Category: Behold Vancouver

If you’ve got a question for Fr. Josh, comment below with #AskFrJosh or share a Glory Story of how God has worked in your life with #GloryStory. 

Your question or story may be featured in the next video! Today, Fr. Josh answers a question from Stacy Jens: “What about making a resolution to strive harder to combat a vice or a sin?” Ask Fr. Josh is the question and answer show to help you navigate life when our Catholic Faith doesn’t give an easy “fill-in-the-blank” answer. 

In each video, Father addresses one question from three different perspectives: your relationship with God, your relationship with the Church, and your relationship with others.

This Lent, you don’t have to wait until you feel ready, strong, or spiritual enough. God is ready to meet you right where you are. 

In this conversation, Fr. Columba Jordan and Fr. Mike Schmitz talk about what God is really asking us for–an offering of whatever we have to give right now. 

From prayer and fasting to exercise, they explore why the spiritual life can never be separated from the physical. Reflecting on ordinary actions, like a short walk or a simple fast, they reveal that anything can become an act of worship when offered with love.

“But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” Mike and Dave break down the Parable of the Good Samaritan, explain why this story is so important and expand on the radical love Jesus calls us to.

“The Apostolic Age is not Utopian” by Msgr. James Shea, President of The University of Mary Msgr. 

Shea walks us through the history of the Church’s struggles and proposes both a soteriology and ecclesiology that answers the needs of today’s apostolic realities.

How prepared are you to take part in “the sermon on the plane”?The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelt sign. You have stowed your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you.

After you have taken a moment to locate the emergency exit nearest you, turn to the person next to you. You have a rare and valuable opportunity: an almost unique opportunity to have a deep, meaningful conversation with a stranger.

Deacon Jim Hallman calls the phenomenon of airplane faith discussions “the sermon on the plane.”

Think about it. You and the person sitting next to you already have something in common – one or both of the cities you’re flying between. You also both have time to kill with someone you will probably never see again.

That leaves people wide open.

When I asked Facebook friends if they had ever discussed the faith on an airplane, the response was overwhelming: “Yes!” “Just yesterday!” and “Every. Single. Time.”

Catherine Suprenant, who does women’s ministry in Pennsylvania, says she loves airplanes for this reason. “People seem to have no opposition to talking religion if they’re willing to talk to someone on a plane,” she said.

It all starts when you make the conscious choice to be available.

“I used to wall myself off with headphones and short answers,” Patrick O’Meara, who heads a financial company, told me. “I was convicted that this is not how the Lord wanted me to behave. How could I be his instrument that way?”

So he started taking the earbuds out and saying hello — and an outpouring of grace followed.

Everyone has their way of making this happen. Kansan Jenny Carter said praying her rosary at the start of the flight sparks conversations. O’Meara said the Liturgy of the Hours does it for him.

Nikki Walz said her connection to Benedictine College does it. “Once you tell them where you went to school, it just naturally leads to discussions of the faith,” she said.

However they start, airplane encounters test your apologetics know-how.

One of Walz’ seatmates was a “spiritual naturalist with leanings toward Buddhism.” Another with a Baptist minister who wanted to talk about the Bible. Another was with a woman who was raised Catholic “but left because of the abuse scandal and the lack of ordination of women.”

She told every one of them about the beauty of the Catholic faith.

Another Benedictine graduate, Brad Geist, had a great conversation with an evangelical Christian who was uncomfortable with Catholic devotion to the saints. “I asked her if she would ask her friends to pray for her before she would go oversees for her ministry,” Geist told me.

Why does life feel empty—even when everything seems “fine”? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz and Dr. Arthur Brooks explore why modern life leaves so many people restless, anxious, and disconnected. From neuroscience to faith, they reveal why pleasure isn’t happiness, why technology can’t give us meaning, and how returning to God may be the only way out of the Matrix. 

If you’ve been searching for purpose, this conversation will change the way you see happiness—and your life.

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate. 

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate. 

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

Wait. What’s a sacramental?I have always been drawn to sacramentals. I keep on hand holy water, medals, and many Lents’ worth of palm branches, not to mention a drawer full of miscellaneous holy cards and third-class relics (some of which are blessed, though I’ve mostly forgotten which ones).

I often think to myself that it might help me to use them a bit more. But sometimes I worry about abusing them, falling into the error of treating them like good luck charms. I guess that despite my attraction to the idea of sacramentals, I have always been foggy on exactly what they are, and how they work.

So I poked around a bit and found out three things that took away my fears and cleared things up for me.

Sacramentals are more than just blessed objects

Religious (and sometimes ordinary) objects that have been blessed by a priest are sacramentals. But other things are too. A sacramental can be an action, time, place, or event — anything used by the Church to open us up to God’s grace. So, for example, fasting, genuflecting, or making the sign of the cross is a sacramental, as is a sacred place like the site of an approved Marian apparition. There are also blessings of the home or vehicles, or special blessings and objects associated with saints, such as the blessing of throats on St. Blase’s day, or St. Joseph’s table. Even Olympic sprinter Usain Bolt’s flying Miraculous Medal is a sacramental. Sacramentals are all around us.

Sacramentals get their power partly from your disposition

The seven sacraments don’t rely on your disposition to work. I can be a real jerk but still contract a true marriage. A priest’s ordination can be valid whether or not he is a holy man. A baptism can be performed on a small child unaware of what is happening. But with sacramentals, your disposition opens you up to the grace God wants to give. In this sense, using a sacramental is like praying. Just saying the words or going through the motions isn’t enough. Blessing yourself with holy water or genuflecting might not be a way to open yourself to grace, if you’re doing those acts unthinkingly, or with wrong intentions, just as saying the words of the Our Father doesn’t mean much if your heart isn’t lifted to God, however imperfectly.

Sacramentals also get their power from the prayers of the Church

But your disposition isn’t the only thing that counts. Using a sacramental unites your prayer—as flawed and weak and poor as it most certainly is—with the intercessory prayers of the universal Church, the Bride of Christ.

In chapter 20 of The Spiritual Combat, Lorenzo Scupoli addresses the harmful effects of sloth and offers guidance on how to combat it. Sloth is not merely physical idleness, but a deadly torpor of the soul that paralyzes spiritual growth, dulls discernment, and opens the heart to deception.

Scupoli points out that sloth is like a worm eating away at wood. The danger of sloth lies in silent and gradual decline—small delays, minor indulgences, and habitual postponements that lead to spiritual bondage. It attacks not only good intentions but also developed virtues. Left unchecked sloth can hollow out our spiritual life completely. However, armed with immediate action, true diligence, patient persistence, and the grace of God, we can fight this battle and win.

Scupoli counsels us to avoid curiosity, worldly attachments, and unnecessary occupations that feed distraction. He emphasizes the importance of immediate action (i.e. prompt and cheerful obedience to divine inspirations and the demands of duty) for delay makes tasks seem more burdensome over time. Sloth feeds on delay. The moment between inspiration and action is where spiritual battles are won or lost. Act immediately and you starve sloth of its power. Hesitate and you give it a foothold.

We must also watch out for false productivity. This is when we rush through our spiritual duties—racing through prayers, speeding through the Rosary, hurrying through Scripture reading—just to check them off our list and get back to what we really want to do.

This isn’t true diligence; it’s sloth wearing a mask. True diligence consists in performing each task at its proper time with full attention. Real spiritual practice requires presence, attention, and a willing heart. It is better to pray one decade of the Rosary with full devotion than to recite an entire Rosary while mentally planning your day.

To reawaken zeal, Scupoli exhorts us to remember the immense value of every act done for God—even a single prayer or act of self-denial outweighs the world’s treasures. Each victory over laziness brings heavenly reward, while habitual neglect leads to withdrawal of divine grace.

One of sloth’s most effective lies is making tasks seem overwhelming. The ancient spiritual masters knew the antidote: break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces – break long prayers or labours into short periods until strength returns; rest briefly when overwhelmed, then resume the task steadily. This gradual discipline weakens sloth and strengthens virtue. As one Desert Father wisely said: “The person who begins with small things will eventually accomplish great ones.”

Patient persistence is another key remedy against sloth. We must fight sloth with immediate, forceful action and yet we must also exercise patient trust in God’s slow work within us.

Is your faith certain enough to stand up against the doubts and different ideas out there? 

Fr. Mike shares insight about certainty from Dr. Montague Brown, professor of philosophy at St. Anselm College, New Hampshire. Dr. Brown says certainty is intellectual belief based on the evidence. It’s not blind belief. Someone with certainty is not going to change their mind without new objective evidence. Many times people change their minds not because of new evidence, but just because of new people in their lives. They’ve simply been exposed to new behavior. This happens to students in college quite often. 

Christianity is evidential. It hinges upon an indisputable event, the life and death of Jesus. 

If you’re from a small town, you may think the way you were raised is just part of your small town’s way of thinking, and that a well-known university in a big city must have a broader, more enlightened way of thinking. But really, the university is just as subject to its way of thinking as the small town is. The culture of a university is just as insulated as that of a small town. 

Don’t get so caught up in the culture around you that you give in to new ideas without evidence—whether that culture is a university, a new workplace, new friends, new family, or a new city. Let your faith always be backed up by the evidence. Fr. Mike is certain in his belief that Christianity will then always come out on top.

Why does life feel empty—even when everything seems “fine”? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz and Dr. Arthur Brooks explore why modern life leaves so many people restless, anxious, and disconnected. From neuroscience to faith, they reveal why pleasure isn’t happiness, why technology can’t give us meaning, and how returning to God may be the only way out of the Matrix. 

If you’ve been searching for purpose, this conversation will change the way you see happiness—and your life.

When you get rid of extra stress, lasting inner peace becomes attainable.

When someone asked me, “How are you doing?” a few years ago, I would usually say fine, and give my biggest, fakest smile. The real answer to that question was “stressed out of my mind,” but most of the time, the question “How are you?” is perfunctory and not an actual inquiry — and so we answer politely out of habit. But if you asked me that question today I would answer “fine,” and truly be fine (not insanely stressed).

That said, event though I’ve made progress, I still find myself filling any free moment I have with busyness. Even though I have fewer stressors in my life, I occasionally feel like I should be busier and start creating unnecessary stress to fill the void. 

If you struggle with stress, self-imposed or not, have I got a woman for you. She’s a 19th-century Carmelite named Sister Marie-Aimee of Jesus, and she wrote a little book called The Twelve Degrees of Silence.

Sister’s intent was to help people attain inner silence so that they could know God better. But I have found that if you look at her steps today, you can use them more superficially to help fight day-to-day busyness and stress. When you get rid of extra stress, acquiring a lasting inner peace becomes attainable.

Check out these 6 touch points from Sister Marie-Aimee, and see if you can find any ways to change your routine in response to them.

1. Silence of words

We’re inundated with communication every day. For example, texting. Are all of the texts you send necessary, or could you cut back on some texts and free up that mental space? Could you set a few times during the day that you send messages and then not text in between those times? That might allow you to have some clearer headspace.

2. Silence of movements/actions

Ever noticed a nervous tic you have? For a while I would shake my leg when I was thinking or bored. When someone pointed it out to me, I realized the constant motion was not actually helping me, and worked to change that habit. Try to find some movements or actions that you do in a day that are just fillers, and are actually making you less calm and more busy. 

3. Silence of imagination

Do you spend a lot of time during the day thinking about what the future will look like? That might be what you’re doing tomorrow, or what you’re doing when you get home tonight, or what you’re doing for lunch. Regardless of how far into the future you are looking, it is better to focus on the present moment if you want to foster inner peace. 

Work, family, plans with friends, sports … when do you take time to savor life?One of the problems that constantly comes up in many people’s lives is maintaining balance between work life, family life, and personal time. But in most cases the root of the matter is the inability to prioritize what is really important, especially caring for one’s own life. When something is really important for us, we find the time for it.

We tend to postpone the important things because of what’s urgent so our health and our relationships with others suffer. In fact, it’s the family that usually pays the high price of all the rushing we do. Don’t you think we need to stop from time to time? Could it be that we’ve forgotten the importance of taking breaks in everyday life? Have we forgotten the art of stopping?

We may be doing well in our work and achieving our goals, but on the way we can forget to take care of the life that sustains everything else.

How can we take better care of ourselves and not fall into unbridled busyness? The recommendation, from the ancient philosophers to the experts in occupational medicine, is to learn to take breaks in day-to-day life. It is an old and wise custom to pause in the middle of any activity, and it has great benefits.

Philo of Alexandria (1st century AD) understood rest as an activity without effort, as a creative state of calm. For the Jewish philosopher, only the irrational man is agitated, while the wise man knows how to rest to get in touch with his own creativity.

The art of stopping

The word pause in its Greek origin (anapausis) refers to “repose,” “interruption,” “rest.” In ancient times, the pause was understood as a creative act, as a healing interruption.

Specifically, it is interrupting what one is doing in order to do something totally different. While there are many exercises that can be done to rest psychologically and physically, a true pause must always include the opposite of what we are doing at work.

If we have been sitting in front of a computer, the pause cannot be a video game, but should involve physical activity. If we have been talking a lot, the pause should be silence. If we have been reading a lot, the pause is not to read something else, but to do something different.

The pause for those who work with great physical effort is stillness. For those who are working alone, their pause may require contact with others. And if it is the other way around and you work with many people, the pause will be a time of reparative solitude.

Scrupulosity is a psychological disorder primarily characterized by pathological guilt or obsession associated with moral or religious issues. If you’ve ever dealt with it—or know someone who has dealt with it—you know how confusing and difficult it can be. 

Today, Tanner helps you identify it, call it what it is, and turn to the Father’s merciful love for you.

You probably don’t outright lie on a regular basis. But, do you exaggerate? Do you give half truths sometimes, or leave things unclear on purpose? Do you hide some facts in order to smooth things over? 

Today, Fr. Mike shows us the very-human reasons we all struggle with these “white lies”, and how to tell the “full” truth more often. 

“Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.” —Jesus in Matthew 5:37

When should you turn to a priest, a mental health professional, or even an exorcist? 

Sr. Josephine Garrett offers practical guidance for navigating struggles, whether they’re mental, physical, spiritual, or emotional. She shares simple but powerful steps for strengthening your spiritual life, including monthly confession, joining a Bible study, and finding a spiritual director.

Drawing from The Bible in a Year, Fr. Mike offers powerful insights on what it looks like to struggle faithfully with God and grow in relationship with Him. He closes with a heartfelt Q&A, sharing personal reflections to inspire your own journey of trust and surrender.34:40 I’m a Protestant, but I feel like a Catholic after spending so much time with your videos and podcasts. How important is it to convert? 

39:08 If we can’t take a 30-day silent retreat, what can someone do to “really get to know God”? 

44:35 I’m tired of sinning the same sin. Tips? 

51:50 Fr. Mike: Collar or sweats, when you were recording the podcasts?

Few are familiar with J.R.R. Tolkien’s greatest love and what gave him profound strength during his darkest hours.

Catholic author J.R.R. Tolkien is well-known for his mythological realm of Middle Earth and highly influential Lord of the Rings series of books. In fact, one survey in 1997 voted Lord of the Rings the “book of the century.”

To find that, we must open up a letter he wrote to his son Michael. At the time Michael was 21 years old and having relationship problems. Tolkien wrote to him to share his advice about women, but also related to his son the greatest love he could ever possess.

Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament … There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth.

Cure for sagging faith

Many years later, when Michael was 43, Tolkien received a letter from his depressed son looking for consolation. It appears Michael wrote to his father about his “sagging faith” and began to doubt if God or the Catholic Church was true. This was Tolkien’s response.

The only cure for sagging of fainting faith is Communion. Though always Itself, perfect and complete and inviolate, the Blessed Sacrament does not operate completely and once for all in any of us. Like the act of Faith it must be continuous and grow by exercise. Frequency is of the highest effect. Seven times a week is more nourishing than seven times at intervals.

Tolkien was known to attend daily Mass at a nearby church and his eldest son, John, became a priest and was with his father at his death bed, likely giving him holy viaticum, the Holy Eucharist, as he passed from this life to the next.

Not surprisingly, within Tolkien’s Middle Earth there was a special type of bread called lembas, which sustained Frodo and Sam as they reached the place where their journey ended.

The lembas had a virtue without which they would long ago have lain down to die. It did     not satisfy desire, and at times Sam’s mind was filled with the memories of food, and the     longing for simple bread and meats. And yet, this way bread of the Elves had potency that increased as travelers relied upon it alone and did not mingle it with other foods. It fed the will, and it gave strength to endure, and to master sinew and limb beyond the measure of mortal kind.

The life we live is Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The more we look to the Mother of that life, the more we come to know and embrace life in its fullness.

Tomorrow, on the solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God, we will pray to God the Father: We rejoice to proclaim the Blessed ever-Virgin Mary Mother of your Son and Mother of the Church. Why do we start every New Year focused on the Motherhood of Mary?

We need the Blessed Virgin Mary to be our Mother, and for at least three key reasons.

1. The Mother of God’s love awakens us and enables us to be ourselves

The theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar reflected on a simple fact of life: “The little child awakens to self-consciousness through being addressed by the love of their mother.” In her book The Drama of the Gifted Child, the psychiatrist Alice Miller explains how

Every child has a legitimate need to be noticed, understood, taken seriously, and respected by their mother. In the first weeks and months of life they need to have the mother at their disposal, must be able to be mirrored by her …. The mother gazes at the baby in her arms, and baby gazes at their mother’s face and finds themself therein, provided that the mother is really looking at the unique, small, helpless being and not projecting her own expectations, fears, and plans for the child. In that case, the child would not find themself in his mother’s face but rather the mother’s own predicaments. This child would remain without a mirror, and for the rest of their life would be seeking this mirror in vain. 

And sadly, this is the plight of many people. But it is not the end of the story. For we have been given an Immaculate Mother who provides for our every need—Mary is the Mirror we seek.

Pope St. John Paul II expressed something similar:

A mother is not only the mother of the physical creature born of her womb but of the person she begets. Mary is Mother of God because she accompanied the Son of God in his human growth. Mary’s Motherhood is not merely a bond of affection—she contributes effectively to our spiritual birth and to the development of the life of grace within us.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
— Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure, “O, Holy Night”

Wanting to be a parent is perhaps the greatest human desire. The desire to love another soul unconditionally — to teach, guide and nurture — is profoundly exciting. Being willing to impact the life of another in such an intimate way is overwhelmingly selfless. The yearning to share one’s own DNA, body, family traditions, home and life with a new creation is a dream many experience years prior to attempting to create new life.

Yet, for those for whom conception does not come easy, their deep desire is met with even deeper pain. The pain of infertility is felt on various levels: emotional, physical, social, spiritual and psychological. It may feel like guilt, shame, anxiety or fear in the form of, “What did I do wrong?” or “Why me/us?” Some women wonder if something is wrong with their body since they are unable to carry a child. Some even wonder if their significant other will still want to be with them if they cannot carry new life in their womb. Attempting to conceive and the emotions that come with it can be more exhausting than exciting for the woman who desperately wants to be pregnant.

Suffering in silence

During the struggles of infertility some share their desire and despair only with their significant other, which may result in feelings of isolation in society. Some women feel like the nurses at their OB/GYN office know them better than their colleagues, as they are the ones who truly know what’s going on in their lives.

Sadly, infertility and miscarriage are not uncommon, yet the medical and grief processes surrounding such losses are something we do not openly discuss in our society. I would argue that more often than not, this is out of respect for the intimacy of trying to conceive. Additionally, we simply may not know what to say to someone who lost a baby when we only learn of the pregnancy in light of the loss. Regardless of reason or motives, too many women and couples suffer in silence or solitude and feel that there is no appropriate way for them to talk about their grief outside of their significant other, physician and counselor.

Now, at this point, you may be wondering why this article is included in a December publication. And that’s a fair question.

Relics can be confusing, so here is a brief rundown of what Catholics believe.

Why do Catholics keep saint’s bones, hair, clothes or even their blood in gold shiny boxes? Didn’t God condemn idolatry? While many (both Protestants and Catholics alike) are often confused by the practice of venerating relics, the tradition has deep biblical roots.

What are relics?

Relics are material items that are connected to a saint and are sorted into three “classes.” A first-class relic is all or part of the physical remains of a saint. This could be a piece of bone, a vial of blood, a lock of hair, or even a skull or incorrupt body.

A second-class relic is any item that the saint frequently used (clothing, for example). A third-class relic is any item that touches a first or second-class relic.

Catholics are known to preserve relics of saints and it is believed that graces from God flow through these objects to devout souls who venerate them.

Where in the bible are relics?

The use of physical objects related to a holy person goes back as far as the Old Testament. In it we see an episode from the Second Book of Kings that features the use of relics.

“And so Elisha died and was buried. At that time of year, bands of Moabites used to raid the land. Once some people were burying a man, when suddenly they saw such a raiding band. So they cast the man into the grave of Elisha, and everyone went off. But when the man came in contact with the bones of Elisha, he came back to life and got to his feet.” (2 Kings 13:20-21)

Even in the New Testament we see how God uses material objects to bring about healings. In the Gospel of Mark we see how a woman is healed because she touched Jesus’ cloak.

“She had heard about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak. She said, ‘If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.’ Immediately her flow of blood dried up. She felt in her body that she was healed of her affliction.” (Mark 5.27-29)

There are other examples in the lives of the apostles that clearly show how God works miracles through items connected to a saint.

Do relics have power?

While the Church encourages the practice of venerating relics, it is important to remember that it is not the actual object that imparts healing. A piece of bone can’t heal someone from terminal cancer. However, God can use a relic of a saint to heal, just like he used his cloak to heal the woman with the hemorrhage.

Even great saints have gone through periods of doubt, but they persevered in prayer and love.

The word “doubt” has two definitions. The first one, as its etymology (dubius or double) suggests, is hesitation. For example, a person facing a fork in a road or a dilemma, unsure whether to turn left or right, to say “yes” or “no.”  

But the word can also designate the questioning of something we believed to be true until recently.

“Faith is certain,” recalls the Catechism of the Catholic Church. “It is more certain than human knowledge, because it is founded on the very Word of God, who cannot lie” (§ 157). When on the day of his baptism an initiate proclaims his faith in God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, his “I believe” expresses a certainty. More often than not this certainty comes after a period of doubt. He then believes, and his faith is destined to grow. If he perseveres in his faith, he will soon discover more reasons to believe than he could previously imagine. If he takes time to pray, the Lord will reveal more of His presence to him. And he won’t worry, if at times the Lord has not instantly answered his prayers. 

But there may come a time when faced with trials and tribulations that he questions certain aspects of the Gospel message. These doubts (in the second sense of the word), can be assuaged and do not necessarily imply any skepticism on his part. 

“Ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt”

Some saints had to go through these periods of spiritual darkness. At times, they felt that God had abandoned them, or worse, that they couldn’t love Him. They had to pray to overcome their despair. What gave them solace is the certainty that in accepting to take part in the agony of Christ they could participate in saving the world.  

In the last months of her life, St. Therese of Lisieux was assailed by terrible doubts about the existence of Heaven. But she firmly held on to her faith supported by the words of Christ: “No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us” (John. 4:12). Cardinal John Henry Newman used to say: “Ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt.”

When someone talks about “being on mission,” what’s the first thing you think about?

For a lot of people, missions might be limited to the trips people take with their churches to go and build a well or orphanage in another country. And while that’s a great way to serve God’s Kingdom, for many it’s not a reality.

And it’s not the only way to be on mission.

Maybe your life doesn’t have room for a missions trip. Maybe the idea of adding yet another thing to your weekly calendar seems like too much to ask. Maybe you and your spouse are barely finding time to connect as a couple, never mind turning your marriage into a mission field. However, having a mission-minded marriage doesn’t need to be as daunting as it seems.

But a bigger question – before addressing the how – would be the why. Why should mission be a central focus in your marriage?

Why is mission in marriage important?

Gary Thomas, in his book Sacred Marriage, writes, “When marriage becomes our primary pursuit, our delight in the relationship will be crippled by fear, possessiveness, and self-centredness. We were made to admire, respect, and love someone who has a purpose bigger than ourselves, a purpose centred on God’s untiring work of calling His people home to His heart of love.”

“Without this involvement in and commitment to service,” he continues, “marriage gets lonely very fast. A selfish marriage is a hollow marriage. We were made to serve God, and no human affection can appease that hunger for very long.”

But, again, having a marriage centred on mission doesn’t mean moving across the globe – it means being open to understanding the call God has placed on you, on your spouse and on your marriage.

How to live out mission every day

“If we are going to learn how to live out our mission in our marriage relationship,” Thomas writes, “we must learn to be more selfless, and we have to become more connected with each other. We have to remember that our spouse is called, just as we are, and we have to be interested enough in their call to know what it is that moves them and gives them energy.”

In A Lifelong Love, Thomas explains how mission looks different for different couples: “Though every Christian marriage should ultimately aspire to seek God’s kingdom as the primary mission, each couple will have a different expression of that mission.”

How can you and your spouse turn your marriage into a mission-minded marriage? Three couples share how God has led them to reach outside of their marriage and serve those around them.

In this episode, we begin our Advent journey in Eden, a place of freedom, communion, and life without shame. Eden is not only a moment in history, but also an interior garden within each of our hearts. We talk about the deep ache we all feel for union, rest, and peace, and how this longing reveals our original design for communion with God. We also reflect on the shame that often accompanies this desire for communion with others, especially when our desires are left unmet, and how bringing these places of poverty to Jesus opens us up to real, lived communion with Him.

Show Notes

One Thing We Love This Week:

• Sister Miriam’s one thing – Sacred Anchor Artisans (Catholic Etsy!) founded by Tim and Molly Olsen

• Michelle’s one thing –  The Inspired Living and this Chrism Candle

• Michelle’s other one thing – Fr. Innocent Montgomery, CFR

• Heather’s one thing – The Renew Conference in Toronto

• Heather’s other one thing – Her Advent Worship Playlist

“God does not ask us to be successful, He asks us to be faithful.” – St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta 

Fr. Mike Schmitz reflects on this quote along with the way St. Mother Teresa lived her life. So often we measure our lives by worldly success, however God wants your faithfulness, not your success. 

Let us always say, “God let me honor you with my effort.”

Do you trust God’s timing? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz reminds us that God is never late (and never early). We can trust whole heartedly that His timing is always perfect!

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.

Can your feelings be sinful? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz reminds us that “sin and virtue do not reside in the emotions, they reside in the will.” Our emotions, whether positive or negative, don’t make us good or bad; what matters is how we respond to them. Use your emotions to choose and pursue the good!

What do you say when someone dies? How do you help those in their suffering? 

Jeff Cavins shares an emotional story of sitting next to a woman on a plane who’s brother just died. Follow Jeff as he takes you on the difficult but transformative experience of comforting the broken hearted.

What does it look like to turn a paycheck into purpose? In this episode of Called, Father Mike Schmitz sits down with Chris Green, President of Humanitarian Hotels, to explore how the hospitality industry can become a mission field. 

With over 35 years of experience, Chris shares how true leadership is about seeing people, creating meaningful culture, and using every gift for something greater. Discover how entire hotels are giving 100% of their profits to charity, why authentic service transforms both staff and guests, and how you, too, can step fully into the person God made you to be.

What does it mean to be a missionary in everyday life? 

During the 2024 Good News Conference, Harvard professor and social scientist Arthur Brooks described the work of an ordinary missionary, called not to knock on doors, but to share a faith that is public, normal, and magnetic.

As we discover the lives of the saints, it seems they endured quite a bit of suffering before receiving their eternal reward. It begs the question, is it worth it? 

Fr. Mike reminds us that in this life, we will have suffering. The question is not, can you avoid suffering by avoiding Jesus? The question is, can your suffering be transformed by embracing Jesus?

In this episode, we talk about what it means to weather the storms of life well. Everyone experiences difficult moments throughout their lives and these storms come in all shapes and sizes. In each one, we have the opportunity to respond from a place of truth and peace instead of fear. We share practical ways we’ve learned to weather the storms in our own lives, from simplifying life to immersing ourselves in Scripture. We also explore how pain, though difficult, can lead us into deeper healing and communion with God. No matter what you’re facing, you are not alone—He is near, and so are we.

Brett’s low this week leads to an extended conversation about the internal critic, a diminishing voice that tends to show up when we least want it: during a work meeting, right before an important exam or in an important conversation with a loved one. Where does the diminisher come from and how can we tell the voice of the enemy from the voice of God? Brett and Jake share their reflections and offer suggestions about how we can react maturely in ways that draw us back to reality and our sonship in the Father.

Listen Now

Guiding Quote

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. – 1 John 4:18

Key Points

• Brett’s low leads into a discussion about the diminisher voice

• How self-awareness helps us identify the diminisher voice 

• Unhelpful behaviors that we might have in reaction to the voice of the diminisher

• Brett’s shares about fog in Saskatchewan and why this is a great analogy for the inner critic

• Jake and Brett share their definitions of the inner critic or diminisher

• The diminisher viciously attacks our sonship and identity in Father

• The diminisher voice feels so real in the moment, how can we tell what’s from God and what’s not?

• Helpful practices for working against the diminisher in the moment

• How vulnerability with trusted brothers can help you through the fog 

Discussion Questions

1. What stood out to you in this episode?

2. What’s an experience you can recall when you felt the impact of the diminisher voice? What allowed you to recognize it for what it was, either in the moment or later?

3. How long does it take for the effects of the fog to pass? 

4. The next time you feel yourself in ‘the fog,’ what’s a method you can use to prevent you from spiraling? Ideas from the episode are: talk to a trusted brother or friend, affirm someone else, journal the feelings and bring it to the Lord. 

In this episode of the Way of the Heart, we host special guest Bishop Scott McCaig, CC. We dialogue about discerning the internal critic and what voices belong to the enemy, the self, and the Holy Spirit. We discuss how the enemy and the self often condemn us, whereas the Holy Spirit lovingly convicts us of the truth that brings about good fruit in our lives. We distinguish that condemnation leads to shame, but conviction leads to repentance and hope. We also focus on the need to experience the deep love that the Father has for us and His desire for us to lead us into our glory.

