alonso.
Our music during preparation invites us to learn through previously hardened hearts and to be Christ-like light to the world. As we receive communion and pray for shared spiritual communion, Receive Who You Are offers Augustine eucharistic theology with Lenten themes of healing.
In looking back on 2020, I analyzed data on how much of each composer we used in liturgies. Not including mass parts, the Top 15 included one woman and one person of color (not black). Number 16 was G. F. Handel. Since December, Dominic and I have committed ourselves to listen more broadly, and to plan at least one piece of music per liturgy that is written by a female or Black composer. In addition, our next two virtual choir recordings will feature the music of black composers (Lift Every Voice, and another piece by Holland).
We won’t always get this right though. I minister for a church whose vision, words of challenge and hope, calls us to ecclesial and musical inclusivity, to reconsider what exquisite worship means, and to foster kinship that transforms in both directions. May we become what we receive today, may it give us strength and wisdom; and may Christ’s body, and the holy words of our God, lead us to everlasting life.
First Sunday of Lent | Temptations in the Desert
By Bob Kolatorowicz
By Bob Kolatorowicz
A few years back, I was having a conversation with a friend. We often talked about things scriptural and spiritual. During one of these conversations, my friend brought up the story of the Baptism of Jesus. It’s a familiar story. Jesus is being baptized in the Jordan River by John the Baptist, when suddenly the sky opens up and a voice is heard saying, “This is my Beloved Son.” Though the words from the sky vary slightly from Gospel to Gospel, the point is that the deepest identity of Jesus is revealed. Jesus is the Beloved Child of God.
It was at this point in our conversation my friend asked, “When your identity as God’s Beloved Child is revealed and affirmed in this way, what exactly are you to do with the rest of your day? Have lunch with your friends? Go parasailing? Seek out your enemies and smite them? What would you do?”
Scripture does not leave us without an answer. The very next verse in the Gospel of Matthew says, “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil.” (Matthew 4:1).
The Gospel of Luke follows the Baptism story with a rather lengthy genealogy of Jesus, then writes, “Filled with the holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the devil.” (Luke 4: 1).
The Gospel of John describes the encounter between Jesus and John the Baptist in an entirely different way and includes no story of desert or temptations.
But it is the Gospel of Mark, which we hear proclaimed today, that I think provides the most intriguing description of what follows the Baptism of Jesus. Mark writes, “At once the Spirit drove him out into the desert, and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.” (Mark 1: 12-13).
In Mark’s Gospel, the Spirit doesn’t gently lead Jesus into the desert, the Spirit drives Jesus into the desert, making me think Jesus has little choice in the matter. The Spirit knows that Jesus needs the desert and he needs it “at once.” Why the urgency, I wonder?
Maybe it would help to consider the nature of the temptations. And for that we have to look to the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, since the Gospel of Mark does not describe the temptations Jesus encounters. Most of us would remember that there are three temptations.
One of the temptations has to do with food. Jesus has not eaten in the desert, is hungry, and the tempter taunts Jesus, “If you are the Son of God, turn these stones into bread.” Surely, a child of God should not go hungry.
A second temptation has the tempter take Jesus to the holy city and stand on the parapet of the temple. Here the tempter says, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.” Surely, a child of God will be protected by angels.
A final temptation has the tempter take Jesus to a high mountain where he can see all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence. The tempter promises all this if only Jesus will worship him. Surely, a child of God should have dominance over all the kingdoms of the world.
These temptations are no small matter. They are, in fact, the perks that might be expected for a Beloved Child of God; exemption from hunger and suffering, the privilege of being protected and attended to, and dominance over the kingdoms of the world. In the time of Roman rule and emperors who often cloaked themselves in a mantle of divinity, exemption, privilege, and dominance were exactly what would be expected for a child of God. But this is not the way that Jesus has come to understand it.
We know that in his desert experience, Jesus rejects these temptations and rebukes the tempter. Could it be that Jesus has grown more fully into his deepest identity as Beloved Child of God? Is that the reason the Spirit wastes no time in driving Jesus into the desert? Is the desert the place Jesus learns and then teaches us what it is not to be the Beloved Child of God? Then, in what follows, in the many healing encounters, in the feeding stories, through parables, and in the profound experience of self-sacrifice, we
are shown what it is to be a Beloved Child of God.
Through our baptisms we believe we too, are the beloved of God. And like Jesus, we are not free of temptation. We will question and doubt our deepest identity. So, perhaps the Spirit knows we need a desert to remind us, not just once but yearly, of what it means and what it does not mean to be a Beloved Child of God. But instead of a physical desert, the Spirit has given us a temporal desert, the
season of Lent. May Lent serve us, once more, as the desert where we grow more fully into our most genuine selves.
Bob Kolatorowicz is the Director of Adult Faith Formation at Old St. Patrick's Church.
It was at this point in our conversation my friend asked, “When your identity as God’s Beloved Child is revealed and affirmed in this way, what exactly are you to do with the rest of your day? Have lunch with your friends? Go parasailing? Seek out your enemies and smite them? What would you do?”
Scripture does not leave us without an answer. The very next verse in the Gospel of Matthew says, “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil.” (Matthew 4:1).
The Gospel of Luke follows the Baptism story with a rather lengthy genealogy of Jesus, then writes, “Filled with the holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the devil.” (Luke 4: 1).
The Gospel of John describes the encounter between Jesus and John the Baptist in an entirely different way and includes no story of desert or temptations.
But it is the Gospel of Mark, which we hear proclaimed today, that I think provides the most intriguing description of what follows the Baptism of Jesus. Mark writes, “At once the Spirit drove him out into the desert, and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.” (Mark 1: 12-13).
In Mark’s Gospel, the Spirit doesn’t gently lead Jesus into the desert, the Spirit drives Jesus into the desert, making me think Jesus has little choice in the matter. The Spirit knows that Jesus needs the desert and he needs it “at once.” Why the urgency, I wonder?
Maybe it would help to consider the nature of the temptations. And for that we have to look to the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, since the Gospel of Mark does not describe the temptations Jesus encounters. Most of us would remember that there are three temptations.
One of the temptations has to do with food. Jesus has not eaten in the desert, is hungry, and the tempter taunts Jesus, “If you are the Son of God, turn these stones into bread.” Surely, a child of God should not go hungry.
A second temptation has the tempter take Jesus to the holy city and stand on the parapet of the temple. Here the tempter says, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.” Surely, a child of God will be protected by angels.
A final temptation has the tempter take Jesus to a high mountain where he can see all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence. The tempter promises all this if only Jesus will worship him. Surely, a child of God should have dominance over all the kingdoms of the world.
These temptations are no small matter. They are, in fact, the perks that might be expected for a Beloved Child of God; exemption from hunger and suffering, the privilege of being protected and attended to, and dominance over the kingdoms of the world. In the time of Roman rule and emperors who often cloaked themselves in a mantle of divinity, exemption, privilege, and dominance were exactly what would be expected for a child of God. But this is not the way that Jesus has come to understand it.
We know that in his desert experience, Jesus rejects these temptations and rebukes the tempter. Could it be that Jesus has grown more fully into his deepest identity as Beloved Child of God? Is that the reason the Spirit wastes no time in driving Jesus into the desert? Is the desert the place Jesus learns and then teaches us what it is not to be the Beloved Child of God? Then, in what follows, in the many healing encounters, in the feeding stories, through parables, and in the profound experience of self-sacrifice, we
are shown what it is to be a Beloved Child of God.
Through our baptisms we believe we too, are the beloved of God. And like Jesus, we are not free of temptation. We will question and doubt our deepest identity. So, perhaps the Spirit knows we need a desert to remind us, not just once but yearly, of what it means and what it does not mean to be a Beloved Child of God. But instead of a physical desert, the Spirit has given us a temporal desert, the
season of Lent. May Lent serve us, once more, as the desert where we grow more fully into our most genuine selves.
Bob Kolatorowicz is the Director of Adult Faith Formation at Old St. Patrick's Church.
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Our love for each other is a reflection of God's love for us
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As I take up a Lenten Journey this week I begin by reflecting on God’s Love for me personally. We all long to feel that we are cherished unconditionally by the Spirit of Love. We all need to know that we are valued not based on what we do, but because we are created in the image of God, but this takes courage.
In today’s Gospel, Mark is trying to make the point that Jesus was not afraid to meet people where they were and enter the chaos and intimacy needed for their healing. And in this story we meet a wounded man, with a bad condition (leprosy), choosing a courageous conviction, that Jesus could make him whole. The wounded man trusted that by putting his life in God’s hands he would be healed. Jesus encountered this man, and this man encountered Jesus; and out of that encounter something wondrous and holy happened. I have been reflecting on this week’s Gospel story as a love story. In today’s parable the Leper chose Jesus and Jesus chooses the Leper. Today’s gospel reminds us that we have an opportunity to imitate Jesus in a very special way. Today also being Saint Valentine’s day, I am thinking of the ministry of Marriage. In marriage we choose to declare that our lives will be devoted to “the other”. It is a Sacred bond of affection, joy, and belonging that declares I love you even on the days when we are not very lovable. Marriage demands that we grow in patience, in self-sacrifice, in simple gratitude, in true humility, in generous forgiveness, in real sorrow and in genuine passion for one another. This covenant mirrors God’s love for us for true love always takes us beyond ourselves.
I take great comfort that God’s great love is without reservation. Jesus understood unconditional love. During his time traveling and spreading God's love, he ensured that the lepers and the tax collectors and women were included in his message: You are loved. And more than just saying the words, Jesus showed that love as he gathered the outsiders close to him, in his actions demonstrating how his followers should act when he was no longer there to do so. Parables of love are alive today. I have witnessed miraculous encounters of selfgiving love in this community of believers as they care for their parents who need more help, or for the needs of an ill child or spouse, or volunteer to help a neighbor or relative. When I consider the great “cloud of witnesses” that surround us in this moment, I see that radical transformation is possible, that God isn’t calling us to be merely practical in this moment. Rather, God is calling us to audaciously choose solidarity in Love.
The Gospels are about personal encounters, but not just personal encounters that happened many years ago, but personal encounters today. Perhaps today as we reread the Gospel we see ourselves as the wounded one who comes to Jesus, trusting in His healing and Jesus, upon seeing us as we are, is deeply moved and is compelled to touch us that we might share a holy abundant Love with the world. Being held by God may seem like a foreign concept to many of us, but if more of us were experiencing the loving comfort, peace, and healing of God on a consistent basis, perhaps the times we are living in would be a little less turbulent, or at least, our own hearts might be more consumed with the peace of God and faith in God through the tumultuous times we are living in. There is a baffling sense of God who invites us into a bigger reality, beyond all we can imagine or dare to hope, and yet waits for our response.
This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday. We will not be marked in the traditional ways we have in past years or gather together in the manner we long to gather. But as a domestic church we are offered an invitation to be marked and touch the Divine. Love, then, is a response to the invitation of God’s presence already with us. Rest in it. Be assured of it. Count on it. This week lets us all find time to celebrate Love and remember those in our lives who have touched our lives with unconditional Love. The main teaching of the Bible is that our love for each other is a reflection of God's love for each and every one of us. This Lent I pray that we, as the Church, will shift the conversation from a longing to get back to normal to an awakened recognition that normal isn’t all that good for a lot of people. I pray that this Lent we will use this opportunity to open our eyes to the Spirit-filled possibilities in front of us. I pray that we will have the courage and audacity to lean into this vision of a world where we are all truly loved and in this together. I pray that we will envision love as Saint Paul did: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”
In today’s Gospel, Mark is trying to make the point that Jesus was not afraid to meet people where they were and enter the chaos and intimacy needed for their healing. And in this story we meet a wounded man, with a bad condition (leprosy), choosing a courageous conviction, that Jesus could make him whole. The wounded man trusted that by putting his life in God’s hands he would be healed. Jesus encountered this man, and this man encountered Jesus; and out of that encounter something wondrous and holy happened. I have been reflecting on this week’s Gospel story as a love story. In today’s parable the Leper chose Jesus and Jesus chooses the Leper. Today’s gospel reminds us that we have an opportunity to imitate Jesus in a very special way. Today also being Saint Valentine’s day, I am thinking of the ministry of Marriage. In marriage we choose to declare that our lives will be devoted to “the other”. It is a Sacred bond of affection, joy, and belonging that declares I love you even on the days when we are not very lovable. Marriage demands that we grow in patience, in self-sacrifice, in simple gratitude, in true humility, in generous forgiveness, in real sorrow and in genuine passion for one another. This covenant mirrors God’s love for us for true love always takes us beyond ourselves.
I take great comfort that God’s great love is without reservation. Jesus understood unconditional love. During his time traveling and spreading God's love, he ensured that the lepers and the tax collectors and women were included in his message: You are loved. And more than just saying the words, Jesus showed that love as he gathered the outsiders close to him, in his actions demonstrating how his followers should act when he was no longer there to do so. Parables of love are alive today. I have witnessed miraculous encounters of selfgiving love in this community of believers as they care for their parents who need more help, or for the needs of an ill child or spouse, or volunteer to help a neighbor or relative. When I consider the great “cloud of witnesses” that surround us in this moment, I see that radical transformation is possible, that God isn’t calling us to be merely practical in this moment. Rather, God is calling us to audaciously choose solidarity in Love.
The Gospels are about personal encounters, but not just personal encounters that happened many years ago, but personal encounters today. Perhaps today as we reread the Gospel we see ourselves as the wounded one who comes to Jesus, trusting in His healing and Jesus, upon seeing us as we are, is deeply moved and is compelled to touch us that we might share a holy abundant Love with the world. Being held by God may seem like a foreign concept to many of us, but if more of us were experiencing the loving comfort, peace, and healing of God on a consistent basis, perhaps the times we are living in would be a little less turbulent, or at least, our own hearts might be more consumed with the peace of God and faith in God through the tumultuous times we are living in. There is a baffling sense of God who invites us into a bigger reality, beyond all we can imagine or dare to hope, and yet waits for our response.
This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday. We will not be marked in the traditional ways we have in past years or gather together in the manner we long to gather. But as a domestic church we are offered an invitation to be marked and touch the Divine. Love, then, is a response to the invitation of God’s presence already with us. Rest in it. Be assured of it. Count on it. This week lets us all find time to celebrate Love and remember those in our lives who have touched our lives with unconditional Love. The main teaching of the Bible is that our love for each other is a reflection of God's love for each and every one of us. This Lent I pray that we, as the Church, will shift the conversation from a longing to get back to normal to an awakened recognition that normal isn’t all that good for a lot of people. I pray that this Lent we will use this opportunity to open our eyes to the Spirit-filled possibilities in front of us. I pray that we will have the courage and audacity to lean into this vision of a world where we are all truly loved and in this together. I pray that we will envision love as Saint Paul did: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”
Racism's Deeper Roots
By Jon Nilson
By Jon Nilson
“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” (John 13.34) How often have we heard these words of Jesus spoken to us? As we struggle to overcome the poison of white supremacy today, the late and great James Baldwin would urge us to listen to them more closely.
Although he died over thirty-three years ago, Baldwin still contributes to our national conversation about race through his books, essays, novels, and even poetry. In his lifetime, he was considered a prophet. Prophets can predict the future because they plumb the deep dynamisms of the present. They discern the forces that are driving their people to ruin. Baldwin became a prophet because he was a great artist. The task of the artist, as he understood it, was not to provide pleasure or entertainment. A true artist excavates and names the buried forces and fears that shape our lives, whether we want to know them and face them or not.
Baldwin certainly had no use for organized religion. He saw too much evidence of Christian complacency and even collusion in the great evil of racism. Yet he was deeply religious. He came to realize that the question of race was ultimately spiritual. In one of his more famous essays, Nobody Knows My Name, he declared, “ . . the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the deeper questions of the self. That is precisely why what we like to call ‘the Negro question’ is so tenacious in American life and so dangerous.”
Baldwin realized that the “Negro” was invented and maintained by people who do not love themselves, who feel themselves somehow unworthy and undeserving. So they fend off those painful feelings by identifying others as less lovable, less worthy, less deserving than they are. They may be somehow defective, but at least they are not as low as those “other people.” Their inferiority may be genetic, cultural, intellectual, etc. No matter what the cause, their inferiority means that their lower status and the sufferings they endure are somehow right. It’s really what they deserve.
Although he died over thirty-three years ago, Baldwin still contributes to our national conversation about race through his books, essays, novels, and even poetry. In his lifetime, he was considered a prophet. Prophets can predict the future because they plumb the deep dynamisms of the present. They discern the forces that are driving their people to ruin. Baldwin became a prophet because he was a great artist. The task of the artist, as he understood it, was not to provide pleasure or entertainment. A true artist excavates and names the buried forces and fears that shape our lives, whether we want to know them and face them or not.
Baldwin certainly had no use for organized religion. He saw too much evidence of Christian complacency and even collusion in the great evil of racism. Yet he was deeply religious. He came to realize that the question of race was ultimately spiritual. In one of his more famous essays, Nobody Knows My Name, he declared, “ . . the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the deeper questions of the self. That is precisely why what we like to call ‘the Negro question’ is so tenacious in American life and so dangerous.”
Baldwin realized that the “Negro” was invented and maintained by people who do not love themselves, who feel themselves somehow unworthy and undeserving. So they fend off those painful feelings by identifying others as less lovable, less worthy, less deserving than they are. They may be somehow defective, but at least they are not as low as those “other people.” Their inferiority may be genetic, cultural, intellectual, etc. No matter what the cause, their inferiority means that their lower status and the sufferings they endure are somehow right. It’s really what they deserve.
Yes, he used the N-word. He was not going to shield his listeners from the ugly brutality of racist language.
Baldwin maintained that the race problem could be solved only if people, especially white people, learned to value and love themselves. So, he said, “What white people have to do is try and find out in their own hearts why it was necessary to have a ‘nigger’ in the first place, because I’m not a nigger, I’m a man. But if you think I’m a nigger, it means you need him . . you’ve got to find out why.” (Yes, he used the N-word. He was not going to shield his listeners from the ugly brutality of racist language.) Our nation has to discover why it keeps black people down year after year after year. Each of us has to discover whether and why we feel and behave as if other people were inherently inferior to us.
There are people who know through their own experience that God loves them as they are. They do not need any “inferior others” to build up their self-respect and esteem. They are fearlessly free to reach out in love to others, knowing that they are fully and finally forgiven and embraced by God. Imagine, said a friend of mine, what our lives would be like if every person was absolutely convinced that God passionately loved them!
“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” is not the complete solution to the evil of racism, but Baldwin is right: there will never be a solution without the love that answers “the deeper questions of the self.”
Jon Nilson is Professor Emeritus of Theology at Loyola University Chicago and a member of the new Old St. Patrick's Racial Equity and Justice Initiative. He writes frequently on racism as a theological problem.
There are people who know through their own experience that God loves them as they are. They do not need any “inferior others” to build up their self-respect and esteem. They are fearlessly free to reach out in love to others, knowing that they are fully and finally forgiven and embraced by God. Imagine, said a friend of mine, what our lives would be like if every person was absolutely convinced that God passionately loved them!
“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” is not the complete solution to the evil of racism, but Baldwin is right: there will never be a solution without the love that answers “the deeper questions of the self.”
Jon Nilson is Professor Emeritus of Theology at Loyola University Chicago and a member of the new Old St. Patrick's Racial Equity and Justice Initiative. He writes frequently on racism as a theological problem.
A great leader listens not only to others, but also to His conscience and to the promptings of God.
By Bernadette Gibson
By Bernadette Gibson
Jesus’ teaching is different from that of the scribes and it has a powerful effect on those listening. We are told that Jesus teaches with authority. It is the beginning of a new era heralded by one whose power angers some and amazes others. While in the synagogue at Capernaum, he encounters a man who is possessed by an unclean spirit. The spirit knows who Jesus is and that His coming means the spirit’s demise. The people were amazed at Jesus teaching, for he taught with real authority - quite unlike the teachings that they were accustomed to. Ask anyone about the most important learning experiences of their lives, and they will tell a story about a relationship with a teacher. They’ll tell of that person’s efforts to expose them to new perspectives, spur their reflection, and support them through the difficult moments. And, if you listen carefully, you’ll hear evidence of the teacher’s joy and fulfillment in their role. Such teachers take their place among the friends and family who shape our sense of self and how we engage with the world.
It’s no wonder, therefore, that people were amazed by the teaching of Jesus. Jesus spoke plainly of the approaching reign of God, calling people to turn their lives around in response to this good news. Jesus taught, not in the mode of the rabbis of his day, but in the dynamic, confident voice of the prophets. I always imagine Jesus’ teaching had authority because His capacity to generate excitement was deeply affected by His interest in the other, in hearing their voices, in recognizing their presence. We all know how it feels when someone looks us in the eye and truly listens to us. I feel in the marrow of my bones that Jesus was a listening leader. A great leader listens not only to others, but also to His conscience and to the promptings of God.
Jesus said many times, “Come, follow me.” His was a program of “do what I do,” rather than “do what I say.” His innate brilliance would have permitted him to put on a dazzling display, but that would have left his followers far behind. Instead, he walked and worked with those he was to serve. His was not a long-distance leadership. He was not afraid of close friendships; he was not afraid that proximity to him would disappoint his followers. The leaven of true leadership cannot lift others unless we are with and serve those to be led. Jesus saw sin as wrong but also was able to see sin as springing from deep and unmet needs on the part of the sinner. This permitted him to condemn the sin without condemning the individual. I guess I am suggesting that Jesus had authority because he risked to be present. Because Jesus knew love gets it hands dirty. It takes a chance. It goes out on a limb. It takes a gamble. Love makes a statement and leaves a legacy. It does the unexpected, surprising, and stirring thing. It performs acts that steal the heart and leave an impression on the soul. In other words, love opens up its life to another person. It goes beyond sentimental feelings. It breaks down barriers. It exposes the heart.
