St. Melania the Younger

St. Melania the Younger was born in 383 to wealthy Christians. Her grandmother was St. Melania the Elder. Her father was a Roman senator. At 14, she married Valerius Pinianus. After two of their children died soon after childbirth, Valerius agreed to devote their lives to religious dedication, including celibacy.

Melania inherited land in Sicily, Britain, Iberia, Africa, Numidia, Mauretania and Italy. She used her wealth to endow monasteries Egypt, Syria, and Palestine, as well as donate to churches and monasteries in Europe, often anonymously.

In 408, the couple moved to Sicily to live a monastic life. When barbarians invaded in 410, Melania, her husband, and her mother fled to Numidia. They founded a convent, led by Melania, and a cloister, led by Valerius. They met and befriended Augustine. In 417, they made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and wound up settling in a hermitage there. Melania met Jerome, and they became good friends. 

Though blessed with vast wealth and familial support, Melania spent her life giving away her possessions and seeking an ascetic life. After her mother died in 431 and her husband died in 432, she built a convent and served as its abbess until her death on Dec. 31, 439. She is regarded as one of the Desert Mothers. Her feast day is Dec. 31 (Julian calendar).

A Lenten Gaudete Sunday

I have trouble showing gratitude. I know how to say “thank you,” and acknowledge my privileges, but I’ve always struggled with expressing gratefulness, even privately. A couple years ago, my penance, regardless of priest or parish, was always to reflect on what I’m grateful for, as if each could hear my melancholy and struggle in each confession.

I’ve worked at it. I try to tell my friends what I appreciate about them. I don’t take friendships for granted, but I’m not one to normally express such gratitudes.

Part of this I think is that I’m better at seeing problems. I’ll nitpick something even if I love it. I’m a perfectionist who wants to everything and everyone to be working at full potential. I don’t expect perfection, but I expect to be moving toward it, be it lining up pens in the “right” order or beating myself up for the one sentence I should have said in the meeting but didn’t. I see the flaws everywhere— the injustices, the diseases, the evil. I focus on those instead of looking at how much is right. 90% is an A to some; it’s 10% short to me. I can like and enjoy something but still only comment on its flaws.

I’m learning that expressing gratitude increases joy. I have so many blessings; of course it does me good to count them. I like receiving compliments; of course I should give them to others. There are terrible things in the world and depressing parts to life, but there is also love and beauty and God’s unceasing patience.

There is a benefit to see the flaws—to push for change, fight for justice, and strive to be closer to perfection. But I have to see the good too, lest I fall into despair. I have to let in joy. I have to let light into the darkness.

It’s been a gloomy Advent for me. I’ve wanted to feel peace and hope and joy and struggled to do so. Advent is traditionally a penitential season, yet we treat it with much more joy than Lent. It’s joyous because we’re waiting the coming of Jesus. Things may be bad now, but the good is coming.

Gaudete. I need the command. Rejoice, let in joy; all will be well.

Dear Philothea

While I’ve read Introduction to the Devout Life several times, I’ve only recently begun diving into St. Francis de Sales’ Treatise on the Love of God. One thing that immediately struck out to me was stance that women and men were equal, in the eyes of God and in the ability to study and know God. His writings are not just for the laity, but both men and women, and he relies on women saints just as much as men, particularly St. Teresa of Avila. In the introduction, he cites her as well as Sts. Catharine of Genoa, Angela of Foligno, Catharine of Siena, and Mechtilde.

Then he even discusses how women often accept communications written to men when it’s applicable to them, yet men refuse to accept communications written to women that are applicable to them:

A great servant of God informed me not long ago that by addressing my speech to Philothea

in the Introduction to a Devout Life, I hindered many men from profiting by it: because they did not esteem advice given to a woman, to be worthy of a man. I marvelled that there were men who, to be thought men, showed themselves in effect so little men, for I leave it to your consideration, my dear reader, whether devotion be not as well for men as for women, and whether we are not to read with as great attention and reverence the second Epistle of S. John which was addressed to the holy lady Electa, as the third which he directs to Caius, and whether a thousand thousand Epistles and excellent Treatises of the ancient fathers of the Church ought to be held unprofitable to men, because they are addressed to holy women of those times. But, besides, it is the soul which aspires to devotion that I call Philothea, and men have souls as well as women.

Nevertheless, to imitate the great Apostle in this occasion, who esteemed himself a debtor to every one, I have changed my address in this treatise and speak to Theotimus, but if perchance there should be any woman (and such an unreasonableness would be more tolerable in them) who would not read the instructions which are given to men, I beg them to know that Theotimus to whom I speak is the human spirit desirous of making progress in holy love, which spirit is equally in women as in men.

This Treatise then is made for a soul already devout that she may be able to advance in her design.

I didn’t expect to see such a callout of sexism in the early seventeenth century, but was delighted to see it. It makes me love St. Francis de Sales all the more, and each time I see Theotimus, I know the treatise belongs just as much to Philothea.

The Suffering Woman

My Bible study has been studying women of the Old Testament. Over and over, I’m struck by how much these women suffered. Some were great examples of faith; some were not. Yet each in her own way experienced suffering. Women of that time, like most times, were treated as lesser to men—somewhere between second class and property. Most had no agency in her life. That makes the stories of individual women that have remained to be handed down that much more powerful—even the men could not ignore these women.

One of the stories that has stuck with me most is that of Leah and Rachel. Leah was the eldest. When Jacob wanted to marry Rachel, he served their father seven years, but Laban insisted the eldest be married off first. So Jacob married Leah, then negotiated for Rachel in return of seven more years. Within a month, the two sisters now shared a husband.