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Guiding Quote

“We have to be rooted deeply in a place of sonship, in a place of understanding the father’s love for me. Then I can understand and receive both his affirming voice and his voice of discipline.” – Bishop Scott McCaig

Discussion Questions

1. What stood out to you in this episode?

2. What types of things does the voice of condemnation (whether from yourself or the enemy) say to you personally?

3. Share a moment where you felt that God gave you loving correction.

In this episode, we explore: 1) How anger at God is far more common and intense that you realize; 2) Why you need to work through your anger at God; 3) Your hidden reasons for your anger at God; 4) Why your anger at God is so frequently banished to your unconscious; 5) 16 defense mechanisms that drive your anger at God outside of your awareness; 6) How your anger at God is so often overpowered by your fear of God; and 7) The signs and symptoms of your unacknowledged anger at God.

Be still and know that I am God.   -Psalm 46:10

How much time do you spend in your mind, lost in world of racing thoughts concerning anything and everything but the present moment?

Do you find yourself habitually living in a state of anxious deliberation fueled by past ponderings or future fears— instead of being fully present to God, yourself and others?

Such unbridled thinking—which 12 Step Programs refer to as “stinking thinking’” and Buddhists call “the monkey mind”—literally keeps us “beside ourselves”—instead of resting with a centered awareness of both God’s within, and all around us.

Lately, I’ve become increasingly aware of how difficult it is to stay present to the present, of how quickly one can drift into a no man’s land of fearing, fretting, and fantasizing. This point was driven home last Sunday morning as I sat on the front porch of my sister’s Mississippi bungalow gazing contentedly at the sugar white beach and sparkling Gulf waters before my eyes. All was well with my soul as I enjoyed a contemplative moment of silence basking in the majesty of God’s creation and the hush of his calming presence.

With lightning speed, my thoughts turned to the day’s news of hurricanes, earthquakes and a potential war with North Korea, and just that fast — as though a switch had been flipped — a wave of adrenaline-fueled unrest washed over me. I was instantly aware that I had surrendered a beautiful moment of gratitude and peace-filled joy to a more familiar (and less healthy) state of mind: the anxious preoccupation with something external to me—something that pulled me off center and away from resting in God’s holy presence.

As the week went on, I began to take note of how much time I was spending off-kilter and outside of myself via chronic negative thinking, and how little time I was resting in God from moment to moment.

Glancing at the culture around us, it’s pretty apparent that I’m not alone in this problem.

So why is letting our thoughts run amok such a bad habit?  Because it keeps us living beside ourselves, instead of in what St. Paul called the “inner self”—the inmost center of our being that is made to “be filled with all the fullness of God.” (Eph. 3:16,19). It is only in the inner self, which Jesus called our “inner room” (Mt. 6:6) that we can truly come to know “the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge” and experience the “breath and length and height and depth” of that love (Eph. 3:18).

Everyone wants that, right? So why do we avoid our inner room?

Because going into the inner self also means that we will go to the places that are weak, poor, wounded, and sinful—the painful places we need to enter with God, so he can save us, heal us, and fill us with his love and mercy.

The well-known Orthodox priest Fr. Josiah Trenham made waves on social media recently with a powerful message about what it means to live out one’s Christian faith in a broken world. Fr. Trenham is a father of 10 and the founder of Patristic Nectar, an outlet that aims to “bring the wealth of Sacred Tradition to a generation attuned to listening rather than reading.” 

Every person has a portion of the world given to them by Christ

to make beautiful.

For some, that portion might only be a cubicle, but that’s the cubicle where Jesus’ name must be glorified. And if you do that, you can change your world.

If people know that when they go by that cubicle, there’s a person there who loves them, who will stop what he’s doing to listen to them, and who will pray for them, the world around that cubicle can be radically changed. 

So, this is what I want my sons to do: I want them to be human beings … to be a human being means to live with God in everything. That’s what human beings were created to do.

Looking back, looking forward

I wish I had heard Fr. Trenham’s advice years ago when I worked in a cubicle. Back then, life often felt void of meaning. I’d like to think his wisdom would have inspired me to make my cubicle a warm, welcoming place with some cool artwork on the walls, perhaps a scented candle or two … maybe even a cozy chair in the corner. 

But most importantly, this ideal cubicle would have had me in it — fully present with a prayerful attitude, working hard, and welcoming my coworkers with a smile (and even a hug when appropriate). 

Sadly, I look back on my years in a cubicle as a time when I wasn’t in tune with all the beauty that was available to me. I shirked work and complained about my boss and coworkers. I also gossipped. A lot.

I look back on those years as a sad, wasted time when changing my ways and following Fr. Trenham’s advice would not only have had a positive impact on those around me, it would have made me happier and more fulfilled too. 

We live in an extroverted world, and as an introvert and a writer, I love the idea of shutting out the rest of the world for several hours each day to write about faith. I often find it beneficial to remember what the Prophet Elijah experienced in 1 Kings, 19:12 when he found God’s presence not in earthquake or fire but in “a light silent sound.” 

God speaks to us in those silences, which, in all the bustle and noise of modern life, can be hard to come by. As Catholics, our faith brings us to an experience of God through communal worship in the liturgy, as well as through parish life and the Works of Mercy. But for a Catholic introvert like me, it can be a challenge to find the balance between that active engagement with the world and the quiet contemplation I need to sustain me.

Fortunately, our faith connects us with the great Communion of Saints — all those holy souls who have gone before us and still offer us their wisdom and guidance in living a holy life. Whether or not any of them were true introverts is a question lost to history, but the saints can teach us valuable life lessons about how to be our best introverted, spiritual selves.

RELATED: How to Make Friends With a Saint

Saint Clare of Assisi

Clare lived an introverted expression of one of the more extroverted of religious orders, the Franciscans, who were actually among the first orders to reject the cloistered life. They begged in the streets, preached in the towns, and made themselves living examples of the Christ-centered life.

But Saint Clare and the sisters of her order (commonly known as the Poor Clares) lived in a cloister. This was more in keeping with the tradition of the day for all religious orders, men and women. Francis and his brothers were considered eccentric for the public nature of their lifestyle; for Clare and her sisters, it would have been scandalous. They were able to live out the Franciscan charism from within the cloister walls.

The Poor Clares, like their Franciscan brothers, were an order devoted to being public examples of a Gospel-centered life. And like Francis, Clare rejected the idea of the cloister as protection against the evils on the outside. It was a spiritual refuge – a place, as Jesus said, to withdraw to her inner sanctum, close the door, and pray to God in secret. For this Catholic introvert, my prayer time can be like that cloister — a place of quiet, solitary retreat when I need spiritual rejuvenation.

Saint John the Baptist

A fiery, outspoken prophet might seem like an odd example of an introverted saint.

Whether it’s your boyfriend, sister, or best friend, chances are you’ll disagree with someone about something sometime. What are some best practices for having fruitful conversations when you’re both firmly rooted on opposite sides of an issue? 

St. Ignatius has some tips for discernment that work well for resolving disagreements And these hold true whether you’re discussing climate change, where to send the kids to school, or what to do for dinner tonight.  

Before you’re able to discern properly, however, you need to make sure your head is in the right space. 

Father Warren Sazama attributes to St. Ignatius seven attitudes for authentic discernment: openness, generosity, courage, interior freedom, prayerful reflection and examination, having your priorities straight, and not confusing the means with the ends. If you don’t have these attitudes, it will not be possible to discern well. 

So how do these apply to disagreements? 

Openness means coming into a decision without preconceived ideas. This is especially important when you are arguing with someone because if you can’t listen to what he or she is saying, your conversation will be fruitless. If you enter the discussion assuming you know their position, you won’t listen and be able to truly discuss your differences. 

Generosity means that you have to be ready and willing to change, or at least to understand the other side. Often it is easier to argue the crazy opinion you think someone holds than to understand what they actually think and why they have come to believe that.  

Courage is important because what you are discerning (or in this case disagreeing about) may be emotionally charged and sharing your side may be unpopular. You’ll need to have courage to say what needs to be said. 

Interior freedom is necessary for discernment. You can’t be free if you dance around what God is calling you to and never fully commit. Or if you talk around the subject so much that you don’t ever focus on what needs to be done, you aren’t free either. Similarly, when you are disagreeing with someone, you have to get to the point and not fill the conversation with detours. And you aren’t doing either of you a service if you keep intentionally starting and stopping the conversation so that nothing real can be said. 

The fifth attitude is one of prayerful reflection — if you aren’t in the habit of reflecting on your life and praying regularly, you won’t be able to discern well. Prayer and reflection help form your thoughts and opinions, and thus directly affect your views on everything from political stances to questions of morality in daily life. Forming your own conscience well by examining it and by trying to listen to God better every day can only help you grow in wisdom.

My first real struggle with doubts in my faith happened in the dark depths of the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic. Faced with the hardships of the world, the political moment we were in, the frailty of human life, and my own struggles, it was very difficult for me to see the goodness of God. 

Naturally, as my experience of faith shifted from pure joy and delight to frustration and confusion, I wasn’t really sure about God or the convictions of my Catholic community.

Had I gotten something wrong about the character of God? Was my community really interested in a deep life with an active and personal relationship with Jesus, or were they just interested in His moral and social teachings? And were those teachings really good or were they just arbitrary commands made centuries ago by religious leaders who wanted control?

These were hard questions and they led me into a “deconstruction” of sorts. I found myself turning over every aspect of my faith and asking if it was true and if it was good. Those months and years of struggling were immensely painful; it felt as though I was living out of alignment with my identity as a Catholic and with my community of fellow believers. I also wondered how God felt about it all – was He hurt, as though I was betraying Him or rejecting Him by having doubts? 

Still, I am so grateful for the person God has shaped me into on the other side.

We can sometimes be tempted to run away from doubt. We hear nicknames like “Doubting Thomas” and assume that to ask questions or to be uncertain is a bad thing. We’re warned by well meaning people not to ask certain kinds of questions or explore certain sources because they could lead us astray. There is a kind of doubt and a form of deconstruction that leads to the ending of faith – and that is a tragedy. But when our doubts come from a true place of curiosity (even if that curiosity is spurred on by pain) rather than cynicism, it is possible  that God is working in us to bring about a greater spiritual maturity.

The ultimate goal in our spiritual journey is to be united with God. Our call is to be transformed day by day by His love and to love Him so deeply that we experience “union.” Just like in a marriage, two people become “one flesh,”; God desires for us to become one with Him, restored in full relationship.

Saint John of the Cross used an analogy, comparing us to a cold, wet log and God to a blazing fire.

Most of us can identify certain teachers or mentors who have had a profound impact on our lives. The same can be said for particular books that have shaped our view of the world. With that in mind, BustedHalo asks the question:

“What books have helped you on your spiritual journey?”

Mark Mossa, S.J. is studying theology at Weston Jesuit School of Theology in preparation for the priesthood. He taught philosophy at Loyola University in New Orleans and is currently at work on an introduction to the spiritual life for young adults, to be published in 2007.

Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller 
This collection of essays, subtitled “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality” is a real, down to earth and, at times, funny exploration of one young man’s struggles to negotiate his Christian life. Miller comes from an evangelical Christian background, but doesn’t back off from being honest about both its advantages and pitfalls. He talks about being in love, being in doubt, and sincerely wanting to follow Jesus. The writing is good and honest and you’ll keep catching glimpses of yourself and your own struggles.

Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen
If you struggle with family relationships—and who doesn’t?—you’ll find this one of the most consoling books you’ll ever read. Nouwen’s extended reflection on Rembrandt’s painting of The Prodigal Son opens a whole new window into Jesus’ parable. Nouwen invites us to recognize how we at times fill all the roles of the story—the profligate son, the scorned but compassionate father and the jealous older brother. Almost any book by Nouwen is worth reading, but this one’s his best.

Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott
No Christian writer I know is as brutally honest–or as good–as Anne Lamott. This single mother who struggled with addiction and anorexia tells of how she was saved by her faith and her friends. The book will make you laugh out loud, but it will also make you cry. Lamott offers penetrating spiritual insights and has the gift of not taking her self too seriously in the process. If you’re looking for blushing piety, that’s not Lamott’s style. But if you appreciate the raw and honest emotion of ordinary encounters with God, with even the occasional curse word thrown in, you’ll find a soul mate here.

The Complete Stories by Flannery O’Connor
Ours is a world of violence that is also touched by grace. O’Connor’s stories are often outrageous and shocking, but always witness to the persistence of God’s grace. Perhaps the greatest Catholic writer of the twentieth-century, O’Connor’s stories are rarely explicitly Catholic. Yet the themes she pursues and the questions she raises come undeniably from the religious sensibility of this devout Catholic woman.

In 2014, I knelt in the pew at the Easter Vigil Mass having just been confirmed in the Church moments before. Many months of prayer, study, and conversion culminated at that moment, and my heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of receiving the Eucharist for the first time. 

The emotions I experienced during this Mass were intense. Despite my deep-seated fear of discerning my vocation, the rush of devotion I felt made me pray more sincerely than I ever have, “Lord, I will do whatever you want me to do, even if it means the religious life or married life or being a missionary. I’ll do it.”

For the first few years after becoming Catholic, my new faith stirred my emotions almost constantly. At Mass, singing “Lamb of God” brought me to tears every week. Once, while praying at Eucharistic Adoration, I suddenly experienced a very real, overwhelming sense of being embraced by Jesus as he welcomed me home. And when I went to Confession, if acknowledging where I’ve fallen short of God’s hopes for me didn’t make me feel loved by a merciful God, then the priest’s beautiful prayer of absolution certainly did.

I not only believed and appreciated the beauty of my new faith, but I also felt the beauty of Jesus Christ and the Catholic Church deeply in my soul. 

But a few years after my initial conversion, I began to notice a gradual, creeping spiritual desolation — a sense of abandonment and darkness and a loss of the strong feelings of love and devotion I’d had early in my conversion. I still loved God, of course, perhaps even more than in years prior, but I felt less emotionally moved by that love. I left the confessional feeling hollow — like I’d heard the words of absolution with my ears, but not with my heart. In fact, I quite literally felt nothing, no matter the Sacrament, prayer, or devotion.

RELATED: How Finding a Spiritual Director Changed My Life

I became frustrated and confused, thinking this was some fault of my own. But my spiritual director reassured me that faith is not about our feelings, but about fidelity. He likened my relationship with Christ to a human relationship: We “fall in love,” and the beloved is all we can think about. We’re walking on air whenever we’re around them. But after a few months or years, those feelings subside, and then the real work of love begins: loving even when we don’t feel the emotional consolation of that love.

Thankfully, the truth of our faith isn’t contingent on our emotions. Still, experiencing this spiritual desolation can be a bit unnerving and confusing.

Sometimes the hardest thing to give up for Lent isn’t chocolate or coffee – it’s something good. Something that has become too important.

Earlier this year, I gave up running for Lent.

I know, I know. Running is healthy. For years, it was one of the best tools I had to manage anxiety. It gave me joy, balance, and even a sense of triumph as I crossed finish lines and set personal bests. How could that possibly be something to “give up”?

Over time, though, I noticed how much running had taken hold of me. When I had to miss a week, I felt withdrawal. Training for one marathon turned into four in three years. A few weekly runs grew into seven days straight, sometimes over 100 kilometers a week. At my peak, I was running more hours than a part-time job.

I tried to make it spiritual. I prayed the Rosary on runs, and even started an Instagram account called Running with Jesus. But the truth was, running often came first — before prayer, before my wife, before my kids.

