Catherine ~ Woman of Vision, Woman of Courage . . .

 

April 29, the feast day of St Catherine of Siena, a lay Dominican,

 Doctor and Reformer of the Church

St. Catherine of Siena was the 25th child of a wool dyer in northern Italy.
She started having mystical experiences when she was only 6, seeing guardian angels as clearly as the people they protected. She became a Dominican tertiary when she was 16, and continued to have visions of Christ, Mary, and the saints.
St. Catherine was one of the most brilliant theological minds of her day, although she never had any formal education. . Her spiritual director was Blessed Raymond of Capua. St, Catherine's letters, and a treatise called "a dialogue" are considered among the most brilliant writings in the history of the Catholic Church.
She died when she was only 33, and her body was found incorrupt in 1430.

Sarcophagus of St. Catherine of Siena - Rome, Italy

Catherine’s Prayers:

• You, God, are a fire that always burns without consuming. You are a fire consuming in its heat every compartment of the soul’s self-absorbed love. You are a fire lifting all chill and giving all light. In Your light You show me Your truth. You’re the Light that outshines every Light. You, God, give the mind’s eye Your divine light so completely and excellently. You bring lucidity even to the light of faith. In that faith, I see my soul has life, and in that light, I receive You who are Light itself. 

• God is a bright ocean that distills and reveals hidden truths so that my soul has a better understanding of how to trust Love, and the water is a mirror in which You, Eternal Trinity, give me knowledge.

• I want you to be a tree of love, grafted into the Word who is love, Christ crucified – a tree with its roots in deep humility. If you are a tree of love, sweetly rooted, you’ll find the fruit of patience and strength at the tips of your branches, and crowned perseverance nesting within you. You’ll find peace and quiet and consolation in suffering when you see yourself conformed with Christ crucified. And so, by enduring with Christ crucified, you’ll come with joy from much war into much peace. Peace! Peace!

Emmaus ~ journey into light and fire!

Emmaus Journey by Irene Zimmerman

All was chaos when he died.
We fled our separate ways at first,
then gathered again in the upper room
to chatter blue-lipped prayers
around the table where he’d talked
of love and oneness.

On the third day Cleopas and I
left for the home we’d abandoned
in order to follow him.
We wanted no part of the babble
the women had brought from the tomb.
We vowed to get on with our grieving.

On the road we met a Stranger
whose voice grew vaguely familiar
as he spoke of signs and suffering.
By the time we reached our village,
every tree and bush was blazing,

And we pressed him to stay the night.
Yet not till we sat at the table
and watched the bread being broken
did we see the light.
 

 

Discipled . . .

 

Poem: “Tell Them” By Edwina Gateley

Breaking through the powers of darkness

bursting from the stifling tomb

he slipped into the graveyard garden

to smell the blossomed air.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

that I have journeyed far

into the darkest deeps I’ve been

in nights without a star.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

that fear will flee my light

that though the ground will tremble

and despair will stalk the earth

I hold them firmly by the hand

through terror to new birth.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

the globe and all that’s made

is clasped to God’s great bosom

they must not be afraid

for though they fall and die, he said,

and the black earth wrap them tight

they will know the warmth

of God’s healing hands

in the early morning light.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,

smelling the blossomed air,

tell my people to rise with me

                                       to heal the Earth’s despair.

Source Unknown

The Believing Thomas . . .

 

The Believing Thomas . . .

Caravaggio

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Incredulity_of_Saint_Thomas_%28Caravaggio%29

This Sunday, in some places, is called, “Thomas Sunday.” Our Gospel  for our liturgy includes John 20:19-31. It is the story of a week after the Resurrection event, when the disciples are crowded together again in the upper room - this time with Thomas present. He was absent from their first experience of Jesus’ appearance to them in the upper room.  So here they are again for another time of gathering to process what they have experienced and how to move forward beyond Jerusalem!