Leah was stuck in a marriage where her husband loved another woman more. She longed for her husband’s love, and it wasn’t repaid. She did nothing wrong, and she gave him several children, yet she could not win his affection, instead watching it be poured onto another. Meanwhile, Rachel had the love of her husband, but she could not bear children—the primary duty of a wife. Her desire to give her husband children and to bear her own children probably weighed on her every month, especially as she watched Leah bear children.

I don’t think the sisters were jealous or competitive. But they each suffered their own heartbreak while having to live alongside another woman who had what they desired, compounding their pain.

And isn’t this the story of woman? Desire to be loved and share love, disappointment, carrying our burdens, carrying on. The courage and strength of women are the intangible victories won in the heart—getting up each morning to suffer and keep going.

Leah never received the favor of Jacob. Rachel did eventually bear two children, but she died in childbirth, naming the son Benoni, “son of my mourning.” Jacob renamed him Benjamin. There is not a happy ending for the mothers of the Twelve Tribes. But their suffering is acknowledged and remembered. They are seen.

And even for the women not chronicled in the Old Testament, they do not suffer forgotten. God sees their pain; he hears their cries. He seeks love and justice and consolation for them. Women are not secondary to God. He knows our longings and their strengths. He knows our obstacles and their weaknesses.

We will suffer. But we can suffer together. We can suffer and remember. We can suffer and love. We can suffer and keep the faith.

St. Mary of Edessa

St. Mary of Edessa was born in Syria in the 4th century. Her parents died when she was young and she went to live with her uncle Abraham Kidunaia, a hermit. She followed her uncle’s example and lived as an anchoress for 20 years.

One day when she was visiting her uncle, a monk caught sight of her and sought to seduce her. He spent a year befriending her until she gave herself to him. Horrified by her own sin, Mary tore her tunic and was terrified of facing her uncle in disgrace. She ran away, thinking that she could not be redeemed. In despair, she assumed she was a tarnished woman and might as well go live in a brothel.

Her uncle did not know what had happened. All he could do was to pray for her return. Two years later, he received news that she was a prostitute. He hadn’t left his hermitage in years, but he immediately went to the brothel where Mary lived and begged her to come home. She had thought he would be angry and disgusted by her, but he showed only love and concern.

She returned to her home and began a life of penance and prayer. People were drawn to her spiritual zeal and visited her cell.

October 29 is the feast day of St. Mary of Edessa and her uncle St. Abraham Kidunaia.  She is a patron against sexual temptation.

Up the River without an Idol

The biggest scandal to come out of the Amazon Synod involved the use of wooden figures in Rome. During the synod, displays representing the Amazon region were set up around the Vatican and Rome, including plants, canoes, and wooden figures of a pregnant woman. In one instance, people bowed to the display, to these figures. When asked what the figured represented, people were first told she was Our Lady of the Amazon, presumably Mary, thought such a title had never been heard of before. While I think an Amazonian depiction of Mary would be wonderful, I’m not sure this was carved as that intention. Later it was said she represented “life, fertility, and Mother Earth.” So, not Mary. Not Christian. And then it was said she was a representation of indigenous fertility idol Pachamama – unambiguously not Christian.

So were pagan idols brought into Christian churches in Rome or not? No one would give a clear explanation, and the fact that no Church official would only caused the concern to grow. I would have understood if we (Europeans) misunderstood a symbol from another culture, but the fact that no one could clearly say “X means Y” made me believe it was a pagan idol after all. A couple of men took the figures from the church and threw them in the Tiber. Yet the figures were fished out and on display at the conclusion of the synod.

Was this a case of Euro-centric Catholics not understanding an Amazonian expression of the faith? Or was this a case of pagan rituals being brought into a church under the guise of dialogue? Christianity has always adopted pagan symbols and practices. There is nothing wrong about taking a symbol a culture already knows and using it to share to the faith. But it must be baptized—cut out of its pagan meaning and given a Christian identity. A culture’s practice can be kept and used, but it must be reordered to Christ. It must teach truth. These figurines caused confusion and division. Christianity cannot not let a pagan remain pagan.

A goal of the synod is to listen and understand the unique needs of the Amazon region. And that includes, perhaps, practices that we don’t understand at first. Perhaps the statues are Christian but just look different than our ideas of Mary. But perhaps not. The concerning part is no one would say. And we can’t let it remain ambiguous. A dialogue goes both ways, and we must reach a conclusion of what the Church can and cannot allow. #1: You will have no gods before me.

Up the River without a Paddle

The Amazon Synod—I intended to not pay much attention to it, but as the synod went on, a couple of items went viral, igniting the armchair experts. The Amazon Synod was called to addressed the challenges of the Church in the rural Amazon region, covering a massive amount of land with a small, indigenous population. From the beginning, some have claimed it’s being used to shoehorn progressive ideas into the Church—first for this specific region then spreading to the rest of the world. And indeed, the synod did suggest allowing married men to be ordained priests and women to entrusted as deacons. But I don’t want to focus on the particular issues or conclusions of the synod. I want to look at how the Amazon region and its people have been presented during this process.

I think the need for dialogue and addressing local challenges is needed in the Church. The Church is universal and should not look like Italian colonial copies dotted all over the world. Yet, the Church is universal and should remain consistent in her teachings and liturgies so that no matter where you are, when you enter a church, you are at home in the presence of Christ.

I did not hear much for the Amazonian people themselves from the synod. Instead, I heard about how unique the region is, how the people are tribal, indigenous—in other words, they are noble savages. These untouched, pure primitive ways had to be preserved—a privilege most cultures did not receive from colonizers.