In early 2025, I was preparing for the London Marathon. I wanted it to be my fastest ever. Training was going well until I pushed too far and aggravated an injury in my knee. I ran 36 days without a day off, and my body was starting to break down.

The day before Ash Wednesday, I went to a physiotherapist. His advice? Stop running.

I was devastated. My reaction revealed just how much I had come to depend on running. And suddenly, Lent had begun – without running.

At first, I fought it. Wasn’t this good for me? Didn’t it make me healthier? Why would God take away something I loved?

But in the silence, God was patient. He showed me that my attachment to running had slipped out of balance. Friends and mentors spoke gently to me, helping me name what was happening: I wasn’t just injured physically. I was also spiritually out of step.

I began asking questions I had avoided:

Why am I working so hard? Why do I need to perform? Why can’t I slow down?

The truth was painful: I believed I only had value if I achieved. My self-worth was tied to performance, to proving that I could do more, faster, better.

Injuries teach us something about limits. Online articles attributed common causes of my injury to “training error” — too much, too fast. Spiritually, it was the same: trying to prove my worth at all costs.

But Jesus met me there. As I slowed down, He began to heal more than my knee.

Psalm 115 says, “Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory.” Bobby Angel applies this wisdom to the weight room. It may seem like a stretch, but remembering God when we’re working out is vital to our spiritual and physical health. 

Getting in shape can be euphoric and boost your self-esteem, but we need to remember temperance even here, because we don’t want to become like Narcissus who became enamored by his own image. Bobby mentions that it’s possible to be a “glutton of the gym”, and remaining humble in the eyes of the Lord will lead to many more important victories than will the body of a Spartan. 

Make prayer an integral part of your life. 

Check out Ascension’s study, Oremus: A Guide to Catholic Prayer (https://bit.ly/2Mcdea1). 

Vanity is not what many people think it is. It can come in many forms, and is not necessarily an infatuation with yourself. Vanity is an inordinate preoccupation with what other people think about you—which is different. 

It’s important, to an extent, to care what others think about you. It can even be charitable. But when this care becomes unbalanced, it leads to neglecting more important things. 

Wanting to be noticed can be vain, but not wanting to be noticed can also be vain. When you shrink back and don’t want anyone to look at you, it can be a form of vanity or false humility; because not wanting to be seen can be an indication that you care an inordinate amount about what people think of you. 

Vanity can also cause an unwillingness to share the Faith. Many times we think sharing the gospel will make people think less of us. How many times has the thought of what other people think prevented you from sharing the Faith? 

Balance is pertinent in every aspect of vanity, and the best way to achieve that balance is to care about what God thinks of you above all. 

These sayings about humility really sum it up well, since humility is the antidote to vanity: “Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less” (Rick Warren, The Purpose-Driven Life). 

“If you meet a really humble man … He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all” (C.S. Lewis).

In the past year, I’ve endeavoured to dig a little deeper into the ethos of our family culture. With my “mom brain” slowly lifting out of the sleep-deprived fog of the diaper years, and entering into a new season of school-aged youngsters, I am challenged more than ever to usher in this era of life with intentionality and focus. 

I started with going through Tsh Oxenreider’s Rule of Life workshop, inspired by St. Benedict’s efforts to notate his monastic community’s daily habits to cultivate virtue. Through this exercise, I was able to write down a Rule of Life for my own family, a tool that my husband and I can often return to and reference as we make decisions – big and small –  for our family.

I examined five areas in our family life: Worship, Work, Study, Hospitality and Renewal. I wrote down statements and identified habits that our family can commit to in order to cultivate virtue in those particular areas. My husband and I also discussed and identified a few family core values to use as a guiding post as we shape our family’s worldview.

Having a Rule of Life for our family allows us the freedom to shape our core values and guide the process of knowing where and how to invest our time, our attention, and our finances. We want to cultivate Christ-centered virtue and integrity right into the roots of our identity so that our kids can be influenced by the right things, and not discipled by popular culture. We want to be resilient in this always-changing world, and having a family Rule helps us feel anchored whenever life gets overwhelming.  

I won’t do a deep dive into the entirety of our Rule of Life; instead, I have highlighted 3 areas in our family’s Rule as well as some of the practical ways that we live them out in our daily life. 

Worship

We are an ecumenical household and we are committed to leading each other to Jesus and His Church. We encourage each member in their own unique expression of faith practices and devotions. 

Because we are an ecumenical household (I am a practicing Catholic while my husband is a member of a local evangelical church), we are often faced with faith-related decisions for our family. For example, we have chosen to send our kids to a Christian school where they can gain foundational knowledge of the Christian faith. Additionally, we have also committed to a weeknight Catechism class at our parish to learn about the Catholic Church and prepare to receive the Sacraments. My husband and I also take turns with bedtime routines so that we can attend our own men’s and women’s groups (respectively) once a week.

How do I fit in prayer with my busy schedule?

Fr. Mike shares some practical advice for fitting in prayer when you feel you don’t have time. He also explains the importance of having a plan by sharing these three questions: Where am I going to pray? When am I going to pray? How am I going to pray?

In this episode of The Catholic Money Show, host Jonathan Teixeira dives into the intriguing concept of a “Catholic economy” with esteemed guest Henry Kutarna, an experienced economist and founder of the Catholic CEO. Together, they explore how Catholics can unite to support each other’s businesses, fostering economic strength and cultural influence while upholding shared faith values. Tune in for insights on practical measures, community bonds, and the long-term vision for a thriving Catholic economic network.

“I kneel before the Father, that He may grant you in accord with the riches of His glory to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner self, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” —Ephesians 3:14, 16-19

I am a people pleaser. Having people appreciating me and my works can be a source of joy but, when I fail to measure up, it can also be a source of anxiety and despair. As a wife and mother, my main preoccupations involve caring for my family, cleaning my home, and preparing meals. These are the daily tasks that can’t be left neglected, and yet they are not the only tasks that demand my attention. There are the extra obligations, commitments, and my own personal endeavors that fill the empty spaces in my daily routine. Together, these endless lists of things to do can be overwhelming, especially for someone whose goal is to please those around her.

I carry the expectations of my husband, of my friends, and of society as the standard of my work, endeavouring to reach the bar they’ve set for me or the one that I’ve imagined they’ve set. In an effort to please, I become obsessed with this performance, falsely believing that as long as I perform well, I will be appreciated and loved.

This pursuit stretches me thin and fills me with excess anxiety and stress. It sucks the joy and peace out of me, perverting the very objective of my labours. Instead of being the gift of love I’ve intended, my offering becomes tainted by self-righteousness. Although well-intended, I unknowingly become like the Pharisees. Through pleasing people, my daily pursuits take a subtle shift towards idolatry. 

As I write them, these words shock me. Idolatry? Pharisees? How could this be when I pour my heart and soul into serving those around me? 

With the morning sun, warm and welcoming, God’s wisdom speaks: do not for love of man, but for love of Me. How could I have muddled the lines between serving others and serving God? The Lord calls us to see Him in those we serve, loving all, treating even strangers the way we’d treat Him. And yet, my reason for serving gets lost somewhere along the way. 

Seek to please Me, not the world. Love Me through loving others, not through the pursuit of recognition or praise.

Who is orchestrating your life? If it’s God—and not you—what will you say to him? Fr. Mike suggests trying “yes.” 

Whether life circumstances bring the best out of you or the worst out of you, you need Jesus more than you think you do. And that is a very good thing. Here’s why.

St. Faustina said, “Suffering is a great grace; through suffering the soul becomes like the Saviour; in suffering love becomes crystallized; the greater the suffering, the purer the love.”

The Second Letter to the Corinthians allows us to know the inner life of the Apostle Paul. In Chapter 12 St. Paul shared the visions and revelations he received and the “thorn in the flesh” which helped to keep him humble.

St. Paul wrote, “I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows … On behalf of this man I will boast, but on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses” (2 Cor 12:2, 5).

St. Thomas Aquinas commented: “For it should be noted that there are two things to consider in man, namely, the gift of God and the human condition. If a person glories in a gift of God as received from God, that glorying is good … But if he glories in that gift as though he had it of himself, then such glorying is evil.”

St. Paul shared his weaknesses writing: “So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited” (2 Cor 12:7).

St. Augustine pointed out that the providence of God draws good out of evil: “‘And so,’ they ask, ‘is the devil good because he is useful?’ On the contrary, he is evil insofar as he is the devil, but God who is good and almighty draws many just and good things out of the devil’s malice. For the devil has to his credit only his will by which he tries to do evil, not the providence of God that draws good out of him.”

Even though Paul was a saint, his prayer was not answered when he prayed that the “thorn in the flesh” be removed: “Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Cor 12:8–9).

Reflecting on his own experience of suffering, Venerable Fulton Sheen wrote, “The first lesson I learned, but only gradually, is that all sufferings come from either the direct or the permissive Will of God. God has two kinds of medicines, bitter and sweet.

“In praying, do not babble like the pagans, who think that they will be heard because of their many words.” Matthew 6:7 (New American Bible, Revised Edition) 

Does Jesus warn us against repetitive prayers? Does praying the rosary contradict the way Jesus asked us to pray? Why is the rosary even designed that way? 

Whether you pray the rosary everyday or have never prayed it before, Fr. Mike has some insights from Jesus and his Church regarding repetition in prayer that will change the way you look at prayers like the rosary.

Recently, my younger sister got married. It was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful weddings I’ve ever been to. But amid the joy and wonder that came with the special day, there was also deep insecurity and longing brewing within me. I’d been praying with this desire for years, waiting for the Lord to answer. The prayer seemed to ping-pong inside my heart: When will it finally be my turn to be a bride, a wife, and a mother?

Shortly after the wedding, when I brought this to the Lord, His invitation was simple – Let me satisfy you for right now. It went hand in hand with a penance I received in confession around this same time, to pray the Our Father and really rest in the Lord’s “daily bread” for me. 

While on the outside I prayed the simple words of the Lord’s Prayer, in my heart I was grasping for crumbs. Instead of taking time to focus on where God is leading with His daily bread for me, I flipped open every recipe book imaginable to try making my own bread: something substantial, something thick and hearty – but inevitably, it didn’t satisfy. White-knuckling it can lead us to a scarcity mindset of looking for our own sustenance because we’re worried God is going to leave us starving.

However, when we pray “give us this day our daily bread”, we are invited into the disposition of Jesus in the Gospels: one of openness, surrender, and trust that God will give us what we need today. Not tomorrow, not next week, not 10 years from now. Today.

Jesus never worried about His physical hunger. He also never worried about what would happen to Him, because He knew that He was infinitely loved by the Father who sent Him. I imagine that when Jesus prayed the line “give us this day our daily bread,” He meant it. Everything He did was framed by the fact that God was sustaining Him. 

Where Jesus is the embodiment of this complete surrender, I still balk at the thought of potentially not getting my way. But thanks be to God, He continues to love us and invites us into a deeper relationship of trust that He only has good things for us. To commit to relying solely on our daily bread means that we set aside all our backup plans and submit ourselves to His plan for the moment.

After teaching His disciples how to pray, Jesus takes things one step further: He challenges His disciples to have a disposition of active receptivity. He tells the disciples, “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you” (Luke 11:9).

A picture’s worth a thousand words, they say. And recently, I’ve been using the practice of Visio Divina (“divine seeing” in Latin) to help me focus more fully on God in prayer. Drawing on the principles of Lectio Divina, Visio Divina is the slow, thoughtful contemplation of a picture, photo, work of art, or really anything visual that invites God to speak to me in a deeper way.

I first learned about Visio Divina from a church worker named Adrian Wyatt who had begun exploring the practice using his own photographs. Now, he runs courses for others to do the same. Since I was already practicing Lectio Divina, I was fascinated to know more about how I could reflect on visual prompts in a similar way. So I gave it a try, using published photos at first, but then widening my prompts to include artworks, textiles and some of my own photos.

Visio Divina can be done in a group with others or practiced alone. And it works for any age too – even kids can engage with this practice at their own level. An illustrated Bible is the perfect starting point.

So here are a few tips for getting started with your own Vision Divina practice:

Find inspiration

Inspirational prompts can include photos, images, fine art, or textiles – in fact, almost any visual media, pictorial or abstract. For example, centuries ago, illuminated Bibles were created by monks, featuring flawless calligraphy and colorful decorations as a way to honor the Bible’s special status as a holy book. One of the most inspirational sources I’ve found is The Saint John’s Bible, a stunningly beautiful handcrafted modern illuminated Bible. This amazing work was commissioned at St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota, the first to be created in more than 500 years.

I found it easier to begin by following some guided sessions. The University of Portland has videos based on The Saint John’s Bible which are a great place to start. But now, I’m beginning to develop my own practice.

I’ve created a small portfolio of images to choose from, such as greetings cards, photos I’ve taken, and even images torn from magazines.

Open with a prayer

I begin with a short prayer before choosing my source. I ask God to help me find a prompt that nourishes my soul, and one that will provide the insights God knows I need, not necessarily what I think I need!

I might say “Please help me choose the right inspiration for today, so you can speak to me,” or “Please prompt my decision today.”

RELATED: Lectio Divina: A Beginner’s Guide

Choose your inspiration

Next, I look through my online sources or leaf through my little stash of images, still mentally asking God to help me choose the best one for my situation.

Shortly after being ordained a deacon, I was asked by my pastor to put together a presentation on the sacraments. Working my way through the task, I came to a point where I needed to produce a slide on what it is that the sacraments provide. That gift, in special abundance, is of course God’s amazing and life-giving grace. 

At that moment, I froze. Had I looked in a mirror, I’m certain I would have seen myself looking like a deer in headlights. Of course, I knew that grace is good. If I were to ask just about anyone if they wanted a bountiful helping of God’s grace, that answer would be in the high affirmative. That said, I found myself at a loss as to how to explain what grace is. Grace seemed to be one of those things that is easier to internalize than it is to explain.

Sure, had I been asked at that time by a parishioner what grace was, I’m confident that I would have been able to tap dance my way to some kind of answer. I likely would’ve responded with something like: It is a gift from God. It is good and will make us better disciples. It will make us happier humans. But I knew that this response was sub-par. There had to be a better way to describe what grace truly is. 

Desiring not to ever poorly shuffle my way through an explanation of something so important, I set out on a mission to come up with a succinct and relatable description of God’s grace.

After analyzing the many definitions of the various types of grace, (Sanctifying, Actual, Sacramental, etc), I came up even more deer-dazed than when I started. But then, I found it, a best-in-class explanation of grace. Confidence immediately replaced my grace-related trepidation. Before me was something that I not only understood, but also something that I could easily share with others.

It came from the “Catechism of the Catholic Church,” paragraph 1996, and reads,

Grace is favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God, adoptive sons, partakers of the Divine Nature and of eternal life.

This short, yet comprehensive definition breaks down into three grace-related truths:

1. Grace is free and undeserved

“Grace is favor, the free and undeserved help God gives us…” Short and sweet, what this tells us is that although we don’t deserve this great gift of grace, God desires to pour it out on us. All we have to do is recognize, accept, and participate within it. Perhaps the greatest example of this is recognizing and believing in Christ’s presence in the Eucharist and participating in it at the altar of the Mass.

In this episode we talk about how to thrive during the summer, when we aren’t in our normal schedules. We chat about some strategies to continue growing in our relationship with God and flourish in whatever situation we are in. We focus on the categories of rest, play, prayer, connection, beauty, self care, and community. We hope you enjoy this conversation.