Given the goings on in the world today, the turmoil and brokenness around us it is probably harder to hear Jesus’ command to make disciples of all people. God wants more from us as persons and more from us as the Church. We have a tendency to major in the minors - dialoguing with one another over doctrine and sociology and sexuality, when the world is crying out for the hope of God and a just society. We were made to live justly in relation to God, to each other, and to creation. This justice which comes from God is intimately personal. It is meant to serve people, to foster their well-being. People, then, are at the heart of true justice. But justice is not merely personal and individual – relationships are at the heart of justice. Justice is closely linked to shalom. Shalom means “peace,” but it is more than the absence of conflict and wrongdoing. Shalom describes a state of material and spiritual wholeness, wellness, and fullness for people, both individually and corporately. Justice can be thought of as both a foundation for shalom and a result of shalom. Justice in our world, then, is about restoring shalom or wellbeing of individuals and relationships. It is concerned with upholding rules and laws only as they serve to overcome wrongs and restore people to rightness and wellness. We will see this even more clearly when we look at love as an invitation to become love. That's the virtue of love incarnated. That kind of love makes a difference. Christ has no hands, but our hands; no feet, but our feet. We are his ambassadors, representing him to the world. And when we love as he as loved us, it will make the difference. People will notice. This kind of relational love is indispensable.
It’s no wonder, therefore, that people were amazed by the teaching of Jesus. Jesus spoke plainly of the approaching reign of God, calling people to turn their lives around in response to this good news. Jesus taught, not in the mode of the rabbis of his day, but in the dynamic, confident voice of the prophets. I always imagine Jesus’ teaching had authority because His capacity to generate excitement was deeply affected by His interest in the other, in hearing their voices, in recognizing their presence. We all know how it feels when someone looks us in the eye and truly listens to us. I feel in the marrow of my bones that Jesus was a listening leader. A great leader listens not only to others, but also to His conscience and to the promptings of God.
Jesus said many times, “Come, follow me.” His was a program of “do what I do,” rather than “do what I say.” His innate brilliance would have permitted him to put on a dazzling display, but that would have left his followers far behind. Instead, he walked and worked with those he was to serve. His was not a long-distance leadership. He was not afraid of close friendships; he was not afraid that proximity to him would disappoint his followers. The leaven of true leadership cannot lift others unless we are with and serve those to be led. Jesus saw sin as wrong but also was able to see sin as springing from deep and unmet needs on the part of the sinner. This permitted him to condemn the sin without condemning the individual. I guess I am suggesting that Jesus had authority because he risked to be present. Because Jesus knew love gets it hands dirty. It takes a chance. It goes out on a limb. It takes a gamble. Love makes a statement and leaves a legacy. It does the unexpected, surprising, and stirring thing. It performs acts that steal the heart and leave an impression on the soul. In other words, love opens up its life to another person. It goes beyond sentimental feelings. It breaks down barriers. It exposes the heart.
Given the goings on in the world today, the turmoil and brokenness around us it is probably harder to hear Jesus’ command to make disciples of all people. God wants more from us as persons and more from us as the Church. We have a tendency to major in the minors - dialoguing with one another over doctrine and sociology and sexuality, when the world is crying out for the hope of God and a just society. We were made to live justly in relation to God, to each other, and to creation. This justice which comes from God is intimately personal. It is meant to serve people, to foster their well-being. People, then, are at the heart of true justice. But justice is not merely personal and individual – relationships are at the heart of justice. Justice is closely linked to shalom. Shalom means “peace,” but it is more than the absence of conflict and wrongdoing. Shalom describes a state of material and spiritual wholeness, wellness, and fullness for people, both individually and corporately. Justice can be thought of as both a foundation for shalom and a result of shalom. Justice in our world, then, is about restoring shalom or wellbeing of individuals and relationships. It is concerned with upholding rules and laws only as they serve to overcome wrongs and restore people to rightness and wellness. We will see this even more clearly when we look at love as an invitation to become love. That's the virtue of love incarnated. That kind of love makes a difference. Christ has no hands, but our hands; no feet, but our feet. We are his ambassadors, representing him to the world. And when we love as he as loved us, it will make the difference. People will notice. This kind of relational love is indispensable.
On the shores of the lake, in an inconceivable time, the first community of disciples of Christ were born…
By Bernadette Gibson
By Bernadette Gibson
This week as we unfold the Gospel of Mark, we join the story just after the baptism of Jesus and he has then spent 40 days in the wilderness, being tempted by sin. And now, after that experience, he is ready to begin his public ministry. Jesus comes back out of the wilderness and is now in public circulation again. According to Mark, the ministry of John the Baptist is completed, and now it’s time for Jesus to begin His mission. And so Jesus appears and gives his first public words in ministry, which set up everything that he would stand for, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.” My first thought is that the word “repent” needs some serious restoration. We’ve made it a scary word. Something that resembles “feeling bad.” And, probably, the worse you feel, the better. However, that is not what the word “repent” means. It means, quite literally to turn around. When you’re alone and walking down a dark and scary road, turning around is not a bad thing. It’s a welcome thing. “Repent” is part of the poetry of exile, something that the Israelites knew a lot about. Repenting, when in exile, meant going home. I think if we in the church talked more about “going home” than “feeling bad,” the church would be a healthier and holier place.
A very few people amassed incredible levels of wealth in Jesus’ day, while countless others found themselves destitute. Sound familiar? Those realities impinge upon Simon and Andrew while they fish; James and John sense these realities as they repair their nets. Lots of motives influence people who exchange their old lives for new ones. And, Jesus telling us that we can go home, and that God will welcome us back, and throw His arms around us is such good news. And, that’s what Jesus tells us to believe in. At the beginning of the Gospel of Mark Jesus tells his listeners something wonderful. When we’re able to take-in the fact that Mark is a pandemic and wartime Gospel - written either in the lead-up-to or in-the-wake-of the destruction of the Jerusalem and the Temple…Jesus’ words are also balm to souls who were frightened for their future. This poor one called Jesus, hungering for bread and justice, passionately devoted to the oppressed, and who looks them in the eye and listens to their fears says: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Follow Me, and I will not necessarily do something for you, but I will do something in you so that you can do something for someone else.
It has been a long ten months. I’m finding it hard to muster the energy to face the immediacy of the now. But we must muster the energy. The pandemic has provided an inconvenient excuse to sit quietly and focus in prayer about the directions of our lives. As we embark on this new year, we are challenged, not to return to normal - remember, “normal” is what got us here – but to incorporate the essential lessons of these difficult days into our lives. On the shores of the lake, in an inconceivable time, the first community of disciples of Christ were born. We have been asked to anchor our lives in the solid foundations of faith - so that we might face life courageously and look beyond appearances but with the eyes of faith. Perhaps it is fitting that this week’s Gospel from Mark asks us to reflect on our mission.
As a church we are praying, planning and creating tentative plans for reopening our doors to the future. We are encouraged to look to the horizon and begin to think about re-entry into life. I imagine many of you right now are thinking about the first thing you want to do after this lockdown for the Coronavirus has been lifted. What you choose to do will be an indication of what you value most about your freedom. Perhaps, this time of uncertainty has served to reflect on how gratefulness has helped to calm us, reduce fears and expectations, open us to greater clarity and love, and fuel actions grounded in our deep intentions. Gratitude is not an elixir. It may not cure or solve our anxiety or concerns but it can foster ease, connection, kindness, and well-being. Gratitude cannot save us from sickness or suffering, but it can change how we experience sickness, and it may change our relationship to suffering. In her book, The Wisdom Jesus, Cynthia Bourgeault clarifies this. "I am not saying that suffering exists in order for God to reveal Godself. I am only saying that where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly." If we understand our baptism, like I think Jesus did, that's what we're called to do: to be priests, prophets, and the king, that Jesus was - to serve our world through gentleness, compassion and love so that we, joined with Jesus, might bring true justice, gratitude and love to those who need the message most. Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. For behold, the kingdom of God is among you and more importantly it is within you.
A very few people amassed incredible levels of wealth in Jesus’ day, while countless others found themselves destitute. Sound familiar? Those realities impinge upon Simon and Andrew while they fish; James and John sense these realities as they repair their nets. Lots of motives influence people who exchange their old lives for new ones. And, Jesus telling us that we can go home, and that God will welcome us back, and throw His arms around us is such good news. And, that’s what Jesus tells us to believe in. At the beginning of the Gospel of Mark Jesus tells his listeners something wonderful. When we’re able to take-in the fact that Mark is a pandemic and wartime Gospel - written either in the lead-up-to or in-the-wake-of the destruction of the Jerusalem and the Temple…Jesus’ words are also balm to souls who were frightened for their future. This poor one called Jesus, hungering for bread and justice, passionately devoted to the oppressed, and who looks them in the eye and listens to their fears says: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Follow Me, and I will not necessarily do something for you, but I will do something in you so that you can do something for someone else.
It has been a long ten months. I’m finding it hard to muster the energy to face the immediacy of the now. But we must muster the energy. The pandemic has provided an inconvenient excuse to sit quietly and focus in prayer about the directions of our lives. As we embark on this new year, we are challenged, not to return to normal - remember, “normal” is what got us here – but to incorporate the essential lessons of these difficult days into our lives. On the shores of the lake, in an inconceivable time, the first community of disciples of Christ were born. We have been asked to anchor our lives in the solid foundations of faith - so that we might face life courageously and look beyond appearances but with the eyes of faith. Perhaps it is fitting that this week’s Gospel from Mark asks us to reflect on our mission.
As a church we are praying, planning and creating tentative plans for reopening our doors to the future. We are encouraged to look to the horizon and begin to think about re-entry into life. I imagine many of you right now are thinking about the first thing you want to do after this lockdown for the Coronavirus has been lifted. What you choose to do will be an indication of what you value most about your freedom. Perhaps, this time of uncertainty has served to reflect on how gratefulness has helped to calm us, reduce fears and expectations, open us to greater clarity and love, and fuel actions grounded in our deep intentions. Gratitude is not an elixir. It may not cure or solve our anxiety or concerns but it can foster ease, connection, kindness, and well-being. Gratitude cannot save us from sickness or suffering, but it can change how we experience sickness, and it may change our relationship to suffering. In her book, The Wisdom Jesus, Cynthia Bourgeault clarifies this. "I am not saying that suffering exists in order for God to reveal Godself. I am only saying that where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly." If we understand our baptism, like I think Jesus did, that's what we're called to do: to be priests, prophets, and the king, that Jesus was - to serve our world through gentleness, compassion and love so that we, joined with Jesus, might bring true justice, gratitude and love to those who need the message most. Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. For behold, the kingdom of God is among you and more importantly it is within you.
A Sense of Solidarity and Love for our Country is a Sentiment
By Bernadette Gibson
By Bernadette Gibson
Seeing the domestic violence of last week, I felt a distinct sadness well up in me. I was formed under the presidency of Jimmy Carter who wrote “the best way to enhance freedom in other lands is to demonstrate here that our democratic system is worthy of emulation.” Patriotism is a concept which brings people together. A sense of solidarity and love for our country is a sentiment which binds. When Abraham Lincoln declared, in 1863, that the battle of Gettysburg must ensure “that a government of the people, by the people, and for the people must be created”, he was not merely being aspirational. The question is not whether Lincoln truly meant “government of the people” but what our country has, throughout its history, taken the political term “the people” to actually mean.
As I sat last week watching the hate and violence, I was sad for our country. I was sad for all my memories of Memorial Day cookouts, block parties and Fourth of July celebrations that now felt defiled. I was sad for my young girl scouting days when I was taught the pledge of allegiance and earned my badge for civic duty. I was sad that much of my life has been sheltered by thoughts of what I hoped the flag represented for “everyone”, and a hope that our freedoms would multiply and that we as a country would care for our own with honor, courage, selflessness, sacrifice, hard work, personal responsibility, respect for our elders, and love for the most vulnerable in our midst. And last week, as I watched white men and woman defile our capital I was truly ashamed. Ashamed that the flag has not allowed for the growth of equality for people of color and immigrants who dreamed of their freedom. As I listen to these rioters talk of what was stolen from them; I thought of all that has been stolen from our country as a whole in common decency and in the economic imbalance in our country in these hard days. It was not lost on me that people of color laid the foundations of the White House and the Capitol, even placing with their unfree hands the Statue of Freedom atop the Capitol dome. As I pray for our Democracy I pondered how the inclusion of previously excluded voices could help us, rather than impede us in our public deliberation. Over the last year I have been sickened by the racial commentary and rhetoric in our midst. And this week I have been thinking about all the times over the years, I stayed silent when I have heard such racist things said in my presence. I regret that, not only because what they were saying was wrong but because my silence denied an opportunity for change.
Alfred Tennyson wrote “I am a part of all that I have met, though much is taken, much abides.” Because I have loving parents who did not display the bigoted attitudes of the generations before them, I might think that I have lived a life free from personal complicity in prejudice and racism. And yesterday I thought that is simply not true. Our family histories are not only the histories we inherit. In addition to being sons and daughters, we are neighbors and citizens of the United States. We were born into that history, too, which includes much that is noble and true, and also includes discrimination and ongoing brutality. Like all human beings of every race, I have biases and prejudices, many of which I inherited, some born from my personal history. But it is also more than that. I am not just any person, but a specific kind of person: I am a white, educated woman who was born in an age, in a country with a long history of racism; a history so deeply entrenched, so pervasive, that it structures my habits, my thoughts, my worldview in ways I do not even know and especially today do not want to see.
And today, I sit here wondering what was once a common understanding that American citizenship is a privilege, and one that at a minimum requires respect for the rule of law and loyalty to our Constitution. In this moment, I am thinking of the spiritual costs for our country and for me personally by keeping silent. Our moral integrity is damaged if we witness situations of discrimination and harassment and do not intervene. Our feelings of guilt, shame, embarrassment, or inadequacy about racism and about our responses to it lower our self-esteem. Because racism makes a mockery of our ideals of democracy, justice, and our equality. We won’t succeed in restoring trust and a sense of social cohesion until we confront, head on, our intertwined racial, ethnic and economic inequalities. These schisms inevitably divide us and undermine the solidarity our faith demands. Sadly once again we have peered over the precipice of reason and contemplated what lies below, and that terrifying vision may have provided the impetus for exactly the kind of national solidarity the American people need to rebuild our democracy.
In today’s Gospel John paints a more diverse portrait of Jesus, seemingly not wanting readers to forget or miss the fact that this earthly Jesus is God’s Son who existed for all time. John’s gospel is more mystical, more spiritual, and somewhat intriguing inviting the reader into deeper questions about life and faith. And so I invite you – today - to take a little journey with me… following Jesus baptism the heavens part, the voice of God is heard, Jesus is identified and affirmed, and there is a moment of holy silence. And after the Holy silence the work of Jesus Mission begins. I hope we too engage in asking ourselves the question: how am I going to fully participate in and appreciate an “examined life.” Transformation involves pain, life experience, and failures endured but it also asks us to begin again in love and hope of a more just world.
As I sat last week watching the hate and violence, I was sad for our country. I was sad for all my memories of Memorial Day cookouts, block parties and Fourth of July celebrations that now felt defiled. I was sad for my young girl scouting days when I was taught the pledge of allegiance and earned my badge for civic duty. I was sad that much of my life has been sheltered by thoughts of what I hoped the flag represented for “everyone”, and a hope that our freedoms would multiply and that we as a country would care for our own with honor, courage, selflessness, sacrifice, hard work, personal responsibility, respect for our elders, and love for the most vulnerable in our midst. And last week, as I watched white men and woman defile our capital I was truly ashamed. Ashamed that the flag has not allowed for the growth of equality for people of color and immigrants who dreamed of their freedom. As I listen to these rioters talk of what was stolen from them; I thought of all that has been stolen from our country as a whole in common decency and in the economic imbalance in our country in these hard days. It was not lost on me that people of color laid the foundations of the White House and the Capitol, even placing with their unfree hands the Statue of Freedom atop the Capitol dome. As I pray for our Democracy I pondered how the inclusion of previously excluded voices could help us, rather than impede us in our public deliberation. Over the last year I have been sickened by the racial commentary and rhetoric in our midst. And this week I have been thinking about all the times over the years, I stayed silent when I have heard such racist things said in my presence. I regret that, not only because what they were saying was wrong but because my silence denied an opportunity for change.
Alfred Tennyson wrote “I am a part of all that I have met, though much is taken, much abides.” Because I have loving parents who did not display the bigoted attitudes of the generations before them, I might think that I have lived a life free from personal complicity in prejudice and racism. And yesterday I thought that is simply not true. Our family histories are not only the histories we inherit. In addition to being sons and daughters, we are neighbors and citizens of the United States. We were born into that history, too, which includes much that is noble and true, and also includes discrimination and ongoing brutality. Like all human beings of every race, I have biases and prejudices, many of which I inherited, some born from my personal history. But it is also more than that. I am not just any person, but a specific kind of person: I am a white, educated woman who was born in an age, in a country with a long history of racism; a history so deeply entrenched, so pervasive, that it structures my habits, my thoughts, my worldview in ways I do not even know and especially today do not want to see.
And today, I sit here wondering what was once a common understanding that American citizenship is a privilege, and one that at a minimum requires respect for the rule of law and loyalty to our Constitution. In this moment, I am thinking of the spiritual costs for our country and for me personally by keeping silent. Our moral integrity is damaged if we witness situations of discrimination and harassment and do not intervene. Our feelings of guilt, shame, embarrassment, or inadequacy about racism and about our responses to it lower our self-esteem. Because racism makes a mockery of our ideals of democracy, justice, and our equality. We won’t succeed in restoring trust and a sense of social cohesion until we confront, head on, our intertwined racial, ethnic and economic inequalities. These schisms inevitably divide us and undermine the solidarity our faith demands. Sadly once again we have peered over the precipice of reason and contemplated what lies below, and that terrifying vision may have provided the impetus for exactly the kind of national solidarity the American people need to rebuild our democracy.
In today’s Gospel John paints a more diverse portrait of Jesus, seemingly not wanting readers to forget or miss the fact that this earthly Jesus is God’s Son who existed for all time. John’s gospel is more mystical, more spiritual, and somewhat intriguing inviting the reader into deeper questions about life and faith. And so I invite you – today - to take a little journey with me… following Jesus baptism the heavens part, the voice of God is heard, Jesus is identified and affirmed, and there is a moment of holy silence. And after the Holy silence the work of Jesus Mission begins. I hope we too engage in asking ourselves the question: how am I going to fully participate in and appreciate an “examined life.” Transformation involves pain, life experience, and failures endured but it also asks us to begin again in love and hope of a more just world.
What do you seek? Where do you look? What do you give?
By Bernadette Gibson
The story of the wise men is a story that is shrouded in mystery. From tradition we seem to know all the facts and details. But as we study the scripture we find that there are a lot of questions we can’t answer about the wise men from the Biblical text.
For example:
How many were there? We don’t know.
Where did they come from? We don’t know.
How long did their journey take? We don’t know.
They seem to just show up mysteriously - and just as mysteriously they are gone. But one thing I am certain about is that the number of wise men and women increases in every generation as people continue to seek Christ.
There are three questions I’ve pondered from this story. What do you seek? Where do you look? What do you give? It seems to me our level of joy at Christmas is directly related to what it is we seek, look and give to the World. I don’t know what was in the sky, what they saw, that first night. I don’t know what was in their minds; what they thought, asked, or talked about. I don’t know what was in their hearts; what they felt, dreamed, or longed for. But I do know that there have been times when we each have experienced Epiphany; times when our night sky has been lit brightly, times when our minds have been illumined, times when our hearts have been enlightened. Those times have revealed to us a life and world larger than before. They have been moments that gave us the courage to travel beyond the borders and boundaries that usually circumscribe our lives. Epiphanies are those times when something calls us, moves us, to a new place and we see the face of God in a new way; so human that it almost seems ordinary, maybe too ordinary to believe.
That’s what happened to the wise men. They began to see and hear the stories of their lives. Something stirred within them and they began to wonder, to imagine, that their lives were part of a much larger story. Could it be that the one who created life, who hung the stars in the sky, noticed them, knew them, lived within them, and was calling them by name? Could it be that the light they saw in the sky was a reflection of the divine light that burned within them, that burns within each one of us?
For example:
How many were there? We don’t know.
Where did they come from? We don’t know.
How long did their journey take? We don’t know.
They seem to just show up mysteriously - and just as mysteriously they are gone. But one thing I am certain about is that the number of wise men and women increases in every generation as people continue to seek Christ.
There are three questions I’ve pondered from this story. What do you seek? Where do you look? What do you give? It seems to me our level of joy at Christmas is directly related to what it is we seek, look and give to the World. I don’t know what was in the sky, what they saw, that first night. I don’t know what was in their minds; what they thought, asked, or talked about. I don’t know what was in their hearts; what they felt, dreamed, or longed for. But I do know that there have been times when we each have experienced Epiphany; times when our night sky has been lit brightly, times when our minds have been illumined, times when our hearts have been enlightened. Those times have revealed to us a life and world larger than before. They have been moments that gave us the courage to travel beyond the borders and boundaries that usually circumscribe our lives. Epiphanies are those times when something calls us, moves us, to a new place and we see the face of God in a new way; so human that it almost seems ordinary, maybe too ordinary to believe.
That’s what happened to the wise men. They began to see and hear the stories of their lives. Something stirred within them and they began to wonder, to imagine, that their lives were part of a much larger story. Could it be that the one who created life, who hung the stars in the sky, noticed them, knew them, lived within them, and was calling them by name? Could it be that the light they saw in the sky was a reflection of the divine light that burned within them, that burns within each one of us?
To seriously consider these questions is to begin the journey. That journey took the wise men to the house where they found the answer to their questions in the arms of his mother, Mary. We may travel a different route than the wise men did but the answer is the same. Yes, Yes, Yes. God notices us, knows us, lives within us, and calls us. God is continually revealing herself in and through humanity, in the flesh. Maybe it was the day you bathed your first grandchild and saw the beauty of creation and the love of the Creator in his eyes. Or that day you said, “I love you” and knew that it was about more than just romance or physical attraction. Perhaps it was the moment you really believed your life was sacred, holy, and acceptable to God. Maybe it was the time you kept vigil at the beside of one who was dying and you experienced the joy that death is not the end.
These are the stories of our lives, epiphanies that forever change who we are, how we live, and the road we travel. They are moments of ordinary everyday life in which divinity is revealed in humanity and we see God’s glory face to face. We have so much to learn from the wise men and women of our lives who are seekers in the ardent search for God. Those who hunger for God’s presence, and, when they find it, are willing to go to meet Him. Faith is a process that opens our eyes, and allows us to see beyond Bethlehem into a world where there is peace and assurance, no matter what may be happening around us now. Wise people see beyond Bethlehem to the hope and peace and assurance in the presence of a loving God. Happy New Year!