I understand the dark history of colonialism and the desire to not repeat the mistakes of the past. But it feels like the pendulum has swung the other way, where cultures must never share parts of themselves for fear of “tainting” or “imposing” on another. No culture is pure; no people are a museum piece that must be preserved. The Amazonian people can be exposed to Christianity and still maintain their identity. Ideally, that is what would happen. We must not be afraid to share the truth. Christianity calls for change. We should meet people where they are but not leave them there. 

Bishop Erwin Kräutler (principal author of the synod’s working document) claimed that “indigenous people don’t understand celibacy.” He is calling for married priests because apparently the Amazonian people won’t respect a celibate man. How is that not demeaning to the Amazonian people, that they are incapable to learning about the virtue of celibacy in relation to the Church? He implies the people of the region are too naïve or dumb to learn the principles of Christianity that have been taught in every other region of the world.

It is still a colonial attitude that suggests how we treat one people should be different from how we treat others. It creates a system that “others” the Amazonian people by suggesting they are too different to follow what the rest of the Church is able to uphold. There may be practicalities that are unique and need addressing, but to suggest the people don’t understand or won’t accept some teachings is saying that the Church isn’t really universal at all.

St. Marguerite Bays

St. Marguerite Bays was born on Sept. 8 (the Nativity of Mary), 1815 in Switzerland. She was the second of seven children, and her parents were farmers. She was known as a good student in school. In 1830 she began an apprenticeship as a seamstress and soon served as a seamstress for several households.

She was pious and made a small alter in her room at home for prayer. Many around her suggested she join a religious order, but instead, she remained a single laywoman and virgin and devoted herself to an austere life of work and caring for her siblings.

During that time, local farmers were losing jobs to mechanization. She served them by delivering milk and bread and doing their washing and mending. She joined the Secular Franciscans. She regularly attended Mass and adoration and taught catechism to children.

In 1853 she got bowel cancer. On Dec. 8, 1854, Pope Pius IX declared the immaculate conception dogma. On the same day, Marguerite found herself cured of the cancer and took it as a sign. Also in 1854, she discovered she had the stigmata and consulted her bishop. While she tried to keep it secret, news got out. She would fall into ecstatic raptures and feel the pain of Christ’s death once a week. She had a medical exam in 1873.

She grew very sick and weak in early 1879 with acute pain in her head, throat, and chest. She died at 3 p.m. on June 27, 1879.

She was one of five people canonized this past Sunday, Oct. 13, 2019. Her feast day will be June 27, and she is a patron of Franciscan tertiaries.

Praying for the Kurds

The Kurds have faced ethnic persecution for generations. Since the fall of the Ottoman Empire, Kurds have wanted their own country, yet instead they comprise a sizeable majority in Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and Iran. Kurds have been on the forefront of fighting ISIS and rebel groups in Syria. Many Kurdish fighters are women. The U.S. has worked with Kurdish forces throughout the fighting.

Last week, Kurds logged into Twitter and discovered they had been betrayed. The U.S., with no warning, was pulling out of Syria and allowing Turkey to invade. Turkey is suffering from the mass of refugees that have fled Syria during the war. They claim they need to invade and secure a safe zone between Syria and Turkey, where they will return over a million refugees. That zone just so happens to be the Kurdish region of Syria. Turkey has long sought to stamp out Kurdish culture in Turkey. Thousands have been killed in recent years of fighting between Kurdish nationalists and Turkey. Erdogan has said that Kurdish fighters in northeastern Syria are terrorists, same as the nationalists in Turkey.

In just days, there are reports of ISIS prisoner breakouts, civilian casualties, closed hospitals. Tens of thousands are being displaced. There is chaos and carnage in a place where stability was already fragile. The commander of the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces told a senior US diplomat, “You are leaving us to be slaughtered.”

The situation is terribly complex, of course. Yet this moment is clear. The U.S. betrayed a weaker ally. We enlisted them to fight in a war then abandoned them. We used to say we were the defender of freedom. But this moment shows no love of freedom, no leadership, no courage, and no morality.

The Kurds are used to being ignored. They are used to be persecuted. And now they experiencing devastating betrayal. One less ally to call upon. One less ally in which to place hope. One less friend on the world stage. They are learning that the U.S. is not trustworthy. That they are on their own.

When trust is lost, so can hope waver. How can one hope as their land is revenged, as their people die, as the world throws on one more betrayal? I certainly don’t have any solutions to the chaos in Syria. But I pray for the Kurds who continue to get up each morning and fight against evil. I hope that the slaughtering will end. I hope there are moral people who will find solutions. I hope that the refugees and the fighters and the civilians all caught up in this misery don’t lose hope.

St. Hunna

St. Hunna was born in the 7th century to a duke. She was known as being kind to the poor. One of her acts of service was washing the laundry of her needy neighbors in Strasbourg. Her neighbors called her the "Holy Washerwoman."

She married Hunon, who founded the village of Hunawihr in her name. Their son Deodatus became a monk. She and Hunon spent their lives donating money and land for churches and monasteries and serving the local poor through personal encounters. She was always willing to clean or do laundry for the poor. Though she was well-loved, there is not much else known about her. She died in 679.

She is the patron of laundry workers and washerwomen. Her feast day is April 15.

Monday Motivation: Faith, Hope, and Charity

“Faith, hope, and charity go together. Hope is practiced through the virtue of patience, which continues to do good even in the face of apparent failure, and through the virtue of humility, which accepts God's mystery and trusts him even at times of darkness. Faith tells us that God has given his Son for our sakes and gives us the victorious certainty that it is really true: God is love! It thus transforms our impatience and our doubts into the sure hope that God holds the world in his hands and that, as the dramatic imagery of the end of the Book of Revelation points out, in spite of all darkness he ultimately triumphs in glory. Faith, which sees the love of God revealed in the pierced heart of Jesus on the Cross, gives rise to love. Love is the light—and in the end, the only light—that can always illuminate a world grown dim and give us the courage needed to keep living and working. Love is possible, and we are able to practice it because we are created in the image of God.”  

—Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est

Monday Motivation: Labor Day

"The following duties bind the wealthy owner and the employer: not to look upon their work people as their bondsmen, but to respect in every man his dignity as a person ennobled by Christian character. ...to misuse men as though they were things in the pursuit of gain, or to value them solely for their physical powers - that is truly shameful and inhuman. ...His great and principal duty is to give every one what is just. Doubtless, before deciding whether wages are fair, many things have to be considered; but wealthy owners and all masters of labor should be mindful of this - that to exercise pressure upon the indigent and the destitute for the sake of gain, and to gather one's profit out of the need of another, is condemned by all laws, human and divine. To defraud any one of wages that are his due is a great crime which cries to the avenging anger of Heaven."
-Pope Leo XII, Rerum Novarum


Today is Labor Day, and while many take their three-day weekend without much thought, there was a lot of toil and fighting that led to the concept of a weekend at all. We often take for granted the laws and provisions in place that make the workplace a safer and more just environment. Labor in the U.S. is far from perfect, and employers will still try to find loopholes to maximize profits at the expense of their employees' well-being. But we've come a long way. And we need to honor those who fought for our health, livelihood, and dignity, and we need to stay vigilant to ensure human worth is upheld above profit.

All is Vanity

“For what profit comes to man from all the toil and anxiety of heart with which he has labored under the sun? All his days sorrow and grief are his occupation; even at night his mind is not at rest. This also is vanity.” –Ecclesiastes 2:22-23

When Ecclesiastes opened with its “all is vanity,” it’s easy to nod along, thinking of how much trivial, vain things are in the world. It’s all small compared to God. But when the first reading this past Sunday concluded with these verses from chapter 2, it made me pause and think, “Wait, that’s vanity?”

Sorrow and grief are real and not easily shaken off. No one chooses to burden themselves with anxiety. The pain is unwanted; the toil is tiresome. How can such suffering be disregarded as vanity?

It struck close to home. How can my pain and suffering be so easily dismissed? It’s easy to say that it’ll pass or to think positive when you are not the one drowning the stick black mess of melancholia. It’s easy to say the sufferer is overreacting or seeking attention when you want to ignore them.

Sorrow is a void, and you try to scream and no one hears. You scream again, and one person turns to tell you to be quiet. You’re drowning, and everyone else just wants to enjoy their day at the beach. You’re told to say something, speak up, ask for help. But people like to help with 1-800 numbers instead of wading into the water and actually listening.

What profit is there? Nothing. I know it’s nothing. It’s painful and restless and isolating. It feels me with anger and guilt and self-pity and pride. It exhausts me. It feels too big, too overshadowing, to be trivial, temporal. It’s all-consuming, yet it’s nothing? Yes, I know that’s the point. It is temporal. God is much, much stronger. It’s just hard to find the light through all the muck.

St. Mary of the Cross

Mary MacKillop was born in Melbourne, Australia in 1842 to Scottish immigrants. She worked as a governess, but made sure to teach the children of the farm hands on the estate as well. She had a passion for teaching and caring for the poor.

In 1866, Father Tenison Woods invited her and her sister to open a Catholic school. On November 21 that year, Mary along with several other women dedicated to teaching, adopted religious names and began wearing simple habits. They named themselves the Sisters of St. Joseph of the Sacred Heart (the Josephites), dedicated to educating the poor. It was the first religious order founded by an Australian. Mary took the name Mary of the Cross.

The order expanded rapidly and opened several more schools in South Australia in the next decade. They also operated orphanages and homes for the aged. Just as quickly, they faced pushback and controversy.

In early 1870, Mary heard allegations that a priest had abused children. She informed Father Woods, who informed the vicar general, and the priest was sent back to Ireland. A colleague of the priest, Father Charles Horan, was angered by the removal; evidence suggests he sought revenge against Father Woods and the Josephites. Father Horan became vicar general in June 1870. In September, he met the bishop of Adelaide and convinced him that the diocese should have control over the order. The Josephite constitution claimed submission to Rome, not the local diocese. Mary refused to change the constitution. She was excommunicated for insubordination.

Rumors spread that the Josephites were financially incompetence and that Mary had a drinking problem. Though the order was not disbanded, many of the schools were forced to close. Forbidden from having contact with Catholics, Mary lived with a Jewish family during this time. Some of her sisters resisted diocesan attempts of control; others acquiesced.

On his deathbed, the bishop instructed Father Horan to lift the excommunication. On Feb. 21, 1872, she was absolved; she was later completely exonerated. The next year, she went to Rome to have the Josephite “Rule of Life” officially approved. Some changes were made, but Pope Pius IX was supportive of her. Pope Leo XIII gave the final approval in 1888.

The order expanded into New South Wales and New Zealand. They continued to face issues with local clergy because the sisters did not operate as traditional orders did, and they did not accept affluent children nor government money.

I think the most inspiring part of Mary of the Cross’ story is that although she became embroiled in pity, vengeful attacks and resistance, she continued to follow the path that was best for her sisters and the children they served. She remained faithful to God and her vows, even when “disobedient” to the local men in power. In the end, she was exonerated and allowed to follow her calling.

Mother Mary of the Cross died on August 8, 1909 in Sydney. The first Australian to be declared a saint, she was canonized in 2010.