If you’d like to host a coffee time, lunch, or dinner with a few women, here are some questions to put on the table to spark some good conversation.

Discussion Questions

1. How can I more deeply connect with the people God has entrusted to me and with the Lord this summer?

2. What is most important to me to have as foundations that will rightly order the rest of my day?

3. How does God want you to play this summer in ways that feed your heart and allow you to receive His joy?

4. How can you cultivate the discipline of pausing for beauty and holy wonder?

Journal Questions

1. What is my spiritual plan this summer?

2. Where am i growing with the Lord?

3. What does it look like for me to have ongoing fellowship with the Holy Spirit?

4. What do I need to do for self care this summer?

Quote to Ponder

“Vacation time offers the unique opportunity to pause before the thought-provoking spectacles of nature, a wonderful ‘book’ within reach of everyone, adults and children. In contact with nature, a person rediscovers his correct dimension, rediscovers himself as a creature, small but at the same time unique with a ‘capacity for God’ because interiorly he is open to the infinite” —Pope Benedict XVI

About eight years ago, I went to confession with a Dominican priest in a gorgeous chapel in Nashville, Tennessee. Despite the beautiful architecture that framed this sacramental encounter, I was distressed. I couldn’t, for the life of me, stick to any sort of consistent prayer life, I told the priest who sat across from me in his flowing white cassock. My commitment to any sort of focused prayer time – even just 10 minutes of undivided attention for Jesus! – was fraught with laziness, forgetfulness and a persistent lack of prioritization. I would repeatedly renew my commitment to a personal prayer time, but I would never make it more than a few days before I missed a day of prayer. 

This priest – whose name I do not know – will forever be endeared to me for his American directness. 

“What time do you get up in the morning?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t have a set time that I get up each day. It really depends on what’s happening in my life.” 

“Well that won’t work. If you want to be holy, you need to pick a time to get up each morning.” 

That day in confession was an epiphany for me. Through his serious tone, kind heart and direct words, that Dominican priest woke me up to the seriousness of having a routine for holiness.

He clarified for me that one does not spontaneously become a saint. Grace is abundant and we are utterly dependent on the grace of God, but in order to become saints, we need to actively work with grace. A practical way that we can work with grace is to commit to a routine that draws us to Jesus. 

This principle of routine that the Dominican priest introduced to me, I later came to know as a “rule of life.” 

Having a “rule of life” is a Catholic tradition wherein a person selects a set of commitments or “rules” to follow each day in order to consistently grow closer to Jesus. Most religious orders follow a detailed rule of life that governs when they get up, what prayers and for how long they pray each day, meal times, etc. For the laity, we are generally not called to live a religious-style rule of life. However, the principle of having unchanging commitments that ensure that we remain in a momentum of holiness is just as critical for the laity as it is for a priest, religious or consecrated person.

My life has often been akin to what we all experience during the summer holidays: lots of flux and irregularities and spontaneity. Yet even amid summertime vacation or an irregular lifestyle,  having a rule of life transforms the question of “will I pray?”

Do you struggle to handle criticism well? Do you get defensive even when you know there’s room to grow? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz discusses how to handle criticism, exploring three primary approaches: denial, acceptance, and gratitude. He emphasizes the importance of discerning what part of the criticism is true, acknowledging those truths, and discarding the falsehoods to avoid unnecessary self-condemnation.

My 6-year-old daughter and I recently started reading chapter books together. The experience of a narrative slowly unfolding mesmerizes her. The story, “Wildsmith,” by Liz Flanagan, pulls her in, capturing her interest and holding it tightly over the days it takes us to complete the book. Each night she begs for “just one more chapter” and scans the occasional illustration for hints at the upcoming plot. These encouraging signs of a lifelong reader warm the hearts of her bookworm parents. 

What a gift to journey into a story with someone experiencing it for the first time. What a blessing for the seasoned reader to wade into the narrative alongside someone completely unaware of the tried-and-true tropes and where the winding stream of plot will whisk them. 

The wonder, excitement, and sheer enjoyment of these first encounters with a story convey magic to the reader. Reading alongside my daughter reminds me of that time long ago when I first cracked open a beloved book; the first time I came across a lamppost in a snowy wood, or a hobbit snug in his hole until a knock sounded on the door. 

These moments of discovery linger with us as readers. They grant us a glimpse of something beyond our world and yet intrinsically connected to our own experience. We need to be reminded of these original moments of magic, of those times in our lives when the story was fresh and more powerful for it. 

My daughters remind me of this wonder of discovery in more than fiction. When we read stories from Scripture, their reactions are undiluted by familiarity. Each plot point is baffling and at times frustrating for them. Their flabbergasted interruptions of: “They put Mary in a stable? With animals? Why wouldn’t anyone give up their hotel room?!” are all valid questions. Their practical queries raise similarly astute concerns, “If God gave Adam and Eve clothes made from animal fur, which animals had to die? Or did God just make fur without the animals?” 

Their reactions make me think — why don’t we consider these things more deeply as adults? We should be outraged about the Son of God being born in squalor; we should ask what the fall meant for the animals. We too need to engage with Scripture as if it is our first time reading it, with the eyes and hearts of children, taking in every detail and asking the hard questions. 

Whether it’s desensitization after years of hearing the stories, or mere laziness, I often lack the vivacity of my children when reading Scripture. My oldest daughter cannot get enough of stories from the Bible.

The global success of Angel Studio’s The Chosen has demonstrated that audiences are hungry to see the stories of Scripture honored through excellent filmmaking. Amazon Studios has responded with an excellent offering of their own: House of David. 

House of David is a multi-season Biblical drama that depicts the unlikely rise of the young shepherd-boy David as he ascends to the throne of Israel and the correspondent demise of David’s predecessor, King Saul. The first season was released in Spring 2025 and it follows David throughout his teenage years as he journeys towards his climactic confrontation with the giant Goliath. It is a sweeping story that deftly follows a contingent of compelling characters as they journey through primitive warfare, tender romance, disconcerting prophecies and the intrigues of a kingdom that is torn between the call of God and the ambition of man. 

I found that House of David offers artistic excellence while also remaining steadfast in its recounting of Biblical truth. The show takes creative liberties, but they do so in a way that remains true to the overall truth of Scripture. This is not a secularized version of King David’s story: God is embedded and honored at the forefront of the entire show. The script manages to convey the deep, spiritual nature of the story without betraying the audience with corny sentimentality or preachy exposition. 

I was personally struck by one of the show’s central themes: the experience of receiving a calling from the Lord. God speaks intimately to many of the show’s lead characters and He calls them forth with challenging prophecies that often bewilder or surprise them. Along with the theme of calling, a theme of waiting upon the Lord runs throughout the show. David – along with other characters – clearly hears the call of God upon his life and he has the understandable urge to immediately act on what he has heard. But God is gentle and quiet in moments when thunder and action might have been expected. An anointing comes… and then a call to wait and trust. The mystery of God’s pacing weighs heavily on David. 

Multiple characters wrestle with a desire to do great things with their lives, to fulfill what they believe is the call upon their lives, to satiate a great longing within themselves, and they are met with the mutually confounding and consoling realization that their lives are not their own. Their desires and calling are of Divine origin and as such the fulfillment of desire and the realization of their calling is primarily the work of God, not the work of man. The show maintains an urgent pace while leading the audience through the tension of characters who are wrestling with their desire to move and their call to wait – and the consequences that unfold when man chooses to act in contradiction to the voice of God. 

In this episode of Way of the Heart, Jake & Brett are joined by long time friend, Peter White. Peter is a Registered Clinical Counselor that has known Jake professionally for years and watched Brett hoop during his prime basketball years. They discuss a wide variety of topics including the beauty and difficulties of marriage, how men and women respond differently to conflict, how conflict can lead to great things & the importance of good fathers. This is one of our deepest conversations yet and we hope that it speaks to your heart.

Key Points

• The beauty and difficulties of marriage.

• A discussion about how people, especially men, get married without an understanding of what it takes for a marriage to thrive.

• Trends in boy’s/men’s personal growth since the feminist movement

• Psychologically, men tend to have a fight or flight mentality. Women tend to have a tend and mend mentality. This dates back to the earliest humans. Men tend to fight alone. Women work together. 

• Conflict in marriage can be generative.

• The importance of fatherhood. Inviting our sons to something higher by letting them punch a little above their weight.

• The distorted desire to build an empire instead of serving your neighbor.

• How to drop the facade and get to more of your true self.

  References
  Peter’s Website
  Warren Farrell’s Website

Fr. Mike explains how being at home with our family is one of God’s favorite ways to make us holy—if we are honest about the areas where we need to grow in our relationships with family members. 

Fr. Mike has observed that college students often have a profound encounter with Jesus through their college’s Catholic community. They find that they are praying more, receiving the sacraments more, participating in more service opportunities, and so on. Then they get back home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or—in the most recent cases—a lockdown. They realize, in their interactions with their family that they’re not as holy as they thought they were. 

Why do we struggle to be loving toward those whom we claim to love the most? It’s harder to love family members sometimes because—Fr. Mike explains—you didn’t get to choose this group, and they can make demands on you. 

It’s easy to be generous when it’s on your own terms. Our relationships with our family can reveal the impatience and lack of generosity inside us—the unedited version of us. 

Be honest with God and admit that the things you thought you defeated are still somewhere inside you. Surrender these things to Jesus. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable with your family. They love you. Ask family members where they want you to grow this week. 

Pursue holiness at home. Like St. Teresa of Calcutta said, find your own Calcutta.

My get-up-and-go has got up and went!

Is that statement merely a joke, or a declaration of fatigue—or a sign of something worse, perhaps even deadly? In this second in a series of a renewed look at the seven deadly sins (part one is HERE), we’ll be looking at the sin with the unfortunate name of “sloth.”

“Sloth” suggests a lack of industriousness, a lack of “busy-ness.” Unfortunately, overemphasizing that aspect of this sin can mask today’s more common and deadly forms. Let’s replace “sloth” with the Greek term “acedia” meaning “lack of care.” We’ll see why in a moment.

I’ve observed students in the library, with their laptops lit up, their screens cluttered with various social media programs, some streaming videos, a game running, and maybe, just maybe, something school related. At the same time, they’ve got some form of audio stuffed into their ears. Their eyes and hands are on their phones. Somewhere nearby, there may be a textbook or school-related notebook. They’re very active, but little is getting done. They will leave the library tired, but with no sense of satisfaction, and little or nothing accomplished. They say that they’re “multi-tasking”; I say that they’re “multi-slacking.” Why do I describe such frenetic people as slackers? 

They’ve spent an enormous amount of energy doing lots of little things very briefly; they’ve scattered themselves widely even while sitting in one place; they’ve attended to little, and invested themselves in even less. They’ve accomplished nothing and worse than nothing. The most likely end result of all that time and energy spent is that they’ve further entrenched in themselves an addiction to electronic stimuli, while wasting precious resources and failing in their duties.

They view this dynamic as acceptable because they see it as inevitable—they just don’t see any other way of proceeding, and they have a lack of care—acedia—for their duties as students. This dynamic is not unique to students; workers of every kind, and even vowed religious (who should certainly know better!) cultivate this restless and fruitless way of proceeding. What’s the spiritual import of all this?

Acedia, according to Aquinas, is a kind of sadness, “a species of sadness according to the world.” I describe it as an interior sulky whining and pouting because doing the right thing (including doing one’s duty) is often hard, often quite unglamorous, and, very often, not immediately fulfilling or stimulating. Typically understood, sloth is what prompts us to hit the snooze button repeatedly, or, worse, prompts us to refuse to get out of bed at all. But the restless, fidgety “multi-slacking” I described above is also acedia according to Aquinas, because one sets one’s energy on the trivial, rather than on the more demanding (and more rewarding) spiritual goods.

The period of engagement is an exciting time for young Catholic couples. The planning of the upcoming wedding is paired with endless anticipation for how wonderful married life together will be and a slew of celebrations to bolster support for the soon-to-be-married among the broader community.

Imagine my chagrin then, when my parents insisted that my (then) fiancée and I take what was certain to be an exceedingly boring course before we got married called “Financial Peace University.”

We watched 60-minute videos about emergency funds and investments. Not exactly riveting material.

My wife to this day maintains that the course had its fair share of mind-numbing moments. Still, both of us cannot deny that taking the time to learn about budgeting and wise stewardship of our finances along Biblical lines has had an outsized impact on our marriage.

It’s not a secret that one of the more common causes of divorce is financial issues and this makes sense. How to spend money (or perhaps more commonly, what to do when there’s not enough) can easily become a topic of contentious debate. 

When my wife and I first got married, we were both working as part time baristas at Starbucks. While we both were fortunate to upgrade our careers fairly quickly, we’ve never made that much more than we need to get by. Still, the habit of keeping a monthly budget together has helped us to stay out of debt through the entirety of our married life, handle a lay-off and subsequent move across the country, and give generously to the needs of the Church and our community.

Budgeting may not come naturally to some (it certainly didn’t to either of us) but having a plan for our finances helps us to stay on the same page and feel as though we are working towards the same goals with our money. I tend to be a bit of a “free spirit” when it comes to money (in other words, without discipline money doesn’t stay in my bank account for very long), while my wife can be so thrifty that she avoids buying things she needs or really wants. 

When these attributes of ours come into conflict with each other, it creates the opportunity for us to share openly and honestly about our desires and fears around money and the life we want. Instead of seeing these conflicts as hindrances, we try to use them as an opportunity to show empathy and then to gently and lovingly encourage the other person to grow. Making and sticking to a budget has helped the both of us to not only reach a more moderate place with our finances but also to deepen our unity.

The Ten Commandments tell us to “honor thy mother and father”, but what does that really look like? Especially for adult children?

Parents are not perfect, and sometimes they make mistakes that leave us and others wounded. So when God tells us to honor them, what does he mean by that? There’s a certain respect that all are owed simply by their personhood, and then there’s a respect that someone deserves because of their role or position. But what if our parents are dishonorable people? Does this commandment change once we’re adults out of their direct care?

Today, Father Mike explains how we can love difficult parents.

For my first attempt at Eucharistic adoration, I was late.

I had signed up online for adoration at our church’s chapel. I chose a slot at 2 p.m. on a Friday. That morning, I saw a reminder on my paper desk calendar, and then promptly forgot about it. Until about 5:45. Oops. I went online and a 6 p.m. slot was still open. I raced over to church, and got there at 6:10. As I hurried across the parking lot, I realized that even though I had been a parishioner for about eight years, I had never actually been in the chapel. I wasn’t even 100 percent sure where it was. But I guessed right, and walked into the small, simple room to find several other people sitting or kneeling before the host encased in a gold monstrance on the little altar. It was a reminder that I didn’t have to be totally certain about something to be right about it in the end. It was also reassuring to know that even if I lag behind, there are other pilgrims with me on the journey.

For I was late to adoration in another sense. I had spent my first forty-some years in traditions where the Real Presence was never a major topic. The most helpful insight I heard then was that the Eucharist is a holy mystery. And this is true as far as it goes. However, about three decades ago, I entered the Catholic Church, and I began to see that we benefit from trying to understand holy mysteries, even if our progress is slow. For instance, this winter my wife and I read Bishop Robert Barron’s booklet on the Eucharist, “This Is My Body,” aloud to each other, and we learned a lot. Still, this mystery is deep enough that more than reading is required. I thought enduring an hour of adoration might help.