These are the stories of our lives, epiphanies that forever change who we are, how we live, and the road we travel. They are moments of ordinary everyday life in which divinity is revealed in humanity and we see God’s glory face to face. We have so much to learn from the wise men and women of our lives who are seekers in the ardent search for God. Those who hunger for God’s presence, and, when they find it, are willing to go to meet Him. Faith is a process that opens our eyes, and allows us to see beyond Bethlehem into a world where there is peace and assurance, no matter what may be happening around us now. Wise people see beyond Bethlehem to the hope and peace and assurance in the presence of a loving God. Happy New Year!
Christ Cradles Us in Love
By Bernadette Gibson
I find myself somewhat lost this Christmas. I remember Christmases from my childhood, and they remind me of the love and preparation that my parents went through to provide great experiences for us at Christmas. At first glance at this Christmas I find myself displaced. And I realize that at multiple points throughout our life, we will know ourselves to be a displaced people. A displacement that happens within us. “Comfort, O give comfort to my people,” keeps ringing through my head. And even as I say these words, I know that the way of becoming a placed people, is through the wilderness. We can’t avoid it. I close my eyes and I imagine the long journey Mary and Joseph must have taken through the wilderness to arrive in Nazareth. And how the wilderness if we explore it fully is really a place of life, a place of hope, a place of connectedness, a place of finding ourselves in the presence of God.
In my fatigue, I am tempted to forget that a new life is beckoning me to be born anew this Christmas. I am tempted to be plagued with sadness that I cannot celebrate with those I love in the traditional way. And then, I remember that where there are temptations - there are also ministering angels and a place of connection with what is sacred and Holy. If we think of our wilderness as a place of emptiness, a place bereft of life, growth and hope then we have misunderstood and forgotten that our wilderness is also place of prayer, a place of rest, a feeding trough where God was born, a place where the angels will come and minister to us in our fear.
We all miss things when we are afraid. And I wonder if I had been a shepherd on that first Christmas - would I have seen the magnificent star in the sky that night or simply two poor and very frightened kids with a newborn baby? Would I have understood the hushed silence of Divine presence, or simply the chill of a cold east wind? Would I have been open to come and kneel before a Godchild and accept God’s invitation to come in and express joy, suffering, thanksgiving, lament, frustration, grief, gladness and my wandering faith. Would I have heard the whisper of God crying “Come in! Come in and know me better!”
Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. In prayer she kept “all things”; everything that occurred in her heart. This included what she did not comprehend, what she could not see so clearly, what required painful and generous assent, what seemed beyond her capacity or strength to understand.
For many years I have wondered why the Angel told the shepherds what God was about to do when He put Christmas in place. Mary, who is such a marvelous example for us, was so filled with awe and questions that she did not share the miracle. However, these lowly simple shepherds told everybody what they had been told and seen for themselves. They shared what the angel had said to them: “Do not be afraid; for see – unto you a child is born, and He will bring great joy for all the people.” And I ponder what has God made known to me during 2020? God has fed me very differently this year. I have been fed by technology, conversation, perseverance, presence and community. And even though we cannot share in the physical Eucharist this year there is a Godchild laying in the center of a manger calling us to the feast of love, to the miraculous feeding that brings us home, and that reminds us of who we are, and “whose” we are. Emmanuel God with us.
If you are hurting this Christmas morning, the light of Christ shines for you. If you are alone this Christmas, Christ is with you. If you are ill, Christ cradles you in love. Losing hope? Christ is there. If you can’t feel it, if you can’t find the light, reach out to someone in our community. This is why we gather on livestream every week as a community. If you can’t find the light, if you can’t find your faith, we will walk with you until you can see the light on the path. We will find the light of Christ in places of healing “together”. This Christmas, we remember God coming to earth to know us, we remember a scared young woman giving birth to a hope that had been promised for generations, a hope that lives with us still. Let that hope, that light, live in you. Nurture it with prayer, with song, with presence in a community that believes in God’s presence in this messy world and insists on acting in the name of God to spread love, justice and hope to all. And so, this Christmas, we are invited to greet the light that shines forth from the cradle of this ancient story with Faith. This Christmas each of us has access to the light of God, guiding “us to thy perfect light.” Merry Christmas!
In my fatigue, I am tempted to forget that a new life is beckoning me to be born anew this Christmas. I am tempted to be plagued with sadness that I cannot celebrate with those I love in the traditional way. And then, I remember that where there are temptations - there are also ministering angels and a place of connection with what is sacred and Holy. If we think of our wilderness as a place of emptiness, a place bereft of life, growth and hope then we have misunderstood and forgotten that our wilderness is also place of prayer, a place of rest, a feeding trough where God was born, a place where the angels will come and minister to us in our fear.
We all miss things when we are afraid. And I wonder if I had been a shepherd on that first Christmas - would I have seen the magnificent star in the sky that night or simply two poor and very frightened kids with a newborn baby? Would I have understood the hushed silence of Divine presence, or simply the chill of a cold east wind? Would I have been open to come and kneel before a Godchild and accept God’s invitation to come in and express joy, suffering, thanksgiving, lament, frustration, grief, gladness and my wandering faith. Would I have heard the whisper of God crying “Come in! Come in and know me better!”
Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. In prayer she kept “all things”; everything that occurred in her heart. This included what she did not comprehend, what she could not see so clearly, what required painful and generous assent, what seemed beyond her capacity or strength to understand.
For many years I have wondered why the Angel told the shepherds what God was about to do when He put Christmas in place. Mary, who is such a marvelous example for us, was so filled with awe and questions that she did not share the miracle. However, these lowly simple shepherds told everybody what they had been told and seen for themselves. They shared what the angel had said to them: “Do not be afraid; for see – unto you a child is born, and He will bring great joy for all the people.” And I ponder what has God made known to me during 2020? God has fed me very differently this year. I have been fed by technology, conversation, perseverance, presence and community. And even though we cannot share in the physical Eucharist this year there is a Godchild laying in the center of a manger calling us to the feast of love, to the miraculous feeding that brings us home, and that reminds us of who we are, and “whose” we are. Emmanuel God with us.
If you are hurting this Christmas morning, the light of Christ shines for you. If you are alone this Christmas, Christ is with you. If you are ill, Christ cradles you in love. Losing hope? Christ is there. If you can’t feel it, if you can’t find the light, reach out to someone in our community. This is why we gather on livestream every week as a community. If you can’t find the light, if you can’t find your faith, we will walk with you until you can see the light on the path. We will find the light of Christ in places of healing “together”. This Christmas, we remember God coming to earth to know us, we remember a scared young woman giving birth to a hope that had been promised for generations, a hope that lives with us still. Let that hope, that light, live in you. Nurture it with prayer, with song, with presence in a community that believes in God’s presence in this messy world and insists on acting in the name of God to spread love, justice and hope to all. And so, this Christmas, we are invited to greet the light that shines forth from the cradle of this ancient story with Faith. This Christmas each of us has access to the light of God, guiding “us to thy perfect light.” Merry Christmas!
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Do This in Memory of Me
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Lines from the prayer We Remember Them, by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer holds special meaning in this year of pandemic. “At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them. When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them. When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them. When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them. When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them. For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them.”
We are in the season of All Saints & Souls, that time when we, like generations of humankind gone before us, remember and honor those who have died. This year we honor so many friends and family who have died of COVID-19. The losses we have experienced numb us. Like so many of you, I have said good-bye to loved ones more than a few times in my life but this year feels especially raw. Our church and our world has only begun to experience the collective grief that we are all facing - and because we’re self-isolating and avoiding crowds, many of us have not been able to practice the sacred rituals that help us process these difficult emotions. We haven’t been provided the access to our typical grief support, the hugs, the holding, and the face to face opportunities to say goodbye and to honor our loved ones lives publicly. We don’t even have the language to describe this time. Even for those of us who haven’t lost and won’t lose a close family member or relative in these days, we are still experiencing grief. The feelings of loss are brought on by the extinction of so many other changes of the life that we have known for ourselves and our families. A lost job, our child’s graduation, the predictability of our daily life. We will grieve the loss of a life we once knew, and one we hoped to live. We must begin to allow the complicated emotions that swirl around grief, depression, rage and anxiety and invite them in with kindness towards ourselves and others in these strange days.
Some of you have recently shared with me that storytelling with and of your loved ones has been your grief companion. We carry the essence of our ancestors in the marrow of our bones, and that is no small thing. “Do this,” Jesus tells us, “In remembrance of me.” Down through the centuries, and continuing today, the friends of Jesus Christ have obeyed Jesus' command to do this in His memory. So the church designated that the first days of each November was to be a holy time in which we are called to remember in prayer all the those living saints and those who have passed before. The great German Lutheran pastor, theologian and martyr, Dietrick Bonhoeffer, offered these words about loss of loved one:
“Nothing can make up for the absence of someone we love. And it would be wrong to try to find a substitute. We must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time, it is a great consolation. For the gap - as long as it remains unfilled - preserves the bond between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap. God does not fill it. But on the contrary, keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other - even at the cost of pain.”
“Thin places” is a term used by Celtic Christians to describe deep and sacred sites, places where holiness is palpable and the other world, the sequel world, is almost tangible. Places where you can feel the saints walking beside you and the breath of God blowing on your soul. Where the veil that separates this world and its sequel feels especially thin, where dreams and visions come naturally and heaven feels like it might just be breaking through. Today of all days, I hope you will take time to remember the communion of saints who have gone before you, and communion of living saints who have grounded you in these strange days and too pray their names in Thanksgiving and Joy. To remember who and what they were to you in this life, to light a candle, say a prayer or tell the stories of their lives, and so create a thin place on this day, one in which you might know as surely as you know anything that we are all connected in communion and love.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
We are in the season of All Saints & Souls, that time when we, like generations of humankind gone before us, remember and honor those who have died. This year we honor so many friends and family who have died of COVID-19. The losses we have experienced numb us. Like so many of you, I have said good-bye to loved ones more than a few times in my life but this year feels especially raw. Our church and our world has only begun to experience the collective grief that we are all facing - and because we’re self-isolating and avoiding crowds, many of us have not been able to practice the sacred rituals that help us process these difficult emotions. We haven’t been provided the access to our typical grief support, the hugs, the holding, and the face to face opportunities to say goodbye and to honor our loved ones lives publicly. We don’t even have the language to describe this time. Even for those of us who haven’t lost and won’t lose a close family member or relative in these days, we are still experiencing grief. The feelings of loss are brought on by the extinction of so many other changes of the life that we have known for ourselves and our families. A lost job, our child’s graduation, the predictability of our daily life. We will grieve the loss of a life we once knew, and one we hoped to live. We must begin to allow the complicated emotions that swirl around grief, depression, rage and anxiety and invite them in with kindness towards ourselves and others in these strange days.
Some of you have recently shared with me that storytelling with and of your loved ones has been your grief companion. We carry the essence of our ancestors in the marrow of our bones, and that is no small thing. “Do this,” Jesus tells us, “In remembrance of me.” Down through the centuries, and continuing today, the friends of Jesus Christ have obeyed Jesus' command to do this in His memory. So the church designated that the first days of each November was to be a holy time in which we are called to remember in prayer all the those living saints and those who have passed before. The great German Lutheran pastor, theologian and martyr, Dietrick Bonhoeffer, offered these words about loss of loved one:
“Nothing can make up for the absence of someone we love. And it would be wrong to try to find a substitute. We must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time, it is a great consolation. For the gap - as long as it remains unfilled - preserves the bond between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap. God does not fill it. But on the contrary, keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other - even at the cost of pain.”
“Thin places” is a term used by Celtic Christians to describe deep and sacred sites, places where holiness is palpable and the other world, the sequel world, is almost tangible. Places where you can feel the saints walking beside you and the breath of God blowing on your soul. Where the veil that separates this world and its sequel feels especially thin, where dreams and visions come naturally and heaven feels like it might just be breaking through. Today of all days, I hope you will take time to remember the communion of saints who have gone before you, and communion of living saints who have grounded you in these strange days and too pray their names in Thanksgiving and Joy. To remember who and what they were to you in this life, to light a candle, say a prayer or tell the stories of their lives, and so create a thin place on this day, one in which you might know as surely as you know anything that we are all connected in communion and love.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
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Wellness Corner
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The coronavirus pandemic has resulted in domestic partners and families spending more time together at home which has resulted in more stressful situations. If domestic abuse is already a problem in a relationship, the pandemic can make it worse. An abusive person may try to wield more control over a partner or family member.
Even with sanctions lifting and areas reopening, life is presently very stressful for most. School schedules uprooted, families feeling crowded, and frustrated they can’t escape one another. On the flip side, isolation is causing limited contact with support systems such as extended family and friends. There is less opportunity to engage in stress-relieving activities. Financial stress can factor in, too, especially if someone in the home has been furloughed or laid off. With all this happening, some families are likely to encounter more arguing. If a person has been abusive in the past, they might become more violent because of the added stressors. If household members are consuming more alcohol than usual due to stressors, they might be at higher risk for acting out and causing physical harm to family members.
We all know veterans who have seen combat are at high risk for having PTSD, and potentially being violent toward family members. But also, people who witness abuse — for example, those growing up in a violent family or neighborhood — might be living with PTSD. One symptom is hypervigilance: patients describe feeling on edge, with a tendency to overreact to a perceived threat. A distressing event can trigger a person with PTSD and make them feel under physical attack, with a necessity to fight back. I have observed this with some of my veterans during the recent Chicago riots.
Domestic abuse does not discriminate
Domestic abuse happens among heterosexual couples and same-sex partnerships, within all ethnic backgrounds, age ranges, and economic levels. While women are more commonly victimized, men are also abused. Bottom line: abusive behavior is never acceptable. We each deserve to feel valued, respected, and safe.
Recognizing abuse is the first step to getting help
Domestic abuse often escalates from threats and verbal abuse to violence. While physical injury may be the most obvious danger, the emotional and psychological consequences of domestic abuse are also severe. Emotionally abusive relationships can destroy your self-worth, lead to anxiety and depression, and make you feel helpless and alone. No one should have to endure this kind of pain—and your first step to breaking free is recognizing that your situation is abusive. You are made in the image and likeness of God and deserve to be treated with love and respect for your human dignity. There is help available.
Signs of an abusive relationship
Do you:
• feel afraid of your partner?
• avoid certain topics out of fear of angering your partner?
• feel that you can’t do anything right for your partner?
believe that you deserve to be hurt or mistreated?
• wonder if you’re the one who is crazy?
• feel emotionally numb or helpless?
Does your partner:
• humiliate or yell at you?
• criticize you and put you down?
• treat you so badly that you’re embarrassed for your friends or family to see?
• ignore or put down your opinions or accomplishments?
• blame you for their own abusive behavior?
• see you as property or a sex object, rather than as a person?
Family and friends: speak up if you suspect domestic abuse
If you suspect that someone you know is being abused, speak up! If you’re hesitating—telling yourself that “it’s none of your business, you might be wrong, or they might not want to talk about it”—expressing your concern lets the person know you care and may even save their life. Let them know in private you’re concerned. Give examples of what you’ve noticed that has you worried. Tell them you’re there, whenever they’re ready to talk. Let them know you’re available to help. Remember, abusers are good at controlling and manipulating their victims. People who have been emotionally abused or battered can be depressed, drained, scared, ashamed, and confused. They need help to get out, yet they’ve often been isolated from their family and friends. By picking up on the warning signs and offering support, you can help them escape an abusive situation and begin healing. (www.breakthesilence.org)
Conflict with Catholic beliefs
Religious teachings can be a roadblock to leaving an abusive relationship as we’re told to stay in marriages “for better or for worse…in sickness and in health”. Faithful Catholics want to do the right thing. The scriptures, our Catholic beliefs in the permanence of marriage, a priests’ misguided advice, can often outweigh any outside advice from other people, even professional counseling. The U.S. Catholic Bishops in their 2002 Pastoral Response to Domestic Violence Against Women, state strongly that violence in any form – physical, sexual, psychological, or verbal - is never justified and is sinful. When abuse occurs within a sacramental marriage, removing one’s self from the abuse does not violate the marriage promise. Abusers often use religious teachings or misuse scripture to justify their behavior and attitudes. The U. S. bishops condemn the use of the Bible to support abusive behavior (www.usccb.org).
If in need of help, call the National Domestic Violence 24-Hour Hotline at 800.799.7233 or visit www.ndvh.org for more information. Sarah Thompson is Old St. Pat’s parish therapist and available for counseling, presently remotely through teletherapy until OSP offices re-open. Sarah is also a certified Illinois Domestic Violence Advocate. She has day and evening hours and offers a sliding fee scale. Contact Sarah [email protected] or 773-234-9630.
Even with sanctions lifting and areas reopening, life is presently very stressful for most. School schedules uprooted, families feeling crowded, and frustrated they can’t escape one another. On the flip side, isolation is causing limited contact with support systems such as extended family and friends. There is less opportunity to engage in stress-relieving activities. Financial stress can factor in, too, especially if someone in the home has been furloughed or laid off. With all this happening, some families are likely to encounter more arguing. If a person has been abusive in the past, they might become more violent because of the added stressors. If household members are consuming more alcohol than usual due to stressors, they might be at higher risk for acting out and causing physical harm to family members.
We all know veterans who have seen combat are at high risk for having PTSD, and potentially being violent toward family members. But also, people who witness abuse — for example, those growing up in a violent family or neighborhood — might be living with PTSD. One symptom is hypervigilance: patients describe feeling on edge, with a tendency to overreact to a perceived threat. A distressing event can trigger a person with PTSD and make them feel under physical attack, with a necessity to fight back. I have observed this with some of my veterans during the recent Chicago riots.
Domestic abuse does not discriminate
Domestic abuse happens among heterosexual couples and same-sex partnerships, within all ethnic backgrounds, age ranges, and economic levels. While women are more commonly victimized, men are also abused. Bottom line: abusive behavior is never acceptable. We each deserve to feel valued, respected, and safe.
Recognizing abuse is the first step to getting help
Domestic abuse often escalates from threats and verbal abuse to violence. While physical injury may be the most obvious danger, the emotional and psychological consequences of domestic abuse are also severe. Emotionally abusive relationships can destroy your self-worth, lead to anxiety and depression, and make you feel helpless and alone. No one should have to endure this kind of pain—and your first step to breaking free is recognizing that your situation is abusive. You are made in the image and likeness of God and deserve to be treated with love and respect for your human dignity. There is help available.
Signs of an abusive relationship
Do you:
• feel afraid of your partner?
• avoid certain topics out of fear of angering your partner?
• feel that you can’t do anything right for your partner?
believe that you deserve to be hurt or mistreated?
• wonder if you’re the one who is crazy?
• feel emotionally numb or helpless?
Does your partner:
• humiliate or yell at you?
• criticize you and put you down?
• treat you so badly that you’re embarrassed for your friends or family to see?
• ignore or put down your opinions or accomplishments?
• blame you for their own abusive behavior?
• see you as property or a sex object, rather than as a person?
Family and friends: speak up if you suspect domestic abuse
If you suspect that someone you know is being abused, speak up! If you’re hesitating—telling yourself that “it’s none of your business, you might be wrong, or they might not want to talk about it”—expressing your concern lets the person know you care and may even save their life. Let them know in private you’re concerned. Give examples of what you’ve noticed that has you worried. Tell them you’re there, whenever they’re ready to talk. Let them know you’re available to help. Remember, abusers are good at controlling and manipulating their victims. People who have been emotionally abused or battered can be depressed, drained, scared, ashamed, and confused. They need help to get out, yet they’ve often been isolated from their family and friends. By picking up on the warning signs and offering support, you can help them escape an abusive situation and begin healing. (www.breakthesilence.org)
Conflict with Catholic beliefs
Religious teachings can be a roadblock to leaving an abusive relationship as we’re told to stay in marriages “for better or for worse…in sickness and in health”. Faithful Catholics want to do the right thing. The scriptures, our Catholic beliefs in the permanence of marriage, a priests’ misguided advice, can often outweigh any outside advice from other people, even professional counseling. The U.S. Catholic Bishops in their 2002 Pastoral Response to Domestic Violence Against Women, state strongly that violence in any form – physical, sexual, psychological, or verbal - is never justified and is sinful. When abuse occurs within a sacramental marriage, removing one’s self from the abuse does not violate the marriage promise. Abusers often use religious teachings or misuse scripture to justify their behavior and attitudes. The U. S. bishops condemn the use of the Bible to support abusive behavior (www.usccb.org).
If in need of help, call the National Domestic Violence 24-Hour Hotline at 800.799.7233 or visit www.ndvh.org for more information. Sarah Thompson is Old St. Pat’s parish therapist and available for counseling, presently remotely through teletherapy until OSP offices re-open. Sarah is also a certified Illinois Domestic Violence Advocate. She has day and evening hours and offers a sliding fee scale. Contact Sarah [email protected] or 773-234-9630.
We Belong to Each Other
In a meeting with workers early on in his Pontificate, Pope Francis prayed:
"Lord God look down upon us! Look at this city . . . Look upon our families.
Lord, you were not without a job, you were a carpenter, you were happy.
Lord, we have no work.
The idols want to rob us of our dignity. The unjust systems want to rob us of hope.
Lord, do not leave us on our own. Help us to help each other; so that we forget our selfishness a little and feel in our heart the "we", the we of a people who want to keep on going.
Lord Jesus, you were never out of work, give us work and teach us to fight for work and bless us all.
This prayer was recited well-before the Pandemic, but it is sadly all too fitting for our current economic crisis: almost sixty million men and women have filed for unemployment, gains made over the decade since the Great Recession has been almost completely wiped out, and about half of the layoffs have been in lower-wage, personal-service jobs. The repercussions are far-reaching, including economic inequality that is now even worse than during the Great Depression. Black and Latinx workers also face much more economic and health insecurity from COVID-19 than others. They face the most lethal pre-existing conditions for coronavirus: racism and economic inequality.
This pandemic has pulled the mask off of the false narrative that leads us to believe that we are separate from one another. Mother Theresa said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” Indeed, our faith teaches that we belong to each other. At a time of crisis such as this, we must turn to our faith, which for me and many of us is the foundation of who we are and how we see the world. From Genesis to the Gospels, Scripture time and time again makes it clear that the treatment of workers is of utmost importance, no matter who they are or where they come from. We are called to love one another.