Monday Motivation: St. Teresa's YOLO

There is something both depressing and uplifting in this sentiment. We only have one life; we must follow God now and do good, for there is no other chance. Don't mess this up. Further, your soul is your responsibility. Your journey may be aided by others, but it is yours alone. Only you (and God) know the totality of your experiences. In the end, you will be judged individually. This call feels isolating and almost futilely challenging. 

And yet, how often do we stress over the state of our souls? In the end, it is the reason for living, yet we let ourselves get torn into pieces, focusing on dozens of other problems and stresses. If our life's purpose were actually priority, how much would those other issues fall into place? And how much more at peace would we be with those things that we can't control?

What worries do I have today that will matter in a year, in 10 years, in 100? My soul is eternal. I should be much more concerned about that.  

And Who is My Neighbor?

This Sunday’s Gospel reading was the parable of the Good Samaritan. A story we’ve all heard multiple times before, a Sunday School classic, if you will. But this Sunday was also the day of targeted ICE raids, striking terror into immigrant communities who feared that the targeting might be a little too broad. As we watch people pile up in the detention camps near the border and hear the stories of families separated by deportation, it’s a good time to ask, “And who is my neighbor?”

The scholar who asks Jesus this question knows God. He knows what he must do to inherit eternal life: love God and love neighbor. But he wants specifics. He doesn’t want to be actually obligated to love those he hates. He wants assurance that being good to his preferred people counts.

“I’m a good person,” we reassure ourselves as we love those who are easy to love. But Jesus calls us to show mercy, to go out of our way, out of our comfort zones, to aid those most in need of help, to see that they recover, to love our neighbors—and everyone is our neighbor.

Whether one believes those who have entered the country illegally should be deported or given a path to citizenship or some other solution is not the issue at stake right now. The issue is how do we treat those in our care? Do we see people who have walked thousands of miles for their children to live in a safe land? Do we see people fleeing all they know for just the chance of a better life? Do we see neighbors? Do we see people?

Our neighbors deserve water, for drinking and bathing. Our neighbors deserve food and medical attention. Our neighbors deserve a place to rest their head at night. Our neighbors deserve to be treated like people, looked in the eye, and acknowledged.

The Good Samaritan is remembered for going out of his way for loving a man in need. He was not socially obligated to help, but morally he was compelled to. He chose mercy.

“Go, and do likewise.”

St. Bertha of Artois

St. Bertha of Artois was born into a wealthy Frankish family around 644. Her mother was the daughter of the King of Kent. She married Siegfried, a relative of King Clovis II of Burgundy. They had a happy and devoted marriage. They had five daughters, two of whom died in infancy. After around 20 years of marriage, Siegfried died, and Bertha sought a religious life.

Around 682, she founded a convent at Blangy, Artois. Legend says the first two buildings she had built collapsed; an angel in a vision guided her to a third spot where the abbey was finally built. Her two eldest daughters, Gertrude and Deotila (who also became saints) joined her there. A young lord, Roger, wished to marriage Gertrude after she had taken religious vows, but Bertha refused and protected her daughter. Roger tried to slander Bertha, saying she was involved in an English conspiracy to taken over the region. The king called her to testimony and believed her, ending the persecution.

After establishing her community and leaving it in the care of her daughter Deotila, Bertha retired to live as a recluse, devoted to prayer. St. Bertha died of natural causes on July 4, 725. She is a patron of widows. Her feast day is July 4.

Kumba-nah

It’s summer, and so it’s spirit season—the time of year full of Vacation Bible School, retreats, church camps, revivals, and mission trips. People have time to really devote to their faith, and that’s great. I always liked extra church time in the summer as a kid, but I also always encountered uncomfortable moments, moments when the music slowed, people shared testimonies, and those around me had an emotional response I couldn’t relate to. Why were they being so emotional? Why did I never, never feel those things?

I made myself feel better through justifications. The atmosphere is emotionally manipulative. Some are just faking to fit in. They’ll go right back to business as usual once the week is over. It’s ok not to feel anything. Right?

A part of me wanted that emotion, that connection, that overwhelming feeling that seemed to spill out in tears and hands in the air and bright smiles. Why wasn’t I feeling anything? Was I missing something? Was I not as faithful as them? Would everyone think I didn’t love God unless my devotion outwardly expressed itself in emotional demonstration? I never asked God for an emotional experience. It looked messy and vulnerable and unsustainable. My subdued, internal devotion is steady, glowing embers rather than fireworks. So I enjoyed the crafts, the lessons, the songs, the submersion into summer church things, but I never got a retreat high.

Retreat highs happen when people have strong emotional experiences or spiritual revelations during a retreat or mission. When we step out of our daily routines and devote a day or a week or more to living for God and reflecting on faith, it’s easy to see our faith make great strides. Oh, this is why we’re here, this is how God loves me, this is how I want to live for Him. We make great plans for how we’ll take the lessons of the retreat back home. But oftentimes, the familiarity of home knocks us back into our old routines. We fondly remember the retreat, but it’s not life-altering.

For those who felt those retreat highs, they miss the high more than they miss the retreat. They seek out other ways to get the emotional feeling—more retreats, more music, more emotional expressions in their worship. Others feel that losing the high is the same as losing faith. God felt so close then, but now the feeling’s gone; is God gone too? Feeling becomes a confirmation of faith.

In The Spark of Faith, Vatican household theologian Fr. Wojciech Giertych, OP, says, “Since faith is located in the intellect and partly, in the will, belief as such is not a matter of feelings….Emotional experiences and imaginations therefore play a role in religiosity, which expresses faith and maintains it in the personal and social realm, but the force of their expression is not a sign of the depth of faith. Some people react to everything emotionally, and so they also experience their religiosity in this way, and others are more reserved in their reactions. This does not mean that those who are cooler have no faith….It is not essential to have religious experiences, nor that they necessarily be multiplied. What is much more important is that concern that faith will grow, that it will be more deeply rooted in the intellectual and moral life, thereby opening it to the fecundity of grace.”