I dreaded it, however, because I thought sitting in silence would drive me nuts. The first thing I learned in the chapel, though, was that the silence was comfortable. I didn’t feel the need to do anything. I had brought a spiritual book to turn to if overcome by tedium, but I didn’t look at it. I felt in tune with just … being there. I suspect that, as an occasional writer, I felt relieved from the tumult of “words, words, words.”

The monstrance was lovely, yet at the same time it highlighted the host’s plainness, and thus its power. Yes, the wafer is the most ordinary thing in the world; that is precisely why it is so extraordinary. That the Almighty becomes the substance of the wafer is the pledge that he is part of everything, in some way, even if we don’t see or understand how. 

Historically, the word “rule” (regula) didn’t mean a set of laws to obey, but rather a guide for growing toward the good — like a trellis supporting a vine.

Most of us, it seems, are not called to the cloister. We have dishes to wash, meetings to attend, children to raise, aging parents to care for. And yet, many people — religious or not — find themselves longing for something monasteries seem to hold: rhythm, meaning, peace. The good news is you don’t need to be a monk to draw wisdom from monastic life. A rule of life can anchor anyone who seeks to live with intention.

Historically, the word “rule” (regula) didn’t mean a set of laws to obey, but rather a guide for growing toward the good — like a trellis supporting a vine.

Monastic rules, like that of St. Benedict, weren’t designed to stifle life but to shape it. They balanced prayer, work, community, and rest into a daily pattern that could be lived out faithfully for decades, even in times of uncertainty or suffering.

And while those in monastic communities take formal vows, each of us is called to discern how we uniquely live out our own vocation — whether that’s through marriage, single life, consecrated life, or something still unfolding. Developing a somewhat personal rule of life can help us discover not just how to live, but how to live well, in a way that aligns with our deepest identity and gifts.

Clarity

In other words: You don’t need to live in a monastery to live with clarity. You don’t need to chant the Psalms at dawn to seek holiness. But you do need some rhythm — a way of life that keeps you grounded when distractions multiply or fatigue sets in. A rule of life helps you say yes to what matters and no to what doesn’t, not just in emergencies, but every day.

St. Benedict’s motto, ora et labora — pray and work — speaks to this. His Rule didn’t separate the sacred from the ordinary. Tending the garden, cooking the meals, caring for guests: it was all part of the same life of prayer. For us, too, our work, rest, and relationships can all be shaped by grace, if we approach them intentionally.

Some people imagine a rule of life must be elaborate or intensely spiritual. In truth, it can be rather simple–or begin with adopting some regular habits. Over time, these rhythms become formational. They reveal our unique spiritual temperament and charisms—what gives us life and how we are called to give life to others.

Often, in the therapy room, I ask clients about their family, and draw something called a genogram map. Part of my therapeutic framework is that we are influenced, shaped, wounded, loved, delighted in, and healed in our families of origin. As a therapist, families of origin also help me develop a fuller picture of the suffering of the client: their behaviours, thought processes, and ways of being. Internally, I develop more compassion and curiosity towards clients as well. 

I was recently struck by a truth that I read in a blogpost: “To evangelize the culture, we must first see our culture clearly”. There seems to be a parallel here with the above therapeutic practices: when we know where we are and where we stand, we begin to understand ‘the lay of the land’. This awareness will help us figure out more clearly how to move forward. 

The “lay of the land” at the parish level looks something like this: people are coming to church with their Christian significant others having no idea what is going on at Mass. People are sitting in the pews, going out of obligation – not love – for maybe 20+ years. At my parish, there are people showing up who are yearning to belong to some sort of community. Some are coming after years of religious searching and often asking the question, “what is my purpose in this life?”. Additionally we have broken families, single parents, and single people from countries at war are seeking refuge and freedom. 

Our culture is transitioning. Stores are open on Sundays. Families attending church together on Sundays is out of the norm.The assumption that those who choose to send their kids to Christian or Catholic schools are themselves religious is naught. Christian influence on culture is indeed fading; sometimes considered even an unintelligent way to engage with the world. I remember sitting in my Biological Psychology class where my professor stated publicly that if we were to have religious views of the human person, we would have no place in the world of Psychology. 

From Christendom to Apostolic Mission

The mode where the Christian imaginative vision influences society is called Christendom. We are no longer in this mode; instead, we have moved into something called the Apostolic Mode. I do feel that these separate modes are simply different ways to engage, not disengage. We cannot simply wait passively for Christendom to come back (where the secular vision parallels the Christian vision). 

In the Apostolic Mode, the Christian faith does not play a central role in society; in fact, Christianity feels more costly because it is often considered an outdated or indoctrinated way of thinking.

Fr. Mark-Mary talks about how to live your best life (but in a Catholic way).

 When we read the lives of the saints, we could be inclined to think that they were way more holy than us, and that they had these extraordinary gifts that made it easy for them to become saints. It’s easy to think that becoming a saint is an unrealistic goal. But the truth is, the saints were just like us. They just chose to live differently, and we can too. 

“Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may prove what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2). 

A lot of the time, in trying to judge whether we’re living a life centered in Christ, we compare ourselves to those around us, especially nonbelievers. The problem with this is that, just as it says in Romans 12, we’re not called to be good or better by the world’s standards. We’re called to be saints. And to be saints, it’s going to require an outlook that doesn’t compare ourselves to those around us, but to strive for the perfection of Heaven. 

How can we do this? The answer is a little different for everyone, but it all consists in following the life of Christ, and living in accordance with his teachings. Things like committing ourselves to daily prayer, avoiding sin, performing works of charity; all of these things allow ourselves to transcend this world and reach for the eternal. Everything we do to strengthen our relationship with Christ gets us one step closer to being saints. 

The saints were people who saw this life on earth as an opportunity to better themselves for the sake of the Kingdom. It’s something that each of us can consciously choose to do every day. The beauty of this approach is that, the more we surrender ourselves to the Lord in little ways, the easier it becomes to surrender in larger ways. Powerhouse saints like St. Francis and St. Clare didn’t just magically surrender every part of themselves to Christ; it all started with little things like saying a morning offering every morning, or refraining from gossiping, or volunteering at their local charity. And this is what we are all called to do. 

Instead of judging the success of your life by looking at those around you, look instead to the Church and the lives of the saints, and ask yourself “What more can I do to give my life to Christ?” We aren’t called to be conformed to the world, but to transform it through our faith and our witness.

This week Matt and Jared talk with Haley Stewart, who is a writer, speaker, podcaster, and Catholic convert. Haley shares about the power of story in her life, the importance of literature in the home, and living simply.

God gifts everyone with beautiful talents. We don’t all have the same talents, which gives each of us a unique place in God’s vineyard. Sometimes, we use the words “gifts”, “talents”, and “charisms” interchangeably, but… charisms are truly something different. Something supernatural. 

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary and Fr. Columba define and unpack the nature of charisms for us, and illuminate the incredible gift that they are to us from the Holy Spirit.

The Principle and Foundation is not just a theological idea — it is an invitation to a life of clarity, peace, and freedom.

Every generation asks the same question in different ways: What is the purpose of life? Is it success, the pursuit of happiness, or the accumulation of wealth and comfort? St. Ignatius of Loyola, writing in the 16th century, offered a strikingly different answer — one that remains as challenging today as it was then.

For Ignatius, human life has a clear purpose: to know, love, and serve God. Everything else — our ambitions, relationships, even our struggles — must be seen in light of this ultimate goal.

This idea forms the foundation of his Spiritual Exercises, a work that has shaped Jesuit spirituality and the broader Church for centuries. At its core is the Principle and Foundation, a brief but radical statement that reorients how we see ourselves, the world, and God.

More than a theological premise, it is an invitation to freedom — freedom from attachment, from illusions of control, and from anything that keeps us from our true purpose.

What is the Principle and Foundation?

The Principle and Foundation is the starting point for Ignatian spirituality. It lays out the reason for human existence and the relationship between people and the world. Ignatius begins with a striking declaration:

“Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul. All other things on the face of the earth are created for man to help him in attaining the end for which he is created.”

This statement is simple but profound. It means that our lives are not random, and we are not here merely to seek personal fulfillment. Our ultimate purpose is to know, love, and serve God. Everything else — our talents, possessions, relationships, even our struggles — should be understood in light of this purpose.

The call to radical freedom

This does not mean that Ignatius calls for a rejection of the world. What he aims for is rather a proper ordering of our relationship to it. He explains:

“From this it follows that man is to use these things to the extent that they help him to attain his end, and he must rid himself of them in so far as they prove a hindrance to him.”

This idea is the heart of Ignatian detachment, or holy indifference. It is not a call to apathy, but to radical freedom. We are not to be controlled by our desires for success, health, wealth, or pleasure — nor are we to be crushed by their absence.

Habemus Papam! We have a Pope — Pope Leo XIV! On this joyous occasion, Fr. Mike encourages us to welcome Pope Leo XIV with open hearts.

He reminds us that before forming opinions or drawing comparisons to past popes, we should first offer him the respect, trust, and prayers he deserves as our Holy Father.

Some folks maintain the notion that Jesus said we “have to love people” but “don’t have to like them”. Besides the fact that Jesus never said this… there are other reasons this false idea is holding you back from loving the way you were made to love.

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary dives deep into what it means to “like” someone and how we can show true, authentic love to everyone (and… in fact… that is our calling).

If you’re anything like me, then the call to keep holy the Sabbath is something of a challenge, thanks to a constant struggle to maintain work-life balance. Whether you find it easy to overwork without respite or struggle to get started, hitting that happy medium can be difficult. 

Honoring the Sabbath reminds us of the need for this balance: six days for work, and the seventh for worship, self-care, and spiritual and physical restoration. But when it proves difficult to actually live this out, what do we do?

To live properly and pray sincerely, we have to avoid exhaustion. We need time for fun and joy, as these rejuvenate our souls. One saint strongly associated with joy is St. Philip Neri, whom I’ve been inspired by. He uniquely blended holiness and joy throughout his life, earning him the nickname “The Laughing Saint.” Philip Neri’s spirit beautifully encapsulates the Sabbath: a celebration of joyful life unmistakably connected to God.

The saints, as we know, are meant to be our exemplars, so how do we emulate Philip Neri? Well, I can give you an example of what not to do. It’s crucial to be intentional and avoid letting Sunday become overwhelmed with mundane tasks (yard work, for instance), or, for the readers in my age group, schoolwork. So many times I would walk into my college’s library on a Sunday and witness row after row of students hunkered over their studies. Though it is good for students to work, I wished we’d chosen another day to put our noses to the grindstone.

Philip Neri was a very hardworking man, but also one who knew how to balance his duties with fun. Philip’s mission was to restore Rome, which had fallen into spiritual disarray during the early 16th century, to a passionate love of the faith. He accomplished this by establishing authentically human connections with those around him, which sometimes involved deep conversations, but oftentimes did not. He played practical jokes and took part in wine-drinking contests to make himself more approachable to those around him. After Philip’s death, doctors discovered that his heart had grown noticeably larger, to the point of damaging two of his ribs — a true testament to this great man’s jubilant heart.

Everything Philip Neri did, regardless of how frivolous it may have seemed on the surface, had a purpose indisputably connected to God. His entire ministry was treated as one continuous Sabbath, vividly showcasing his blend of holiness and joy. This is why I’ve found him so inspiring personally — the mindset we’re called to emulate on the Sabbath, he exemplified throughout his whole life.

Inspired by his love, passion, and charity, we can bring this saintly approach to the Sabbath into our own lives.

As we journey further into Lent, let’s talk about how we can escape the devil’s grasp. 

It’s no secret that sin is prevalent in our world today, but what’s truly alarming is how numb we’ve become to just how distorted certain things are. 

Fr. Mark-Mary sheds light on how we’re slowly being simmered in the devil’s crockpot, often compromising on sins, but especially sexual sin. He addresses the widespread presence of pornography and sexual immorality in our lives, while urging us to stay vigilant in resisting these temptations.

When you think of holiness, what comes to mind? Is it a saint who has never stumbled? Does the idea of holiness feel out of reach when you’re grappling with your own brokenness or the weight of your sins? 

Today, Fr. Mike reminds us that the journey to holiness isn’t always a straight path. There are both good days and bad. Yet, despite our flaws and failures, God’s grace and mercy remain abundant, offering hope and renewal.

We have a cause to celebrate. But we’re really bad at celebrating. 

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary teaches us how we can celebrate the gift of Christ more each day. Celebrating can be defined as “the work of receiving the gift”. Celebration is seen all throughout scripture, from the story of the Prodigal Son to the celebration of every Sabbath day. And it’s in this celebration that we receive the gift of God’s mercy and grace. 

Fr. Mark-Mary explains why we’re not great at receiving the gift and how we can get better at it.

As we begin a new year, the Busted Halo Show welcomes back author and philosophy professor James K. A. Smith to discuss his new book, “How to Inhabit Time: Understanding the Past, Facing the Future, Living Faithfully Now.”

“That pivot from New Year’s Eve to the New Year, it’s a reflective moment,” James says. “People are taking stock of what were their favorite movies for the past year, they’re setting goals and things for the new year. I think there’s something sort of natural and human about that, and I think finding time to reflect on when we are goes a long way to sort of deepening the intentionality in our life.”

He explains that his book is not meant to help you with a new years resolution, but rather how to reflect on our place in history. “I’m much more interested in catalyzing reflection on, what does it mean that we are historical creatures? That we are heirs of a past, that we inherit things that have been handed down to us, and that we each carry a history in our bones.”

James also notes, “I think there are a lot of facets of American culture that kind of mitigate against reflection, just to understate it. We’re sort of perpetually distracted, which is what frustrates the capacity to engage in introspection, reflection and contemplation.” 

Father Dave explains one action he takes to be more present as he celebrates Mass, and explains two definitions of time that James also discusses in his book. “I remember learning that the Greeks would have different words in different notions. One is chronos, and one is kairos,” Father Dave says, with chronos marking sequential time and kairos being more qualitative. “When I celebrate Mass, I take off my watch for a couple reasons, because the Apple Watch, it lights up and it’s a little distracting…but hopefully, even in a busy day, that puts me out of what we call the chronos time and put me into a little bit of a kairos time.”

James continues, “Kairos is this kind of pregnant, generative, infused possibility of time, where we are taken up into, you could say, the coming kingdom. Like it’s almost little foretastes of kingdom come.”

They also discuss different seasons of life, from young parents to middle-aged adulthood. Father Dave notes how Krista tries to be present with her young daughter, rather than document every moment. James expands on this and says, “So much of our experience now is about accumulating experiences by what we can capture on our device, as if that’s going to somehow help us remember it and be present to it.

Are you a child of the light or a child of darkness? 

Today, Fr. Mike reminds us that, though we are all born with original sin, God offers us the transformative gift of baptism, bringing us into His Kingdom of light. Let us not delay in surrendering our lives to Christ through the sacrament of baptism.

By guarding time to maintain a spirit of reflection, we embrace a life that is somewhat slower, but more deliberate and deeply meaningful.

