God's Autumn Bouquet!

God of autumn, the trees are saying goodbye to their green, letting go of what has been. We, too have our moments of surrender, with all their insecurities and risk. Help us to let go when we need to do so.

God of fallen leaves, lying in coloured patterns on the ground, our lives have their own patterns. As we see the patterns on the ground, our lives have their own patterns. As we see the patterns of our own growth, may we learn from them.

God of misty days and harvest moon nights, there is always the dimension of mystery and wonder in our lives. We always need to recognize your power filled presence. May we gain strength from this. Amen. (Terry Hershey)

Francis ~ A Fool for Christ's Sake!

It is said that at one time Rabbi Lot went to see Rabbi Joseph and said, “Rabbi, as much as I am able, I practice a small rule of life, all the little fasts, some prayer and meditation, and remain quiet, and as much as possible, I keep my thoughts clean.  What else should I do? Then the old Rabbi Joseph stood up and stretched out his hands toward heaven, and his fingers became like the torches of flame.  And he said, “Why not be turned into fire?                                                            (From the Desert Fathers and Mothers)

October 4,  we celebrate Francis of Assisi, who not only turned into fire but set the world on fire with his generosity, creativity, imagination, dedication to the poor and his austere living of the Gospel.  He had a profound faith, a deep prayer life and an abiding love of God and creation.   Many commentators have called Francis “a Second Christ,” because he tried in so many ways to be exactly like Jesus.

He was born in the Tuscan country side of Assisi in 1181 to a wealthy cloth merchant.  Francis enjoyed a very rich easy life growing up; he received little formal education and during his early years he was preoccupied with having fun.  Today, we would perhaps say he is among the bold and the beautiful, the rich and famous, and the young and the restless!  As a young man, he was popular, charming, enjoyed practical jokes and was usually the life of the party.  He was good at business, but wanted to become a troubadour and write poetry.   Everyone loved Francis.  He was constantly happy, a dreamer and a born leader.  

When he was twenty years old he was eager to be a knight and took part in a battle of a nearby country, yet his townspeople were defeated and he spent a year in prison.  After his return to Assisi, he became seriously ill and dissatisfied with his way of life.  He endured a spiritual crisis and devoted himself to solitude, prayer and service of the poor.  One of the many conversion experiences of his life that is told was when he was riding one day; he came face to face with a leper who begged for money.  Francis had always had disgust for lepers, and turning his face, he rode on; but immediately he had a change of heart and returned to the leper and gave him all the money he had and kissed his hand.  As he rode off, he turned around for a last glance, and saw that the leper had disappeared.  From that day on he dressed in rags and gave himself to the service of the lepers and the poor.

Another conversion moment is told when he was in the nearby Church of San Damiano.   While he was praying, he heard Christ on the cross speak to him.  “Francis, repair my church.”  With this mandate and with the words of the Gospel, “The kingdom of God is at hand, cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, drive out devils; freely have you received, freely give. Carry neither gold nor silver nor money, nor bag, nor two coats, nor sandals. . .” 

Francis, then at once felt that this was his vocation and proceeded to preach to the poor.  In time, 12 others joined him in preaching the Gospel and working among the poor. They took literally the words of Christ when he sent his disciples out to preach.  They would have no money and not property, individually or collectively. 

Their task was to preach, “using words if necessary,” but declaring the love of God by their words and actions.  Francis called his order the “Order of Friars Minor” or the order of lesser brothers.  They were to live as brothers of all, to reveal by their love that all human beings are sisters and brothers. Francis did not live in a monastery but among the people, and in that world, he sought and found God.  

His approach was an Incarnational approach – God was a loving Father/Creator and all that Francis had was gift, Christ was his Brother and the Spirit of that love lived and burned in him.  
Following the Gospel literally, Francis and his companions at first frightened their listeners as these men dressed in rags talking about God’s love.  But soon the people noticed that these barefoot beggars wearing sacks seemed filled with constant joy. They celebrated life.  