It reassuring to know that my faith does not depend on my ability to have deep emotional experiences or public displays of such. Though it is also good for me to be reminded that others experience God and the world in such ways, and they aren’t all being manipulated or fake. God speaks to us differently. And while I don’t risk retreat high withdrawal, I am learning the benefit in letting go and just living in the experience. I’ve now had emotional spiritual experiences. They’re powerful. But we can’t stay on the mountain. We have to come back down into the world. Our faith must be rooted in rationality so that it doesn’t bend to the winds of whimsy. The summer ends. The retreat high dissipates. Life steadily moves on. Can I handle that?

Freedom and Light in a Dark Box

The California Senate recently passed a bill that would require Catholic priests to break the sacramental seal of confession regarding information of sexual abuse of minors. While I’m not one to cry religious oppression in the U.S., this bill is a violation of the freedom of religion, dictating that spiritual matters come under the control of the state authorities. It also absolutely will not work. Not one person will be safer from this bill. But many souls could be hurt by it. But the bill isn’t really about helping victims. It’s about flexing authority over the Church and punishing it for its collective sin.

Priests are already mandated reporters of abuse. Unless it’s from confession, priests are required, like many other professions, to report known or suspected cases of abuse. The bill would do away with the confession exception. But how would that work?

Priests cannot violate the seal of confession. He would be automatically excommunicated. If faced with breaking the seal or going to prison, they are taught to go to prison. They have to put the sacrament above their own comfort or lives. Good shepherds suffer for their sheep. Confession can be anonymous, behind screens, without names. The priest would not necessarily know who is confessing to report it even if he could. The sacrament is for spiritual grace, not information gathering. A priest might instruct someone to come talk to him outside the confession, where as a mandated reporter he could do more, but in the box, he is only there to act in persona Christi and absolve sin.

But what if people worry that the seal of confession isn’t absolute? What if they fear going to confession or giving a full confession? Would someone genuinely confess child abuse only in confession knowing the priest will go to the police? State interference in religion violates the First Amendment. Dictating how a sacrament works and dissuading believers from practicing their religion is abuse of state power. In Communist Poland (and probably other places), the state would try to bug confessionals to gain intel on priests and parishioners. Spies infiltrated church communities. Will sting operations be set up, with someone confessing something then arresting the priest when he doesn’t report it? Sacred space means nothing to secularists. Sacramental grace means nothing to those seeking power and control.

Surely, this is only a first step. Why should priests have report child sex abuse but not child neglect, adult rape, murder, domestic abuse, suicide, self-harm, etc.? Once it is established that the confessional is not sacred, then the state can intrude further and further into people’s sins/crimes.

In further proof that this law isn’t really about saving victims but intruding on the sacrament, the state lessened the scope of the bill. Priests only have to report from the confessional if it’s a coworker or other priest. That greatly reduces the people affected. It might make some feel safer, but that’s the point—they might not fight it as much. It greatly reduces the odds of the state actually catching a criminal this way. And of course, as mentioned before, confession can be done anonymously; how should a priest know if it’s a person he should report or who that person is? Though that doesn’t matter; he’s not going to break the sacred seal no matter who it is.

I’m not too worried. I hope that the bill doesn’t pass the House in the fall. There are lots of people in California fighting it. I trust that no one will violate the seal even if it does pass. I think most faithful will still seek out the sacrament, even if the bill burdens them with worry that their private confession to God isn’t so private.

Proponents of the bill say that the Church is surrounded in secrets and cover-ups and that this is a way of exposing the truth. Yet it is the opposite. Confession is where people openly bare their souls, articulating their sins, thus exposing them to the light. We are not burdened to carry our sin and shame alone, in the dark recesses of our minds. We confess, we lay bare, with no fear of repercussion of any kind. Our faults seem so less powerful when exposed to the light of God’s mercy.  Our free will means we sin, but we can also freely choose to return to God, contritely asking for forgiveness that He readily waits to give. State interference with the confessional threatens our freedom.

Gifts of the Ghost

I've started pondering the Holy Spirit more. As a former "frozen chosen" it's difficult to relate to the person of the Trinity associated with movement and tongues and flames and emotion. But I'm starting to appreciate the movement of the Spirit in my life more and more and trying to make a conscious effort to be better acquainted. The most obvious place to start is the sacraments where I know we've met. The Holy Spirit gives gifts at baptism and confirmation; it would be rude not to open them.

The gifts of the Holy Spirit are first found in Isaiah 11: 2-3 describing the Root of Jesse: “The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him—the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, and Spirit of knowledge and godliness—and he will delight in the fear of the Lord.”  We receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit at our baptism, and they are strengthened through confirmation. We are given these gifts in order to spread and defend the faith. They are our tools, so like the disciples at Pentecost, we can be send out to share the Good News.

According to St. Thomas Aquinas, the gifts of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, and counsel direct the intellect, while fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord direct the will. The gifts help us exercise virtue and combat sin.

Wisdom, the first and highest gift, helps us to understand God and direct our actions toward Him. It is more than knowledge; it is an extension of belief into understanding that belief. Wisdom allows us to see the world in its true light. By knowing the proper ordering of the world, we can better bear its burdens and respond in ways that glorify God.

Understanding helps us see the core truth of beliefs and revelations. Through understanding, we see how all the pieces fit together. Understanding rises above natural reason and helps us draw out philosophical, theological, and moral conclusions. By seeing the big picture, we can make practical decisions that affect the world and our lives, guiding them toward God.