So often Thomas is associated with doubting, especially in relation to faith.  Although we hear in the other resurrection Gospels that other disciples doubted as well.  Let us not forget Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas who skipped town after the crucifixion and were “found out” on the road to Emmaus when the Stranger caught up with them.  However, the finger is often pointed at Thomas and we might hear the expression, “Doubting Thomas” in some gatherings.

As I reflected on this Gospel, I thought that Thomas is like many of us who sometimes just need to take leave of all the tensions, trauma, and “too muching” of highly intense events. We then struggle to get back to balance within our inner center. He just witnessed the betrayal, arrest, crucifixion, death, and burial of Jesus, whom he loyally followed for three years. Don’t we all have our own individual and unique ways of holding our pain and the ache of our grief?

Perhaps the disciples searched for Thomas, and upon finding him invited Thomas to gather with them once again as they shared their experience of the Risen Jesus. He may have felt hurt, or jealous, or  still be in pain upon hearing that Jesus appeared in the flesh to them and he was absent.  He knew what he saw and experienced as the Roman soldiers pierced the side of Jesus and nailed him to the cross. It was too much for his person to hold!  He needed space far away to let the pain of it all weave through his weary spirit.

But this time, he was in need of some facts – pie charts, bar graphs, graphics, and possibly a spread sheet with more data!  So often in our own journey of faith, have we not murmured  . . . “OK, God, show me a sign and then I’ll believe it . . .” Thomas is all of us who in our faithing have to be invited by our God again and again to trust and to risk being loved unconditionally. 

Jesus came in the way that Thomas most needed.  He instructed Thomas to put his hand in his side and fingers in the place of the nails if that is what Thomas needed.  We don’t know if he did.  But he did as with laser speed move to a deeper place of belief and exclaimed, “MY LORD and MY GOD!!"  This was Thomas’ own moment of inner rising!

So let us pray this day that the hand of God touch into the wounds of our world.  Are we not weary with the violence, wars, injustices, deaths, and the uncertainties that humanity struggles with so as to cope, hope, and endure?

Let us also pray that we let God’s fingers probe our minds, hearts, and spirits to release us from anything that keeps us in doubt or resistant to receiving God’s grace, mercy, and unconditional love. Peace be to all of us!!

Seeing Is Believing!

 

 

Seeing God

We cannot see you
and yet in so many ways we have seen you,

We cannot touch you
but we have experienced and felt you.

You have been in the full moon
and the early morning mist,
the bright blue sky
and the cool night air
after a scorching day.

You are the rock
that anchors us in uncertain times,

You are the hope
that keeps us going on a road with few signposts,

You are the presence
when we feel disoriented and estranged.

You are the compassion
that knits us even to strangers,

You are the justice
that tugs at our complacency,

You are the joy
that unexpectedly overwhelms us,

You are the love
that banishes all fear.

We praise you for revealing yourself to us
in all these ways -
and for Christ, your full revelation.

~ Suellen Shay

(Permission requested)Thresholds: A Book of Prayers, 2011

April 27, 2025: Marissa Papula Preaches for the Second Sunday of Easter

Healing prayer - Pope Francis

 

All-powerful God, you are present in the whole universe

and in the smallest of your creatures.

You embrace with your tenderness all that exists.

Pour out upon us the power of your love,

that we may protect life and beauty.

Fill us with peace, that we may live

as brothers and sisters, harming no one.

O God of the poor,

help us to rescue the abandoned and forgotten of this earth,

so precious in your eyes.

Bring healing to our lives,

that we may protect the world and not prey on it,

that we may sow beauty, not pollution and destruction.

Touch the hearts

of those who look only for gain

at the expense of the poor and the earth.

Teach us to discover the worth of each thing,

to be filled with awe and contemplation,

to recognize that we are profoundly united

with every creature

as we journey towards your infinite light.

We thank you for being with us each day.

Encourage us, we pray, in our struggle

for justice, love and peace. Amen.

~ Pope Francis

Following Jesus Through What We Cannot Change

An Easter Day Blessing . . .