This is why I am a proud Board Member and supporter of the mission of Arise Chicago. Many of the workers who engage with Arise Chicago are considered “essential” and it is clear that our economy could not run without them, and yet they are some of the worst paid and worst treated in the economy. Their jobs do not provide them proper safety equipment or social distancing. This has led some contracting Covid-19 and tragically dying from the virus. We need groups like Arise Chicago to educate workers on their rights, and support them when they take actions to save not only their lives, but the lives of their families and communities. The task of Arise Chicago to connect faith communities with workers is inextricably linked to the call that because we all belong to each other; we must love each other.
I have met countless workers over the years, men and women, who have inspired me with their courage and heroism to make a difference not only at their job, but in society. Against all odds, they continue to push forward to create a more just world. They do this not to become famous or popular, but because they are compelled to act by their faith. We should change the name of Monday’s holiday from Labor Day to A Labor of Love Day, and in so doing, honor all those who historically have and those who will take these same risks.
Let us never again forget that we belong to each other.
Rev. Dominic Grassi
Please click here for more resources related to Labor Day from our friends at Arise Chicago (arisechicago.org)
In a meeting with workers early on in his Pontificate, Pope Francis prayed:
"Lord God look down upon us! Look at this city . . . Look upon our families.
Lord, you were not without a job, you were a carpenter, you were happy.
Lord, we have no work.
The idols want to rob us of our dignity. The unjust systems want to rob us of hope.
Lord, do not leave us on our own. Help us to help each other; so that we forget our selfishness a little and feel in our heart the "we", the we of a people who want to keep on going.
Lord Jesus, you were never out of work, give us work and teach us to fight for work and bless us all.
This prayer was recited well-before the Pandemic, but it is sadly all too fitting for our current economic crisis: almost sixty million men and women have filed for unemployment, gains made over the decade since the Great Recession has been almost completely wiped out, and about half of the layoffs have been in lower-wage, personal-service jobs. The repercussions are far-reaching, including economic inequality that is now even worse than during the Great Depression. Black and Latinx workers also face much more economic and health insecurity from COVID-19 than others. They face the most lethal pre-existing conditions for coronavirus: racism and economic inequality.
This pandemic has pulled the mask off of the false narrative that leads us to believe that we are separate from one another. Mother Theresa said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” Indeed, our faith teaches that we belong to each other. At a time of crisis such as this, we must turn to our faith, which for me and many of us is the foundation of who we are and how we see the world. From Genesis to the Gospels, Scripture time and time again makes it clear that the treatment of workers is of utmost importance, no matter who they are or where they come from. We are called to love one another.
This is why I am a proud Board Member and supporter of the mission of Arise Chicago. Many of the workers who engage with Arise Chicago are considered “essential” and it is clear that our economy could not run without them, and yet they are some of the worst paid and worst treated in the economy. Their jobs do not provide them proper safety equipment or social distancing. This has led some contracting Covid-19 and tragically dying from the virus. We need groups like Arise Chicago to educate workers on their rights, and support them when they take actions to save not only their lives, but the lives of their families and communities. The task of Arise Chicago to connect faith communities with workers is inextricably linked to the call that because we all belong to each other; we must love each other.
I have met countless workers over the years, men and women, who have inspired me with their courage and heroism to make a difference not only at their job, but in society. Against all odds, they continue to push forward to create a more just world. They do this not to become famous or popular, but because they are compelled to act by their faith. We should change the name of Monday’s holiday from Labor Day to A Labor of Love Day, and in so doing, honor all those who historically have and those who will take these same risks.
Let us never again forget that we belong to each other.
Rev. Dominic Grassi
Please click here for more resources related to Labor Day from our friends at Arise Chicago (arisechicago.org)
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Awakenings
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My family is one of diversity despite growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood and school system. My siblings and I were adopted into our family at young ages. My oldest brother, Rapher (27) is Black, I (24) am Irish and Polish, Kevin (22) is Mexican and Salvadoran, and Jack (17) is half Black, half Swedish. Our parents, Julie and Paul Ryan, both come from large, Irish Catholic families. My father’s side of the family has been close with Fr. Bill O'Shea for many years, receiving First Communions and Baptisms throughout generations. All four of us kids grew up going to church each Sunday and went to Catholic schools for grade school and high school. I also grew up singing and doing theatre which blessed me with exposure to the LGBTQ+ community through friendships with some of its members. The more I learned about the world and how our differences make us beautiful, the farther I seemed to stray from the church. Why was that?
Over the years, I've found myself struggling with the balance between the traditional beliefs of the Catholic Church and the ever-changing progress of our world. I noticed communities of people being ostracized because of who they were or how they chose to live their lives. Yet elsewhere in the world, we are trying to grow in understanding, learn from our history, and fight for the rights of minority groups. I worry that these conflicting messages are driving away Catholics my age, displaying a message of exclusivity and superiority. I began to doubt my religion and whether or not I wanted to be a part of a community like that. And then I found Old Saint Pat’s.
My roommate and I began watching mass in our little apartment in Indianapolis when the city shut down. We came in order to check "going to mass" off of our to-do list, and stayed for the music and teachings which are so boldly and eloquently shared. We have watched in awe the striking homilies about racial injustice and the candid messages about how Covid-19 is affecting ourselves and the people around us. These ministries are raw and truthful and touch the hearts of so many that are fighting their own battles. I have shared the livestream with many of my family and friends, excited to have found a church that captures my attention, addresses my yearning for inclusivity, and feeds my soul with beautiful music.
About a month ago, Fr. Tom gave a homily about taking the treasures of the old and making them new again. OSP has done that for me by way of the church. It has shown me that there is a way to be both devout to Christ and his teachings, and embrace the changes of the world. In fact, how can we follow the Lord’s commandment to “love thy neighbour as thyself” if we don’t? I find myself repeatedly admiring the "A Place of Welcome" banner at the bottom of the weekly worship aid each time I sit down for mass. It is so important to me to be a part of a community that opens its doors to all colors, creeds, orientations, and lifestyles. Throughout the past few months of attending church at home, I have felt my faith grow stronger. This church has taken the old, and brought it back to life. I am so thankful for that. As a second grade teacher in a suburb of Indy, I work each day to be a model of patience, grace, and kindness towards all. Though being back to school presents its own concerns, I feel now more than ever that it is my duty to teach and instill the values that OSP advocates for into our youth. Let every place be a place of welcome.
Old Saint Pat’s has been a meaningful presence in my family’s lives and mine. It is not often that we have come across a progressive church such as this. Without ever stepping into the physical church myself, I have felt a sense of welcome and acceptance that you simply don’t find everywhere. With each passing Sunday, it becomes easier to confidently proclaim that I am a devout member of the Catholic Church.
Thank you, OSP, for your honesty. Thank you for your welcoming attitude and thank you for embracing the importance of radical inclusivity, exquisite worship, and transformative kinship through your words and actions. A book I read to my second graders, called “All Are Welcome” by Alexandra Penfold, says it best: “We’re part of a community. Our strength is our diversity. A shelter from adversity. All are welcome here.”
Claire Ryan is friend of Old St. Pat's and we are so grateful to her for writing for Awakenings this month.
Over the years, I've found myself struggling with the balance between the traditional beliefs of the Catholic Church and the ever-changing progress of our world. I noticed communities of people being ostracized because of who they were or how they chose to live their lives. Yet elsewhere in the world, we are trying to grow in understanding, learn from our history, and fight for the rights of minority groups. I worry that these conflicting messages are driving away Catholics my age, displaying a message of exclusivity and superiority. I began to doubt my religion and whether or not I wanted to be a part of a community like that. And then I found Old Saint Pat’s.
My roommate and I began watching mass in our little apartment in Indianapolis when the city shut down. We came in order to check "going to mass" off of our to-do list, and stayed for the music and teachings which are so boldly and eloquently shared. We have watched in awe the striking homilies about racial injustice and the candid messages about how Covid-19 is affecting ourselves and the people around us. These ministries are raw and truthful and touch the hearts of so many that are fighting their own battles. I have shared the livestream with many of my family and friends, excited to have found a church that captures my attention, addresses my yearning for inclusivity, and feeds my soul with beautiful music.
About a month ago, Fr. Tom gave a homily about taking the treasures of the old and making them new again. OSP has done that for me by way of the church. It has shown me that there is a way to be both devout to Christ and his teachings, and embrace the changes of the world. In fact, how can we follow the Lord’s commandment to “love thy neighbour as thyself” if we don’t? I find myself repeatedly admiring the "A Place of Welcome" banner at the bottom of the weekly worship aid each time I sit down for mass. It is so important to me to be a part of a community that opens its doors to all colors, creeds, orientations, and lifestyles. Throughout the past few months of attending church at home, I have felt my faith grow stronger. This church has taken the old, and brought it back to life. I am so thankful for that. As a second grade teacher in a suburb of Indy, I work each day to be a model of patience, grace, and kindness towards all. Though being back to school presents its own concerns, I feel now more than ever that it is my duty to teach and instill the values that OSP advocates for into our youth. Let every place be a place of welcome.
Old Saint Pat’s has been a meaningful presence in my family’s lives and mine. It is not often that we have come across a progressive church such as this. Without ever stepping into the physical church myself, I have felt a sense of welcome and acceptance that you simply don’t find everywhere. With each passing Sunday, it becomes easier to confidently proclaim that I am a devout member of the Catholic Church.
Thank you, OSP, for your honesty. Thank you for your welcoming attitude and thank you for embracing the importance of radical inclusivity, exquisite worship, and transformative kinship through your words and actions. A book I read to my second graders, called “All Are Welcome” by Alexandra Penfold, says it best: “We’re part of a community. Our strength is our diversity. A shelter from adversity. All are welcome here.”
Claire Ryan is friend of Old St. Pat's and we are so grateful to her for writing for Awakenings this month.
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Awakenings
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White people can be exhausting.
By this time, most of us are familiar with the flashy headlines or online “click-bait” meant to increase newspaper sales or viewership (and subsequent advertising money). But I don’t think Austin Channing Brown begins her book “I Am Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made For Whiteness” with this sentence for shock-value or to enrage white people. In fact, like much of Channing Brown’s work, “I am Still Here” wasn’t written for white people at all. So her opening statement that white people can be exhausting is simply a truth she knows from experience and shares in the hopes that it might elicit a deep exhale and from those - particularly women of color - who might read it and think something to the effect of, “Amen!”
The idea of decentering whiteness has been one, I am ashamed to say, I have only started to really grasp over the last few years of my life. The Base Christian Communities I spent time with in Mexico, the neighborhood organizers and community health workers I met in Haiti, one of the neighborhood abuelitas in South Bend, Indiana - all remarkable people who shared their time, stories, and wisdom with me - taught me what it looked like to live the Gospel by focusing on the needs of others. But it took some time (perhaps like one’s eyes needing time to acclimate to a bright light) for me to understand that I had so much to unlearn: behaviors, assumptions, language, even thought processes that kept me placing myself at the center of most of the narrative.
The difficult truth is that anyone whose context affords them the privilege of always being at or adjacent to the center does not feel the need to step too far outside of that center. We tend to think that just noticing others is enough. Raising kids has taught me this in spades! As long as little kids are treated like they are the center of the universe, they will continue to act accordingly. Anyone outside of my kids’ little bubble will then be described as “funny” or “wrong” when they are seen doing something differently, wearing something different, or speaking in a different way. That is, unless we as parents are intentional about de-centering their particular experience by giving them access to different voices, faces, languages, music, culture, food, and faith.
Brene Brown (no relation) explains the experience of reading Channing Brown’s book in a way I find so poignant: There comes a time when I (someone who is white and has privilege) am faced with the stories and experiences of others who have been relegated to the margins, and I have to decide: Do I dismiss it as overdramatic or “fake news”? Or do I accept that the pain is real? Choosing the former is far more comfortable for me: it lets my conscience and maybe even my heart off the hook. And the latter - it’s gonna break my heart, leave me stunned, angry, confused, and unsettled. The truth is that for a lot of us, we don’t much have the tolerance to sit with our own pain, much less the complex pain of others.
Activists and authors like Austin Channing Brown, Ibram X. Kendi, and Tarana Burke have been my teachers of late, and the lessons are hard and unsettling. At times I want to put it all aside. And then I am reminded that the people on the margins don’t get the privilege of putting this aside or taking a break. Their pain is real, and their lives are affected in the small ways every day (getting told “I don’t think our mortgage services are for you” by that bank employee) and large ones (watching as your classmate with the same GPA, from the same school but a majority-culture sounding name gets multiple interviews resulting in a job offer, while your resume revealing something of your non-white culture mysteriously goes unnoticed time after time).
What if we did believe the pain is real? What if we did intentionally center the experience of others whose voices have been ignored. (To be clear, this act does not demand the diminishment of my existence or my dignity. It simply de-centers it.) How would it transform how we see things? How would it transform us? How would it transform our neighborhoods? Our kids’ lives? Our church community?
And so slowly, I find myself admitting that Channing Brown is right: People like me most certainly have been exhausting. But to take one more step, to unlearn one more racist assumption, to build up one more antiracist practice in the workplace … perhaps these actions of mine can contribute to lightening the potentially life-threatening burdens on the people of color who are promised rest from the same Lord I profess. For the same Lord who tenderly holds those in pain gently but firmly pushes Jesus’ disciples to repair what is broken, heal what is hurt, be part of how the Spirit “makes things new.”
Austin Channing Brown’s New York Times Bestselling book is published by Convergent Books. You can find the conversation between Brene Brown and Austin Channing Brown on The Next Question web series (tnqshow.com) archives.
By this time, most of us are familiar with the flashy headlines or online “click-bait” meant to increase newspaper sales or viewership (and subsequent advertising money). But I don’t think Austin Channing Brown begins her book “I Am Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made For Whiteness” with this sentence for shock-value or to enrage white people. In fact, like much of Channing Brown’s work, “I am Still Here” wasn’t written for white people at all. So her opening statement that white people can be exhausting is simply a truth she knows from experience and shares in the hopes that it might elicit a deep exhale and from those - particularly women of color - who might read it and think something to the effect of, “Amen!”
The idea of decentering whiteness has been one, I am ashamed to say, I have only started to really grasp over the last few years of my life. The Base Christian Communities I spent time with in Mexico, the neighborhood organizers and community health workers I met in Haiti, one of the neighborhood abuelitas in South Bend, Indiana - all remarkable people who shared their time, stories, and wisdom with me - taught me what it looked like to live the Gospel by focusing on the needs of others. But it took some time (perhaps like one’s eyes needing time to acclimate to a bright light) for me to understand that I had so much to unlearn: behaviors, assumptions, language, even thought processes that kept me placing myself at the center of most of the narrative.
The difficult truth is that anyone whose context affords them the privilege of always being at or adjacent to the center does not feel the need to step too far outside of that center. We tend to think that just noticing others is enough. Raising kids has taught me this in spades! As long as little kids are treated like they are the center of the universe, they will continue to act accordingly. Anyone outside of my kids’ little bubble will then be described as “funny” or “wrong” when they are seen doing something differently, wearing something different, or speaking in a different way. That is, unless we as parents are intentional about de-centering their particular experience by giving them access to different voices, faces, languages, music, culture, food, and faith.
Brene Brown (no relation) explains the experience of reading Channing Brown’s book in a way I find so poignant: There comes a time when I (someone who is white and has privilege) am faced with the stories and experiences of others who have been relegated to the margins, and I have to decide: Do I dismiss it as overdramatic or “fake news”? Or do I accept that the pain is real? Choosing the former is far more comfortable for me: it lets my conscience and maybe even my heart off the hook. And the latter - it’s gonna break my heart, leave me stunned, angry, confused, and unsettled. The truth is that for a lot of us, we don’t much have the tolerance to sit with our own pain, much less the complex pain of others.
Activists and authors like Austin Channing Brown, Ibram X. Kendi, and Tarana Burke have been my teachers of late, and the lessons are hard and unsettling. At times I want to put it all aside. And then I am reminded that the people on the margins don’t get the privilege of putting this aside or taking a break. Their pain is real, and their lives are affected in the small ways every day (getting told “I don’t think our mortgage services are for you” by that bank employee) and large ones (watching as your classmate with the same GPA, from the same school but a majority-culture sounding name gets multiple interviews resulting in a job offer, while your resume revealing something of your non-white culture mysteriously goes unnoticed time after time).
What if we did believe the pain is real? What if we did intentionally center the experience of others whose voices have been ignored. (To be clear, this act does not demand the diminishment of my existence or my dignity. It simply de-centers it.) How would it transform how we see things? How would it transform us? How would it transform our neighborhoods? Our kids’ lives? Our church community?
And so slowly, I find myself admitting that Channing Brown is right: People like me most certainly have been exhausting. But to take one more step, to unlearn one more racist assumption, to build up one more antiracist practice in the workplace … perhaps these actions of mine can contribute to lightening the potentially life-threatening burdens on the people of color who are promised rest from the same Lord I profess. For the same Lord who tenderly holds those in pain gently but firmly pushes Jesus’ disciples to repair what is broken, heal what is hurt, be part of how the Spirit “makes things new.”
Austin Channing Brown’s New York Times Bestselling book is published by Convergent Books. You can find the conversation between Brene Brown and Austin Channing Brown on The Next Question web series (tnqshow.com) archives.
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Finding Meaning in Loss
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We have all experienced some form of loss due to the pandemic. There are many examples of grieving in our lives due to the pandemic, mainly the loss or delay of our social rituals: proms, graduations, weddings, funerals. Rituals give us a moment that transcends where we turn life events into something special, creating a feeling of unity and sacredness that bonds us together. These life events mark the passage of time, giving us a sense of meaning, which makes forgoing them so hard. The losses, while part of the new normal, can be profound. There is so much out of our control. We are grieving a way of living that is no longer available.
A couple of weeks ago, a member burst into tears. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so sad. What's this heaviness inside of me?” she asked. Well, it’s grief. We are grieving the loss of our old way of life. The past five months have pushed many of us beyond limits: homeschooling forced upon parents, loss of income, loss of normal activities, loss of touch, isolation, racial divide, political unrest, to name a few. As one member suggested - there will be pain and it won’t be pretty or comfortable - but don’t be afraid of the mess.
David Kessler, a nationally renowned grief therapist, co-wrote “On Grief and Grieving; the 5 Stages of Grief” with Kubler-Ross. He also experienced his own profound grief when his son died unexpectedly of a drug overdose. In his new book “Finding Meaning, the 6th Stage of Grief”, he articulates an essential component of living with grief; the ability to construct meaning out of tragedy. This is not to replace the pain we feel over the many losses that have happened to us these last months, but when we add meaning, it’s adding a cushion. “Loss is simply what happens to you in life. Meaning is what you make happen after (Kessler)”.
When we first sheltered in place, one of my clients exclaimed, “When this is over, I want to be able to say, this is what I accomplished during the pandemic”. I was impressed with her ability to transform her anxiety into action. Unforeseen traumatic events can actually inspire us to change and grow, putting us all on new paths. A positive that has come out of the pandemic is many have had the time to reevaluate their priorities; where are we in life and where are we going from here? For others– there has been no pause; nurses, doctors, food workers, truckers, you are doing purposeful work. Parents of young children working from home along w/ managing childcare and remote learning – this is not a time of national pause for you. But for those whose lives have slowed down, we’ve been given the opportunity to take stock and look inward. Research shows that those who have purpose in their lives, live longer, are healthier, have better relationships, and are more satisfied with life overall. So take a moment and focus on a purposeful mindset – what you care about most. What are your values? How can you take advantage of all the strengths you bring to the table to make a positive impact on the lives of others? Embracing that there is a lot of unknown and anxiety right now, what can you do today to live out that purposeful mindset? It can be getting involved in the North Lawndale Works, calling an elderly friend or relative, writing cards to those who are alone, or safely volunteering. Creative connection is tonic for the isolation we are all feeling. The more we help, the more we heal ourselves. How can I turn my losses into meaning? How can I live my life as Christ would want me to?
Sarah Thompson is a licensed therapist and Old St. Pat’s Parish Counselor. Sarah is available for individual and couples counseling presently through secure video conferencing while Old St. Pat’s physical campus is closed. Contact Sarah at 773.234.9630 or [email protected].
A couple of weeks ago, a member burst into tears. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so sad. What's this heaviness inside of me?” she asked. Well, it’s grief. We are grieving the loss of our old way of life. The past five months have pushed many of us beyond limits: homeschooling forced upon parents, loss of income, loss of normal activities, loss of touch, isolation, racial divide, political unrest, to name a few. As one member suggested - there will be pain and it won’t be pretty or comfortable - but don’t be afraid of the mess.
David Kessler, a nationally renowned grief therapist, co-wrote “On Grief and Grieving; the 5 Stages of Grief” with Kubler-Ross. He also experienced his own profound grief when his son died unexpectedly of a drug overdose. In his new book “Finding Meaning, the 6th Stage of Grief”, he articulates an essential component of living with grief; the ability to construct meaning out of tragedy. This is not to replace the pain we feel over the many losses that have happened to us these last months, but when we add meaning, it’s adding a cushion. “Loss is simply what happens to you in life. Meaning is what you make happen after (Kessler)”.
When we first sheltered in place, one of my clients exclaimed, “When this is over, I want to be able to say, this is what I accomplished during the pandemic”. I was impressed with her ability to transform her anxiety into action. Unforeseen traumatic events can actually inspire us to change and grow, putting us all on new paths. A positive that has come out of the pandemic is many have had the time to reevaluate their priorities; where are we in life and where are we going from here? For others– there has been no pause; nurses, doctors, food workers, truckers, you are doing purposeful work. Parents of young children working from home along w/ managing childcare and remote learning – this is not a time of national pause for you. But for those whose lives have slowed down, we’ve been given the opportunity to take stock and look inward. Research shows that those who have purpose in their lives, live longer, are healthier, have better relationships, and are more satisfied with life overall. So take a moment and focus on a purposeful mindset – what you care about most. What are your values? How can you take advantage of all the strengths you bring to the table to make a positive impact on the lives of others? Embracing that there is a lot of unknown and anxiety right now, what can you do today to live out that purposeful mindset? It can be getting involved in the North Lawndale Works, calling an elderly friend or relative, writing cards to those who are alone, or safely volunteering. Creative connection is tonic for the isolation we are all feeling. The more we help, the more we heal ourselves. How can I turn my losses into meaning? How can I live my life as Christ would want me to?