An early biographer gives an account of Francis’ physical appearance.  “In stature he was rather on the short side, his head of moderate size and round, his face long, his forehead smooth and low, his eyes of medium size, black and candid, his hair dark, his eyebrows straight, his nose even-shaped, thin and straight, his ears prominent but delicate.
  
In conversation he was agreeable, ardent and penetrating, his voice firm, sweet-toned and clearly audible, his lips delicate, his beard black and rather sparse, his neck slender, his shoulders straight, his arms short, his hands small, with long fingers, his feet small, his skin tender, his clothing rough, his sleep brief and his bounty most liberal.”

Francis’ brotherhood included all of God’s creation.  He had a deep love for animals and a special fondness for birds.  He liked to refer to animals as his brothers and sisters.   

In one famous story, Francis preached to hundreds of birds about being thankful to God for their wonderful clothes, for their independence, and for God’s care. The story tells us the birds stood still as he walked among them, only flying off when he said they could leave. 

Another famous story involves the wolf of Gubbio.  Out of hunger, the wolf took to attacking the people of Gubbio as they worked in their fields. The people were so frightened of the wolf they didn’t dare go out into the fields without armed protection.  Francis said to them, “Let me go out to talk with the wolf.”  So he went out to meet the wolf and spoke with him, who became docile at his approach and so the wolf returned with Francis to meet the people of Gubbio.  Francis arranged a peace pact between the people and the wolf.  The people would feed the wolf and in return the wolf would live peacefully with them. 

Francis’ final years were filled with much suffering.  Praying to share in Christ’s passion he had a vision and received the stigmata, the marks of the nails and the lance wounds that Christ suffered. 

Years of poverty and wandering had made Francis ill.  In his final months of his life, being blind and enduring intense suffering, he joyfully and with cheerfulness wrote his beautiful Canticle of the Sun that expresses his brotherhood with creation in praising God.  He died at the age of 45 and at which time there were now several thousand members throughout Europe to carry on his mission and call.  He was canonized two years later.

So what is the good news for us today?
• Francis speaks to us to live with joy, simplicity and faithfulness to the Gospels.   Let us dare to search for meaning and fulfillment in our relationship to God even when we may look a little foolish or even when it may call us to make drastic changes in our attitudes and behaviors.
• Francis speaks to us about our relationship to creation.   Let us be voices that challenge as we confront the environmental issues that affect our planet today. “Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”
• Francis was called to “repair the church.”  Let us live with integrity and courage to witness a church of inclusivity, compassion, forgiveness and hope so that the message and mission of Jesus will be revealed – and let us use words, if necessary!
• Francis speaks to us about the gift of suffering.  Let us ask for the graces we need when we find life tiring and burdensome so that the gentle and loving presence of God will bless us with refreshing peace, healing and bravery.
• Francis speaks to us of poverty.  Let us live with an awareness that all we have is gift, and that we are to share the resources of this world with everyone; we are guardians and stewards of creation; sisters and brothers to all.
• Francis kisses the leper and tames the wolf.  Let us be aware of the things in our lives that we may fear; the things that scare us – let us ask for the graces to embrace them with courage and love.   

Let us search for the wolf that hungers in our world, church, government, community, and in our personal lives – let us name and tame the hungers so that we may live with trust, harmony, justice and peace. “While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart.”

Dancing Francis ~ Viterbo University Campus

La Crosse, WI

Prayer : God of Autumn . . .

 May you be blessed by the God of Autumn who opens your eyes to the glorious colors of tree and bush and sky. May your heart be open to the colors of God's love and care for you. May you learn the lesson of letting go into God's desire for you. May you be a companion to those who are in the autumn of life and may your own changing years be filled with the glow of God's glory. May the blessing of Autumn be yours. --Maxine Shonk, OP

Reflection: 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time

VIDEO:  https://www.catholicwomenpreach.org/preaching/09202026#w-tabs-0-data-w-pane-1

September 20, 2026

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Nóirin

Lynch

Anthony De Mello tells a story about a small farmer who realized he had a field that he wasn’t using or minding well.  So, after some thought, he put up a sign in the field that read ‘this field will be given to the one who is completely satisfied’. People stopped as they passed, excited about the opportunity. Then they would shake their heads and realize they weren’t satisfied and so couldn’t have it.

