Category: Behold Vancouver

There is a scene in the emotional movie, “Good Will Hunting”, where Will is laid back against a wooden desk and his therapist looks at him lovingly after hearing something that happened in his past. The therapist says, “It’s not your fault”. Will, still laid against the desk, scoffs, shrugs it off and says, “I know that”. The therapist gingerly steps forward and says again, “It’s not your fault”. Will blinks, looking confused with a slight, crooked smile, “I know”? Then again, the therapist says, “it’s not your fault”. Slowly, we see Will’s face start to change. We may even see his eyes start to well with tears. The therapist keeps saying and keeps coming physically and emotionally closer, “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault”. At the end, we see Will and the therapist embrace. Will’s sobs are the sound of a real cathartic release. 

Speaking as a counsellor, this scene is such a powerful picture of something moving from the head to the heart — from knowing to believing. Will knew in his mind that it wasn’t his fault; but until that moment, his heart did not.

Practicing our faith can sometimes be like Will’s experience. We know the Bible verses. We know to attend Mass. We know novenas and prayers ‘work’ but we struggle to believe that God will intervene within our families struggling with addictions, turmoil, grief, sicknesses etc…Like Will, “We know”. Yet sometimes, it feels like our heart is still catching up to what our head knows. Why does this happen?

In counselling school, I learned the phrase: “staying in the cognitive”, which is deciphering when a client tends to stay ‘‘in the brain’’, speaking in a matter-of-a-fact way; ultimately deciding not to feel things in the heart for whatever good and protective reason. This was a way to live safely as sometimes the heart is too unsafe, fragile and vulnerable. To “stay in the cognitive” feels safer than entering life fully with gusto and zeal. 

When someone stays in the cognitive, the counselling belief is that we get to know about their story, but not how they truly felt in that lived experience. For example, if a client tells me about a breakup and recounts how it happened, without the details of how they felt about the breakup, I am not getting the full story. Did they feel that it was unfair? Or needed? Both elements of the story – the facts and the feelings –  are needed because both can be used for God’s glory. Like most things of God and His character, there is no either/or, but a both/and. 

I fell in love with the genealogy of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel decades ago, when I encountered it—in rapid succession—in both Fr. Raymond Brown’s “A Coming Christ in Advent” and Gail Godwin’s novel “Evensong.” Unfortunately, even daily Mass-goers won’t get to hear it this year, as it’s proclaimed only when December 17 (the first day of the “O Antiphons” leading up to Christmas) does not fall on a Sunday. 

Matthew’s genealogy is a startling, tongue-twisting list of fathers that also includes four mothers:  Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba. Their tales are filled with fraught sexual encounters, including incest, prostitution, and rape. We may be tempted to look away–or even question how these brutal stories can be considered sacred texts. And yet, each of these women played a key role in the history of salvation. So, in the spirit of the first antiphon—O Wisdom—let’s peek at the wisdom of our foremothers in faith. 

Tamar (Genesis 38)

In biblical times, if a married man died childless, his brother had to marry the widow to father an heir for the deceased. Tamar had married Judah’s oldest son, Er, who died, then his middle son Onan, who also died. Judah—understandably skittish—asked Tamar to wait a few years before marrying his youngest, Shelah. When it became clear that a third wedding was not forthcoming, Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute and tricked Judah into sleeping with her; their son Perez became an ancestor of Jesus. 

After news of her pregnancy kindled her father-in-law’s rage, Tamar confronted Judah with the truth, and he admitted, “She is in the right.” Why was she praised for her deceit? I believe it’s because the marriage protocol in question was not just a human precept; it was what the people understood as divine law. Tamar knew it, and so did Judah. Instead of placing her hope in men, Tamar bravely placed her hope in God—and took matters into her own hands.

When have women (and men) of our day struggled with dawning awareness that those who should have known better were not doing the right thing? My mind goes straight to the clergy scandal, which eroded the trust of countless Catholics. Yet I also think of politicians who put the wishes of the gun and fossil fuel lobbies above the welfare of children, and of CEOs who amass wealth while denying their workers a living wage. In the face of their disgraceful conduct, I am inspired by women and men who speak truth to power, often at personal risk. Tamar is the patron saint for those who take bold action in the service of God’s vision—for our Church and for our world.

