Laura Stierman - SEAS Director of Evangelization

You might have missed a most interesting line in Luke’s gospel today. Jesus is “resolutely” heading to Jerusalem with his entourage, after ministering around the Sea of Galilee. He knows his hour has come. They pass through the previously hostile cities of Samaria, which is the quickest way to their destination, and the Samarians will have none of it. Interesting. Remember, Jesus has revealed that he is the Messiah to them before the Jews, and he upholds them as the model of charity in knowing who is thy neighbor. Yet Luke writes: “On the way they entered a Samaritan village to prepare for his reception there, but they would not welcome him, because the destination of his journey was Jerusalem.” Very interesting. Now why might that be?

I’m going to wander down a path further than maybe I should, but I think it’s the right way as I see a light at the end. Slip on their shoes for a minute. They’ve been maligned, neglected, and ostracized by the Jews, but made to feel respected, beloved, and welcomed by Jesus. Rumor has it that he’s the Messiah and they, the Samarians, are the source of that truth. He’s ate with them, instructed them, and healed their wounds - on the inside and out. They are a changed people. Elevated by his presence and preaching. They know him. They love him. And want him to stay by their sides and in their hearts forever. They want to protect him from his destiny with death, not yet understanding the resurrection. They’re hurt and beyond upset that he won’t stay. I get it. When you love someone, you want to be with him. Forever. That’s what it’s like to be in a relationship with Jesus.

In the end they just have to say, “Go. We can’t do this anymore. We can’t hurt this much, this hard. You are not welcome here this time.” If Jesus was passing through Hastings on his way to the Cathedral to meet his demise, what would you say? #pleasedontleaveme

“It is especially sobering to learn that when Pew surveyors asked the question, ‘Which comes closest to your view of God: God is a person with whom people can have a relationship, or God is an impersonal force?’ only 48 percent of Catholics were absolutely certain that the God they believed in was a God with whom they could have a personal relationship.”

Ah, to be young and in love. I gained a delightful daughter a few weeks ago, as my son married the love of his life. They wanted to tell the world that LOVE is BEAUTIFUL and worth celebrating. Their love is the best kind of love: patient and kind, other-focused, rejoices in each other’s success, not jealous nor rude nor grudge-bearing. It is the kind of love we long for, fight for, and protect once it’s found. Their love is based on admiration and equality, in all the right ways. Together they moved into a recently-purchased house this week, and my son told me that they purchased this house within ‘his’ means, so that his lovely bride could choose to work – or not – and follow whatever professional dream she may have. He wants nothing but her happiness and allow her to flourish in her personal and professional life. He wants to look out for her. It seems there is a bit of chivalry in my son – he wants to protect his wife not because she is weak, but because she is so incredibly valuable to him.

And so it is with the Trinity, yes? The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit has so much love between them, that it naturally spilled out into creation. And that creation – you and I and everyone and everything else – is so incredibly valuable and beloved to them. They desire our happiness and want us to flourish. They are patient, kind, supportive, gentle in their correction, and believe that every single one of us is worth dying for. #thankyouJesus

Their love for us is forever young and eternally beautiful. It rejoices in this Truth. Their love for us bears all things, believes in all things, endures all things. Their love never fails us. #a1Corinthians13love

All 84 of our Confirmation candidates have now received the final sacrament of initiation, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, received the supernatural gifts intended for them! In two weeks we’ll have the Rite of Receiving, and you’ll be able to see their smiling faces and transformed souls.

It’s interesting… they are a little unsure of these gifts for themselves, but when I ask them which ones their parents received, they can identify who-has-which-gift in hot minute: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord. The same for fruits of the Holy Spirit: charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, and chastity. We also receive particular charisms from God - these are things like discernment of spirits, prophecy, speaking in and interpretation of tongues, leadership, administration, evangelization, service, and leadership, to name a few.

These are the weapons the Holy Spirit generously provides, so that we can fulfill our mission in this war-torn walking-wounded world. Paul certainly had the gift of fortitude, the fruit of patience, and the charism of evangelization. Peter perhaps had wisdom, faithfulness, and leadership. St. Elizabeth Ann Seton seems to have been given fear of the Lord, charity, and administration. Which brings me to YOU.

Which has the Holy Spirit given you and how do you use it to build up the faith in others and the Church in general? Or are you using them for yourself? You see, you have free will to use the gifts of the Spirit however you choose. Perhaps you received the gift of wisdom and parlayed it into a successful financial advisory career or the gift of counsel and have a lovely mentoring role in a Fortune 500 firm. Or fortitude (perseverance) in grinding work you aren’t fond of or a personal piety that gives you a pretty amazing prayer life. Those aren’t bad things, of course, but the true purpose of your gifts is to build up the Church of God. When you do, they become strengthened and, well… supernatural and superabundant. And pretty amazing, actually. #builduptheChurch

There is a lot going on in our reading from Acts of the Apostles today. Paul has been given the mission of bringing the Good News of Jesus and the Resurrection to the Gentiles (which includes anyone who isn’t Jewish, regardless of nationality). It’s early in his post-conversion life, in fact it’s his first preaching assignment. The disciples have accepted him as one of their own, and it seems the Holy Spirit has destined him to travel with Barnabas to a small Roman town with a significant Jewish population, Antioch of Pisidia. Once in town, they immediately head to where folks gather: the Synagogue. Here, the law and prophets are read, and the synagogue officials, noting the presence of the very intelligent and well-respected Pharisee named Saul, ask him “for a word of exhortation.”

Oh boy. Saul-now-Paul gives them an exhortation they are not expecting: An Old-Testament-laden sermon about how Jesus fulfills the prophecies of a Messiah! Yikes! We skip over this sermon in today’s reading, and fall headlong into the drama. Immediately after this service, the leading Jews tell Paul and Barnabas to “remain faithful to the grace of God.” As in, stop this nonsense about Jesus. But word gets around. People talk. You can imagine the whispered conversations, yes?