 The Magdalene’s Blessing

For Easter Day

You hardly imagined
standing here,
everything you ever loved
suddenly returned to you,
looking you in the eye
and calling your name.

And now
you do not know
how to abide this hole
in the center
of your chest,
where a door
slams shut
and swings open
at the same time,
turning on the hinge
of your aching
and hopeful heart.

I tell you,
this is not a banishment
from the garden.

This is an invitation,
a choice,
a threshold,
a gate.

This is your life
calling to you
from a place
you could never
have dreamed,
but now that you
have glimpsed its edge,
you cannot imagine
choosing any other way.

So let the tears come
as anointing,
as consecration,
and then
let them go.

Let this blessing
gather itself around you.

Let it give you
what you will need
for this journey.

You will not remember
the words—
they do not matter.

All you need to remember
is how it sounded
when you stood
in the place of death
and heard the living
call your name.

—Jan Richardson
from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

Easter 2025 Message - Sr. Barbara Reid, OP

Another Sorrowful Mystery . . .

A poem posted by Fr. Stephen Verbest . . .
https://newmelleray.org/Homily-Library
 
A poem by an unknown author, titled "Two Mothers", tells of their anonymous heavenly encounter as follows: 
 
A long time ago, so I have been told,
 Two mothers once met on streets paved with gold.
“By the stars in your crown,” said Mary to the other
“I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.
"And by, the violet-tinted halo you wear
 You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair.”

“Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son.
 A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.
“But tell of your child.”
 “Oh, I knew I was blessed
 From the moment I first held him close to my breast,
 And my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.”
“Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”
 
The former continued: “The first steps he took-
So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look
 Which came over his face – he trusted me so.”

“Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know."
 
“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy,
 So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy
 To have him just walk down the street by my side.”

“Ah yes," said the other mother, “I felt the same pride.”

“How often I shielded and spared him from pain.
 And when he for others was so cruelly slain.
 When they crucified him – and they spat in his face
 How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”

A moment of silence – “Oh, then you are indeed
 The mother of Christ!”; and she fell on one knee.
 But the Blessed one raised her up, drawing her near.
 And kissed from the cheek of the mother, a tear.

“Tell me the name of the son you love so,
 That I may share with you in your grief and your woe.”
She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other.
“He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”

You are friend . . .



Used with permission ~ Image by: Fr. Bob Gilroy, SJ - Dec. 2017
 

Servant Freed

I stand in the darkened fissure of the stable,
lit only by the glowing face of
the boy-child.   
Parent eyes glistening with holy wonder,
while heavened stars point to
mangered Messiah.                                                                                 
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the darkened temple portico
observing those of the Law encircling
the teacher-child.                                                                    
His face radiates with purpose and passion about God’s call!
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the Cana garden among the six stoneware water jars.                      
His mother moving his mission,
“Do whatever he tells you.”
Waters of purification touched                                                 
with words of transformation
become intoxicating wedding wine.               
Speak these words over me . . .
fill me to the brim with courage
as I listen, as I wonder,
as I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand along the steep grassy edges
of the partial rocky hillside,                                                               
His face emits energy with each spoken,
“Blessed are you!”                                   
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the upper room, corner-concealed,
yet his eyes beckon me to move    
within his touch.
His carpentered hands accept each foot
as with the artistry
of fitting roughhewn wood.
With tender, soothing, healing - intimate knowing,
he bends to wash my feet.

Upon this embrace -
God-light, God-love streams
into my very soul-                     
I listen and hear
within me:                                                                                                                                               
Untie her.                                                                 
What do you want me to do for you?                                            
Pick up your mat.                                                                 
I do not condemn you.                                                             
You are worth more than many sparrows.                          
You are no longer servant – you are friend.   
I wonder, I breathe . . .
 sjh

April 18, 2025: Sister Norma Pimentel Preaches for Good Friday

Good Friday ~ And it was night . . .