“O Come, O Come Emmanuel” is one of my favorite hymns, if not my all-time favorite. This hymn is ubiquitous with the Advent season and is heard in most Catholic churches in the United States at least once in the season. The words of this hymn, simultaneously wonderfully ancient and ever-new, are based on what is referred to as the “O Antiphons.” Now, maybe you already knew that, maybe you’ve heard of the “O Antiphons” before, or maybe you’re now wondering what an antiphon even is. Chances are though, you’ve heard this hymn and might have wondered where it came from.

An antiphon is a short phrase or sentence that is used in liturgies like the Mass or Liturgy of the Hours. Antiphons serve as small refrains and often highlight a particular message or prayer of the season. In this case, the “O Antiphons” refer to the specific antiphons used in Vespers (evening prayer of Liturgy of the Hours) that go with reciting the Magnificat (Mary’s prayer of praise from Luke) from December 17 to 23. Together, these seven antiphons – all of which start with calling upon Jesus Christ with an exclamatory O, hence the name –  help to serve as a prayerful conclusion to Advent, a homestretch prayer on our way to Christmas.

Structurally, each antiphon has two key parts. The first is a traditional title of Jesus Christ as the messiah, the one who was promised to come, such as Emmanuel, used by Gabriel in the Annunciation meaning “God with us.” These titles reflect how the prophets thought of the coming messiah and who he is. The second part of each antiphon is a reflection of that role by drawing upon the words of the prophet Isaiah. This portion helps to reflect on the mission and ministry of the messiah and how he would live out that particular title. For us as Christians, we use these prophetic titles and words to reflect on Jesus Christ, what he has done in history, and how he continues to act in our lives today.

We can sit with these seven little phrases and draw upon their richness in helping us to know Jesus Christ as the wisdom of God, guiding us in our lives and actions. We too call upon Jesus Christ in a longing way as we look forward to and hope for his second coming. So just as the prophets longed for his first arrival, we too wait eagerly and look forward to his return in glory.

December 17: O Sapientia

O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet gentle care.

A four part Advent series on the nature and character of Mary, our Mother. 

It really can be different this year.

In a couple of weeks, as Americans recover from stuffing themselves with turkey and holding their tongues at Thanksgiving family gatherings across the nation, Advent will quietly arrive. It will slip in through the back door largely unnoticed and be briefly thought of on Sundays in December when parishes light their purple-and-pink-candled wreaths.

But the season of Advent deserves our attention. It’s a gift before the rest of the gifts start flowing, an invitation to slow down and prepare ourselves for the Savior, whose birth we will soon be remembering and celebrating once again.

Making Advent meaningful is all about what happens before it even begins. Here are nine things you can do right now to help ensure that the weeks leading up to Christmas are sacred and joyful for you and your loved ones:

1. Get your Christmas shopping done before Advent begins on Nov 29. 

I know, this probably seems impossible. And let’s face it, it’s hard to go there when the Thanksgiving menu hasn’t even been planned. But if you have most of your shopping done before Advent arrives, you’ll save yourself a huge amount of time and stress, which will give you more energy to devote to what Advent is supposed to be about—prayer, being present and peacefully preparing for the great feast of Christmas. Which brings us to another point about shopping …

2. Be thoughtful about what you buy.

When you’re intentional about what and where you shop, both Advent and Christmas are more meaningful. Save yourself time in traffic, parking lots, and malls by shopping locally if you can—and online. Consider using your hard-earned dollars to support artisans both at home and abroad—as well as monasteries and religious orders that make and sell beautiful handcrafted items. (Aleteia will soon be coming out with our 2015 best gifts from monasteries and convents, so stay tuned.)