The following Sabbath, everyone, almost the entire city, gathers to hear Paul and Barnabas speak about Jesus. And the Jewish rabbis are not happy, not happy at all. They speak with the “violent abuse” of jealousy and rage against our heroes. But the Gentiles are delighted, for they felt like they finally belonged to a community where everyone is treated as equals. Which infuriate the rabbis further (hierarchy, anyone?), so they recruit the leading Jewish women and secular men of the community to have Paul and Barnabas expelled from town, for they’ve upended the social order. The last-shall-be-first and love-thy-neighbor-as-thyself. Speak gently and judge not. Defend dignity and morality. Sins-forgiven not sacrifice-for-sin.

Whew. But that’s what following Jesus means. To be “filled with joy and the Holy Spirit,” when persecuted for talking about Jesus or upending the social order. #belikePaul

I was at my home parish throughout the Triduum and Easter, catching up with old friends and making new ones, amidst the beauty and glory of the liturgies. It’s a small community, where no one is a stranger, really. We caught up on the Good that’s happened while I’ve been away, with long hugs, sweet laughter, and joy in abundance. As with all communities, it’s not been without its sorrows too. Some delightful souls have gone home to be with the Lord, and a couple more are in the process of unpacking their earthly baggage, preparing to meet Jesus with nothing but open arms. There were a few folks ‘missing in action’ too, although as it turns out, they were just missing in our action - they had joined our local megachurch.

Here’s where our readings today come into play. “Many signs and wonders were done among the people at the hands of the apostles,” means that lives were changed through prayer and friendship and looking out for one another in a meaningful way. John ends up on Patmos because he “shares in the distress, the kingdom, and the endurance we have in Jesus,” which means that suffering isn’t absent from life, but holding Jesus in his heart and in his work makes it all worthwhile. Jesus appears to hiding disciples, greeting them, “Peace be with you,” meaning that faith can overcome any angst in our troubled souls.

That is the Good News: Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection makes a difference in the way we live ours. We worship each Sunday in reverent joy, we reach out to neighbors in distress, we share in the joys of new life, and help shoulder the burdens of sorrow. We gather together outside of Sundays, encouraging one another to live a life of virtue infused with hope. We wrap justice in mercy and forgiveness. We speak with gentle tongues borne from a grace-filled heart. Our faith lives are not separate from professional ones, we bring Jesus everywhere. This kind of authentic witness is what draws folks to a faith community. Let’s make it ours. #churchiseverywhere

I’ve spent a week with my parents, soaking up time and wisdom, as only the Lord knows how our lives will unfold and intertwine over the coming year. Most evenings we watched Judge Judy and Jeopardy, two diverse manifestations of wisdom, yes? One seeks the truth of the matter at hand, while the other seeks the knowledge of an individual, but both show us a bit of what we would consider wisdom. A question on Jeopardy went something like this: “This road is named for the way of suffering,” to which the contestant replied, “What is the Via Dolorosa” for the win. She knew what it was, but I wonder if she had any inclination of how hard it to navigate the narrow paths and sudden turns of such a road, or what truths the way of suffering beholds.

So it is with Palm Sunday. We know so much about the Last Supper, the arrest in the Garden, the betrayal of Judas and the denial of Peter, the sudden change in popular opinion, the division between sinners, and those final bold moments of the cross. We could easily identify the players in the category of The Last Hours of Jesus and make a bid for Final Jeopardy.

But do we try to understand the reality of the drama and seek the Truth of the meaning of suffering? Where do you stand in the drama at hand? A disciple breaking bread with the Lord, unaware of what is to come? One who defends the laws but not with mercy? A bystander upset by the inflicted violence? Or someone who prefers to not be involved in matters of faith? Persecuted or outcast for your belief? Under physical duress through no fault of your own? Undergone a reversal of fortune or a sudden loss in popularity? Jesus knows exactly where you stand and feels your pain. Or your apathy, which also pains him.

Life isn’t always fair and earthly justice doesn’t always prevail. The question is if you’ll allow Jesus to walk alongside you in life. Which is the Truth of matter at hand. #JudgeJudyapproved

We’re in week three of Lent, and I have to ask, “Are your Lenten disciplines bringing you into an intimate relationship with God? Or do they just reflect your own personal strength?” I often wonder what Moses was thinking about his life before he met God in the not-burning bush? Here he was, a Prince of Egypt, surrounded by royalty and luxury, and living the good life. But he kills an Egyptian overseer, the Pharoah uncovers his crime, and Moses runs to Midian to escape sudden death. Moses is an important Egyptian to the priest Reuel, and thus gives his daughter Zipporah in marriage. Shortly thereafter, Moses has the coveted son, Gershon. Moses now has it all… a lovely dowry from Zipporah, a fine reputation from Reuel, and a firstborn son. It’s much like he had in Egypt, except this time he’s amassed it all by the strength of his own hand. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

Until it does, for Moses meets the God of the Israelites upon Mount Horeb.

Moses has an intimate encounter that he never dreamed possible. A God so intense that His presence consumes a bush without destroying it. He removes his sandals and hides his face so that there is nothing between him and the God of creation. No barriers. No filters. No obstacles. Just God and Moses. And like the created bush before him, Moses is surrounded and captivated without injury. Isn’t that the purpose of Lent? To be intimate and captivated by Jesus?

Yes, Moses goes on to give excuses as to why he cannot do God’s work, and I’m not any different: I’ll look foolish. No one will believe me. Or listen to me. I’ll not speak eloquently. I’m not holy enough. Please send someone else. But like Moses, God will provide. It will not be by my hand, but by God’s grace, out of an abiding love for me. So. Are your Lenten disciplines bringing you into an intimate relationship with God? Are you bearing good fruit? #ponderingLent

 
Welcome to the first week of Lent and the question for today is a simple one with a yes-no answer: “Are you interested in getting to know Jesus better, or are you not?” If you are not interested in knowing Jesus in a personal way - which changes the way you work and move and think in the world - then I encourage you to leave Mass and go home. It’s not that I don’t want you here, I really, really do. It’s just that the Lord loves you too much to leave you where you are, and if you aren’t interested in that kind of transformational love, then why are you here?