Sarah Thompson is a licensed therapist and Old St. Pat’s Parish Counselor. Sarah is available for individual and couples counseling presently through secure video conferencing while Old St. Pat’s physical campus is closed. Contact Sarah at 773.234.9630 or [email protected].
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Wedding Volunteer Ministry
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The Wedding Volunteer Ministry started more than 30 years ago when Old St. Pat’s was still a parish made up of largely of young, single people looking for a spiritual home. What a long way we have come! Our indomitable founder Robin Ramel, who found an environment of utmost welcome for her own wedding and envisioning the coming tsunami of weddings, suggested starting a wedding volunteer ministry. We started out as a small group with Mary Jo Graf handling the scheduling (a thankless task done with such grace and patience) but soon grew as Old St. Pat’s became THE wedding destination in Chicago. For many years, we had four rehearsals and four weddings every weekend so they had to be handled with precision timing while still celebrating the joyful sacrament of Holy Matrimony. We couldn’t have pulled this all off without the dedication of JoAnn O’Brien who works directly with the couples and priests to take them through the process up to the wedding weekend.
My own journey to becoming a wedding volunteer probably started when I was about seven. My mother had been a wedding consultant for a large department store in Minneapolis during World War II and would tell such fairytale stories about the weddings she coordinated that I thought it sounded like a great job. As she helped many of her friends with their children’s weddings and eventually my own sister’s wedding, I learned her ’tricks of the trade.’ So, when Betty O’Toole recruited me to come help at Old St. Pat’s I was thrilled. We started out with just one volunteer handling everything from preparing the altar, setting up chairs, coordinating with the musicians, florists, photographers, and visiting priests. Oh, and we had to keep the entire wedding party calm and organized! There was a lot of running and trips up and down the spiral staircase but once the bride’s train was fluffed and everyone was down the aisle, we could sit in the back of church and listen to the beautiful music and wedding liturgy. In addition to several volunteers dedicated to rehearsals (which are a whole different level of timing and coordination), we now have two volunteers per wedding plus a sacristan, maintenance staff, and security—they have all been such valuable additions to the wedding team!
We are always looking for new members to join our ministry and it has been a joy to work with future brides and mothers who want to see how the wedding process works as they plan their own day as well as former brides and mothers who are so thankful for the wonderful experience they had at Old St. Pat’s. We’ve even had some couples as volunteers over the years. We have coordinator meetings twice a year; we welcome new members and the veterans get to tell stories of their favorite weddings. From the very beginning, Old St. Patrick’s has strived for inclusivity by welcoming young couples, older couples, sharing cultural traditions, and uniting those of mixed faiths.
The weddings can get pretty crazy and hectic and our mission is to keep the sacrament of marriage front of mind while ensuring that everything goes smoothly (or as smoothly as possible). It’s so gratifying to see some of ‘my couples’ become full time members of the parish, have children baptized here, and bring their parents into the circle that is Old St. Pat’s.
Some of my favorite weddings have been for the children of long time Old St. Pat’s members who I have known for years—often from before the parents were even married. I’ve watched their children from infancy, through being members of Foundations or singing in the children’s choir to bringing the new partner to Sunday Mass and then engagement and wedding. I’ve cried at weddings where I didn’t know anyone in the wedding party. I will never forget the military wedding where the groom and his brother, both in full dress uniform, walked their mother down the aisle. The groom’s brother had just lost his leg in Afghanistan but he was determined to help walk his mother down the aisle. His wife and children were nearby with his wheel chair but he made it down the aisle. I was crying so hard that one of the ushers asked if I was okay. The crossed swords outside of church after the wedding set me off again but they were joyful tears! Even the few weddings that were a bit of a challenge make for good learning experiences and stories at the Spring and Fall coordinators gatherings. We really should write a book!
As we resume the weddings at Old St. Pat’s, it’s going to be an interesting challenge for the wedding volunteers to show radical hospitality while keeping a safe and healthy environment. These couples have had to face a lot of delays and disappointments when all they want is to get their new life started—It will be an honor to help them have the best day possible!
We would love to have you as a volunteer wedding coordinator! Please contact JoAnn O’Brien at [email protected] if you would like to become part of this joyful Ministry.
My own journey to becoming a wedding volunteer probably started when I was about seven. My mother had been a wedding consultant for a large department store in Minneapolis during World War II and would tell such fairytale stories about the weddings she coordinated that I thought it sounded like a great job. As she helped many of her friends with their children’s weddings and eventually my own sister’s wedding, I learned her ’tricks of the trade.’ So, when Betty O’Toole recruited me to come help at Old St. Pat’s I was thrilled. We started out with just one volunteer handling everything from preparing the altar, setting up chairs, coordinating with the musicians, florists, photographers, and visiting priests. Oh, and we had to keep the entire wedding party calm and organized! There was a lot of running and trips up and down the spiral staircase but once the bride’s train was fluffed and everyone was down the aisle, we could sit in the back of church and listen to the beautiful music and wedding liturgy. In addition to several volunteers dedicated to rehearsals (which are a whole different level of timing and coordination), we now have two volunteers per wedding plus a sacristan, maintenance staff, and security—they have all been such valuable additions to the wedding team!
We are always looking for new members to join our ministry and it has been a joy to work with future brides and mothers who want to see how the wedding process works as they plan their own day as well as former brides and mothers who are so thankful for the wonderful experience they had at Old St. Pat’s. We’ve even had some couples as volunteers over the years. We have coordinator meetings twice a year; we welcome new members and the veterans get to tell stories of their favorite weddings. From the very beginning, Old St. Patrick’s has strived for inclusivity by welcoming young couples, older couples, sharing cultural traditions, and uniting those of mixed faiths.
The weddings can get pretty crazy and hectic and our mission is to keep the sacrament of marriage front of mind while ensuring that everything goes smoothly (or as smoothly as possible). It’s so gratifying to see some of ‘my couples’ become full time members of the parish, have children baptized here, and bring their parents into the circle that is Old St. Pat’s.
Some of my favorite weddings have been for the children of long time Old St. Pat’s members who I have known for years—often from before the parents were even married. I’ve watched their children from infancy, through being members of Foundations or singing in the children’s choir to bringing the new partner to Sunday Mass and then engagement and wedding. I’ve cried at weddings where I didn’t know anyone in the wedding party. I will never forget the military wedding where the groom and his brother, both in full dress uniform, walked their mother down the aisle. The groom’s brother had just lost his leg in Afghanistan but he was determined to help walk his mother down the aisle. His wife and children were nearby with his wheel chair but he made it down the aisle. I was crying so hard that one of the ushers asked if I was okay. The crossed swords outside of church after the wedding set me off again but they were joyful tears! Even the few weddings that were a bit of a challenge make for good learning experiences and stories at the Spring and Fall coordinators gatherings. We really should write a book!
As we resume the weddings at Old St. Pat’s, it’s going to be an interesting challenge for the wedding volunteers to show radical hospitality while keeping a safe and healthy environment. These couples have had to face a lot of delays and disappointments when all they want is to get their new life started—It will be an honor to help them have the best day possible!
We would love to have you as a volunteer wedding coordinator! Please contact JoAnn O’Brien at [email protected] if you would like to become part of this joyful Ministry.
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Renewed by Our Newest Members
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In a 2018 interview, New York Times Best-selling author, theologian, and professor of world religions Barbara Brown Taylor described that many people tend to treat religions almost as trains meant to get them to a destination. In this way of thinking, the key is obviously to find the RIGHT train, because then I know I will get to the precise destination. Brown Taylor notes that in her experience, a religious tradition acts more as a sailboat than a train: still a vehicle, but rarely providing a straight or ‘efficient’ journey. When the wind changes, the route changes a bit. When the seas get rougher, the journey slows. And who knows? Perhaps you are a different person because of the journey.
Nearly a year ago, thirty-some individuals made their way to room 25 on the second floor of our Fr. Jack Wall Mission Center on Monroe Street for a Tuesday evening gathering. We welcomed them with a pasta dinner, desserts made by volunteers, and some warm smiles. They came in that remarkably simple and windowless room, risking the awkwardness of a new experience - each with some different motivations, but all with a sense of curiosity about a faith tradition they had witnessed or learned about in their own search.
The RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) is the Catholic Church’s process for adults who are curious about the Catholic Tradition and perhaps feel drawn to it in some way. At Old St. Pat’s, the RCIA looks like Tuesday nights with an abundance of food, an embarrassingly simple format with sometimes mysterious turns.
Some of us who help to host this experience are ‘cradle Catholics’ - we have been swimming in this faith, this tradition, this culture for basically our whole lives. Others of us on the ‘RCIA team’ came into the Catholic church as adults through the very same process they accompany others along week to week. One thing that everyone on our hosting team and every one of our teacher-presenters have in common, though, is that not one of us believes ourselves to be sitting at some final destination because we chose (or were gifted) with the the one right (i.e. Catholic) train to get us there, directly and efficiently.
After 13 years of walking this road with people from Old St. Pat’s, I can say with deep certainty that my faith has been shaped and formed as much by the hundreds of adults who have undertaken the RCIA journey over the years as all of my studies of Catholic doctrine or the spiritual or theological writings of the Doctors of the Church like Aquinas, Teresa of Avila, or Catherine of Sienna. The wisdom and authentic encounter with God that any person brings with them on their journey helps shape the journey of those with whom they share the boat. This includes all of our wounds, our scars, our misunderstandings, our inspirations, and our hopes. All of it can become the sacred tools for the mysterious adventure that is a journey sailing on the sea of life.
This year, our team has humbly tried to accompany our 32 candidates and catechumens (now called “Elect”) on this (extra-long) journey of exploring Catholicism and discerning if this is the boat they feel called to jump on for the next movement of their faith journeys. It has been an honor and a privilege to witness them do their work of learning, prayer, personal discernment, and community engagement. They have had to face the tradition’s flawed history and structure, and see if God was calling them into participation in the messy, graced, and imperfect life of this faith community. They have risked asking our teachers, themselves, and one another some really tough questions. They have risked the vulnerability of taking part in a mystery, the depth of which is never fully accessed. They have taught us so much, bringing the gifts of their spiritual backgrounds with them as they consider the symbols, styles and spiritual tools of Catholicism.
It is with joy and excitement that we are able to celebrate initiation with many of these individuals today and in the coming months. We are so grateful for their patience, perseverance, grace, eagerness, and passion. They have been and will continue to be profound gifts to our Old St. Pat’s community and the larger Catholic Church. For by their own stories and struggles, gifts and strengths they renew the Body of Christ, making the entire crew of this Catholic boat more ready to live as disciples and help transform the world.
Keara Ette is the Director of Ministries at Old St. Patrick's Church.
Nearly a year ago, thirty-some individuals made their way to room 25 on the second floor of our Fr. Jack Wall Mission Center on Monroe Street for a Tuesday evening gathering. We welcomed them with a pasta dinner, desserts made by volunteers, and some warm smiles. They came in that remarkably simple and windowless room, risking the awkwardness of a new experience - each with some different motivations, but all with a sense of curiosity about a faith tradition they had witnessed or learned about in their own search.
The RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) is the Catholic Church’s process for adults who are curious about the Catholic Tradition and perhaps feel drawn to it in some way. At Old St. Pat’s, the RCIA looks like Tuesday nights with an abundance of food, an embarrassingly simple format with sometimes mysterious turns.
Some of us who help to host this experience are ‘cradle Catholics’ - we have been swimming in this faith, this tradition, this culture for basically our whole lives. Others of us on the ‘RCIA team’ came into the Catholic church as adults through the very same process they accompany others along week to week. One thing that everyone on our hosting team and every one of our teacher-presenters have in common, though, is that not one of us believes ourselves to be sitting at some final destination because we chose (or were gifted) with the the one right (i.e. Catholic) train to get us there, directly and efficiently.
After 13 years of walking this road with people from Old St. Pat’s, I can say with deep certainty that my faith has been shaped and formed as much by the hundreds of adults who have undertaken the RCIA journey over the years as all of my studies of Catholic doctrine or the spiritual or theological writings of the Doctors of the Church like Aquinas, Teresa of Avila, or Catherine of Sienna. The wisdom and authentic encounter with God that any person brings with them on their journey helps shape the journey of those with whom they share the boat. This includes all of our wounds, our scars, our misunderstandings, our inspirations, and our hopes. All of it can become the sacred tools for the mysterious adventure that is a journey sailing on the sea of life.
This year, our team has humbly tried to accompany our 32 candidates and catechumens (now called “Elect”) on this (extra-long) journey of exploring Catholicism and discerning if this is the boat they feel called to jump on for the next movement of their faith journeys. It has been an honor and a privilege to witness them do their work of learning, prayer, personal discernment, and community engagement. They have had to face the tradition’s flawed history and structure, and see if God was calling them into participation in the messy, graced, and imperfect life of this faith community. They have risked asking our teachers, themselves, and one another some really tough questions. They have risked the vulnerability of taking part in a mystery, the depth of which is never fully accessed. They have taught us so much, bringing the gifts of their spiritual backgrounds with them as they consider the symbols, styles and spiritual tools of Catholicism.
It is with joy and excitement that we are able to celebrate initiation with many of these individuals today and in the coming months. We are so grateful for their patience, perseverance, grace, eagerness, and passion. They have been and will continue to be profound gifts to our Old St. Pat’s community and the larger Catholic Church. For by their own stories and struggles, gifts and strengths they renew the Body of Christ, making the entire crew of this Catholic boat more ready to live as disciples and help transform the world.
Keara Ette is the Director of Ministries at Old St. Patrick's Church.
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God Transforms the Ordinary, Nondescript Places of our Lives into something Special, Something Sacred, Something Holy
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Spiritual Communion is an invitation to engage with the Divine, and to connect with the God in our midst even when we are hungry. William of Saint-Thierry was one of the first theologians to offer an account of what happens when Christ comes into the soul through the Eucharist. William argues, that when we receive the Eucharist we seek more of the life of the soul. I offer a beautiful tapestry of soul stories that remind me that our God is indeed working in miraculous ways creating the Kingdom of God. There is a beauty in the spaces that are created for honest conversation and the desire to make the most of our spiritual communion with our God.
In April one of our members called me in deep pain and isolation. He spent many months discerning why almost all of the relationships in his life had broken down over the years. Now that the pandemic had restricted any outside interaction - he was lost and alone. He was very depressed and shared he longed for a meaningful activity to survive these covid days alone. Over many weeks we prayed about Hope and the Holy Spirit. Last month he told me that nearly every week after our livestream mass he has attempted a phone call to apologize or repair a relationship in his life. He honestly sounded lighter and we wept together both for the conversations that went well and for those which are still opportunities for self-growth. The living bread of God feeds our humility, compassion and our ability to forgive a mountain of wounds still in need of healing.
Many years ago, a member I had counseled experienced the breakdown of her marriage. For many years post her divorce she felt bewildered and abandoned by loss. Over the years she recognized that despite her humiliation, anger and grief, her God was with her and she began to heal. In early May this member called me to say that she was so thankful those days were behind her. She offered that as her Spiritual Communion she has devoted herself to calling and writing women fresh in the healing process of a recent divorce. She said by offering her time in gratitude she experiences communion with the Lord. By doing so she reminded me that God shows up to nourish us when we don’t expect or think we deserve God’s presence.
Another new friend of encounter made a courageous decision to check into a six-month sobriety program to better her life last summer. There have been many days in a part time job that she has questioned her choice to leave a full-time job for her own self-healing. The stress of these last months have caused her to want to resume drinking. Instead she asked for support and helped me deliver food to homebound members in need for the last few months. Her desire for spiritual communion enabled her to become the bread of life for others and by the grace of strangers she also received support she needed.
Rightly understood and practiced, spiritual communion outside of Mass is that moment when we receive the Holy Spirit in our souls, eating love in memory as we wait to receive Christ again in our bodies. Receiving the Holy Spirit in our souls and responding in love changes everything. Speaking of love that changes everything. This week my nephew Benedict (pictured to the right) turns six years old. Ben’s entire life has been a journey in placing himself in the arms of God. Benedict is special needs. He was born with 13-Q deletion syndrome and in the first few months of his life he was diagnosed with retinoblastoma cancer. He has suffered severe muscle tone issues that made us question whether he would ever be able to walk or talk or understand Love. Due to allergies to food and some severe respitory illness Ben has spent most of his life on a feeding tube and receiving oxygen. In reflecting on the last three weeks of Gospels I am reminded that just because we can’t see the mustard seed doesn’t mean the mustard seed isn’t there. In the same way, our inability to see or receive the Eucharist doesn’t affect God’s ability to be present. I believe that God is always at work in and for us. And in the parables of the growing mustard seed, we can be assured of one thing: new life is going to come. There is no place so dry or hardened or cold that won’t soften and live and produce new growth. God is in the business of growing new and beautiful things out of the dirt of our lives. Over the last few months my nephew Benedict has taken his first steps on his own and continues his adventures in self nourishment due to the committed love of his parents, his therapists & his God. Our Benny boy feeds our family with his love, his perseverance, and his Joy every day!
So, if you’re in a place where you know regret and shame, or confusion and sadness. Or if you are in a place of patient waiting, I’m here to say: stay tuned. God is churning the soil of our lives. The seed is turning. We may not understand how the Kingdom of God will come to life in us, or the way that God is waiting to feed us in these strange times. But grace, with all of its mystery, reveals that new life is ready to burst. The ground is being transformed. So are we. The next time you reach down and gather soil in your hands, remember you are the dirt nestled in God’s hands, and God is nestled in you.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
In April one of our members called me in deep pain and isolation. He spent many months discerning why almost all of the relationships in his life had broken down over the years. Now that the pandemic had restricted any outside interaction - he was lost and alone. He was very depressed and shared he longed for a meaningful activity to survive these covid days alone. Over many weeks we prayed about Hope and the Holy Spirit. Last month he told me that nearly every week after our livestream mass he has attempted a phone call to apologize or repair a relationship in his life. He honestly sounded lighter and we wept together both for the conversations that went well and for those which are still opportunities for self-growth. The living bread of God feeds our humility, compassion and our ability to forgive a mountain of wounds still in need of healing.
Many years ago, a member I had counseled experienced the breakdown of her marriage. For many years post her divorce she felt bewildered and abandoned by loss. Over the years she recognized that despite her humiliation, anger and grief, her God was with her and she began to heal. In early May this member called me to say that she was so thankful those days were behind her. She offered that as her Spiritual Communion she has devoted herself to calling and writing women fresh in the healing process of a recent divorce. She said by offering her time in gratitude she experiences communion with the Lord. By doing so she reminded me that God shows up to nourish us when we don’t expect or think we deserve God’s presence.
Another new friend of encounter made a courageous decision to check into a six-month sobriety program to better her life last summer. There have been many days in a part time job that she has questioned her choice to leave a full-time job for her own self-healing. The stress of these last months have caused her to want to resume drinking. Instead she asked for support and helped me deliver food to homebound members in need for the last few months. Her desire for spiritual communion enabled her to become the bread of life for others and by the grace of strangers she also received support she needed.
Rightly understood and practiced, spiritual communion outside of Mass is that moment when we receive the Holy Spirit in our souls, eating love in memory as we wait to receive Christ again in our bodies. Receiving the Holy Spirit in our souls and responding in love changes everything. Speaking of love that changes everything. This week my nephew Benedict (pictured to the right) turns six years old. Ben’s entire life has been a journey in placing himself in the arms of God. Benedict is special needs. He was born with 13-Q deletion syndrome and in the first few months of his life he was diagnosed with retinoblastoma cancer. He has suffered severe muscle tone issues that made us question whether he would ever be able to walk or talk or understand Love. Due to allergies to food and some severe respitory illness Ben has spent most of his life on a feeding tube and receiving oxygen. In reflecting on the last three weeks of Gospels I am reminded that just because we can’t see the mustard seed doesn’t mean the mustard seed isn’t there. In the same way, our inability to see or receive the Eucharist doesn’t affect God’s ability to be present. I believe that God is always at work in and for us. And in the parables of the growing mustard seed, we can be assured of one thing: new life is going to come. There is no place so dry or hardened or cold that won’t soften and live and produce new growth. God is in the business of growing new and beautiful things out of the dirt of our lives. Over the last few months my nephew Benedict has taken his first steps on his own and continues his adventures in self nourishment due to the committed love of his parents, his therapists & his God. Our Benny boy feeds our family with his love, his perseverance, and his Joy every day!
So, if you’re in a place where you know regret and shame, or confusion and sadness. Or if you are in a place of patient waiting, I’m here to say: stay tuned. God is churning the soil of our lives. The seed is turning. We may not understand how the Kingdom of God will come to life in us, or the way that God is waiting to feed us in these strange times. But grace, with all of its mystery, reveals that new life is ready to burst. The ground is being transformed. So are we. The next time you reach down and gather soil in your hands, remember you are the dirt nestled in God’s hands, and God is nestled in you.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
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The Weeds that Choke Justice
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Jesus shares a second parable this week about sowing seeds, this time about two sowers - one who sows good seed to grow wheat, and the other who sows weeds among the wheat. The kingdom of heaven is compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field, and another man came and sowed some other kind of seed, and it all grew up together, and the servants came and asked the man what to do, etc. The whole story is a picture of what God hopes for Her kingdom. Literally, the Greek text here means the kingdom "has become like" this. Jesus says that because in the first parable he began by sowing the word in the hearts of individuals. Some of the seed fell on good ground and brought forth fruit and transformed those individuals so that they became sons and daughters of the kingdom. Then in this parable Jesus says he now takes these sons and daughters of the kingdom and scatters them throughout the land.
In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus gathered with his disciples and said to them, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature" "baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”, teaching them to observe all that the Spirit commanded them. Therefore that "great commission" was the beginning of scattering these sons and daughters of the kingdom throughout the world. As you read on in the book of Acts you find that on the Day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit came and empowered the waiting disciples, filling them with the fruits of Himself. Then, a little later on, persecution arose, and the disciples were scattered everywhere, preaching the word where people felt lost and separated from God. Wherever you are, as a son or daughter of the kingdom, you have been put there intentionally. Together we gather as a church and together we go out to sow the seed of forgiveness and mercy. There seems to be a temptation in every age to purify the community by rooting out the bad seed. We work ourselves into a weeding frenzy, certain that we know the difference between weeds and wheat, and that we know how to deal with the weeds! Jesus' parable makes clear that any attempt to root out the weeds will only do more damage to the crop. Jesus makes clear that we simply cannot make decisions about who is "in" or who is "out." We should leave the weeding to the angels and get on with the mission Jesus has given us - proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God in the world. The parable today invites us to costly discipleship. It calls for our response to both offer forgiveness, and ask for forgiveness and a willingness to trust in the purposes of God.