3. Pick no more than three Advent traditions this year and stick to them. 

It’s tempting to want to do it all, but that’s a recipe for crazy-making. Decide which three activities are best for you and your family this year and commit to them. Gather the supplies you need. It’s no fun running around at the last-minute trying to find candles for your Advent wreath—or looking for them two weeks after Advent has begun. So prepare now. Order your wreaths. Gather your Jesse tree craft items. Buy the treats you’re planning to put into your kids’ shoes for the feast of St. Nicholas. Whatever the traditions are going to be, get a head start on them.

4. Commit to spiritual reading this Advent.

For anyone on late shifts, holiday shifts, overtime, weekend shifts — this one’s for you.

There’s a particular feeling that comes when you clock into work just as everyone else is settling down with pumpkin pie or slipping into their Christmas pajamas. It’s that mix of “I’m doing something important” and … “really?” The rest of the world seems to be clinking glasses while you’re tapping on keyboards, flipping the “Open” sign, or adjusting your badge for another long night.

But before frustration settles in, it’s worth noticing something quietly beautiful: Some of life’s richest blessings reveal themselves precisely when we’re working while everyone else is resting. And no, they don’t always look glamorous — but they’re real.

1. The gift of unusual peace

There’s an unexpected serenity that settles over the world when your shift begins just as everyone else goes home. The pace softens. The noise eases. You may be stocking shelves, answering calls, serving late-night meals, or beginning another overnight shift, but there’s a peacefulness to it — a stillness most people never encounter.

In that quiet, you can think again. You can pray. You can breathe in a way that feels impossible at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday.

It’s a blessing wrapped in silence.

2. The fellowship of the “Night Crew”

Working late or working holidays creates a special camaraderie. Whether you’re in healthcare, retail, hospitality, ministry, public safety, or any behind-the-scenes role, you begin to recognise others who are also “on duty.” A nod, a shared joke, a sympathetic smile at 11:47 p.m. on Christmas Eve — suddenly, you’re part of a small tribe of people keeping life moving.

There’s a blessing in that belonging: the sense that what you do matters, even if it’s unseen.

3. Front-row seats to other people’s joy

When you work while others relax, you witness joy up close — families reunited, friends laughing, people grateful simply to be together. Their happiness can spill over onto you in unexpected ways. A whispered thank-you, a relieved smile from someone you’ve helped, a child waving as you mop the floor — these tiny gestures become moments of shared joy.

You discover gratitude in places others overlook.

4. A quiet form of imitating Christ

There’s a profoundly spiritual dimension to serving quietly. Jesus did some of His most tender work in the margins — in the late hours, the quiet moments, the overlooked spaces. Working holidays or weekend shifts can feel like stepping into those Gospel scenes. You are keeping vigil, offering presence, making life possible for others.

Your shift becomes a quiet offering — a hidden liturgy of service.

5. Rest becomes a true gift

One of the secret blessings of odd-hour work is that it transforms rest.

In this conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz talks with Fr. Boniface Hicks, O.S.B. about one of the hardest realities of life: what to do when the suffering doesn’t end? 

When pain feels endless, when healing doesn’t come, when it seems like God is silent—the Father’s word is not “Get over it.” It’s “Come to me, all you who are weary, and I will give you rest.” 

Together, they explore: 

• How to wait well when you’re waiting for suffering to end
• The difference between complaint and honest lament
• How sharing pain can open us to love and hope
• Why even chronic suffering can be transformed into communion with Christ

What does it really mean to wait for Heaven? And how do we live that waiting well? In this conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Bishop Robert Barron  to talk about one of the most essential (and challenging) parts of the spiritual life: learning to wait for the summum bonum—the highest good, God Himself. 

Bishop Barron and Fr. Mike explore how every joy, loss, desire, and disappointment in this life can become a training in love—preparing us to receive the only one who can truly satisfy the human heart. 

Discover how to wait with hope, how to loosen your grip on the passing things of this world, and how to let God ready your heart for Heaven.

I’ve discerned that complaining helps me feel in control. Over time, my brain became addicted to the feeling.