I don’t think the Lord died for you out of “obligation” or because it was “a sin if he didn’t.” Being fully human, he had free will, so he didn’t have to be tempted, humiliated, beaten, or crucified so that you could be fully alive in a culture of death. Nope. He didn’t “have to” suffer taunts and threats and bodily harm so that you could be made whole in this broken world. No sirreee, Bob. He didn’t walk among the outcast, heal the sick in mind and body, or preach to those in need because he wanted to “enjoy community” with his friends. Sorry.

Jesus did-what-he-did out of love. For you, reading this column. Yes, YOU. Absolutely YOU. A deep, adoring, and abiding kind of love, an I-want-the-best-for-you relationship, a soul-to-soul kind of love, the kind that we spend so much of our lives chasing. The crazy adventurous kind of love, with stunning peaks and golden valleys, and some dangerous terrain where you never let go of each other, because a memorable adventure always includes overcoming an obstacle or two. A love that never fears and never fades. Jesus’ love is not the kind of love that you can fall out of, because it is the most perfect love of all

. But it is one you can walk away from.

So. Are you interested in getting to know Jesus better, or are you not? #transformation2022

Unlike the early Christians, most of us here in Hastings and in our faith community don’t greet our archrivals or bitter enemies on a daily basis; we’ve learned to ‘place nice in the sandbox’ once we hit adulthood. Other communities are not so lucky; race riots, political shootings, and gang revenge occur at an alarming rate. And in our middle- and high- schools, that time in life our children work out how to become wholesome adults in a broken world, it’s common to hear, “so-and-so hates me” or “that-person is making my life miserable.” And indeed it’s true, usually because of a pattern of familial brokenness, parental neglect, improper example-setting, and trauma/drama in the tormenters own world.

It’s no different for King Saul and the newly-anointed David. Saul’s popularity is waning, David’s is rising, thus division is in the air. Some prefer Saul to rule but many now prefer David. Saul has given a shoot-to-kill no-questions-asked bounty for David’s head. Yet God’s blessing (last week, remember?!) is upon David and despite his external circumstances, he is calm and clear-headed, at peace, and hope-filled. Saul’s army is unknowingly camped near David’s hideaway; it would be easy for David to cement the kingship through his killing of Saul. Yet the taking of a life, even of one’s enemy, is not of God, so David defers to the Lord and treats his enemy with mercy, eschewing the cultural rules of warfare.

Which is what Jesus repeats in the Gospel today: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” We are also to take insults without response, give generously, and refrain from revenge or demanding earthly justice. As Paul simply says, “bear the image of the heavenly one,” Jesus himself.

This is why the Gospel message is often called, “radical.” We are called to sacrificial love. We are to go against the tide of social expectation, to rise above the cultural demands of justice, and let Jesus have the final say at the pearly gates. Radical, right? #beradical

I write this before I leave for Arizona to visit my elderly parents. My brother and I have received some unsettling texts and heard some disappointing news, and decisions need to be made. But the sun should be shining, and if not, you don’t have to shovel rain. My brother and I will have meals with our parents, watch a bit of football, Judge Judy, and the Nightly News, and reminisce about our respective growing up years. We’ll talk about the realities of life, and make decisions based off news we’d rather not have heard. This is the ordinary drama of life, though there is nothing ordinary about it.

Like Isaiah, it’s possible for us to cry, “Woe is me!” when the realities of life are too much to bear and the burdens too heavy to carry. Or be frustrated like Paul, who writes to the fickle people of Corinth, “I am reminding you of the gospel which I preached to you,” as he hears news he would rather not know about his fledgling church. Paul wants so much for them to accept Jesus into their hearts, so that the daily battleground looks and feels more like a well-tilled and fruit-filled garden.

We find both Isaiah and the Corinthians at the elbow of Simon Peter, too. He’s been toiling on the sea throughout the night, all on his own accord, and come sunrise, woe and frustration are his companions. Us too, sometimes. Our work is Monday through Saturday, and our worship is Sunday. In between masses, we don’t often think on the Lord or how He might help us in our daily work, the “ordinary hours” of everyday life. But that is exactly where the Lord wants to be, walking beside you in the ordinariness of life, in the midst of the day-to-day decisions you need to make, some of which are more difficult than others. Because without Jesus, our lives come up a little empty. We work hard with little to show for it. The Lord wants more for you. Abundantly more. Are you willing? #extraordinarytime

Oh Nehemiah, you had me at “today.” As in, “Today is holy to the Lord, your God. Do not be sad and do not weep. Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and allot portions to those who had nothing prepared; for today is holy to our Lord.” Yep, that’s what Sundays are all about! To gather as a community, hear the Word of God, partake of the Eucharist, then join with others side-by-side for more fellowship with donuts and coffee. At Mass, we bring our crosses and our gifts to the Lord, laying all at his feet. He turns it into something Beautiful for God, leaving us joy-full and Spirit-filled, knowing it’s all in the hands of the Lord. Then at fellowship afterward, we build up the body of Christ.

For we all are one body in Christ, as Paul writes to the people of Corinth today. Sunday Mass is where we come together: If one of us is hurting or in need, we set this person before the Lord then do our best to help. If one of us is rejoicing, we rejoice alongside them. It’s true! We as a community here at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton hurt when you are suffering and rejoice at your good fortune.