Counsel helps us judge how to best take action in situations. It builds upon what we discern through wisdom and understanding and brings that into practical application. It assures us and encourages us to do the right thing. Counsel gives us the guidance to defend the truth.

Fortitude helps us overcome fear and stand up for the truth. It is reasoned courage that emboldens us when our faith is tested, ridiculed, or persecuted. It was the martyrs’ fortitude that gave them the strength to die for the faith. But often we do not have to face that; instead we need fortitude against temptations, modern secular culture, and evil spirits.

Knowledge helps us judge according to truth. Whereas wisdom and understanding provide the will and intellect to discern truth, knowledge is the faculty by which it is known. Knowledge helps us see the circumstances and consequences that must be factored into right judgment. It helps us know God’s purpose for us. It also helps us distinguish the voice of God from the temptations of the devil and choose our response accordingly.

Piety helps us grow in desire to worship and serve God. It helps us go beyond practicing religion out of obligation and practice it out of love for God. Piety is sometimes called “the perfection of the virtue of religion.” It calls us to prayer, to Mass, to respect others, to acts of charity, to do all things for God.

Fear of the Lord helps us to maintain a healthy relationship with God. It is not the type of fear that comes from being scared or threatened. Fear of the Lord is the desire to not offend God but to show Him proper honor and respect. It is the foundation of our relationship with God, similarly to how in childhood our desire to not disappoint our parents first teaches us what actions are right or wrong. It is rooted in love.

St. Joanna

Joanna is one of the women who traveled with Jesus and the apostles. She was the wife of Chuza, who managed the household of Herod. The Gospel of Luke notes that she was healed of evil spirits and infirmities by Jesus. She then began following him. As the wife of a court official, she would have had the means to travel and contribute to Jesus and the disciples. She also could have provided Luke with witness accounts of the court. Several of the women who traveled with Jesus were women of wealth. They provided material support to his ministry as well as adding a domestic, feminine dimension to his band of disciples. 

Joanna was one of the women who witnessed the Resurrection and was likely present for the Pentecost. In the Eastern Church, she is known as a myrrhbearer, as one who went to Jesus’ tomb with myrrh and spices on Easter Day and found the tomb empty. She, with other women, remained loyal to Jesus through his suffering and death. They were the first to know the Good News.

Does Anybody Really Care?

Lately the vitriol of the abortion debate has been amplified. Liberal states are passing laws loosening abortion restrictions. Conservative states are passing laws with more restrictions. Liberals complain that conservatives don’t care about women. Conservatives complain that liberals don’t care about preborn children. Both are right.

Some of the restrictions are being made into law solely for the purpose of working up the court systems in attempts to overturn Roe v. Wade. So many people have bought into the idea of “making abortion illegal at all cost.” It’s why so many Christians vote for Republicans who claim to be prolife. It’s why they overlook the moral, intellectual, and political failings of a president who promises to appoint prolife judges. It’s why they support questionable judicial appointments and decisions as the courts situate themselves to take on an abortion case in the near future. Abortion is the worst crime, they believe. The ends justify the means.

As someone who considers herself prolife, this attitude is sickening. It’s not a prolife attitude, which should be keeping the dignity of human life at the forefront of actions. It’s political posturing, manipulating a large base of people for votes to pass dubious measures on other issues, like ruining the environment and funneling money to the wealthy.

This focus on stopping the legality of abortion rarely focuses on actually stopping abortions. Where is the concern for women in such crises that they believe abortion is a solution? Pregnancy is difficult—emotionally, financially, and physically. We have to address those needs. We have to acknowledge the burden of growing a human inside of you takes and support those women. With counseling, financial support, and medical care. We have to hold fathers accountable to their children. We have to have a strong, compassionate foster system and make adoptions cheaper. We have to raise the children of our village, ensuring no mother thinks her child would be “better off” if he’d never been born.

Without addressing the mothers, laws protecting the preborn aren’t prolife. They are manipulative, sexist laws that offer no reform or hope. I’ve seen lawmakers and prominent prolife speakers refer to mothers as the “space” where the preborn are, the “vessels”, or “carriers.” The womb becomes a room detached from a human body. A womb is part of a woman’s body. The baby inside the womb is his own little person. There are two bodies, two people, involved. The mother is fully human, not a space. The child is fully human, not a parasite or clump of cells. Avoiding one person to stand up for the other is not compassionate, from either side.

It is inconvenient in our society that women carry the burden of childbirth. Hell, it’s always been inconvenient. Pregnancy is dangerous. Women have always been the ones to bear that burden. It doesn’t fit nicely into our ideas of what a fully egalitarian, efficient society looks like. We want to children to pop up into being, into homes that want them and can afford them, without any problems—physical, mental, emotional, financial. We want the child to not put strain on the mother’s body, to not disrupt her career, to not jeopardize her relationship or her financial situation or her plans. But is that realistic? Do we want it to be?

Do we really want a world where a child’s presence makes no difference, no impact? Where parenthood requires no responsibility, no patience, no sacrifice? Where a growing family doesn’t make us grow as people? I’m not saying that we shouldn’t work to make parenthood easier, especially unplanned pregnancies. But I am saying there is good that comes from children who are unwanted. And it is good if a society values each person, even if that requires some sacrifices. Since a mother, because of biology, must bear the child, then her community should acknowledge that sacrifice, ease any pains as much as possible, and embrace mother and child regardless of circumstance.

Instead of only having children who are wanted, what if we learned to want every children there is? It takes more time and money than an abortion, and the failure rate is higher, but it’s the humane approach. Humane approaches are missing from both sides of the debate. There are people on the ground doing that work, at pregnancy centers, with parenting classes, by adopting children, etc. But that’s not reflected in the discourse and the laws. And so we pettily yell back and forth at each other, convincing no one that the other side actually cares about people.