 

Crucifix at Jesuit Retreat Center Oshkosh, WI

 

 

Crucifixion

Stripped of godliness,
hands hammered open,,
arms yanked wide,
the crossbeamed Christ
pours himself out
till rivers run red with
wine enough to satisfy
century-cries of thirst.

Irene Zimmerman, OSF
Woman Un-Bent

A Good Friday story . . .

 

Once upon a time there was a poor peasant family that had worked for years scrimping and saving to buy a piece of land of its own.  Finally the day came, and they took possession of it.  The mother and half a dozen children gathered in the two-room shack that would serve as their house, while the father walked the length and breadth of their land.  He paced it out, marking the four corners as boundaries, praying in joy and thanksgiving as he walked.  As he rounded the last corner and laid the stone in place he noticed something sticking out from under a bush.

He bent and scratched at the dirt, digging with his hands, and soon unearthed the corpus from a crucifix.  It had obviously been in the ground a long time.  Its hands and arms were gone, and its feet and legs missing. It was mangled, scratched, cracked, and paint nearly all gone. He picked it up and carried it back in his arms to the house.  It was a good size corpus. The crucifix it hung on must have been ten or twelve feet tall.  He came in and laid it on the kitchen table.

The family stood around it, looking at it, in an awkward silence.  The father explained that he had found it on their land.  It was the first thing he had dug out of the ground.  What should they do with it?  Should they take it to the church and give it to the priest?  Should they burn it?  Should they bury it again?  They all stood and looked at it.

Finally, the youngest spoke: “Father, I have an  idea.”
“What, my child?”
"Why don’t we hang it on the kitchen wall and put a sign underneath it.”
“What would you put on the sign?”

And the youngest told them. There was a long silence.Then the corpus was hung with care on the whitewashed wall of the kitchen and a small sheet of paper was tacked underneath.  It read: “Jesus has no arms or legs.  Will you lend him yours?”    

Alleluia Reflections . . .

 