Since the beginning, this is how life is to be celebrated, with Eucharist as the source of all, and Sunday the absolute pinnacle of the week. How AMAZING is that? As Luke channeling Isaiah would say, ‘What better glad tidings are there? How liberating is that? Isn’t a vibrant faith community a sight to see?’ It’s why neglecting or rejecting Mass for other lesser gods (sports, cultural events, or even laziness under the guise of ‘rest’) is a mortal sin and needs the restorative balm of confession before heading back into communion with the Lord.*

Let’s make this a year “acceptable to the Lord” and celebrate Sunday, the Lord’s Day, with the reckless abandon of Love amidst community. #fulfillingScripture

*Missing Mass because of illness or serious threat of illness is never considered a mortal sin. Please stay home if you are feeling unwell.

My nephew and future-niece have two children together and are planning a September wedding on the Land, which is how they affectionately refer to the vast acreage my nephew’s mother owns. At my visit with them last summer, they asked me to baptize both their “littles” in the creek that runs through the Land, either before or after the wedding. At the time, they were in a bit of spiritual swirl as their newborn entered this world with a clef palate, club foot, and a heart abnormality, and the big questions of life and death were front and center.

We conversed generally about God, faith, and the point of baptism, which is to lessen the bond of original sin as well as bring a soul into a community of faith; a community that will support and nurture them as they tackle parenthood amidst the chaos of culture. They weren’t attached to a faith community, so I encouraged them to try out a few and see which one ‘loved them’ best.

On my return drive home, I began to ponder baptism. What I said to my future niece is true, but perhaps not the fullness of Truth. In trying to use words and ideas she would understand, I couldn’t go deep into the concepts of sacramentality, ongoing salvation, sanctifying grace, or even the indelible seal of Christ on the soul. These are the theological ideas that Catholic parents agree to at Baptism, as well as presenting their child for acceptance into our faith community. We give our pledge to help these new parents nurture their children in the faith too, remember. We are to ‘love them into our community.’

We’re changing things up here at St. Elizabeth’s, slowly but surely, forming disciples and creating a vibrant faith community. The next time you see a Baptism announcement in the bulletin or are at a Mass with a baptism, let’s love this new soul and family into community by sending a card, offering a meal, or smiling at Mom and Dad when a toddler is just being a toddler at Mass. #baptismisonlythebeginning

Did You Know? 
The Catechism of the Catholic Church (1213-1274) teaches that the Rite of Baptism has six essential elements: (1) proclamation of the Word of God; (2) acceptance of the Gospel and subsequent acts of conversion; (3) profession of faith; (4) the pouring of water and anointing with sacred chrism; (5) the outpouring of the Holy Spirit; (6) admission to Eucharistic communion. [1229]

Infant baptism was practiced since the time of the Apostles, as we read that entire “households” received baptism (Acts 16:15, 33 for example). Church documents from the second century (Pastoralis actio) confirm the practice. [1252] In regard to children who have died without baptism, “the Church entrusts them to the mercy of God.” Jesus’ tenderness toward children “allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation” for unbaptized children. [1261]

Baptism imprints on the soul an indelible spiritual character, which consecrates the baptized for worship. Because of this, baptism is not repeated. [1272]
By our baptism, we are members of the common priesthood, called to be prophets, and own a share of Christ’s kingship. [1268]

Ordinary ministers of Baptism are the Bishop, priest, and deacon. In case of necessity, any person can baptize, if he/she has the required intention of baptizing in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. [1256]

The Catechism of the Catholic Church is simply a statement of Church doctrine regarding both faith and morals. Commissioned by John Paul II in 1985 and published in 1992, John Paull II writes in the Introduction, “[This catechism] is offered to all the faithful who wish to deepen their knowledge of the unfathomable riches of salvation…. showing carefully the content and wonderous harmony of the Catholic faith.”

In 2005, the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) also released a Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, whose Introduction was written by Cardinal Josef Ratzinger. It is a simplified and reader-friendly version of the Catechism, formatted in question-and-answer style.

My husband is third in the line of thirteen children born to his Mom and Dad. All single births, mostly 18-24 months apart. To take a break from the chaos of diapers, feedings, and keeping kids busy, they would get out of town for a day. My husband tells the story of the day they spent at a park in Davenport, Iowa, meeting rarely-seen relatives coming from the opposite direction. There were tons of kids and a lot of adults; it was a beautiful day for a family reunion and everyone was making the most of it. As dusk fell, his happily exhausted parents packed up both cars and headed home, accidentally leaving my husband behind, each parent thinking he was in the other car.

It was a while before he noticed his family was gone, since there were other random people at the park and he was playing with a ton of kids he hadn’t met before. It wasn’t until he went looking for his closest brother that he noticed he was left behind. He says he wasn’t afraid, knowing they would fetch him eventually, so he hung out on the swings closest to the parking lot.

I imagine Jesus knew that Mary and Joseph would fetch him eventually, so he hung out at the place that was the whole reason for their trip: The Temple. While he was waiting, he listened and learned… and then had a few things to say for himself. By the time Mary and Joseph returned four days later, the teachers (Pharisees) were astounded by his words and his reasoning. I wonder where those same Pharisees are 21 years later, when Jesus returns to teach in the Temple, as “astounded” is not a word Jesus uses to describe them.

I wonder too… Are we still astounded by Jesus’ words? Do we let the Gospel message penetrate our hearts, minds, and actions? Or are we lost in our own world, like the Pharisees who forgot how they once hung on his every word? Mary and Joseph found Jesus. My husband’s parents found him. Can Jesus find you? #lostandfound

Paul writes to his persecuted friends in Philippi, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: Rejoice! Your kindness should be known to all.” He’s reminding them (and us) of their mission as followers of Jesus: Bring the Goodness, Truth, and Beauty of the faith - wrapped in grace and kindness - to a culture in desperate need.

Paul knows about desperation. He’s writing this letter while he sits in Nero’s prison, awaiting death. “Kindness” and “joy” are not words anyone would use in a sentence with Nero’s name nor regime, unless it’s talking about the qualities both are not. Nero douses followers of Jesus in oil then lights them afire to use as torches alongside the roads to the Coliseum to the delight of many. He feeds Christians to the wild animals for cultural amusement. Nero marries a young boy, Sporus, who greatly resembles his late wife, out of regret for murdering her. Clearly, the words and message of Jesus have fallen on rocky soil in the house of Rome.