Eventually the richest person in the area drove up to the door of the small farmer, in a car worth more than the annual income of most. Stepping out he declared, I am the richest man in this area. I own everything with no debt and have a house paid for, for every child of mine. I am retired and enjoying the spoils of my hard work with family. On reflection is it clear to me that I am completely satisfied, and so I have come to claim this field which I can and will use well’.

The small farmer looked at him with soft eyes and said, ‘Ah, my friend, you have done very well, better than most of us. Permit me to ask though: if you are completely satisfied – why do you want the field?’

You and I are good people who trust in God for the most part. We trust in God for daily life, for our pension and retirement and for whatever comes after that – don’t we? We trust in God to treat us justly and to mind us well so that we can rest in the Lord’s love – don’t we?  

So why is it that when we see others do well, some little niggle moves through some of us and we find ourselves wondering why ‘they’ are doing well, compared to us (who perhaps we thought might do better). Oh, we berate ourselves for even thinking it, but it arises.

We see it in family – I don’t want to be jealous of how well my siblings or cousins are doing, but it niggles.

We see it in communities – I want others to be treated well, but I deserve those tax breaks first, just as a matter of fairness and then I will volunteer/donate.  

We see it in borders – I love everyone, once they’re legal cause I did it right, so why shouldn’t they? (did you, did you really? lol)

We see it internationally – you can’t expect us to prop up other countries, in health care, disease control, climate emergencies - even when it’s clear all we have here is based on how we plundered (still plunder?) other countries. But that wasn’t us personally, so we shouldn’t suffer for that?!?

We are nice people, we deserve nice things. We donate, we tithe, we are kind. We are satisfied with our lot. Until we see what others have, perhaps? We trust God and we really want to be satisfied that God will bless us always.

So why the niggle? Why the need to keep an eye on what the neighbor is getting?

Now before we beat ourselves up, let’s be prayerful and kind about this. This is a wound in us. It’s not just plain greed, it’s often really fear, isn’t it.

For most of us, we began life utterly confident of love. Somehow, somewhere, we got hurt. Wounded. And now we believe – somewhere deep inside - that if we share, we will get hurt again. So, we keep an eye on what the neighbor/sibling/country is getting and we wonder what that says about our value, our worth, about whether we are really loved and loveable or not.

We are not completely satisfied, and that’s the way many of us enter into the second or final part of life. The part that’s all about letting go and surrendering into the love of God who will mind you.

So, today's gospel is written specifically about many of us and for many of us. The ones who are doing ok but are nervous of others doing well.

The nice thing is that Jesus recognized this quality in many, so we’re not uniquely sinful. We’re human!!

This week’s readings call us to three things

-       To seek out God honestly, bringing ourselves just as we are, to be loved

-       To trust that God is not a relationship to be earned, but that God is already near to all who seek God – so God is with you, and not some future earning or not dependent on how much love God has left over after loving everyone equally!

-       To let go of the comparison and the fear of being underpaid in comparison to others. The fear of being under loved, under appreciated

Mary Oliver wrote:

To live in this world
you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones
knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go

The first letting go for us this week might be noticing and letting go of the fear that others are doing better than us. It really doesn’t matter; it’s just comparisons in a consumer/capitalist world. Let it go. Trust in God’s love. Bring the struggle with that to God in prayer.  

The bigger letting go might be over the years ahead – noticing and letting go of the fear that God couldn’t possibly really love us totally, not if God knew us. Catching the places where we insist God must be mad at us, healing the fears of being unworthy. Until we reach a moment, a nirvana, where we accept that we are truly beloved, and can rest completely satisfied into the arms of God.