Sundays are sacred. It’s the one day of the week when we allow ourselves to step back from the relentless pace of life. We intentionally slow down and enjoy a sense of calm that feels almost countercultural in a world obsessed with productivity and speed. But what if we didn’t limit this Sunday peace to just one day? What if we made a conscious effort to extend this attitude throughout the week?

At its core, the Sunday feeling is about intentionality. On Sundays, we’re more mindful. We take time for prayer, liturgy, rest, and meaningful connection. Keeping that mindset throughout the week requires more than just hoping the quiet will last; it demands making a conscious choice to live differently in the face of a culture that glorifies constant activity. It’s not just about adding more “me time” to our schedules, but about adopting a conscious attitude that prioritizes balance, rest, and attentiveness.

A “countercultural” attitude

Central to this practice and mindset is the third commandment, which calls us to set aside time for rest and worship. This observance isn’t just a matter of leisure; it’s a spiritual commitment that enriches our lives and renews our focus. However, this commitment is not an excuse to neglect our other responsibilities. Rather, it invites us to integrate our duties into a rhythm that includes moments of rest and reflection.

Adopting this “countercultural” attitude means recognizing that true rest does not come at the expense of our commitments. On the contrary, resting complements them, enabling us to fulfill our duties with greater purpose – and, most importantly, with joy.

Embracing this attitude begins with protecting moments of silence and rest, even when the world pressures us to stay busy. While the world tells us that our worth is measured by how much we produce, the Sunday spirit reminds us that true value lies elsewhere too. Carrying this spirit into Monday and beyond means guarding our time for contemplation and reflection as fiercely as we guard our time for work.

Finding small pockets of peace (a short prayer before starting the day, a walk after lunch, or a technology-free evening) can keep us rooted in the kind of wisdom we draw from Sundays.

Being present, paying attention

Another key to protecting the Sunday feeling is just paying attention. On Sundays, we are more present with the people and moments that matter. Extending this into the week challenges us to put away distractions and give our full attention to what’s in front of us.

What does it mean to be human? What does it mean to be fully alive? What is virtue? What is human flourishing?

These were questions that were earnestly and incessantly asked of me and my peers during my time at a small liberal arts school. These were the questions echoed across campus, in and out of classrooms dedicated to history and economics, literature and language, and politics and theology, all through years of study and laughter. They were questions that were constantly reiterated so that when we left the warmth and safety of that beautiful place, they would echo in our minds and hearts. 

When we walked across that graduation stage and into the real world, we prided ourselves on being “liberally arted” and “seekers of truth and justice.”  We held the questions of human virtue and human flourishing within our deepest being. We were ready to take on the harsh world and live intentional lives founded upon truth, beauty, and goodness. 

But now, almost four years later, amidst chaos, uncertainty, and doubt, these fundamental questions beg to be asked once again. And maybe asked just a little bit louder: How do I, right here and now, live a life that is full and flourishing? How do I, with all this mess around me and within me, cultivate virtue and live an intentional life? How do I choose truth, beauty, and goodness when the darkness makes it so difficult to see?

Although these musings are nothing new or extraordinarily profound, perhaps they are a way for me to remind myself of what I’ve learned and some things that I need to bring to the present once again. At the heart of the matter is the importance of asking these questions of myself so that I can give glory to Him each day, for Saint Irenaeus said,“The glory of God is man fully alive.” 

Live a life that is wholly and unapologetically for Christ and in Christ. 

In an unsteady and disconcerting world, throw yourself into His arms, lean on His chest as Saint John did (John 13:23), and listen to His heartbeat. It is so steady. It is reassuring. It is safe. Run to His Church and trust that He has sent His Holy Spirit to guide and sustain us when we cannot sustain ourselves. Stay close to the Sacraments and find your rhythm of life in His life-giving heartbeat. 

“An unexamined life is not worth living” -Plato

We don’t have the luxury of neglecting introspection any longer. In a world full of relativism and irresponsibility, it is time to own our stories, seek truth and healing, and learn from our wounds.

A cradle Anglican, Kasey Kimball grew up in Newburyport, Mass., moving to Vancouver in 2014 to attend Regent College. In 2018, she graduated with her MA in doctrinal theology and was received into the Catholic Church this Easter. She shared her story of conversion at St. Mark’s College April 7 with the talk “The Body of Christ Suffers Together: Reflections from a Convert to a Church in Crisis.” This is a shortened version of that testimony.

Trying to tell one’s own conversion story is a bit like trying to express the ineffable. Yes, there are important moments, important revelations, and important books to mention, but the work of grace is also inherently mysterious. Every time I tell this story, I get more insight into that work of grace, and am newly amazed by it.

Last August, I attended Mass at a small outdoor chapel in Lake Tahoe, Calif. At that time, I was deep in ecclesiastical no-man’s land. I’d flunked out of RCIA a few months earlier (by that, I mean I attended all the classes and went through all the rites but could not in good conscience become a Catholic at Easter).

I wanted to be a Catholic and was certainly living as one (using the Magnificat missal religiously, getting comfortable with the Rosary, speaking about Protestants as if I wasn’t one), but I simply wasn’t ready theologically. I was missing that deep conviction that the Church is who she says she is –  a conviction without which there could be no moving forward.

At the same time, I knew I couldn’t go back to Protestantism. I’d tried, but after spending a year attending Mass, Protestant liturgies seemed so full of arbitrary human words (some of which, as an occasional preacher, I’d written myself). It seemed we were reinventing the wheel Sunday by Sunday, even though the riches of tradition were there, ready to be used.

There was also the question of authority that lurked in the back of my mind. While Protestants claimed the Bible as their final authority, in reality we all appealed to someone –  to Luther or Calvin or Cranmer or Barth or a blog we liked or our local pastor –  when it came to interpreting what the Bible said and meant. My own Anglican church was struggling to remain viable after a major theological split. Who had the final say? Without a clear authority, it seemed we always fell back on ourselves.

I also found Protestant churches lacked the definitive presence of Christ I’d sensed at Mass. This is not to say that Christ was absent in Protestantism, but there was a palpable difference in intensity.

In the heart of Eastertide, we can ask ourselves: Has Easter changed us? What are the consequences of truly accepting the reality of the Resurrection?

The other day it struck me that we were in the heart of the Easter season and I had to ask myself: Has anything really changed for us – or is life pretty much going on as always?

I sometimes wonder if many of us aren’t a little bit like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They had heard about the empty tomb; in fact, it was the subject of their conversation. Maybe they wanted to believe that Jesus had risen, but they couldn’t help but feel skeptical – so much so that they didn’t even recognize Jesus when he started walking along beside them. In Luke’s gospel it says that “their eyes prevented them from recognizing him.”

We too often have eyes that prevent us from seeing. We keep hurrying along as if Easter never happened and nothing has really changed. In place of faith, we live with a sense of desperate urgency because the clock is ticking, and time is running out. Life is short. We don’t want to miss out on experiences or live in regret about the dreams we left unfulfilled.

But the truth of Easter is meant to penetrate and alter the course of our lives.

Freed from anxiety

Accepting the reality of the Resurrection means that death and decay have no power over us. We have been truly set free – and that means we should be freed from the anxieties that so often dominate our lives. How often do we fail to recognize Jesus because we are too occupied with other things? Worrying about our career choices, obsessing over our children’s futures, wasting precious hours “doomscrolling” through social media: These are all signs that we have failed to take the message of Easter seriously. It is as if nothing has really changed for us.

On the contrary, the first Easter marked a new course for humanity. As it says in the Book of Revelation (Rev 21:3-5):

I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them [as their God].

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, [for] the old order has passed away.”

The one who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” Then he said, “Write these words down, for they are trustworthy and true.”

We’ve all heard of the nearly infamous prayer, the Litany of Humility, before. But is there a danger in praying this litany with the wrong intentions? 

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary shares some ways of discerning and approaching a desire to grow in humility and overcome pride with a lasting sense of being loved by God as you are.

Theophany: God wants to reveal Himself to each one of us. But our constant addiction to the pleasure chemicals of dopamine and serotonin can be a barrier to this intimacy.

Today Fr. Mark-Mary challenges us to consider fasting from a near continuous stream of pleasure in order to hear and experience new intimacy with God. Why not consider driving without music, fasting from snacking throughout the day, or giving up social media this Lenten season?

When I read the Gospels filled with stories of Jesus, it can feel at times like I’m reading a superhero comic complete with superhuman feats and perfectly scripted comebacks for every occasion. There are even super villains. But unlike superheroes, Jesus is without flaws. He is perfect. He is God! So, as a Catholic who has suffered from depression and anxiety, at times, I have struggled to feel like Jesus, savior of the world who can raise the dead, can understand what it’s like to be the imperfect human that is me.

We are told Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. It’s one of those Catholic mysteries we love to recite but is hard to actually wrap our minds around. If Jesus was fully human, in theory, he should understand our full spectrum of emotions and needs. We are told he wept and felt disappointment. He looked forward to things and loved. He felt tempted, exasperated, and angry. He even felt hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. Listing these, it seems he was able to check off all the human emotions on his “human experiences bucket list.” Though, while we can agree he felt these emotions, it’s hard not to resentfully question whether he was ever overwhelmed by them.

Depression and anxiety can and do overwhelm. It’s like your body is betraying you. You feel trapped and out of control. So, I can’t help but wonder, how can God feel trapped? He is God. He is fully in control. He has a divine plan. God can’t understand feeling helpless because he has never been helpless. He has never felt trapped. He may have been human, but could he truly have been that human? For a long time, the answer to that question for me was, “No.”

RELATED: Via Dolorosa: Stations for Your Way of Sorrow

At least, that was what I thought until recently while reading the story of Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. The Gospels tell us he is in anguish. He is desperately praying. He is panicking. The Pharisees are calling for his head. Judas is en route. Peter will betray him. His disciples can’t even stay awake with him. And as mankind turns on him, his own body, human in form, turns on him as well.

In Mark, Jesus explains to his disciples: “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty good description of depression. Depression can feel like the decay of death is eating away at you, overwhelming you, exhausting you, rotting your insides until you are like a walking corpse.

Are you feeling hopeless? 

Fr. Mike offers insights on how to combat despair. If you feel like you’ve tried everything, see no way out, or think nothing matters, Fr. Mike reminds you of the true meaning of hope. He explains that we can always rely on God’s presence. Choosing hope means choosing to act with courage, even if that victory is as simple as getting out of bed. 

Finally, he reminds us that one of the best ways to fight despair is to bring that hopelessness to God in Confession. You are loved, you are valued, and you are absolutely irreplaceable. 

Our team at Ascension is thinking of you and praying for you. If you’re going through a difficult time or struggling with your mental health, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. Talk to someone you trust or seek support from a professional. You can also call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 (available 24/7).

How should we approach the beginning of Holy Week? Fr. Mark-Mary explains that following Mary’s example is the most powerful way to enter the mystery of Christ’s Passion. We should be open, available, and receptive to receiving the Bridegroom.

As we move from Palm Sunday into the most holy week of the Christian Calendar, Bobby urges us to ask ourselves: Is Christ the king of my heart? 

In ancient times, palm branches were a symbol of strength and celebration. For the Feast of Booths in the seventh month, God’s people used palms and other luxuriant branches to celebrate (see Leviticus 23:40 and Nehemiah 8:15). Victors in athletic games and battles were often given palm branches to symbolize their strength. King Solomon engraved images of palms into the pillars of the Temple. 

When Jesus is welcomed into Jerusalem with palms, they serve as a symbol of his kingship. But do we treat Christ with the kingship he deserves? 

We all play a part in the Passion story. Some of us are Peter when he denies Christ. Some of us are the Jews who are not willing to give up everything to follow Christ. Or sometimes we play a different part depending on the day. Too few are the times when we stay at the foot of the Cross with him. 

Where are you in the story? Ask God, “Where have I let you down?” or, “How have I been faithful to you?” Let this Holy Week be different from years past.

Father Dave recounts how all three readings today feature people who made radical changes in their lives after hearing God’s call. He challenges us to boldly and loudly say yes to how God may be calling us today.

Listen Now

Lent is almost over…. 40 days of fasting, prayer, and sacrifice have passed in the blink of an eye. How do you feel? Are you puffed up with pride or weighed down by discouragement?

Today Fr. Mark-Mary offers a final word of encouragement to lean into the mercy of Jesus however you feel as we enter into Holy Week.

During the season of Lent a few years ago, I decided that I would commit to a morning habit of not turning my phone on until after I have had my personal prayer time with Jesus. Part of my rule of life is to find a practical way to connect with Jesus first in the beginning of my day. I found this to be more challenging than I anticipated! Bombarded with constant texts, emails, messages, Instagram, and Facebook notifications, my phone controlled me more than I liked to admit. Plagued with a compulsion to scroll, I had become a slave to technology. Choosing not to reach for my phone to check messages first thing in the morning for forty days turned out to be an interior battle. I knew I couldn’t do this on my own, so I needed to ask for God’s grace everyday and I had to come up with a practical game plan. Each night, I put my phone on “airplane mode” and set my alarm for the time I would get up to pray in the morning. When I would wake up, I would deny myself the urge to turn airplane mode off to see who had messaged me. In order to stay focused, I had a routine: I would set a timer for how long I was going to pray, read the gospel readings of the day, read my devotional book (Jesus Calling by Sarah Young), and pull out my journal. I would reflect on what spoke to me from the readings, and re-read any parts that would resonate with me (Lectio Divina). Through my imagination, I would place myself in the gospel scene with Jesus (Ignatian Spirituality). I would then listen to hear what He had to say, and journal any insights down. After my timer had gone off, I would end with an Our Father. 

For me, I have come to understand a rule of life as a set of practices that I intentionally create or implement in order to preserve something precious. For example, I make it a practice to go to confession at least once a month, in order to cleanse my soul from my sins and failings. During this particular season of Lent in my life, I needed to take action against the vices of being distracted by my phone and neglecting my personal prayer time. I knew that if I made time for Jesus first, the fruits of the spirit – peace, love, hope, and joy – would be a natural result of this commitment.The blessings that came from consistently living out denying myself my phone first thing in the morning during Lent were absolutely astounding.

The Church encourages us to make sure our kids are “taught the true meaning of penance,” even though fasting rules don’t apply to them.

It’s Lent — time for fasting, for no meat Fridays, and for almsgiving. But do kids have to fast? Or abstain from meat? No! Canon law says that only those from ages 18 to 59 have to fast, while those 14 and older have to abstain from meat. However, at the end of the paragraph about fasting and abstinence in canon law, there is a note for parents I had never noticed before. Parents are supposed to ensure that their children are “taught the true meaning of penance” once they reach the age of reason, even though children are “not bound by the law of fasting and abstinence” (Canon Law 1252).

Why would kids need to know the true meaning of fasting and penance? Also, what is the true meaning of fasting and penance? My answer to both of these questions goes back to one evening at an Indian restaurant a few years ago. My family and I were deciding what to eat from the menu with my husband’s parents, and it was a Friday. We discussed which options did not have meat, and our Indian server overheard us.

“Oh, you don’t eat meat on Fridays then?” she asked.

 “No, we don’t,” we responded.

 She quickly replied, asking “Ah, you do it for Jesus?”

 “Yes, that’s right!” was our resounding reply.