What about the house of Hastings? Or the house of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton? Or our own individual homes? Do we consult the wisdom of holy men and women of the Church, “What should we do?” as the followers of John did, or allow the ways of the world to dictate our actions, doing what we want and thinking as we please? Do we rejoice in our suffering when chastised for speaking the Gospel truths in kindness like Paul’s people, or are we silent in the fear of opposition?

Are we disciples of Jesus who petition the Lord with thanksgiving, without anxiety? Does the Word of God guard our hearts, minds, and actions? Do we share our coats with the homeless and our daily bread with the hungry? Are we generous with our income and stingy with our lies? Do we ‘fear not’ and ‘sing joyfully’? Are we filled with hope over the expectation of Jesus’ second coming? These are the words of Scripture today, the Good News for all to hear. #JesusiswhereTruthandLoveunite

Abundant New Year’s blessings to you! No, Sarah hasn’t printed the wrong column here. Today is the first Sunday of the new Church year. Advent marks the turn of a new season, and it is indeed a beautiful season for new beginnings, one filled with hope and joy! The prophet Jeremiah tells us as much, yes? “The days are coming, says the LORD, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and Judah. In those days, in that time, I will raise up for David a just shoot; he shall do what is right and just in the land.”

It might not seem like it after all these years, as justice and righteousness appear to be in short supply. It feels like a hard and cruel land right now. We are weary of the virus and its effect on our lives. Our tempers are quick, yet our patience is short. Our anxiety is high and our morale low. We sense a cultural unrest and an undercurrent of persecution for our faith beliefs. Division and despair lurk in the darkness. It seems not much has changed since that time when God the Son entered the land and rocked our world.

Yet Jesus - our poor King who is but rich in grace and mercy, overflowing with love, and resplendent in hope and peace – is doing what is right and just in our land, through us, who are His disciples. My brothers and sisters in Christ: “May your faith increase and may you abound in love for one another and for all,” so that our sleepy hearts are awakened and watered with grace, peace, and mercy. May we then enthusiastically “conduct ourselves in a manner pleasing to the Lord”! This, and only this, will allow us to bring the same to our neighbors here in Hastings.

In this new year my friends, I beg you to let this land know we are Catholic by having our hearts set joyfully afire and doing what is right and just for Love Incarnate. #nodrowsyheartshere

Our beleaguered prophet Daniel is prophesying to an Israelite community that is again in dread of war. The ongoing battle between the two great houses of men – Antiochus of the Seleucid dynasty, “king of the north” and Ptolemy of the Kingdom of Egypt, “king of the south” - are about to engage in yet another epic battle of power, wealth, and ego. Lying between these two major man-made-gods-of-war is Israel, a simple people fiercely devoted to YHWH, the Lord God. This war will be fought in their olive groves, atop their grazing lands, and on the roads of small towns and villages. Old men will be forced into battle and old women will be forced to feed the army in front of them. Sons will be conscripted, and daughters enslaved in an unholy way. Every man, woman, and child will be considered a weapon of use by the invading warriors at hand. At the bitter end, the winner will force the people of God to adopt its polytheistic faith practices. Or die. William Sherman said that “War is hell,” and for the Israelites, it will be.

Enter Daniel, hero and prophet of the Lord God, “At that time, there shall arise Michael, the great prince, guardian of your people! It shall be a time unsurpassed in distress... [But] at that time your people shall escape, everyone who is found written in the book.” Hope! At long last! Hope for the spring crops, for the lambs and the kids, and for the good honest people of the One True God! Long live Daniel!

Alas. Daniel was wrong. Antiochus Epiphanes won the war and ravaged Israel, enforcing Greek gods and pagan practices on the people of God (see 1 Maccabees).

The Good News for us is that Daniel was also right. A new soul was formed when heaven kissed earth; one wrapped in wisdom, bathed in mercy, and schooled in servanthood. One who became our Guardian from sin and the everlasting horror and disgrace of hell. His name is Jesus, and he will come again with power and glory and angels. Amen! #itsallinthetiming

It is the thirty-first Sunday of “Ordinary Time” in our Church calendar, yet the readings feel absolutely extra-ordinary. These words found in the book of Deuteronomy are words that every Jewish person recites every morning and evening, and are the first verses a Jewish child memorizes: “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength.” Amazing words. Words that Jesus said every morning and evening and were the first he memorized. It was also found in the mezuzah affixed to the lintel of Mary and Joseph’s home. Upon moving into their home, Joseph would have carved a mezuzah, written this verse on a tiny piece of parchment, then rolled it up to fit in his small mezuzah. When he nailed the mezuzah in place for the first time, Joseph would have blessed it by saying, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with His mitzvot [613 commandments] and commanded us to affix a mezuzah.” Anyone entering their home would touch a finger to the mezuzah and recite our opening line as a way of showing honor and praise to the God who loves them. A small gesture of extraordinary importance, right?

It’s the little things in life that turn a ho-hum day into a day worthy of the Kingdom of God. A beautiful sunrise, a nose-buss from a toddler, coffee with an old friend, the soft touch of a lover, or a brief phone call with an answered prayer. Nothing is outside the providence of God who loves us fiercely and intimately, and desires nothing but our authentic happiness. For the Lord loves us with all with his heart, with all his soul, and with all his strength too. A huge gesture of extraordinary love, yes?

What is even more amazing about these readings is their ability to move and work in our lives, for this kind of extraordinary love demands a simple response in our ordinary time. What might yours be today? #thelittlethingsmatter

I stepped into the Catholic church at the end my eighth-grade year, the year of my parents' wedding. What most people don’t understand when I tell the story of their seven-year courtship and annulment process that culminated in their marriage, was that it was an emotional time for me. Not just because I was thirteen, but also because I was headed into a season of incredible loss. Everything I knew and loved would be taken from me. I’d be leaving the farm, abandoning my friends, sharing my mom 24/7 with a man I liked… but. She was first and foremost my Mom. Mine. She loved me first. And best. I didn’t mind sharing her love sometimes, but as a permanent gig? No way.