Last week, someone gave me some feedback that made me question my participation in our mission of inclusivity and racial injustice. In hearing their question I recognized it was born of years of isolation, pain, and injustice. This week the seed of that question has grown in me, and I watered and fed it with my prayers, ruminations and reflections. And I realized, I can sit and feel increasing shame and guilt about my own neighborhood and prejudice or I can re-read the parable which seems to suggest: that evil is real but so are the “fruits” our time working in the field, turning and tending the soil of our own hearts and minds. As we work toward a society in which all people are treated with dignity and respect, we will have to contend with the weeds that choke justice, literally and figuratively. And in light of my own questions, I know that telling people who are presently suffering pain to wait for a future justice only fails to promote God’s kingdom. In the parable the weeds don’t destroy the wheat. The Gospel shares that there will come a time when evil will be seen for what it is. Some days I believe that; some days I wish the pace of justice moved quicker and that our demands of ourselves to cultivate good soil and receive word of the kingdom were more of a priority.
In the end, we are called to have hope. Wheat and weeds. Our preoccupation with the weeds must not prevent us from recognizing the wondrous conclusion of the parable: how indeed the harvest happens, an abundance of wheat is gathered in, enough to feed the entire community. The seed was good, and it bore, through adversity, a fruitful harvest. And so the parable ends on a note about how the righteous will shine forth like the sun in the Kingdom of God. May we show patience, empathy and compassion and let those, whose stories are different than ours, not remain invisible. Let us take heart, have courage, and try to listen and learn more fully living in the wisdom of the parable and those who call out for justice. And when we have listened long enough to truly care about the cries of the aching hearts, then let the conversations begin and respectful action follow. Amen.
In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus gathered with his disciples and said to them, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature" "baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”, teaching them to observe all that the Spirit commanded them. Therefore that "great commission" was the beginning of scattering these sons and daughters of the kingdom throughout the world. As you read on in the book of Acts you find that on the Day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit came and empowered the waiting disciples, filling them with the fruits of Himself. Then, a little later on, persecution arose, and the disciples were scattered everywhere, preaching the word where people felt lost and separated from God. Wherever you are, as a son or daughter of the kingdom, you have been put there intentionally. Together we gather as a church and together we go out to sow the seed of forgiveness and mercy. There seems to be a temptation in every age to purify the community by rooting out the bad seed. We work ourselves into a weeding frenzy, certain that we know the difference between weeds and wheat, and that we know how to deal with the weeds! Jesus' parable makes clear that any attempt to root out the weeds will only do more damage to the crop. Jesus makes clear that we simply cannot make decisions about who is "in" or who is "out." We should leave the weeding to the angels and get on with the mission Jesus has given us - proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God in the world. The parable today invites us to costly discipleship. It calls for our response to both offer forgiveness, and ask for forgiveness and a willingness to trust in the purposes of God.
Last week, someone gave me some feedback that made me question my participation in our mission of inclusivity and racial injustice. In hearing their question I recognized it was born of years of isolation, pain, and injustice. This week the seed of that question has grown in me, and I watered and fed it with my prayers, ruminations and reflections. And I realized, I can sit and feel increasing shame and guilt about my own neighborhood and prejudice or I can re-read the parable which seems to suggest: that evil is real but so are the “fruits” our time working in the field, turning and tending the soil of our own hearts and minds. As we work toward a society in which all people are treated with dignity and respect, we will have to contend with the weeds that choke justice, literally and figuratively. And in light of my own questions, I know that telling people who are presently suffering pain to wait for a future justice only fails to promote God’s kingdom. In the parable the weeds don’t destroy the wheat. The Gospel shares that there will come a time when evil will be seen for what it is. Some days I believe that; some days I wish the pace of justice moved quicker and that our demands of ourselves to cultivate good soil and receive word of the kingdom were more of a priority.
In the end, we are called to have hope. Wheat and weeds. Our preoccupation with the weeds must not prevent us from recognizing the wondrous conclusion of the parable: how indeed the harvest happens, an abundance of wheat is gathered in, enough to feed the entire community. The seed was good, and it bore, through adversity, a fruitful harvest. And so the parable ends on a note about how the righteous will shine forth like the sun in the Kingdom of God. May we show patience, empathy and compassion and let those, whose stories are different than ours, not remain invisible. Let us take heart, have courage, and try to listen and learn more fully living in the wisdom of the parable and those who call out for justice. And when we have listened long enough to truly care about the cries of the aching hearts, then let the conversations begin and respectful action follow. Amen.
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God Simply Wants to Sow Her Life in Ours
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Parables offer a different perspective, a new worldview. They give us a glimpse into God’s world and what God is like. They heal our ears and our eyes so that we might hear and understand, see and perceive. Parables are not meant to test human intelligence. They test our heart’s willingness to surrender to and be enveloped in the always surprising generosity of God. The surprising generosity of God is exactly what the parable of the sower reveals.
I suspect I have met many in these past months who have walked the hard-packed path of prejudice, a path where not much grows, where life and opportunities are too quickly snatched away. I suspect I have met some members who know what it is like to live between a rock and hard place. On the rocky ground of life which withers because it is hard to put down roots. There’s little security or stability where the sun scorches your dreams and your prayers for opportunity feel unheard. Surely we have all watched people who walk amongst the thorns of violence, fear, anger, and poverty these past weeks. No doubt those thorns have wrapped themselves around communities choking away dignity, security, and trust. I pray that what is represented today in the Gospel is that the best soil stands for the places which allow us to nourish life, love, and hope for those who need reminders of God sowing Her life in theirs.
If you look at today’s Gospel on the surface you might think that God is talking about finding the correct platform to sow our seed. But what if Jesus is not just describing different types of soil or circumstances of life but instead Jesus is describing our inner geography. The parable today invites us to be self-reflective and examine the kind of life we are living. I think that’s how we most often use and, unfortunately, abuse this parable. We live in a world that thrives on competition, comparison, and judgment. So, we reduce the parable to one obvious question. What kind of dirt are you? In doing so we put ourselves at the center of the parable and push the sower into the background. The “what kind of dirt are you” question is not, however, the only way to read this parable. That question may just be a decoy that distracts us from other ways of reading this parable.
My sister and her husband’s family are farmers. And when I read the parable I reflect on its absurdity. A farmer goes out and sows seed on a public pathway, on rocky ground, and amongst the thorns. That is simply wasteful, inefficient, and ineffective. It’s bad farming. You can’t plant seeds among the rocks and thorns or on a path and then act surprised or complain that nothing grew. The story Jesus tells simply does not fit in our world. To know that is the beginning of understanding this parable. The sower sows the same seeds in all four soils with equal toil, equal hope, and equal generosity. The sower does so without evaluation of the soil’s quality or potential. There is no soil left unsown. No ground is declared undeserving of the sower’s seeds. This is not about the quality of dirt. It’s about the quality of God, the divine sower. We want to judge what kind of dirt we are. God simply wants to sow Her life in ours. Whether we are expensive soil or rocky soil we are sown with the seeds of God. No life, no person, no soil is left unsown.
Seeds here. Seeds there. Seeds everywhere. Given today’s fragile economic and tentative reality that seems like poor planning – by today’s farming practices it is inefficient. With the cost of seeds and the time spent sowing it may not even be profitable. These are not, however, the sower’s concerns. They are our concerns. Thankfully this parable is about God’s faithfulness and not about farming, soil quality, or how things work in this world. In the sower’s world wastefulness gives way to hope, inefficiency to love, and profitability to generosity. Every part of our lives has been sown with the seeds of God and we know what happens to these seeds…they grow in fertile ground!
My thoughts are seed. My words are seed and those words are first sowed in my mind and in my heart. It makes a difference when I craft my words in kind and thoughtful ways to be inclusive of others. We can find ourselves preoccupied with discerning what is fertile ground. We need to sow what we can, while we can, and leave the results with God to bring about Justice in the world. We need to have faith that our labor is never in vain and that our choice to wait to sow the seeds of justice has consequential implications. We are all called to work the land of our own inner geography, where there is always need for sowing, watering and reaping the questions of our lives. Our choices to work the soil affect ourselves and others in dramatic ways, whether we see the fruit of our labors immediately or not. God reminds us no life, no person, no soil will be left unturned. Given the right conditions we all bear fruit. Given the right conditions, Apple seeds become Apples. Hope seeds become Hope. God seeds become…God.
I suspect I have met many in these past months who have walked the hard-packed path of prejudice, a path where not much grows, where life and opportunities are too quickly snatched away. I suspect I have met some members who know what it is like to live between a rock and hard place. On the rocky ground of life which withers because it is hard to put down roots. There’s little security or stability where the sun scorches your dreams and your prayers for opportunity feel unheard. Surely we have all watched people who walk amongst the thorns of violence, fear, anger, and poverty these past weeks. No doubt those thorns have wrapped themselves around communities choking away dignity, security, and trust. I pray that what is represented today in the Gospel is that the best soil stands for the places which allow us to nourish life, love, and hope for those who need reminders of God sowing Her life in theirs.
If you look at today’s Gospel on the surface you might think that God is talking about finding the correct platform to sow our seed. But what if Jesus is not just describing different types of soil or circumstances of life but instead Jesus is describing our inner geography. The parable today invites us to be self-reflective and examine the kind of life we are living. I think that’s how we most often use and, unfortunately, abuse this parable. We live in a world that thrives on competition, comparison, and judgment. So, we reduce the parable to one obvious question. What kind of dirt are you? In doing so we put ourselves at the center of the parable and push the sower into the background. The “what kind of dirt are you” question is not, however, the only way to read this parable. That question may just be a decoy that distracts us from other ways of reading this parable.
My sister and her husband’s family are farmers. And when I read the parable I reflect on its absurdity. A farmer goes out and sows seed on a public pathway, on rocky ground, and amongst the thorns. That is simply wasteful, inefficient, and ineffective. It’s bad farming. You can’t plant seeds among the rocks and thorns or on a path and then act surprised or complain that nothing grew. The story Jesus tells simply does not fit in our world. To know that is the beginning of understanding this parable. The sower sows the same seeds in all four soils with equal toil, equal hope, and equal generosity. The sower does so without evaluation of the soil’s quality or potential. There is no soil left unsown. No ground is declared undeserving of the sower’s seeds. This is not about the quality of dirt. It’s about the quality of God, the divine sower. We want to judge what kind of dirt we are. God simply wants to sow Her life in ours. Whether we are expensive soil or rocky soil we are sown with the seeds of God. No life, no person, no soil is left unsown.
Seeds here. Seeds there. Seeds everywhere. Given today’s fragile economic and tentative reality that seems like poor planning – by today’s farming practices it is inefficient. With the cost of seeds and the time spent sowing it may not even be profitable. These are not, however, the sower’s concerns. They are our concerns. Thankfully this parable is about God’s faithfulness and not about farming, soil quality, or how things work in this world. In the sower’s world wastefulness gives way to hope, inefficiency to love, and profitability to generosity. Every part of our lives has been sown with the seeds of God and we know what happens to these seeds…they grow in fertile ground!
My thoughts are seed. My words are seed and those words are first sowed in my mind and in my heart. It makes a difference when I craft my words in kind and thoughtful ways to be inclusive of others. We can find ourselves preoccupied with discerning what is fertile ground. We need to sow what we can, while we can, and leave the results with God to bring about Justice in the world. We need to have faith that our labor is never in vain and that our choice to wait to sow the seeds of justice has consequential implications. We are all called to work the land of our own inner geography, where there is always need for sowing, watering and reaping the questions of our lives. Our choices to work the soil affect ourselves and others in dramatic ways, whether we see the fruit of our labors immediately or not. God reminds us no life, no person, no soil will be left unturned. Given the right conditions we all bear fruit. Given the right conditions, Apple seeds become Apples. Hope seeds become Hope. God seeds become…God.
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One Nation under God with Liberty and Justice for All
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The 4th of July has always been a day that holds special meaning for me. Like Christmas, the 4th has a place in my heart that signals the rhythm of the year and the pace of the summer. My memories burn into my heart like a sparkler of sunny afternoons, flags, parades and dreaming under the fireworks of what my life might be.
In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. This year once again we need to take time to make these words our own. What existed only in the minds and hearts of our founding fathers and mothers became the foundation for the United States of America.
Pope Francis says: “Religious freedom is not only that of private thought or worship. It is the liberty to live, both privately and publicly, according to the ethical principles resulting from found truth.” As I offer my found truth, I invite you to observe this holiday with a deeper, interior observance of your own heart. What we celebrate today is what all people strive for, and what every heart hungers for: Freedom. In his struggle for civil rights, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. chose not to attack America for her failings, but instead to challenge her. Rev. King called for America to live up to the noble ideals expressed in our Declaration of Independence.
It is my sense that at this critical threshold in history, where change is needed, each and every American ought to revisit the moment of our founding. Perhaps today we imagine the courage and perseverance it will take to create a world of balanced liberties, where racial injustice is eradicated. It has never been more important to reflect on what it means to offer life, liberty, and happiness. While it is safe to say everyone desires these goods, not everyone understands where they can be found. In fact, it is not even a question of where they are found, but in whom they are found: "I am the way and the truth and the life.” I reflect on the hope that our faith can provide. A platform where a tremendous, fiery love is ignited in the human spirit to share an unexpected Divine glance of love for neighbors and friends, in Kinship.
This week the Gospel states, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest in Me.” There are no words that are more sacred to me in these strange days. They are sacred because they reflect divine reality. We are celebrating our right, as Americans and as Catholics, to live fully our faith according to our conscience. We need to stand up, to stand together; and to be prophetic in our desire for change. We can re-birth America into the land who welcomes everyone to the table and offers them the resources to thrive there. This holiday is an invitation to listen for our preconceptions and prejudices. Perhaps we are invited today to approach every person and every experience with true discernment, looking past the surface and into the heart of what God is doing. As we wrestle with our own prejudices, perhaps, we are being asked to give evidence before a skeptical world that despite the fireworks and violence there is a path to justice, platformed with love.
As Saint Paul wrote, “We set our eyes not on what we see but on what we cannot see. What we see will last only a short time, but what we cannot see will last forever.” When life and uncertainty strikes, we, too, are left to choose what we see. We can see either the Hurt or opportunity to become the Healer. Faith invites us to open ourselves to the possibility that we could be the founding mother of change. That we can offer miracles and realize that there is sacred ground all around us. Each of us has a responsibility, to work for the protection of all human rights. If we succeed, we will restore the foundation of our Republic as one nation under God with liberty and justice for all.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. This year once again we need to take time to make these words our own. What existed only in the minds and hearts of our founding fathers and mothers became the foundation for the United States of America.
Pope Francis says: “Religious freedom is not only that of private thought or worship. It is the liberty to live, both privately and publicly, according to the ethical principles resulting from found truth.” As I offer my found truth, I invite you to observe this holiday with a deeper, interior observance of your own heart. What we celebrate today is what all people strive for, and what every heart hungers for: Freedom. In his struggle for civil rights, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. chose not to attack America for her failings, but instead to challenge her. Rev. King called for America to live up to the noble ideals expressed in our Declaration of Independence.
It is my sense that at this critical threshold in history, where change is needed, each and every American ought to revisit the moment of our founding. Perhaps today we imagine the courage and perseverance it will take to create a world of balanced liberties, where racial injustice is eradicated. It has never been more important to reflect on what it means to offer life, liberty, and happiness. While it is safe to say everyone desires these goods, not everyone understands where they can be found. In fact, it is not even a question of where they are found, but in whom they are found: "I am the way and the truth and the life.” I reflect on the hope that our faith can provide. A platform where a tremendous, fiery love is ignited in the human spirit to share an unexpected Divine glance of love for neighbors and friends, in Kinship.
This week the Gospel states, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest in Me.” There are no words that are more sacred to me in these strange days. They are sacred because they reflect divine reality. We are celebrating our right, as Americans and as Catholics, to live fully our faith according to our conscience. We need to stand up, to stand together; and to be prophetic in our desire for change. We can re-birth America into the land who welcomes everyone to the table and offers them the resources to thrive there. This holiday is an invitation to listen for our preconceptions and prejudices. Perhaps we are invited today to approach every person and every experience with true discernment, looking past the surface and into the heart of what God is doing. As we wrestle with our own prejudices, perhaps, we are being asked to give evidence before a skeptical world that despite the fireworks and violence there is a path to justice, platformed with love.
As Saint Paul wrote, “We set our eyes not on what we see but on what we cannot see. What we see will last only a short time, but what we cannot see will last forever.” When life and uncertainty strikes, we, too, are left to choose what we see. We can see either the Hurt or opportunity to become the Healer. Faith invites us to open ourselves to the possibility that we could be the founding mother of change. That we can offer miracles and realize that there is sacred ground all around us. Each of us has a responsibility, to work for the protection of all human rights. If we succeed, we will restore the foundation of our Republic as one nation under God with liberty and justice for all.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church.
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A Strong Breath of God’s Spirit is so needed for our weariness!
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During these strange times we are already a little more “on alert” than normal. Our body is paying more attention to lessen the risk. This is the body’s natural way of helping. PPE covers our face in ways we are not used to. This can cause us to feel we are not getting the amount of air we need. The last conscious thought of many of those who have perished because of Covid19, must have been, I can’t breathe. Breath that ceases because of sickness is one thing. But it is quite another thing to deliberately take away the sacred breath of another as we saw on our screens from Minneapolis. The news of deaths such as these and the destruction that has generated since, literally takes our breath away. Fear often causes us to hold our breath. And panicked people must be emphatically reminded to breathe again. The same breath of the Spirit of God that sustains us in life, is the one I am reflecting on this week.
I was drawn to re-read the words of Saint Paul differently this week. Saint Paul was addressing a community of believers who have already committed themselves to the Gospel. Saint Paul sought to persuade believers to do what they already know they should do. This is why it is so important to hear the Gospel and listen to the preached word again and again. In reading the letter from Saint Paul to the Romans today I ponder of all the funerals I have attended for community families where this reading has been shared. “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.” I have been holding in prayer anyone who has lost a loved one in these last months who has honored their loved ones in intimate burial services; whose public mourning perhaps has been delayed. You are not alone; and as a community we hold you praying that we will continue to find creative ways to honor your loved one’s memory. At a time when we all feel more fragile and exposed, at risk, even closer to suffering or immersed in it, we must remember that God created, molded and formed us for good.
Recently, I spoke with someone who was struggling to recover from COVID. She told me that in the last months of her recovery she was forced to stop and catch her breath regarding her entire life. And it reminds me how profitable for the soul this time of meditation has been for me personally. The rush of the world is so great that very little time is given to ponder and reflect. Have you found time in these days for contemplation, and to sit quietly under the sunset and muse? Are we taking seriously our God-given opportunity to indulge in this unique Sabbath time which has dawned upon us? Out of necessity, we cannot gather in our church at the same capacity and our public gatherings will look different until we have a remedy for what ails our world. Our businesses have been forced to a slow to a standstill but perhaps we are being called to reflect on what will bring great profit to all of us in the future. Time to take a Breath.
In the context of what is happening in our world today, considering the breath of Jesus upon the disciples…touches me deeply. Every breath that we take is of God holding us in existence. It is sacred, it is holy. A strong breath of God’s Spirit is so needed for our weariness. We share a heartache over the political divisiveness, the racism, and the built-up of anger over injustice that has boiled over into violence. “Peace be with you.” Jesus whispers peace and breathes the breath of life upon us. This breath of love that was present at the Creation of the world is with us today. This Holy Spirit sweeps in and around us giving us the courage, the strength, and the peace to walk in God’s love. Oh Great Spirit, lead us into deep and thorough examination of all structures and systems in which we are active and passive, leaders or supporters. You who breathed new life into each of us at baptism, come and breathe new life into us again! Jesus, breathe into the oppressed ones, into the sorrowful ones, into the angry ones, into the isolated, sick and suffering ones. We are not alone. The Holy Spirit is with us. Jesus is with us. God is with us. God’s people are with us. We can persevere even through the most difficult of times because the Comforter is with us! Let the Living Breath come…and let us rest in it!
I was drawn to re-read the words of Saint Paul differently this week. Saint Paul was addressing a community of believers who have already committed themselves to the Gospel. Saint Paul sought to persuade believers to do what they already know they should do. This is why it is so important to hear the Gospel and listen to the preached word again and again. In reading the letter from Saint Paul to the Romans today I ponder of all the funerals I have attended for community families where this reading has been shared. “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.” I have been holding in prayer anyone who has lost a loved one in these last months who has honored their loved ones in intimate burial services; whose public mourning perhaps has been delayed. You are not alone; and as a community we hold you praying that we will continue to find creative ways to honor your loved one’s memory. At a time when we all feel more fragile and exposed, at risk, even closer to suffering or immersed in it, we must remember that God created, molded and formed us for good.
Recently, I spoke with someone who was struggling to recover from COVID. She told me that in the last months of her recovery she was forced to stop and catch her breath regarding her entire life. And it reminds me how profitable for the soul this time of meditation has been for me personally. The rush of the world is so great that very little time is given to ponder and reflect. Have you found time in these days for contemplation, and to sit quietly under the sunset and muse? Are we taking seriously our God-given opportunity to indulge in this unique Sabbath time which has dawned upon us? Out of necessity, we cannot gather in our church at the same capacity and our public gatherings will look different until we have a remedy for what ails our world. Our businesses have been forced to a slow to a standstill but perhaps we are being called to reflect on what will bring great profit to all of us in the future. Time to take a Breath.