Easter Sunday

Sr. Barbara E. Reid, O.P. President   Readings: Acts 10:34a, 37-43 Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23 Colossians 3:1-4 Luke 24:13-35     Some years ago, my mom and I took a trip to the Grand Canyon. We drove from Chicago, stopping along the way, whenever something took our fancy. When we reached our destination, the experience was indescribable—far beyond what we could imagine, and impossible to capture in words or photos. There were experienced trail guides and interpretive signs, but what we saw was far beyond what the geological explanations could tell. We sat gazing in hushed awe. Words would do a disservice to the immense beauty that engulfed us. In a similar fashion, no words are capable of expressing what happened to Jesus at Easter, or what happened to the first disciples who experienced him as resurrected. The only adequate response is contemplative awe, Still, we continually try to say something of what this experience means for us. In the gospel story today, two of Jesus’ disciples are talking and debating as they walk away from Jerusalem, the place of pain and confusion, toward Emmaus, trying to make meaning of it all. They are struggling to see how to make sense but cannot yet do so. As Jesus joins them, he first elicits from them their own interpretation. They retell what they experienced of Jesus as “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people,” and they recount the truth of his brutal murder. They speak of what their hopes were, but these now seem dashed. They tell about what some of the women experienced at the tomb and their interpretation that Jesus was alive. Others went to see for themselves, finding the tomb empty, but they did not see him alive as the women had. Different disciples are at different stages in their journey with and toward the risen One, each seeing something different and each needing to interpret it in their own words. It is remarkable that Jesus does not immediately interpret for Cleopas and his companion what their journey with him means. Then, as now, Jesus first asks disciples to try to say what they (or we) have experienced and how we understand what has happened. This first step takes us only part of the way. To go the next step on the journey it is necessary to turn to the Scriptures—the official guidebook, if you will—which help to unravel the meaning. Immersing ourselves in the whole story, from Moses through all the prophets, as Jesus directs Cleopas and his companion, we understand a little more of Jesus’ prophetic life and mission. We see too how we are asked to conform our own lives to this journey of prophetically embodying good news for the most vulnerable, being prepared to accept its cost. Essential for this journey is the abiding presence of the risen Jesus. As did those first disciples, we too implore him to stay with us. And he does. He continues to open our eyes by opening the Scriptures to us and by making himself known in the breaking of the bread. No words adequately express our experience of what it is like to have him risen among us. Resurrected life far exceeds all our hopes and is far more than a happy ending to a tragic story. It is not only what happened to Jesus, but is already lived by us, whose lives are “hidden with Christ in God,” as St. Paul says. It is not only the end of a life’s journey, but is tasted already now, all along the way. It is beyond all that we had hoped, and even now sets our hearts burning within us. The kind of fear, chaos, and confusion that the first disciples experienced at the time of Jesus’ passion and resurrection is not too unlike what we face in this time in our country and our world. People have lost loved ones to gun violence, war, hostage taking, destruction of homes, deportation, and more. Like the first disciples, our faith asks us not to give into despair, but rather to keep hope alive, through acts of kindness and compassion and through advocacy for justice for the most vulnerable in our midst. Like Mary Magdalene, who came with her women friends to the cross and empty tomb (Mark 16:1; Matt 28:1; Luke 24:10), and like Cleopas and his companion and like the disciples locked in the upper room (John 20:19), we keep hope alive by banding together in community, “all together in mind and heart (Acts 2:1; 4:32-35),” as Acts of the Apostles says. It is now more important than ever to hold on to each one, so that none will be lost, as Jesus prayed during his Last Supper (John 17:12, 21). No one can be excluded from God’s love and ours, as Jesus showed in forgiving Peter for denying he even knew Jesus (John 21:15-19), and as he assured the thief crucified next to him, “today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43). As we live more fully into the mystery of the Resurrection, the community at Catholic Theological Union thanks you for being part of this joyful community of disciples who continue to be Pilgrims of Hope in this Jubilee year. May the Risen Christ be our guide and companion always.   Barbara E. Reid, O.P. President https://learn.ctu.edu/category/sunday-scripture-reflection/

Holy Thursday . . . so many feet to wash . . .

 

Holy Thursday ~ God in an Apron!

 

 A Prayer for Washing Feet by Macrina Wiederkehr

(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Jesus, is it really you kneeling before me with the bowl of water in your hands? I’d feel more comfortable if we could trade places. I wouldn't mind kneeling before you, but you before me? I can’t let you love me that much. Your piercing eyes suddenly heal my pride. I’m able to accept your gift of love and I am blessed. O Gift Giving God, I blush with the memory of gifts I've refused because they weren't given my way.

God in an Apron by Macrina Wiederkehr
(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Supper was special that night. There was both a heaviness and a holiness hanging in the air. We couldn't explain the mood. It was sacred, yet sorrowful.  Gathered around that table eating that solemn, holy meal seemed to us the most important meal we had ever sat down to eat.

We were dwelling in the heart of mystery. Though dark the night, hope felt right as if something evil was about to be conquered. And then suddenly the One we loved startled us all. He got up from the table and put on an apron. Can you imagine how we felt?

 God in an apron! Tenderness encircled us as He bowed before us. He knelt and said, “I choose to wash your feet because I love you.” 

God in an apron, kneeling. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was embarrassed until his eye met mine.  I sensed my value then. He touched my feet. He held them in his strong, brown hands. He washed them. I can still feel the water. I can still feel the touch of his hands. I can still see the look in his eyes.

The he handed me the towel and said, “As I have done so you must do.” Learn to bow – Learn to kneel. Let your tenderness encircle everyone you meet. Wash their feet not because you have to, because you want to.

It seems I've stood two thousand years holding the towel in my hands, “As I have done so you must do,” keeps echoing in my heart.

 “There are so many feet to wash,” I keep saying. “No,” I hear God’s voice resounding through the years, “There are only my feet – what you do for them you do for me.”