So it was me and all that sitting in a pew at my first Good Friday afternoon service. It was back in the day when the congregation really participated in the drama, you know? When the people in the pews had parts and roles, churches were dark and stark, and deep purple covered everything in sight. You just knew something big was happening.

What was happening was a memorial to suffering, the kind of suffering that Isaiah and Jesus talk about in the readings today. A time when we recall the redemptive suffering of Our Lord. How he gave up perfection to be fully human – which means a life imbedded with a suffering he never knew before birth. Yet suffering is often where we meet Him, for pain is a conduit for grace. Knowing he suffered allows us to bond with Him; authentic friendship has a common and unitive feature. Therefore, suffering is an opening for a deeper friendship with Our Lord.

On that particular Good Friday, as we started reciting the words, “Crucify Him,” I began sobbing. I got it. Really understood it. Neither Jesus nor I asked for any of this-and-that. But it happened, nonetheless. But love multiplies when it’s shared, expands when it’s given away, and eternally present, especially when suffering is involved. It’s like Jesus spoke to my heart, “Love is all that.” And it is. #apermanentgig

I managed to find my way to my parents' home in Cedar Rapids without a Bob’s Road adventure, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I drove straight there and back, with nary a missed turn or detour. That rarely happens. Since the drive was going so smoothly, I stopped, opened my Podcast app, and randomly chose a show. I specifically typed ‘Christian podcast’ as opposed to Catholic, because I wanted to see what the rest of the world was up to. Turns out God did too.

I ended up on Passion & Purpose, a podcast hosted by Louie Giglio. He and his wife Shelley are founders of Passion City Church in Atlanta and have a mission to amplify the name of Jesus in the world. They do this by ‘planting churches.’ To plant a church in the evangelical world is to be driven and focused on mission and vision. The Giglios plant small churches that strengthen and repair families, so that they clearly see the healing power and grace of the Savior. At the end of their podcast, I realized why God wanted me to hear their message.

We’re going to re-plant a church, right here on the edge of Hastings. We have the building and the people already, which is why it’s a ‘re-planting.’ We are going to be singular in our mission and vision. We want to invite and form faith-filled and Spirit-led people to join us in our ‘why’. Our mission is to form joyful disciples who want to make Jesus Christ known and loved. All of our programming will focus on this singular mission. We’ll start with adults and sacramental families, and host classes, courses, retreats, and even a mission week.

This endeavor will bear fruit and we’ll look different in a few years: Our vision is to be a vibrant community that radiates Christ’s love and hope to everyone we encounter. We’ll become a community of witnesses to Jesus and the faith. Other people will see what we have here and want to be a part of it.
We know we’re going to encounter resistance and skepticism. We know that some people will say, ‘no thank you’ and go elsewhere. But we are going to rely on the power of the Holy Spirit, the guidance of Our Savior, the wisdom of the Father, and the intercession of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. We are going to be a happier and holier community who are truly blessed by the Lord. It’s going to be quite the adventure. Want to join us? #plantingforJesus

My son called me late at night about eight years ago, and I remember it vividly. “We can’t get Hannah to stop crying. What should I do?” Hannah is his six-week-old daughter, and while a beautiful and innocent soul, she wasn’t an easy baby. He’s cradling her in his arms. I can hear her newborn wail; there’s no other sound quite like it, you know. I hear the panic and frustration in his voice and feel the helplessness of his position. He desperately loves the innocent child in his arms.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus has gathered his disciples and embarked on, what was suppose to be, a quiet and intimate retreat. Jesus thought they were finally ready to hear the fullness of Truth: this mission isn’t going to go the way they expected, but trust in the plan, it’s going to be better than they can possibly imagine. Instead of absorbing that reality and forming a faith that won’t splinter in the dark of night however, the disciples fall prey to fear and argue over primacy. Jesus must have been incredibly frustrated. They’re now returning to Capernaum, to a house they know well.

It’s their home-away-from-home, that sacred place of laughter, tears, growth, grace, and companionship, also called the domestic church. It’s a traditional Jewish home, shared by many, full of love and support. Jesus still needs to teach his friends what discipleship looks like. So he sits down, summons the twelve closer to himself, while the rest of the household listen intently. He knows his words haven’t been working, but his actions might, so he takes a child from his mother – the Greek word is paidion, meaning infant – cradles him in his arms and effectively says, ‘Discipleship is dying-to-self-interest service, and this kind of service involves suffering, physical and spiritual. Have no fear, for I will be there, watching over you as a father loves and protects his newborn.’ I wonder if there is some desperation, helplessness, or frustration in his voice, like there was in my son’s, “I can’t get them to understand. What should I do?” #whatshouldwedo

My aging parents live on the outer edge of Marion, Iowa for the summer months. Recent transplants, they moved from their home of thirty-plus years in Dubuque to be close to my brother Rick. Although I am their only daughter, they decided to spend their sunset years near Rick, who was endowed with more fix-it-skills than I. Which means that I make a trip across the border at least once a month.

Since they are in a new place and I don’t exactly know my way around middle-Iowa, I rely on my MapAp Girl to direct me. The thing is… she gives me a different way to circumnavigate Waterloo and Cedar Rapids every. Single. Time. And most of those involve a mixture of gravel and semi-paved roads surrounded by cornfields. I affectionately call them all “Bob’s Road,” a nod to a quirky line in the cult-film Twister.