In the context of what is happening in our world today, considering the breath of Jesus upon the disciples…touches me deeply. Every breath that we take is of God holding us in existence. It is sacred, it is holy. A strong breath of God’s Spirit is so needed for our weariness. We share a heartache over the political divisiveness, the racism, and the built-up of anger over injustice that has boiled over into violence. “Peace be with you.” Jesus whispers peace and breathes the breath of life upon us. This breath of love that was present at the Creation of the world is with us today. This Holy Spirit sweeps in and around us giving us the courage, the strength, and the peace to walk in God’s love. Oh Great Spirit, lead us into deep and thorough examination of all structures and systems in which we are active and passive, leaders or supporters. You who breathed new life into each of us at baptism, come and breathe new life into us again! Jesus, breathe into the oppressed ones, into the sorrowful ones, into the angry ones, into the isolated, sick and suffering ones. We are not alone. The Holy Spirit is with us. Jesus is with us. God is with us. God’s people are with us. We can persevere even through the most difficult of times because the Comforter is with us! Let the Living Breath come…and let us rest in it!
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In My Father's House
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We, God’s children, are not designed to live in fear, but we are designed as God-like creatures to live in love by faith. I am thinking about my own Dad today and how his care anchored me to trust that I would not be abandoned. Perhaps how we know we are loved and valued is more than a matter of just hearing the words. Love has something to do with fidelity: showing up, being there, not leaving when the stampede is moving in the direction of the door. Love makes sacrifices, shares times of want along with seasons of plenty. Love generously supports and honestly challenges. Love lets go when the time is right. On this Father’s Day, I celebrate those who have embraced the vocation to show a Father’s love and helped others to recognize their true worth.
The biggest lesson that my Dad taught each of his children was to treasure, respect, and care for my Mother. Perhaps the winning lesson of my father’s legacy will be that he and my Mom remain teachers of their four children together. I have spent the last week thinking of the lessons they have shared with our family. Everywhere I’ve lived, my parents knew our neighbors. More importantly, they recognized their needs and assisted when possible. If a need in the community was articulated, my parents were among the first to be there. They set a healthy example from the very beginning that life is not all about getting…it’s about giving. My parents have provided, protected, and cared for those in need of parenting. And if there is a greater compliment to be given, I’m not sure what it is.
My parents have remained faithful to each other in every possible way for 52 years, and I can’t thank them enough for the treasured gift of their courageous love for one another. One of the charisms my parents shared generously is that they always sought to include others into our plans and lives. From them, I’ve learned the value of this simple question, “Would you like to come with us?” and this simple statement, "There's always room for one more at the table." As I think of the strife in our world today I think the world needs more avenues of invitation. Needless to say, I love the culture of inclusion and joy my parents established in our home. Laugh often and then laugh some more. This world isn’t easy. And our lives are defined by how we respond in adversity. The greatest among us overcome trials and seek to learn from what faith can teach us during these times. In a world that often ignores God, my parents taught me to seek God. And as the old adage goes, If you seek, you will be found.
As I think of my own Dad I recognize that I left my father’s house and daily influence, but never left his Father’s love, provision, or concern. I often think of my Dad, knowing he is watching for me on the road, recognizing my fear and my needs, always waiting for the ways he can help me unfold and uncover the questions of our world together. Perhaps my Dad’s winning attribute has been that he endeavored to Father each of his children differently. As kids in our house it often went un-noticed that my Mom created the quality time for us with our Dad. We loved to joke around, laugh, wrestle, play games, watch movies, eat popcorn and rest with our Dad. My Dad has taught me a few things that I am focused on in these troubling days for our country. When you speak the truth you never have to remember what you said. Anyone can talk; they just repeat what they already know, but the person who learns to listen can always learn something new.
Today there are many things to be troubled about. But Jesus says “In My Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I not have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and welcome you into My presence, so that where I am you also will be.” As we move into this most extraordinary of ordinary times, we join with the seekers of justice, the refugees, the unemployed and the underemployed, the sick and the isolated, with communities of color and especially, with anyone who has been denied justice. They are precious in the Father’s eyes. They are precious in our eyes and must not be abandoned. On this Father’s Day, I celebrate those who have embraced the vocation to show a Father’s love and helped others to recognize their true worth. To some degree or another, these father figures have shaped us. My Dad is an engineer and in many ways his life has taught me if you don’t like the world in which you live, build something closer to the blueprint you imagine our life can be!
Berndette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church
The biggest lesson that my Dad taught each of his children was to treasure, respect, and care for my Mother. Perhaps the winning lesson of my father’s legacy will be that he and my Mom remain teachers of their four children together. I have spent the last week thinking of the lessons they have shared with our family. Everywhere I’ve lived, my parents knew our neighbors. More importantly, they recognized their needs and assisted when possible. If a need in the community was articulated, my parents were among the first to be there. They set a healthy example from the very beginning that life is not all about getting…it’s about giving. My parents have provided, protected, and cared for those in need of parenting. And if there is a greater compliment to be given, I’m not sure what it is.
My parents have remained faithful to each other in every possible way for 52 years, and I can’t thank them enough for the treasured gift of their courageous love for one another. One of the charisms my parents shared generously is that they always sought to include others into our plans and lives. From them, I’ve learned the value of this simple question, “Would you like to come with us?” and this simple statement, "There's always room for one more at the table." As I think of the strife in our world today I think the world needs more avenues of invitation. Needless to say, I love the culture of inclusion and joy my parents established in our home. Laugh often and then laugh some more. This world isn’t easy. And our lives are defined by how we respond in adversity. The greatest among us overcome trials and seek to learn from what faith can teach us during these times. In a world that often ignores God, my parents taught me to seek God. And as the old adage goes, If you seek, you will be found.
As I think of my own Dad I recognize that I left my father’s house and daily influence, but never left his Father’s love, provision, or concern. I often think of my Dad, knowing he is watching for me on the road, recognizing my fear and my needs, always waiting for the ways he can help me unfold and uncover the questions of our world together. Perhaps my Dad’s winning attribute has been that he endeavored to Father each of his children differently. As kids in our house it often went un-noticed that my Mom created the quality time for us with our Dad. We loved to joke around, laugh, wrestle, play games, watch movies, eat popcorn and rest with our Dad. My Dad has taught me a few things that I am focused on in these troubling days for our country. When you speak the truth you never have to remember what you said. Anyone can talk; they just repeat what they already know, but the person who learns to listen can always learn something new.
Today there are many things to be troubled about. But Jesus says “In My Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I not have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and welcome you into My presence, so that where I am you also will be.” As we move into this most extraordinary of ordinary times, we join with the seekers of justice, the refugees, the unemployed and the underemployed, the sick and the isolated, with communities of color and especially, with anyone who has been denied justice. They are precious in the Father’s eyes. They are precious in our eyes and must not be abandoned. On this Father’s Day, I celebrate those who have embraced the vocation to show a Father’s love and helped others to recognize their true worth. To some degree or another, these father figures have shaped us. My Dad is an engineer and in many ways his life has taught me if you don’t like the world in which you live, build something closer to the blueprint you imagine our life can be!
Berndette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church
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In his Fight for Justice, God gives us a Special gift, Courage, to Feed a World Hungry to be Fed
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In our Gospel today Jesus names Himself as nourishment for our souls. These last two weeks I have found myself starving to understand myself better. Jesus tells us that God fills us and shapes us for ministry; for life and faith. Jesus says, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven.” Did you know that in some languages, the word for “bread and “food” is actually the same word? It struck me in a new way this past week, about what living bread means for us. So many people wrote or spoke to me this past week about their longing to be reunited with the Eucharist. This week, as I read the Gospel, I am reminded that Jesus lives in us. Even beyond the promises of Holy Communion but every time we truly commune and live in relationship with one another. What difference will that make, in this present time of pandemic and injustice, you ask? I hope it will make a great deal of difference. Jesus living in us makes us ever more aware of our ego, our selfishness, and our self-righteousness. The living bread of God feeds our humility, and compassion and forgiveness. Just some of the gifts we have been focusing on as we embrace the change of heart needed for radical inclusivity and transformative kinship.
All week I have listened to discussion on racial injustice. As I watch the news, the protests and the looting I recognize these days affect a wide variety of our community in profound and hurtful ways. These unfolding heartfelt discussions and questions can be difficult and provoke strong emotions for all of us. It is interesting to note that Jesus asks a lot of questions in Scripture. Jesus’ questions were sometimes rhetorical, or challenging, and at other times he was also seeking feedback. I think Jesus was modeling the behavior of a good communicator, one who cares about the other person enough to engage with them, challenge them and console them. In looking at Jesus’ Gospel this week, Jesus really pushes the issue and makes everyone uncomfortable when he talks about his disciples eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Yet, Jesus would take what was viewed as evil, dark and destructive, and bring life and hope through it. Jesus would be the one who feeds them as he nourishes his disciples' hungers.
Many of us have watched the excruciating video of George Floyd’s death and viewed it as a vile and cruel reminder of racism in our society. It is a harsh reality of the hard healing needed before us as a Country. And yet, in listening to so many young people speak of discrimination and racism this week I realize that positive change often happens in more obscure ways. I have spent the week considering all the implicit biases and unconscious stereotypes I carry around in my own head. I know that my biases are part of being human, but I realize that when those biases go uninterrupted, they can cause real physical and emotional harm to people I encounter, and people I love. Ensuring that we all focus on recognizing and overcoming our biases is essential to a system that upholds equal justice and keeps all of our communities safe. It is imperative to find platforms where we can courageously communicate our anger, frustration, and pain to the world and to speak truth to power where needed.
Over and over again through Jesus’ ministry we see God able to take what’s sinful, dark and destructive, and turn it into something hope filled and life-giving. Jesus welcomes those who were excluded and says the Kingdom of God is for such as these. Jesus transforms people and communities to become less fearful in the face of the other; more open to participate in God’s Kingdom, here and now. And as the church, as the body of Christ, we are more than Jesus’ followers, we are extensions of God’s very self. And the word became flesh and lived among us,” those are the opening words of the gospel of John. In this fight for justice, God gives us a special gift, hope, to feed a world hungry to be fed. Thus, we take up the task of serving the common good with truth and hope, confident that God walks with us and strengthens us on the way. Who is Jesus? Jesus is the one who draws us to himself. Jesus is the one who can help us understand even when everything in our histories cries for change and for love. God is love, and the Spirit desires that we help to build a civilization where all human beings have the freedom and opportunity to experience the love of God and live out that love by making a welcome gift of themselves to the world. Living the Gospel courageously, asks us to seek relationships with the oppressed. Living the Gospel courageously, means we must not resign ourselves to the suffering of the innocent but rather live as witness by seeking change to a world so in need of peace.
All week I have listened to discussion on racial injustice. As I watch the news, the protests and the looting I recognize these days affect a wide variety of our community in profound and hurtful ways. These unfolding heartfelt discussions and questions can be difficult and provoke strong emotions for all of us. It is interesting to note that Jesus asks a lot of questions in Scripture. Jesus’ questions were sometimes rhetorical, or challenging, and at other times he was also seeking feedback. I think Jesus was modeling the behavior of a good communicator, one who cares about the other person enough to engage with them, challenge them and console them. In looking at Jesus’ Gospel this week, Jesus really pushes the issue and makes everyone uncomfortable when he talks about his disciples eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Yet, Jesus would take what was viewed as evil, dark and destructive, and bring life and hope through it. Jesus would be the one who feeds them as he nourishes his disciples' hungers.
Many of us have watched the excruciating video of George Floyd’s death and viewed it as a vile and cruel reminder of racism in our society. It is a harsh reality of the hard healing needed before us as a Country. And yet, in listening to so many young people speak of discrimination and racism this week I realize that positive change often happens in more obscure ways. I have spent the week considering all the implicit biases and unconscious stereotypes I carry around in my own head. I know that my biases are part of being human, but I realize that when those biases go uninterrupted, they can cause real physical and emotional harm to people I encounter, and people I love. Ensuring that we all focus on recognizing and overcoming our biases is essential to a system that upholds equal justice and keeps all of our communities safe. It is imperative to find platforms where we can courageously communicate our anger, frustration, and pain to the world and to speak truth to power where needed.
Over and over again through Jesus’ ministry we see God able to take what’s sinful, dark and destructive, and turn it into something hope filled and life-giving. Jesus welcomes those who were excluded and says the Kingdom of God is for such as these. Jesus transforms people and communities to become less fearful in the face of the other; more open to participate in God’s Kingdom, here and now. And as the church, as the body of Christ, we are more than Jesus’ followers, we are extensions of God’s very self. And the word became flesh and lived among us,” those are the opening words of the gospel of John. In this fight for justice, God gives us a special gift, hope, to feed a world hungry to be fed. Thus, we take up the task of serving the common good with truth and hope, confident that God walks with us and strengthens us on the way. Who is Jesus? Jesus is the one who draws us to himself. Jesus is the one who can help us understand even when everything in our histories cries for change and for love. God is love, and the Spirit desires that we help to build a civilization where all human beings have the freedom and opportunity to experience the love of God and live out that love by making a welcome gift of themselves to the world. Living the Gospel courageously, asks us to seek relationships with the oppressed. Living the Gospel courageously, means we must not resign ourselves to the suffering of the innocent but rather live as witness by seeking change to a world so in need of peace.
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Yearning for the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist
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Last week we celebrated the gift of the Spirit to the Church, first at Pentecost, sacramentally when the disciples were confirmed and today at every moment as the Spirit breathes and moves through our Church and our world. I am reminded that the Holy Spirit isn’t just given to us for its own sake, as we read in the first letter to the Corinthians, the Spirit is given to us for a purpose, for the common good. We are the body of Christ equipped with a variety of tools and skills to serve one another.
For months I have been having heart-to-heart discussions, with friends from our community, about the Eucharist. Often, I have shared a metaphor about separation in these conversations. Some of you reading this will understand what it is like to be with a person as they prepare to die. We know that truths are spoken in these days. Perhaps one thing this pandemic has done for us is to point out that we don’t often know how to be separate, but we still know how we are united. This is how I have been viewing the ache in my heart for the Eucharist. Even though I have been separated I continue to be intimately united with Jesus. The word "mystery" is commonly used to refer to something that escapes the full comprehension of our minds. We should not be surprised if there are aspects of the Eucharist that are not easy to understand, for God's plan for the world has repeatedly surpassed our expectations and our understanding. Surely, if these early months of the pandemic have taught us anything, it is to look carefully and speak boldly about what really counts. And I have been blessed to encounter many priests around our virtual table. We are lay and ordained, exercising our baptismal priesthood to share a meal together in prayer as Jesus has asked us to do in memory of him. Surely, our social distancing makes us keenly aware of real absence as well as our yearning for the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.
To respond when we cannot celebrate the Eucharist, Christian tradition offers us the practice of Spiritual Communion. Spiritual Communion offers one way to sustain ourselves as we await the time when we can once again gather in the same space to share a Eucharistic meal together. For years, I have been offering this invitation to the sick, assuring a person unable to eat and drink the bread and wine “that all the benefits of Communion are received even though the Sacrament is not offered for consumption. As I languish the loss of the Eucharist in my life I am comforted that whenever we make a prayer or an act interiorly of desire for the Sacrament, we receive the Grace of the Sacrament. It is not a small thing. We receive it by faith and love. Whenever we focus our love and faith on Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, we receive the effects of the Sacrament. Even during lockdown Christ has been with us, giving us a share in His Spirit, greeting us with those words with which He often greeted His disciples: ‘Peace be with you’, and preparing us for when we can move freely, like those first disciples, to be sent out to share the good news of Jesus to a hungry and expectant world.
The apostle Paul assures us that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God. The Risen one abides in our questioning for a world in need of reform and change. In these hard days, as we sustain a sense of community and stretch ourselves to listen to those who seek racial Justice. We need to recognize ourselves as the Body of Christ, to support one another and to reflect God’s concern and love for all Her people, especially the most vulnerable. Diversity isn’t something to be overcome. It is the overflowing, outpouring of the Spirit. Difference cannot limit Christ and none of us on our own exhausts who Christ is or can be. To be like Christ is to live for others. And to be drawn into the body of Christ through baptism, is to share in the Spirit through confirmation, and to live all of our lives oriented toward our God and for all those around us in need of holding. And so, we find ourselves in the midst of a Eucharistic fast but we realize that after this pandemic passes, we probably won’t be exactly the same community on the other side. We may need to grieve, both for persons lost and for other losses unspoken. We may find as we stretch towards radical inclusivity and transformational kinship, that we like bread, exist to nourish and feed the world. We are given the Spirit; and we exist like Christ, not for ourselves but for others. Thus, we will have hard work to do, with and for each other. The word Eucatastrophe means an unexpected happening that brings goodness out of devastation. I suspect that this time will help us to make meaning out of our pain and to celebrate the stillness found as we allow Jesus to nourish us in other ways. Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church
For months I have been having heart-to-heart discussions, with friends from our community, about the Eucharist. Often, I have shared a metaphor about separation in these conversations. Some of you reading this will understand what it is like to be with a person as they prepare to die. We know that truths are spoken in these days. Perhaps one thing this pandemic has done for us is to point out that we don’t often know how to be separate, but we still know how we are united. This is how I have been viewing the ache in my heart for the Eucharist. Even though I have been separated I continue to be intimately united with Jesus. The word "mystery" is commonly used to refer to something that escapes the full comprehension of our minds. We should not be surprised if there are aspects of the Eucharist that are not easy to understand, for God's plan for the world has repeatedly surpassed our expectations and our understanding. Surely, if these early months of the pandemic have taught us anything, it is to look carefully and speak boldly about what really counts. And I have been blessed to encounter many priests around our virtual table. We are lay and ordained, exercising our baptismal priesthood to share a meal together in prayer as Jesus has asked us to do in memory of him. Surely, our social distancing makes us keenly aware of real absence as well as our yearning for the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.
To respond when we cannot celebrate the Eucharist, Christian tradition offers us the practice of Spiritual Communion. Spiritual Communion offers one way to sustain ourselves as we await the time when we can once again gather in the same space to share a Eucharistic meal together. For years, I have been offering this invitation to the sick, assuring a person unable to eat and drink the bread and wine “that all the benefits of Communion are received even though the Sacrament is not offered for consumption. As I languish the loss of the Eucharist in my life I am comforted that whenever we make a prayer or an act interiorly of desire for the Sacrament, we receive the Grace of the Sacrament. It is not a small thing. We receive it by faith and love. Whenever we focus our love and faith on Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, we receive the effects of the Sacrament. Even during lockdown Christ has been with us, giving us a share in His Spirit, greeting us with those words with which He often greeted His disciples: ‘Peace be with you’, and preparing us for when we can move freely, like those first disciples, to be sent out to share the good news of Jesus to a hungry and expectant world.
The apostle Paul assures us that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God. The Risen one abides in our questioning for a world in need of reform and change. In these hard days, as we sustain a sense of community and stretch ourselves to listen to those who seek racial Justice. We need to recognize ourselves as the Body of Christ, to support one another and to reflect God’s concern and love for all Her people, especially the most vulnerable. Diversity isn’t something to be overcome. It is the overflowing, outpouring of the Spirit. Difference cannot limit Christ and none of us on our own exhausts who Christ is or can be. To be like Christ is to live for others. And to be drawn into the body of Christ through baptism, is to share in the Spirit through confirmation, and to live all of our lives oriented toward our God and for all those around us in need of holding. And so, we find ourselves in the midst of a Eucharistic fast but we realize that after this pandemic passes, we probably won’t be exactly the same community on the other side. We may need to grieve, both for persons lost and for other losses unspoken. We may find as we stretch towards radical inclusivity and transformational kinship, that we like bread, exist to nourish and feed the world. We are given the Spirit; and we exist like Christ, not for ourselves but for others. Thus, we will have hard work to do, with and for each other. The word Eucatastrophe means an unexpected happening that brings goodness out of devastation. I suspect that this time will help us to make meaning out of our pain and to celebrate the stillness found as we allow Jesus to nourish us in other ways. Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick's Church
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We are an Easter People
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Have you ever felt insecure and unready, yet excited and hopeful about something new? This is life today, this is Pentecost.
Pentecost was a Jewish harvest feast, celebrated fifty days after Passover, where bread made from newly harvested grain would be offered to God. The feast also commemorated the giving of the Law on Mount Sinai. It was while Jews from every nation were gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate this feast that the Spirit came upon the disciples gathered in prayer, like wind and fire. They must have remembered the Exodus account of the giving of the law to Moses, when there was a sound like a trumpet blast, and fire and smoke (Exodus 19:16-19). But the contrasts between the giving of the Law and the giving of the Spirit are even more striking than the similarities. At Sinai, Moses alone went up to receive the immutable word of God carved on stone tablets. On the day of Pentecost, the Spirit came down to the people and rested on each of them in a play of wind and fire. The Spirit cannot be contained or written down.
The alignment with this feast day and our reality of all things reopening is noteworthy. For the past eleven weeks, we have obeyed the stay at home restrictions, so often alone. In the coming weeks, places around us will begin to reopen, as if the Spirit is being sent down upon us. Life will bloom in abundant ways not seen in our lifetime, and when we take a close look, we will find grace. The human spirit cannot be confined, it is time to proclaim the Good News!
We are an Easter people, feeling the Holy Spirit dancing within our souls just like the trumpets sounding in an orchestral masterpiece.
In today’s Gospel, notice that twice Jesus says, “Peace be with you” to the frightened disciples. In the same encounter, he gives them the power to forgive sins, promising to always be with them. How did they feel as they were commissioned to take the Good News of God’s love to all the world? “They worshiped, but they doubted.” This is true today. Every single one of us has experienced some sense of heart-wrenching sadness and grief during these weeks, so how can we feel the presence of the Spirit? We reach out to the Lord, even when we are full of fear, doubt and questions. Jesus knew full well this was true of his disciples, and he knows it of us.
As we prepare to gingerly step outside, let’s ask ourselves how we will act towards one another. How will we know the acceptable manner? For some of us, this
transition will be fluid, for others awkward and uncomfortable, and for some it will be unthinkable...just like it was for the disciples. The Lord patiently helps us see, reigniting in our hearts the flame of Pentecost while asking us to model discipleship. We must hold on tightly to our faith, holding in prayer the many victims and the first responders...all of whom are suffering.
We are an Easter people, witnessing the Holy Spirit through the good works of discipleship.
To say I was looking forward to teaching Pentecost in ‘real time’ this school year is an understatement. The imagery of fire and tongues flying about above the disciples’ heads offers a remarkable opportunity to bring this bible story to life through action...so much more fun to do in the classroom with children as opposed to virtually. I have deeply missed being in the presence of our youngest learners. When you look into their eyes, you can sense their curiosity, their wonder, and their love...their tiny hearts opened wide to offer and receive a hug from anyone willing to share.