Complaining can be very satisfying. There’s nothing better than getting the ear of a good friend and launching into all the things wrong with the world and how everyone is making this journey we call life miserable and why (oh why!) can’t people just stop being so annoying and start listening to me. When I manage to fire off a good rant, it makes me feel warm and cozy. Never mind the fact that I’m totally wrong. Never mind the fact that my attitude is unreasonable and unfair, or that I’m dragging my friend down with me into the muck. I still chase that feeling.

There are days when it seems all I do is complain. I complain about how other people drive, the line at the coffee shop, how much work is piled on my desk, how frustrated I am about what a friend said, how messy the house is, how bad the weather is, how I didn’t get the best parking spot, how the plumber isn’t calling me back and why did our shower even start leaking in the first place? It’s not fair.

Having become aware of my cynical need to complain. I’ve worked at significantly decreasing my negative word-count. I’ve asked myself some hard questions about why I fell into such a bad habit. Why is it that complaining feels so good.

I’ve discerned that complaining helps me feel in control. It gives me a sense of superiority. Over time, my brain became addicted to the feeling. All my neurons are now wired to respond with a sense of relief when I fire off a good complaint.

The problem is, even if it feels good to complain, it’s exceedingly harmful. It turns a person inwards, towards pride and lack of appreciation. Complaining blinds us to the good and beautiful, and thus is blinds us to God. Complaint is not meant to be our dominant language.

We are meant to speak praise.

Praise is the natural language of someone attuned to God. It isn’t a naive, generic insistence on false enthusiasm in the face of legitimate problems. Rather, it’s a specific naming of the blessings and beauty we experience on a daily basis in spite of any ill that might befall us.

Not denying that some days are harder than others, praise nevertheless insists on seeking out the presence of God in all circumstances. Having identified the divine presence at work in and through specific events and people, offering praise for them becomes a sort of sacrifice that pushes us through the doorway of Heaven.

His 4 tips will help you understand your feelings better.

St. Ignatius Loyola gives such revealing, accurate, and universal advice in his book Spiritual Exercises that it can be used in many life situations. The founder of the Jesuit order was a profound psychologist long before psychology was even a field of study, and two centuries before the term itself was invented.

The book contains practical words of advice for dealing with feelings — whether pleasant or negative — which can be summarized in four points:

Identify

The book by the founder of the Jesuits is full of visual descriptions of emotions. For example, Ignatius writes:

“(…) I use the word ‘consolation’ for every increase in hope, faith and love and every inner joy that calls and attracts to heavenly things and to the salvation of the soul, calming it and soothing in the Creator and Lord …” “By ‘desolation’ I mean (…) the darkness and disturbance in the soul, attraction to what is low and of the earth, anxiety arising from various agitations and temptations.”

Identifying one’s own emotions is not always easy. In psychology, much is said today about being in touch with our feelings. And we can struggle with this, especially if we’re told from childhood that what we want and how we feel is not important. In such a situation, a child focuses on survival and hiding his feelings deeply. Even if he later finds friendly souls, he will often have great difficulty revealing his true feelings. Such difficulties can also arise as a result of traumatic experiences.

Any of us, however, can at times be “in denial” about our own feelings, or somewhat blind to them, if we’re focusing too much on what we think we should be feeling, or on other people’s feelings, etc.

Accept

Allow me to repeat a platitude: feelings are neither good nor bad. Every one of them, even rage or jealousy, are merely information for us. After that, the choice is ours to make either good or bad decisions.

St. Ignatius knew this very well. In Spiritual Exercises, he didn’t chastise, scorn, or condemn the negative emotions, and neither was he too enthusiastic about consolations. For example, he soberly observed that when a person is in the early stages of the spiritual path, the path of virtue is for him sweet, easy and joyful, but when he attains a particular stage of intimacy with God, he begins to feel sadness and discouragement. He doesn’t say either is better than the other; he considers both to be natural.

Understand

The conversion of St. Ignatius began with his awareness that while reading stories about knights and quests, he first felt enjoyment and excitement, but later it was followed by sadness and disappointment.