This past weekend was no exception, and I found myself setting off for home via Bob’s Road. This time, however, the gas gauge was fairly close to empty, as my plan was to fill up before merging onto the main highway outside of town. Normally I love the steady sound of rubber meeting gravel and the familiarity of farm country, but not now. I looked at various farmsteads, wondering who might take in a wayward SUV and wouldn’t take advantage of a single-lost-girl situation. Gosh, I dislike uncertainty and not knowing whom to trust.

There’s a lot of that going around in the world right now, yes? We’re all a little lost, a little hesitant, and wondering whom to trust. I think the deaf man in today’s Gospel felt the same way. Notice he didn’t ask to be healed; his friends begged Jesus for his healing. Maybe his trust tank was running on empty, drained by false promises of others. Maybe he was nervous, not wanting to be the object of spectacle. Maybe he was afraid, unsure of what may come. All excellent reasons to shy away from the Lord and not ask for healing. But Jesus healed him anyway. #trustintheLord

I wanted to write about a birthday hike at Afton and having to choose one way or another, each a seemingly good choice. But my brother’s words from last September keep tugging at my heart. “I always turned left when I should have gone right,” and my thoughts can’t quite go anywhere else. Grief is a curious thing.

Today I see a hurting Joshua, at wits’ end with his people. “Choose!” he cries, “Decide if you want to follow the Lord or follow the world. And if it’s the latter, just go. But I’m following the Lord, and I hope you’ll come with me.” He’s tired of the one-foot-in, hedge-your-bets, and try-this-just-once approach. I get it, as I’ve been there. Sunday I’ll do this, but the rest of the week I’ll do that.

Paul is no stranger to grief and frustration either. He hasn’t been gone from Ephesus all that long, and already they’re backsliding. He’s letting those foolish folks know a life in Christ looks more like marital love and not teenage lust. After counseling them against impurity, fornication, greed, and vulgarity, he urges them to choose a life of love, unity, and peace. Choose how they want to live.

And Jesus. What can we say here? It’s a different kind of grief. A different kind of frustration. He lays out his plan for the last Passover meal he’ll ever preside over, telling his disciples that instead, he’ll be Present in the meal… as bread for the life of the world. Crazy, right? Who would believe that? Jesus says, “Choose. Decide if you want to follow me or follow the world. And if it’s the latter, just go. But I know who I am, and I hope you’ll come with me.” #fullcustody

Last year, the dynamic Protestant preacher Francis Chan made headlines. In a publicly-posted sermon to his congregation, he spoke about Jesus present in the Eucharist. He begins with mystery, devotion, ecclesia, unity, and what it means to be in communion with each other. In the middle he talks about the continual worship that happens with all the angels and martyrs in heaven, and how we are united in that worship here on earth. He adds that since there is a communion between the citizens of earth and those in heaven, reverence is a must: “A casual atmosphere translates into casual worship.” He contends we should never forget that in our worship, we are surrounded by all those physically present and all those spiritually present, including the angels, the saints, the Virgin Mary, and all those who have died in faith. He then says he’s been studying church history and has come to realize that there’s more to worship than a Bible passage, good music, and a great preacher. “Let’s get serious about this… I am partaking of the body and blood of Christ. Somehow and in some way.” He ends with a plea for the body and blood of Christ to be at the center of worship and closes with an admonition to his congregation that if they do partake of the body and blood of Jesus Christ on that day, to be worthy and reverent.

Protestant preachers erupted in condemnation, protest, and angry accusations of heretical teaching. Catholics stepped up to defend him, naturally, and Chan’s latest video sermon is on listening to God in the silence of the heart. And here we are at Mass today, in the midst of the Bread of Life discourse, shadowed by a Catholic identity crisis on the Eucharist; only one in three Catholic believe the Gospel, that Jesus is body-soul-divinity-present in that tiny little host. If a Protestant preacher takes this seriously, perhaps we should too. #EucharisticRevival2022 #startafire

We’re talking a lot about evangelization, discipleship, mission and vision statements, and the battle to keep our parish from dying out or Catholicism becoming irrelevant in our lives. We had a pretty sweet war room set up in the St. Clare room as we discern where we want to be in ten years and map out a strategy to get there. First thing on the list? Prayer. Jesus prayed over the five barley loaves and two fish - and fed over five thousand people. In a very real sense, we want to do the same.

We want our sacred space filled with five thousand souls who come to hear the Word, be fed by His bread, and belong to His church. We want to be a place where children laugh, adults sing, and everyone shares what they have with those who don’t. Where Jesus is known and loved, the joy of the Gospel is alive in our hearts, and hope radiates from our church and school communities. We want visitors and newbies alike to think, ‘What’s going on over there?’ and come check us out.

Isn’t that how Jesus ended up with five thousand folks on the hill? Isn’t that why Christianity multiplied exponentially even under a culture that was incredibly self-centered and cruel, where intense persecution and death were a given at conversion? I mean, Emperor Nero tied Christians to a tall pole, doused them with oil, then lit them on fire – human streetlights - to light the road to the Coliseum where other Christians were thrown to the lions for sport. Aaaand, the early Christians lost their property, their standing in community, and their jobs to boot. The question that absolutely must be asked: Why would one ever become a Christian?

Because the early Christian disciples behaved differently, and their communities looked like nothing the world had ever seen before. Their inner transformation of joy was followed by an outward focus on love of neighbor and hope. The pagans took notice. Whatever was going on there, they wanted to be a part of it, no matter what the cost. Isn’t that what we want here? #startpraying

There I was, weeding my rocks. Again. Yep. I’m not gardening again this year, but I do have this long sidewalk leading up to my front door with an equally long and wide rock area running alongside it. Once upon a time, a tall and beautiful row of bushes made a home in the rocks, but as a result of a beetle infestation, only the rocks claim residency… along with a few pesky subleasers called clover and carpetweed that definitely make the place look low-rent and unkept. I either needed to condemn the area or rebuild something beautiful for God. I chose the latter.