Spy Wednesday . . .Kisses of Betrayal

 

Image by J. O'Brien

This is the day that stories speak of Judas Iscariot as moving to the “dark side” to conspire with the religious leaders to betray Jesus and hand him over to be arrested. I often think of the writings of Megan McKenna and a particular story she tells within a story. It goes like this:

Megan was driving the back roads of Ireland’s countryside listening to the radio. There had been a short-story writing contest and the stories submitted were to be limited to thirty words.  As she was listening to the stories being presented over the radio – the following entry was read:

“Welcome home, son!
Hello, father.
It is so good to see you.  It’s been a long time.
Yes, father, a very long time.  It was hard.
Hard as nails.  Hard as wood.
I know.  What was the hardest?
The kiss, father, the kiss. (long pause)
Yes.  Come in and let me hold you.”

Megan continues with her story – “I nearly drove off the road.  Within seconds I was crying and had to pull over.  It hit me hard.  I was overwhelmed by the realization that sin is evil and terrible, and some sin is more evil and more terrible . . .” (From LENT by Megan McKenna)
Also, let us be aware of the “kiss of betrayal” in its many subtle forms . . .

Every Week is Holy!

 

O God, we pray for all those in our world
who are suffering from injustice:

For those who are discriminated against
because of their race, color or religion;

For those imprisoned
for working for the relief of oppression;

For those who are hounded
for speaking the inconvenient truth;

For those tempted to violence
as a cry against overwhelming hardship;

For those deprived of reasonable health and education;

For those suffering from hunger and famine;

For those too weak to help themselves
and who have no one else to help them;

For the unemployed who cry out
for work but do not find it.

We pray for anyone of our acquaintance
who is personally affected by injustice.

Forgive us, if we unwittingly share in the conditions
or in a system that perpetuates injustice.

Show us how we can serve your children
and make your love practical by washing their feet.

                                                             Mother Teresa

Holy Monday Anointing

 

Anointings in Bethany (John 12:1-11)

Solemnly, Mary entered the room, holding high the alabaster jar. It gleamed in the lamplight as she circled the room, incensing the disciples, blessing Martha’s banquet. “A splendid table!” Mary called with her eyes as she whirled past her sister.

She came to a halt at last before Jesus, bowed profoundly and knelt at his feet. Deftly, she filled her right hand with nard, placed the jar on the floor, took one foot in her hands and moved fragrant fingers across his instep.

Over and over she made the journey from heel to toes, thanking him for every step he had made on Judea’s stony hills, for every stop at their home, for bringing back Lazarus.

She poured out more nard, took his other foot in her hands and started again with strong, rhythmic strokes. She felt her hands’ heat draw out his tiredness, take away the rebuffs he had known – the shut doors, the shut hearts.

Energy flowed like a river between them.  His saturated skin gleamed with oil. She had no towel!

In an instant she pulled off her veil, pulled the pins from her hair, shook it out till it fell in cascades, and once more cradled each foot, dried the ankles, the insteps, drew the strands between his toes.

Without warning, Judas Iscariot spat out his anger, the words hissing like lightning above her unveiled head: “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”

“Leave her alone!” Jesus silenced the usurper. “She brought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”

The words poured like oil, anointing her from head to foot. 

From: Woman Un-Bent by Irene Zimmerman

 

Holy Week ~ From Cheers to Tears!

 

Between Parades
We’re good at planning! Give us a task force and a project and we’re off and running!
No trouble at all! Going to the village and finding the colt, even negotiating with the owners is right down our alley. And how we love a parade! In a frenzy of celebration we gladly focus on Jesus and generously throw down our coats and palms in his path. And we can shout praise loudly enough to make a Pharisee complain. It’s all so good, the parade! It’s between parades that we don’t do so well. We don’t do so well from Sunday to Sunday. For we forget our hosannas between parades. The stones will have to shout because we won’t. ~by Ann Weems~ from Kneeling in Jerusalem