Sounds like Heaven, doesn’t it! Heaven on earth.

Nóirin Lynch

Nóirin Lynch lives in Co Clare in Ireland where she is Director of the FCJ Spirituality House in Spanish Point, an Ignatian retreat centre, one field off the Atlantic.  

Nóirin was born in Limerick city and has been involved in pastoral ministry since 1992. Youth ministry, school chaplaincy, and service as a parish pastoral work for the English-speaking community in Munich, Germany, filled her early years until she returned to Ireland in 2001 to work in Kerry, Limerick and Cork & Ross dioceses as support for parishes and parish teams. For the last 8 years Nóirin has worked with religious sisters in Dublin and Limerick as director of retreat centres, offering spaces apart for spiritual seekers.  

In her spare time Nóirin is a singer-songwriter who has hosted singing circles across the island and created 2 CDs of Irish Folk music. She loves listening to, and learning from, those who carry songs and stories from small local communities, and she believes deeply that their wisdom is both healing and inspiring for us all.  

A Prayer of Sorrows . . .

 

A Contemporary Prayer to Our Lady of Sorrows

Holy Mary, Mother of Sorrows,
You walked a path marked by deep grief, systemic injustice, and profound love. You know the weight of a breaking heart, the terror of fleeing your home, and the agony of watching your child suffer at the hands of violent powers.

Today, we bring the sorrows of our world to you. We stand in solidarity with all who weep, all who resist, and all who carry heavy burdens in silence.

We pray for mothers who grieve the loss of children to violence, war, poverty, and addiction. Comfort them in their unceasing ache.
We pray for women fleeing their homelands as refugees, carrying their families into the unknown. Grant them safety and welcoming shores.
We pray for those who suffer under the weight of oppression, discrimination, and abuse. Give them fierce courage, and break the systems that bind them.
We pray for the lonely, the forgotten, and those who carry the hidden sorrows of mental illness, chronic pain, or broken relationships. Wrap them in your tender embrace.

Mary, you did not let sorrow paralyze you. You stood resilient at the foot of the cross, witnessing to love even in the darkest hour. Teach us that same fierce resilience.

Transform our grief into action. Kindle within us a holy anger against injustice, and a boundless compassion for the suffering. Help us to stand with one another in our sorrows, so that together, we may birth a world of healing, peace, and resurrection.

Amen.

Author Unknown

In Praise of Autumn . . .

 

 

In the stillness of an autumn afternoon
we sit in quiet communion. Before us,
hills and valleys yawn, spreading wide
their yellow and green, ochre and gold
harvest of hay, beans and corn.

All summer long these fields drank
daily offerings of dew and sunlight.
We listen to the hush of hills, a hawk
above us riding thermal winds,
the drying corn nearby whispering
Praise! Praise! Praise!, the grass
beneath our squeaking swing
chanting, sotto voce, Thank you, God.

Everything around us whispers shhh.
And when we do, we hear the holy
breath of God bringing forth the world.

 

 Poem by: Sister Irene Zimmerman, SSSF

 

 

A Sacred Season . . .

 

   A Leaf Treader

I have been treading on leaves all day until I am autumn-tired.
God knows all the color and form of leaves I have trodden on and mired.
Perhaps I have put forth too much strength and been too fierce from fear.
I have safely trodden underfoot the leaves of another year.

All summer long they were overhead, more lifted up than I.
To come to their final place in earth they had to pass me by.
All summer long I thought I heard them threatening under their breath.
And when they came it seemed with a will to carry me with them to death.

They spoke to the fugitive in my heart as if it were leaf to leaf.
They tapped at my eyelids and touched my lips with an invitation to grief.
But it was no reason I had to go because they had to go.
Now up my knee to keep on top of another year of snow.

Robert Frost, A Further Range (1936).