I knew that just pulling the weeds wasn’t going to help. I’d evicted them many times before, but they kept popping back in for extended visits. I needed to push the rocks aside, dig deep to get rid of the dirt that had accumulated, then push the rocks back into place, one space at a time. It was a long, slow, and sometimes painful process, but super satisfying in the end.

This is what it takes to revitalize a Catholic culture too.

First, we can’t just keep doing the same things we’ve always done, hoping that our loved ones return to the Mass and community we love so much. I know we are all channeling our inner-Amos from today’s reading; Amos didn’t want to shake things up, he just wanted to be a simple shepherd. But God called Amos to something new and he’s calling you and me too.

Next, we have to go deep, and it starts with rooting out our own weeds and getting rid of the dirt that’s accumulated. St. Paul tells the Ephesians that they are to be holy and without blemish in order to accomplish His will. Those are wise words for us too.

Finally, it’s going to be a long, slow, and sometimes painful process. Growth and transformation aren’t easy - and they take time. But don’t worry because you’ll be among friends. That’s why Jesus sends his disciples out in groups to build something beautiful for God. #strengthinnumbers

Today’s long version of the Gospel includes the account of “the hemorrhaging woman,” which is sandwiched within the saga of the healing of Jairus’ young daughter. That’s a ton of healing going on in only a few short verses. It’s also worthy to note that these two healings are of women; the young daughter of a synagogue official and a nameless woman who has been suffering for twelve years. Neither have power or standing in the Jewish community life.

You see, Jesus isn’t interested in the power and standing we’ve accumulated; he’s interested in us simply as his Beloved. It’s not what we do in this life that defines us, it’s who we are. It’s why the church defends the lives of the unborn, the aged, the terminally ill, the imprisoned… those souls who are limited in their contributions to society. For Jesus, it’s not about our DOing, it’s about our BEing.

What ought we be? Well, disciples of the Lord, first. As the Good Book says, we should “love the Lord with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our strength.” That’s the Great Shema (Deut. 6:5), the constant daily prayer of every Jewish man, woman, and child. Jesus would have prayed it often. He loved and followed the will of his Father, and we love and follow the will of both of them. That makes us disciples.

Second, we are built for community. Since we are created in the image and likeness of God, and as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are an eternal community, we too need others in our lives. Our hemorrhaging woman’s medical condition marks her as ‘unclean’ and therefore places her outside of all community life. She is isolated. Alone. Unable to worship.

Jesus heals Jairus’ daughter and the hemorrhaging woman not because of what they do, but for who they are. Next week we welcoming everyone back to Mass as the dispensation to watch online is lifted, and we are all invited to participate in community life. Encourage others. Invite friends. Be healed. Come as you are. #disciples

When I worked at the University of St. Thomas, I would make the daily drive from Mahtomedi to St. Paul. It wasn’t a bad commute, but I there was no ‘easy’ way to get there. I tried freeways, frontage roads, neighborhood roads, and even a bus route, but every path was fraught with either road construction or congestion. There simply wasn’t an easy way to get there. Much like the road to heaven, yes?

I eventually found a path that was right for me. One where my prayers would bear fruit, I felt the shade of the Lord in the heat of the commute, and my lowly withered attitude-tree blossomed. It was an Ezekiel-inspired route that included up-and-down climbs and long lazy roads with a few stoplights to help keep me focused. It became familiar. Comfortable.

Then one day, as I was making my way down Pierce Butler, a new fenced in section over rocky land appeared, with a great big sign that read, “Future Home of Piercing Faith Church.” I smiled. Piercing Faith. Super cool. I couldn’t wait to see how the building would look, who I might see working on it, what their charism was, and how they might change the culture of Frogtown. I drove by every day with anticipation. Only… nothing ever happened. Weeks, months, years went by. No cornerstone, no workmen, no excitement. No trees, no shade, no plantings, no fruit. There was nothing other than an empty field with a chain-link fence in all those many years.

Our faith life can be like that. We’re comfortable. We know the way to our destination and there’s no reason to shake it up. We have a routine and it works for us. We know where the rocks in the field are and the only kind of seed that will grow in that soil, and it’s not mustard in Minnesota.
Or is it? What if the mustard seed is the kind of faith that probes our soul and searches our hearts? A piercing faith that moves us to build something beautiful for God? #weareunderconstruction

The Easter season has come to a close. How do we know? Because we hear from the Old Testament once again. #bestillmyheart Of all the Old Testament readings, where do we begin? Genesis, Jeremiah, or Judith, the amazing books of new beginnings? Nope. Job, Judith, or Tobit, the delightful books of struggle and starting over? Guess again? How about Susanna, Sirach, or Esther, those lovely books containing words of wisdom and encouragement for the faithful? Oh, gosh no. We get Deuteronomy, the opening lines of the final book of the Pentateuch, containing all of the laws of the fledgling Israelite community. Ummmm. Okay?

Definitely okay. It’s the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, and each of our three readings brings out something we need to know. Matthew emphasizes the mission of the church to make disciples for the Son of God. Paul’s letter to the good people of Rome emphasizes the power of the Holy Spirit to ward off fear under intense suffering and persecution. Our Deuteronomy reading reminds us that God the Father is indeed powerful and His commandments are worth living – and dying – for. It’s perfect.

Mostly. You see, because of the magnitude of Paul’s letter and Jesus’ final words of commission to make disciples, our little Deuteronomy reading is often ignored. But if we look closely, it’s the basis for all we know. Moses has led the people out of slavery and is preparing their hearts to receive the rules by which they should orient their lives. He reminds the Israelites of God’s strong hand and amazing miracles for the journey. He recalls the terror unleashed upon their enemies. He recounts the experience of hearing God speak to him. He tells the people that God created man upon the earth, then chose them, and only them, to change the world.

Therein is the soul of the matter. God has chosen you for something big. Yep. You. God is looking right at you with a twinkle in his eye and a ‘we can do this together’ attitude. Moses asks, “Did anything so great ever happen before?” We might do the same. #pondering