I’m against abortion. I wish it didn’t exist. I wish women had options that suited their struggles and situations while also preserving their child’s life. I wish no woman ever felt so hopeless that abortion seemed like a solution. I’m disheartened by the rhetoric that refuses to acknowledge that a child’s life is ended in abortion, that fails to see life in its most fragile form. But I’m also disheartened by the rhetoric that refuses to acknowledge the burden of mothers or show compassion toward women in crisis, that would rather punish women instead of help them.

These laws and legal maneuverings will not end abortion. They will not change the minds of people who think the prolife side doesn’t care. They will not convince people that life begins at conception. Women will still seek out violent ends to pregnancy. Punishments don’t solve crises. Laws don’t change hearts.

Cancel Culture, Canceled

Every day there is a new outrage. Some quite justified; the world is full of terrible things. But often I read online comments and don’t see justifiable anger at injustice, but instead mockery, pride, and hate.

Lately I’ve grown really tired of cancel culture. A public figure does something bad. Or a public figure did something bad decades ago and it’s just now brought to the public. Or a private citizen does something bad and becomes a public figure because of those actions.

Immediate indignation. Immediate judgement. Immediately #canceled.

There is no appeal in the court of public opinion. There isn’t even a trail. The case is read and judgement made. This person did X, so they are unredeemable. They are excommunicated. Don’t befriend them. Don’t work with them. Don’t ever let them forget what they’ve done. It seems alright to bully someone if they once bullied, to threaten if they once threatened, to hurt if they once hurt.

Now, often X truly is a terrible thing. But it’s rarely a “ruin their life, get them fired, get them expelled, harass their family, threaten their life” level of terrible. It’s easy to lay out a few, quick facts, make a judgment, and share your verdict online. These aren’t real people; they are online characters, tokens of a cultural battle, representations of our political allies or enemies. Besides, they deserve it, right? The law won’t punish them, so society will.

There is some good in such actions. Societies should call out deplorable behavior and reinforce moral standards. It is our job as members of a community to hold each other accountable. There should be accountability for spreading evil ideas and consequences for committing evil actions.

But cancel culture leaves no room for mercy. There is no forgiveness. If the person in the hot seat repents, few will accept it as contrite. Even if an apology is deemed contrite, it is not good enough, too late, and doesn’t change the verdict. The sentence is persona non grata, forever haunted by their past. No one is ever really redeemed.

The mob says it’s ok to hurt someone if they hurt someone else first. It’s ok to fight as long as you’re fighting back. It’s ok to dehumanize and be ruthless to someone as long as they deserve it.

How fortunate we are that God does not work like that. God wants to forgive, to love, to reconcile. No matter our sins, God will forgive a contrite heart. You confess, resolve to sin no more, and are redeemed before Him. You are not shunned or haunted, you are welcome and purified. Mercy does not give us what we deserve; it gives us what God wants for us.

Our sins hurt us and others and should be brought to light. But not so we can be mocked and shamed, but so we can cast off those chains and heal. How much better would we be if we held one another accountable while also loving each other? What if instead of passing along the pride and pain, we just stopped it?

St. Apollonius the Apologist

Apollonius lived in second century Rome. He was a well-educated man and became a high ranking politician and philosopher. He rose to the rank of senator. He was outed as a Christian by one of his slaves to the Pretorian Prefect Perennius and brought before the Senate to defend himself.

It was expected that he would recant his faith, or at least give into the demands of Roman law and worship Roman gods. The first investigation was in front of Perennius, and three days later, the second investigation was in front of senators and jurists. Apollonius used the opportunity to, instead of recant or water down his faith, defend and preach it.

He defended his faith on the basis of beauty and truth. He refused to worship any gods but the one true God. He said he did not fear punishment or death, because there is no punishment in attaining eternity with God.

Apollonius was condemned to death. He was martyred in Rome on April 21, 185. His feast day is April 18. He is remembered for his great apologetics.

Station 14 – Jesus is laid in the Holy Sepulchre

"Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock; and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the sepulchre." -Matthew 27:59-61

Now Jesus is shown dignity. In the hands of his friends, he is wrapped with myrrh and aloes in linen, according to custom, and laid in a new tomb, donated space from a wealthy friend. It is growing late, with the Sabbath approaching, so they must hurry to inter him.

The Body lies there, cold and motionless, marked by the wounds of his torture, swaddled in linen in a virgin tomb. It is still and dark. A pregnant pause.

Now we wait for resurrection.

Holy Week on Fire

Like many, I spent Monday afternoon watching fire ravage Notre Dame Cathedral. It captured the world’s attention. We felt attached to this old building over in France, even those of us who had no personal connection to it. Since when had we cared about Paris’s cathedral? Why did we care? And, yet, we did. We watched the fire spread and the smoke rise and the spire fall, and we mourned with the French at such a loss, even if we couldn’t quite explain why it hurt so much.

This was the beginning of Holy Week: an image of fire consuming a cathedral. What a dark way to start a dark week. Where will Paris celebrate its Chrism Mass, I wondered. Where will the cathedral parish celebrate Easter? Was the Eucharist saved? Was the Crown of Thorns? Was the art? It all seemed so hopeless.

Yet in the morning, the damage was assessed. The building survived, also with the Sacrament and the relics and the art. It will be a long time before Mass is said there again, but it will.

It’s a perfect start to Holy Week, because in the daylight, things aren’t so dark. Not all is lost. Jesus is captured and tortured and dies. It's scary and unjust, and we can't explain why it hurts so much. But in Easter morning we learn not all is lost. There is confusion and heartbreak, but once is disaster is over, there is hope.