As one of several thousands of educators around the world, the love for our students is deeply woven into our hearts, and it hurts my heart to be away from their smiles and their hugs. In today’s ‘difficult to explain’ reality, how do we teach our children that God is good? Without fail, every year when my students learn about the life of Moses, the question comes up, “Would God ever send down another plague?” How do you answer that today? St. Paul’s words offer comfort, “The Spirit will make you wise and let you understand what it means to know God. My prayer is that light will flood your hearts and that you will understand the hope that was given to you when God chose you.” (Ephesians 1:17-18)
We are an Easter people, teaching our children how to be missionaries of his Good News.
“Peace be with you” as we head out in different directions, building upon the foundation of love we were reminded of during quarantine, and allowing our interfaith world to come together: offering respect to Christians celebrating Pentecost, to Muslims celebrating the end of the fast Ramadan with Eid al-Fitr, and to Jews celebrating Shavuoth, honoring the Law being given by God to Moses on Mount Sinai. May we pause to remind ourselves that it is God who remains in our hearts and is present for us always. Spend a few minutes resting with this mystery, and let its promise draw you in, serving as a reminder that we are an Easter people!
Clare D’Agostino is an OSP Parishioner and works at FXW as the Religious Education Coordinator, OSP Campus.
Pentecost was a Jewish harvest feast, celebrated fifty days after Passover, where bread made from newly harvested grain would be offered to God. The feast also commemorated the giving of the Law on Mount Sinai. It was while Jews from every nation were gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate this feast that the Spirit came upon the disciples gathered in prayer, like wind and fire. They must have remembered the Exodus account of the giving of the law to Moses, when there was a sound like a trumpet blast, and fire and smoke (Exodus 19:16-19). But the contrasts between the giving of the Law and the giving of the Spirit are even more striking than the similarities. At Sinai, Moses alone went up to receive the immutable word of God carved on stone tablets. On the day of Pentecost, the Spirit came down to the people and rested on each of them in a play of wind and fire. The Spirit cannot be contained or written down.
The alignment with this feast day and our reality of all things reopening is noteworthy. For the past eleven weeks, we have obeyed the stay at home restrictions, so often alone. In the coming weeks, places around us will begin to reopen, as if the Spirit is being sent down upon us. Life will bloom in abundant ways not seen in our lifetime, and when we take a close look, we will find grace. The human spirit cannot be confined, it is time to proclaim the Good News!
We are an Easter people, feeling the Holy Spirit dancing within our souls just like the trumpets sounding in an orchestral masterpiece.
In today’s Gospel, notice that twice Jesus says, “Peace be with you” to the frightened disciples. In the same encounter, he gives them the power to forgive sins, promising to always be with them. How did they feel as they were commissioned to take the Good News of God’s love to all the world? “They worshiped, but they doubted.” This is true today. Every single one of us has experienced some sense of heart-wrenching sadness and grief during these weeks, so how can we feel the presence of the Spirit? We reach out to the Lord, even when we are full of fear, doubt and questions. Jesus knew full well this was true of his disciples, and he knows it of us.
As we prepare to gingerly step outside, let’s ask ourselves how we will act towards one another. How will we know the acceptable manner? For some of us, this
transition will be fluid, for others awkward and uncomfortable, and for some it will be unthinkable...just like it was for the disciples. The Lord patiently helps us see, reigniting in our hearts the flame of Pentecost while asking us to model discipleship. We must hold on tightly to our faith, holding in prayer the many victims and the first responders...all of whom are suffering.
We are an Easter people, witnessing the Holy Spirit through the good works of discipleship.
To say I was looking forward to teaching Pentecost in ‘real time’ this school year is an understatement. The imagery of fire and tongues flying about above the disciples’ heads offers a remarkable opportunity to bring this bible story to life through action...so much more fun to do in the classroom with children as opposed to virtually. I have deeply missed being in the presence of our youngest learners. When you look into their eyes, you can sense their curiosity, their wonder, and their love...their tiny hearts opened wide to offer and receive a hug from anyone willing to share.
As one of several thousands of educators around the world, the love for our students is deeply woven into our hearts, and it hurts my heart to be away from their smiles and their hugs. In today’s ‘difficult to explain’ reality, how do we teach our children that God is good? Without fail, every year when my students learn about the life of Moses, the question comes up, “Would God ever send down another plague?” How do you answer that today? St. Paul’s words offer comfort, “The Spirit will make you wise and let you understand what it means to know God. My prayer is that light will flood your hearts and that you will understand the hope that was given to you when God chose you.” (Ephesians 1:17-18)
We are an Easter people, teaching our children how to be missionaries of his Good News.
“Peace be with you” as we head out in different directions, building upon the foundation of love we were reminded of during quarantine, and allowing our interfaith world to come together: offering respect to Christians celebrating Pentecost, to Muslims celebrating the end of the fast Ramadan with Eid al-Fitr, and to Jews celebrating Shavuoth, honoring the Law being given by God to Moses on Mount Sinai. May we pause to remind ourselves that it is God who remains in our hearts and is present for us always. Spend a few minutes resting with this mystery, and let its promise draw you in, serving as a reminder that we are an Easter people!
Clare D’Agostino is an OSP Parishioner and works at FXW as the Religious Education Coordinator, OSP Campus.
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What a Wonderful World
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This week I reread the Gospel of Matthew. One line Jesus shared stuck with me, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Follow Me, and I will not necessarily do something for you, but I will do something in you so that you can do something for someone else. It is the disciples’ privilege, in their following, to get to know Jesus; to become intimately involved in His life, and in His passion.
I don’t mind telling you it has been a very hard week. I watched a woman of great faith lose her battle to cancer. Meg Clarke Rooney was my lifelong friend Maura’s older sister. And over the years she became a dear friend to me as well. Because Meg’s home was built on the cornerstone of faith, she recognized clearly how fragile and fleeting life in this world can be. Meg witnessed this in the death of her own husband a few short years ago to ALS and in the real-life journey to move forward raising three beautiful sons on her own. Meg had a gentle demeanor and taught her family - and by extension those of us who were lucky enough to share her life - to anchor our lives in the solid foundations of faith - so that we might face life courageously and look beyond appearances with the eyes of faith. Perhaps it is fitting that this week’s Gospel from Matthew asks us to reflect on our mission when Meg’s life was so inspirational in her mission to love her family and friends. In her final and difficult hours, Meg left this world, not the way a faithless or angry person would leave but rather as one who, like Martha, was a friend of Jesus and a woman of deep faith.
In Matthew 28 Jesus told his followers to go and spend their lives making disciples. That’s the same mission Jesus gives us today. It is such an interesting time in the life of the people of God. As a church we are praying, planning and creating tentative plans for reopening our doors to the future. We are encouraged to look over the horizon and begin to think about re-entry into relationships that for the last nine weeks have been mostly over our phones and computers. I imagine many of you right now are thinking about the first thing you want to do after this lock-down for the Coronavirus has been lifted. What you choose to do will be an indication of what you value most about your freedom. Perhaps, this time of uncertainty has served to reflect on how gratefulness has helped to calm us, reduce fears and expectations, open us to greater clarity and love, and fuel actions grounded in our deep intentions. Gratitude is not an elixir. It may not cure or solve our anxiety or concerns but it can foster ease, connection, kindness, and well-being. Gratitude cannot save us from sickness or suffering, but it can change how we experience sickness, and it may change our relationship to suffering. In her book, The Wisdom Jesus, Cynthia Bourgeault clarifies this. "I am not saying that suffering exists in order for God to reveal himself. I am only saying that where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly." If we understand our baptism, like I think Meg did, that's what we're called to do: to be priests, prophets, and the king, that Jesus was - to serve our world through gentleness, compassion and love so that we, joined with Jesus, might bring true justice, gratitude and love to those who need the message most.
I marvel at the miracle of Meg’s sons listening with her to the song “What a wonderful world” in the last minutes of her life. Three men who have lost both their parents in a relatively short period of time chose to seek a vision of a wonderful world as their dreams for their mom’s recovery were dashed. And today, I reflect upon all that has been lost and gained in these last nine weeks. When life becomes more trying and challenging, may each of us discover the gifts of gratefulness, and the promise of our love - for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, so long as we all shall live. And as the song says “I've seen skies of blue and clouds of white, the bright blessed day and the dark sacred night and I think to myself… what a wonderful world.”
In Matthew 28 Jesus told his followers to go and spend their lives making disciples. That’s the same mission Jesus gives us today. It is such an interesting time in the life of the people of God. As a church we are praying, planning and creating tentative plans for reopening our doors to the future. We are encouraged to look over the horizon and begin to think about re-entry into relationships that for the last nine weeks have been mostly over our phones and computers. I imagine many of you right now are thinking about the first thing you want to do after this lock-down for the Coronavirus has been lifted. What you choose to do will be an indication of what you value most about your freedom. Perhaps, this time of uncertainty has served to reflect on how gratefulness has helped to calm us, reduce fears and expectations, open us to greater clarity and love, and fuel actions grounded in our deep intentions. Gratitude is not an elixir. It may not cure or solve our anxiety or concerns but it can foster ease, connection, kindness, and well-being. Gratitude cannot save us from sickness or suffering, but it can change how we experience sickness, and it may change our relationship to suffering. In her book, The Wisdom Jesus, Cynthia Bourgeault clarifies this. "I am not saying that suffering exists in order for God to reveal himself. I am only saying that where suffering exists and is consciously accepted, there divine love shines forth brightly." If we understand our baptism, like I think Meg did, that's what we're called to do: to be priests, prophets, and the king, that Jesus was - to serve our world through gentleness, compassion and love so that we, joined with Jesus, might bring true justice, gratitude and love to those who need the message most.
I marvel at the miracle of Meg’s sons listening with her to the song “What a wonderful world” in the last minutes of her life. Three men who have lost both their parents in a relatively short period of time chose to seek a vision of a wonderful world as their dreams for their mom’s recovery were dashed. And today, I reflect upon all that has been lost and gained in these last nine weeks. When life becomes more trying and challenging, may each of us discover the gifts of gratefulness, and the promise of our love - for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, so long as we all shall live. And as the song says “I've seen skies of blue and clouds of white, the bright blessed day and the dark sacred night and I think to myself… what a wonderful world.”
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Jesus is inviting us to recognize God within ourselves, in others, and in all things
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In these days between Pandemic and Pentecost, we gather with the disciples in the upper room, waiting for the Spirit to transform our hearts. In today's gospel Jesus prays for his followers to fall in love with God and to follow their mission in God’s name.
Like many of you I am looking for upbeat entertainment to get my mind off the crisis we are experiencing as a country. Last week I came upon a classic film, “Fiddler on the Roof.” While not necessarily upbeat I fell prey to the familiar music and storyline. The heart of the film is Tevye’s struggle to accept the cultural changes that are turning his world upside down, especially through the non-arranged marriages of three of his five daughters. I don’t mind telling you that the most tender moment for me in this entire film was the moment when Tevye asks his wife, “Golde, do you love me?” To set the stage, this question is asked to his wife of an arranged marriage of 25 years. The entire musical is an unfolding story of how parents must juggle their love for their children whose commitments clash with their elder’s beliefs and traditions. After considering a lifetime of washing, cooking, bearing children and working beside her husband, Golde answers Tevye,“I suppose I do” I am sure the answer was not well thought out, but rather one bore of her recognition of her commitment to their family and evidenced by their labor for their family life together. A recognition that despite how their love began she realizes she has been known to Tevye.
In today's Gospel, Jesus speaks for the first time of the disciples' love for Him. Previously, He's told His disciples that He is the way, the bread of life, the light of the world - all descriptions of Himself that speak of what He wants to offer them. Jesus often called His disciples to believe in Him and to trust Him, but now He gets to the deep, interpersonal level of loving Him for who He is - of how He has been known to the them.
Jesus says His disciples demonstrate their love for Him by keeping His commandments. On first look, that hardly sounds like the Jesus who talks about mercy rather than sacrifice, who worried far less about the letter of the law than the spirit. But we need to remember the context: This conversation began with matters of the heart, not the law. When Jesus talks to His disciples, to us, about loving Him, He's talking about the broader context, He's talking about our loving Him the same way He loves the Father. The love between Jesus and His Father is a mutual devotion born of their identification with one another. In Jesus' relationship with the Father, obedience has nothing to do with rules. It's about loving one another and sharing the same desires.
When Jesus talks about loving Him, He's inviting us to recognize God within ourselves, in others, and in all things. We are known, “fully, even as we are fully known” (1 Cor. 13:12), this is what God has always desired for us.
As a step-mom of five children whose spirituality and values often differ in appearance from my own. I ponder how often my husband and I have made choices to support their efforts to see the Spirit working in their lives rather than to indoctrinate them into our experience of God or Church life. Their father and I have always desired for them to share their thoughts and fears, believing their hearts to be fully known in our care.
A mystic is anybody who finds union with God in real life - in the Eucharist, in moments of creativity or in flashes of awe-filled wonder, in the overwhelming love that carries us beyond ourselves into the source of all life. We might say that every experience of grace can be a mystical experience. An intense feeling of grace is usually as fleeting as it is real but, real love changes everything. That's what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel. He's not telling the disciples to obey rules, He's inviting them to share His heart. The opening line of today's Gospel is "If you love Me, you will keep My commands." That's a request for love. All that Jesus did in His life was aimed at that one thing: to entice humanity into falling in love with God, and the way to do that is through loving Him. May we open ourselves up to the God of love who pierces our hearts with a deep truth that despite evidence to the contrary, we will always abide in God’s promises and love will have the final victory over fear.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old Saint Patrick’s Church.
Like many of you I am looking for upbeat entertainment to get my mind off the crisis we are experiencing as a country. Last week I came upon a classic film, “Fiddler on the Roof.” While not necessarily upbeat I fell prey to the familiar music and storyline. The heart of the film is Tevye’s struggle to accept the cultural changes that are turning his world upside down, especially through the non-arranged marriages of three of his five daughters. I don’t mind telling you that the most tender moment for me in this entire film was the moment when Tevye asks his wife, “Golde, do you love me?” To set the stage, this question is asked to his wife of an arranged marriage of 25 years. The entire musical is an unfolding story of how parents must juggle their love for their children whose commitments clash with their elder’s beliefs and traditions. After considering a lifetime of washing, cooking, bearing children and working beside her husband, Golde answers Tevye,“I suppose I do” I am sure the answer was not well thought out, but rather one bore of her recognition of her commitment to their family and evidenced by their labor for their family life together. A recognition that despite how their love began she realizes she has been known to Tevye.
In today's Gospel, Jesus speaks for the first time of the disciples' love for Him. Previously, He's told His disciples that He is the way, the bread of life, the light of the world - all descriptions of Himself that speak of what He wants to offer them. Jesus often called His disciples to believe in Him and to trust Him, but now He gets to the deep, interpersonal level of loving Him for who He is - of how He has been known to the them.
Jesus says His disciples demonstrate their love for Him by keeping His commandments. On first look, that hardly sounds like the Jesus who talks about mercy rather than sacrifice, who worried far less about the letter of the law than the spirit. But we need to remember the context: This conversation began with matters of the heart, not the law. When Jesus talks to His disciples, to us, about loving Him, He's talking about the broader context, He's talking about our loving Him the same way He loves the Father. The love between Jesus and His Father is a mutual devotion born of their identification with one another. In Jesus' relationship with the Father, obedience has nothing to do with rules. It's about loving one another and sharing the same desires.
When Jesus talks about loving Him, He's inviting us to recognize God within ourselves, in others, and in all things. We are known, “fully, even as we are fully known” (1 Cor. 13:12), this is what God has always desired for us.
As a step-mom of five children whose spirituality and values often differ in appearance from my own. I ponder how often my husband and I have made choices to support their efforts to see the Spirit working in their lives rather than to indoctrinate them into our experience of God or Church life. Their father and I have always desired for them to share their thoughts and fears, believing their hearts to be fully known in our care.
A mystic is anybody who finds union with God in real life - in the Eucharist, in moments of creativity or in flashes of awe-filled wonder, in the overwhelming love that carries us beyond ourselves into the source of all life. We might say that every experience of grace can be a mystical experience. An intense feeling of grace is usually as fleeting as it is real but, real love changes everything. That's what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel. He's not telling the disciples to obey rules, He's inviting them to share His heart. The opening line of today's Gospel is "If you love Me, you will keep My commands." That's a request for love. All that Jesus did in His life was aimed at that one thing: to entice humanity into falling in love with God, and the way to do that is through loving Him. May we open ourselves up to the God of love who pierces our hearts with a deep truth that despite evidence to the contrary, we will always abide in God’s promises and love will have the final victory over fear.
Bernadette Gibson is the Director of Pastoral Care at Old Saint Patrick’s Church.
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Jesus Breathes New Life Into Us
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Jesus says in today’s Gospel from John, “Let not your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.” Few words in the Bible are better known or more often quoted than these, but for all their timelessness, they were addressed to a very specific situation. The coronavirus pandemic has brought many unsettling changes to our nation and the world. This has caused many to fall into fear, worry, stress and depression. Many are unable to find any peace. A month ago, we celebrated the Resurrection together. There comes a time; however, when we must seek to live the Resurrection.
Many of us are stunned, trying to keep up with daily news about the coronavirus and the necessary changes to our lives. We might be terribly afraid, both for our own well-being and the health of those we love. And here we get the reminder we need. “Let not your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.” In our fear and in our confusion, God is with us. We are never alone. Most of us are spending most of our time on Zoom gatherings lately. In a recent online gathering the community asked: “What is your biggest fear in these times?” I did not expect the abundance of responses received. But I left the meeting recognizing that Fear is universal. You may be worrying about your children (young or grown), or worrying about a loved one who is sick. Maybe you’re wondering how you’re going to live when a family member has died. All of us can be fearful about our health, or our finances. We can worry about all sorts of things, big and small. And yet, our God knew we would struggle with fear. So he made sure he wrote about it in today’s Gospel message. It today’s Gospel he sent a love letter to us.
When Jesus makes his farewell speech to His disciples, He tells them He is going to prepare a place for them. He will come for them, He says, “so that where He is, they also may be.” And then Jesus says to them. “and you know the place where I am going.” To which Thomas pipes up, “Lord we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” I do not think Thomas was the only one among the disciples who wondered where Jesus was going and how they would find him - but Thomas was the one who spoke up! Perhaps every time we are not honest about our fears of abandonment, we shut the doors of our lives and we imprison ourselves. Perhaps that is what has happened to the disciples in today’s gospel. Jesus’ tomb is open and empty, but the disciples’ house is closed and the doors locked tight. The disciples have separated themselves and their lives from the reality of Jesus’ Resurrection. They have shut their eyes to the reality that life is now different. They have locked out Mary Magdalene’s words of faith, hope, and love. The doors of our tombs are always locked from the inside. Jesus is always entering the locked places of our lives. He comes to us in the uninvited and sometimes even unwanted places of our lives and He steps into our closed hearts and closed minds. Standing among us, He offers peace and breathes new life into us. He does not open the door for us, but He gives us all we need so that we might open our doors to a new life, a new creation, a new way of being.
Perhaps this strange time in our world is an invitation to a new way of living. A new way to embrace extra time and to encounter prayer with Jesus. Let us take peace in a God who calmed the storms. Help us to recognize that we have the power to pray together in many dwelling places. Help us to utilize this opportunity to share with others the hope that lies within us. It’s not wrong to experience fear. That’s a healthy response to the threats we face. But we can, by God’s grace, face our fears so that our hearts and our lives are ruled by hope and love, and not by fear alone. God’s love, in the end, is stronger than whatever we face. We are never alone.
Bernadette Gibson is Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick’s Church.
Many of us are stunned, trying to keep up with daily news about the coronavirus and the necessary changes to our lives. We might be terribly afraid, both for our own well-being and the health of those we love. And here we get the reminder we need. “Let not your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.” In our fear and in our confusion, God is with us. We are never alone. Most of us are spending most of our time on Zoom gatherings lately. In a recent online gathering the community asked: “What is your biggest fear in these times?” I did not expect the abundance of responses received. But I left the meeting recognizing that Fear is universal. You may be worrying about your children (young or grown), or worrying about a loved one who is sick. Maybe you’re wondering how you’re going to live when a family member has died. All of us can be fearful about our health, or our finances. We can worry about all sorts of things, big and small. And yet, our God knew we would struggle with fear. So he made sure he wrote about it in today’s Gospel message. It today’s Gospel he sent a love letter to us.
When Jesus makes his farewell speech to His disciples, He tells them He is going to prepare a place for them. He will come for them, He says, “so that where He is, they also may be.” And then Jesus says to them. “and you know the place where I am going.” To which Thomas pipes up, “Lord we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” I do not think Thomas was the only one among the disciples who wondered where Jesus was going and how they would find him - but Thomas was the one who spoke up! Perhaps every time we are not honest about our fears of abandonment, we shut the doors of our lives and we imprison ourselves. Perhaps that is what has happened to the disciples in today’s gospel. Jesus’ tomb is open and empty, but the disciples’ house is closed and the doors locked tight. The disciples have separated themselves and their lives from the reality of Jesus’ Resurrection. They have shut their eyes to the reality that life is now different. They have locked out Mary Magdalene’s words of faith, hope, and love. The doors of our tombs are always locked from the inside. Jesus is always entering the locked places of our lives. He comes to us in the uninvited and sometimes even unwanted places of our lives and He steps into our closed hearts and closed minds. Standing among us, He offers peace and breathes new life into us. He does not open the door for us, but He gives us all we need so that we might open our doors to a new life, a new creation, a new way of being.
Perhaps this strange time in our world is an invitation to a new way of living. A new way to embrace extra time and to encounter prayer with Jesus. Let us take peace in a God who calmed the storms. Help us to recognize that we have the power to pray together in many dwelling places. Help us to utilize this opportunity to share with others the hope that lies within us. It’s not wrong to experience fear. That’s a healthy response to the threats we face. But we can, by God’s grace, face our fears so that our hearts and our lives are ruled by hope and love, and not by fear alone. God’s love, in the end, is stronger than whatever we face. We are never alone.
Bernadette Gibson is Director of Pastoral Care at Old St. Patrick’s Church.