That moment comes back to me every time I am having a hard time making a decision regarding fasting and abstinence, like when I am struggling to figure out what meatless meals we will eat this Friday. Why am I doing this thing, making this sacrifice? Is it because it is just an arbitrary rule that I have to follow if I call myself Catholic? No! It’s for Jesus! I’m doing this for Jesus — the God who loves me and died for me and who becomes present in the Eucharist just so He can be close to me. 

If we can teach our kids that Lent is a time to grow closer to Jesus, and one way we do that is by giving up meat or our normal meal schedule, I think we are well on our way to teaching them the true meaning of penance. And if they learn that lesson now, while they are small, then perhaps it will just be the normal fabric of life by the time they reach their teenage years, rather than a burdensome or arbitrary rule with no context.

Here are a few ideas on how to introduce penance and fasting to your children.

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary guides us through discernment for how to hear the Father’s voice more clearly this Lent through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.

Are you afraid to approach God?

Jesus says, “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them… But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.” Matthew 6:5-6 

Fr. Mike reminds us that God sees us, notices us and cares for us. Don’t be afraid to approach the throne of grace.

“My God, my God why have you abandoned me?” Psalm 22:1 Are you praying everyday but still suffering? Are you doing all the right things but your heart is still broken?

Fr. Mike shares with us today that God doesn’t promise all our desires, but promises that He will be with us through our sufferings. He reminds us that we are never abandoned by Him.

You need to know yourself in order to find the best ways to live Lent. Take some time to consider who you are and what your relationships need.

It’s important to know yourself well when you decide how you will fast, pray, and give alms this Lent.

If you do, then maybe you can combine all three in ways that are tailor-made to improve the most important relationships of your life.

Let’s start with your relationship with God.

We all have a different problem here. 

Maybe you are overwhelmed. Are you exhausted by your many devotions? Maybe you do rosaries, chaplets, and novenas  — and rosary novenas and chaplet novenas —  along with daily Mass, feast day activities, daily podcasts, and parish events, and you’re drowning in it all.

Or maybe you are presumptuous. Maybe you do all of those things and you actually keep up with it all. Your inbox provides the novena for next week’s feast each morning, you are on the second half of a 54-day rosary novena, you get a chaplet in most afternoons at around 3, and you are going through Bible in a Year for the third time. Maybe you are pretty sure that even God is impressed with you.

Or maybe your spiritual life is on hold. Maybe you did many of these things for much of your life, but you are just really, really busy right now. You totally plan to pray again — when you have more time. Maybe in late spring?

Whether you are overwhelmed, presumptuous, or on hold —  you can do something about it this Lent. Give up worrying about anything but daily prayer, Sunday Mass, and regular confession — but put more into each of those. At your daily prayer, picture Jesus sitting across from you, lean forward, and say, “Can we just talk for a change?” He would love to hear from you.

Then comes your relationship with your spouse.

Again, let’s be clear where we are starting. 

Are you walking on eggshells with your spouse? Maybe you’re fine, totally fine, as long as you can steer the conversation away from two or three or, well, maybe 10, touchy topics that set you off. If you talk about any of those you get angry fights or silent funks. So you don’t talk about those. And you’re fine.

Are you being maternalistic or paternalistic with your spouse? Maybe your husband complains that you don’t let him do anything he likes and that you shut down every plan he tries to make — but of course you do because his priorities are all wrong. Or maybe your wife complains that you don’t listen to her — but you most certainly do listen, on the rare occasions she actually has something important to say.

Do your Lenten practices feel arbitrary? Do your penances seem ineffective? If you’re feeling this way, you might be wondering, “what do you want from me this Lent, God?” 

You might hear the answer as you receive cruciform ashes on your forehead this Ash Wednesday: “Repent, and believe in the Gospel.” 

Fr. Mark-Mary wants you to transform your Lent with one simple idea: repentance. There is a better way to do this, and it’s not complicated. We hope you have a blessed Lent this year!

©AscensionPresents

Lent is often a time when we are invited to pray the Stations of the Cross, a devotion that has multiple lessons we can learn about the spiritual life.

One of the most popular devotions during Lent is the Stations of the Cross. Parishes around the world will hold special times when the faithful can come to the Church and pray the Stations together.

It is a devotion that simply “makes sense” during Lent, as it is focused on the intense passion and death of Jesus Christ.

The Directory on popular piety and the liturgy explains that it is a “synthesis” of various Lenten devotions:

The Via Crucis is a synthesis of various devotions that have arisen since the high middle ages: the pilgrimage to the Holy Land during which the faithful devoutly visit the places associated with the Lord’s Passion; devotion to the three falls of Christ under the weight of the Cross; devotion to “the dolorous journey of Christ” which consisted in processing from one church to another in memory of Christ’s Passion; devotion to the stations of Christ, those places where Christ stopped on his journey to Calvary because obliged to do so by his executioners or exhausted by fatigue, or because moved by compassion to dialogue with those who were present at his Passion.

While it certainly is focused on Jesus’ passion, the Directory notes four additional lessons that we can learn from it.

1. Life as a Pilgrimage

The Directory explains that the Stations of the Cross can open us up to the idea of, “life being a journey or pilgrimage.”

When praying the Stations of the Cross, it is common to move from one station to the next. This physical movement is sometimes made even more dramatic when praying at outdoor stations that wind its way up and down a hill.

Our life is a journey, a pilgrimage, that will be difficult at times, but will lead us to our ultimate home.

2. Preparation for Heaven

Connected to the previous lesson, the Stations can remind us that our life is “a passage from earthly exile to our true home in Heaven.”

Life can be difficult and Jesus’ passion puts this suffering on full display. When praying the Stations we can reflect on our own lives and how the many sufferings we experience prepare us for our true home.

3. Uniting ourselves to Jesus’ Passion

The Stations have an obvious lesson of igniting within us “the deep desire to be conformed to the Passion of Christ.”

While we may not always feel a great inner desire to be united to Jesus’ Passion, the Stations are a reminder to us that Jesus invites us to be with us at the cross.

There’s something special about Mass on Ash Wednesday — Catholics everywhere scramble to find a church and a Mass time so they can fit it into their day.

If you’re Catholic and walking around with a clean forehead on Ash Wednesday, you kinda feel like you went to work without your pants. But at the same time, when you do have ashes on your head, it’s hard to avoid the feeling that you’re a walking billboard for religion.

It’s a confusing day to be Catholic. If we’re supposed to “pray in secret” as Jesus commands in the Ash Wednesday Gospel reading, is it really a good idea to paste something on our foreheads to tell the world that we’re practicing our faith? On the other hand, when you see someone at the deli counter wearing their own smudge of ashes, you can give them a silent nod with the knowledge that you’re in this thing together and that’s pretty cool.

Perhaps Ash Wednesday is an important day for Catholics of all types because those ashes signify our participation in a community that’s walking toward God together. Even for those who haven’t been to Mass in ages, receiving and wearing those ashes is an important outward sign of an inward reality: we’re all part of this family.

There’s more to Ash Wednesday Mass than just the ashes, though. If it were just about smudging foreheads, they’d have a drive-through lane next to the church! When you’re at Mass on Ash Wednesday, here are three things to notice beyond the ashes.

1. Standing in line

When we walk forward to receive ashes, we walk in a line, just like we do to receive Communion. This line is a great equalizer — rich and poor, young and old, Yankees fans and Red Sox fans — we all walk in the same line toward one destination. Many stand in front of us, many stand behind.

It’s not a bad image for why we turn to faith: we walk together toward the table where God meets us, and then we return to where we came from. We’re all poor and hungry in line for a meal. We come and we go, together.

We can think of Mass as a beating heart, drawing us in, sending us out. When we join this rhythm, we’re restored and renewed as we approach the altar, and then we are sent out to take that nourishment to others.

That doesn’t mean that every time we come to Mass, we have an earth-shattering epiphany, or even an emotional experience. It just means that we come to Mass to connect our lives to God’s life in ordinary ways.

How to fight the battle for our souls — and win.

If you knew you had to fight for your life, would you want some time to prepare for that struggle? How would you spend that time? Surely, you would want to spend some of that time choosing suitable weapons and defenses, and you would want to learn how to use them well.

Most of us will never have to fight for our physical lives, but all of us are in a fight — right now — for our souls.  Every human soul is a battleground between the grace of God and the evil of the fallen world, fallen flesh, and the devil. The season of Lent is a time to be vividly reminded of that constant, often hidden conflict. In an earlier column, I described Lent as a time to get serious about confronting the evil within us and the evil around us.  In my last column, I wrote about how to discern whether we are fulfilling or failing Lent’s purposes.  This week, let’s look at the tools needed to fight Lent’s battle — the battle for our souls — and win.

The three traditional Lenten disciplines are prayer, fasting and almsgiving. Saint Peter Chrysologus taught that “prayer knocks, fasting obtains, mercy receives.” How can we take that wisdom to heart for Lent, and let those disciplines become our arms and armor for the constant battle for our souls?

Let’s start with prayer. Jesus never said, “Pray more” or “Pray better.” He did teach us to pray always. (Luke 18:1) To pray is to enter consciously and deliberately into the presence of God. Jesus was faithful unto death because He knew that He was always in the presence of our Heavenly Father, even when He did not feel that presence.

If you had the opportunity to be constantly in the presence of a father who loved you absolutely, would you take it? But we all have that opportunity! We are all always in the presence of our Heavenly Father Who loves us perfectly. During this Lenten season, find the answer to this question: “What would my life look like if I really believed that I am always in the presence of my Heavenly Father, Who loves me absolutely?” Then live according to the answer to that question — whether you feel like it or not. To “pray always” means to “practice the presence of God.” 

What about fasting? So many people seemed caught up in parsing the minutiae of what constitutes a fast and what does not qualify as a fast. Those considerations are not irrelevant, but they are not paramount.

Valentine’s Day celebrates the life of St. Valentine of Rome, a priest who was martyred on February 14.

February 14 marks the popular holiday of Valentine’s Day, a day to show your love to someone special in your life.

The reason it is called Valentine’s Day is because the Church used to celebrate the life of St. Valentine on this date.

Who was St. Valentine?

February 14 honors the memory of St. Valentine of Rome, a priest who was martyred on this day in the year 270.

A brief biography of St. Valentine is featured in Butler’s Lives of the Saints.

Valentine was a holy priest in Rome, who, with Saint Marius and his family, assisted the martyrs in the persecution under Claudius II. He was apprehended, and sent by the emperor to the prefect of Rome; who, on finding all his promises to make him renounce his faith ineffectual, commanded him to be beaten with clubs, and afterwards to be beheaded, which was executed on the 14th of February, about the year 270. 

Generally speaking, this is most of what we know about the real St. Valentine with any certainty. After his death many legends were composed about him. One of the earliest legends about his life is featured in the Golden Legend.

When St. Valentine was brought in a house in prison, then he prayed to God, saying: “Lord Jesus Christ, very God, which art very light, illumine this house in such wise that they that dwell therein may know you to be very God.” And the provost said: “I marvel that you say that your God is very light, and nevertheless, if he may make my daughter to hear and see, which long time hath been blind, I shall do all that you command me, and shall believe in your God.” St. Valentine put him in prayers, and by his prayers the daughter of the provost received again her sight, and all they of the the house were converted. After, the emperor cut off the head of St. Valentine, the year of our Lord two hundred and eighty.

It wasn’t until much later that St. Valentine was associated with lovers, and the invention of the modern-day celebration of Valentine’s Day. Even the story of St. Valentine performing marriages comes at a later date.

Regardless of these later additions to this story, the early Christians venerated St. Valentine of Rome as a holy martyr, who stayed faithful to Christ despite persecution.

Sometimes, Valentine’s Day can feel a little.. cliche? We fall into it “feeling” the same every year — flowers, chocolates, or dinner. These are all beautiful things! But how can we make it feel really meaningful. 

Just like anniversaries have taught us, creating intentionality in your relationship takes time, effort, and sometimes, a little extra guidance. From guidance or structure can come really profound fruit. 

Occasionally, ‘guidance’ can take the form of leaning on a list.

Again, you may be thinking:
“My spouse won’t respond if I pull out a list of questions!”
“It’s just going to be me responding.”
“I don’t feel comfortable sharing these.”
“This isn’t how my spouse and I talk to one another!”
“This feels forced and too cheesy.” 

And while these thoughts are valid, it’s important to also acknowledge that sometimes, nurturing relationships requires utilizing some communication tools to make space for the kind of experiences you truly want. 

Structure can feel forced or disingenuous; however, authentic, genuine, deep connection often doesn’t come naturally—whether that’s because you are still figuring out your communication style as a new couple or you’ve spent years getting really comfortable with one another and have fallen into status quo. 

Whether you’re spending time with your spouse or partner over dinner, writing them a card, or simply spending a few minutes together connecting between bedtimes and cleaning up the house–the questions below are meant to bring a deeper layer of intentionality. This is a chance to check in on each person and continue to support one another in the ways needed.

So, we want to propose a few Valentines Day questions to ask your partner, whether you’re in year 1 or year 30. 

• What is something that has brought you a lot of joy lately? 
• What has been the most challenging thing for you lately? 
• Pick three words you would use to describe yourself right now.
• What was the last great book you read / podcast you listened to?
• What area of life do you want to grow in? 
• What ways are you growing spiritually? 
• What do you think God is doing in your life, or speaking to you right now? 
• What has been rewarding in your career lately? 
• What has been rewarding at home? 
• What is one goal you are currently working towards?
• What was something that you have grown in valuing of your partner recently?
• What is something you feel like we’ve done well as a couple? 
• What is something that you hope we can grow in? 
• What do you need me from me? How can I support you?

This might get lost in your inbox – so download these questions as cards and print them out, or swipe through on your phone!

“I already feel guilty enough about what I did. I don’t need a priest to make me feel more guilty.”

Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are three spiritual practices we encourage during Lent. As part of those practices, we also encourage making a good confession. And yet, rather oddly, some people see feeling guilty as an obstacle to this sacrament.

If you already feel guilty about something you have said or done, that means you recognize it as wrong. And, that’s not bad. Folks who couldn’t care less if they hurt someone are the worrisome ones. They have the bigger problem. But, back to you.

The priest isn’t there to make you feel more guilty, but to help you move through your sense of guilt to being freed to live the life that God wants you to live. God wants to unburden you from an ego that is focused only on yourself.

6 points for going to Confession without feeling more guilty

It’s been a while since I’ve gone to confession.

That’s okay. Just tell that to the priest, and he will help you. The priest understands that people forget, or even never learned, how to go to confession. So, when you go into the reconciliation room (sometimes still called the confessional), just tell him:

“Father, it’s been a while since I’ve made a confession, and I don’t remember how it’s done. Can you help me?” (or) “I haven’t done this before. I don’t know how to begin.”

Remember this ONE thing above all else.

The priest is not there to judge you, but to be a minister of God’s love and forgiveness. He is there to serve you and your relationship with God.

Before you see the priest.

Consider the following two questions in preparation for confession:

1. How long has it been since your last confession?
2. What is it that you would like God to forgive you for? If you’re not sure, then ask yourself what prompts you to go to confession. Perhaps …

• You do not pray every day.
• You intentionally hurt someone.
• You did something that is contrary to the Christian life.
• You are unable let go of a grudge against someone who hurt you or someone you love.

Remember this, too.

A confession is not a trial by a judge or jury, but part of the Sacrament of God’s forgiveness — God’s loving embrace of you. God knows that you are not perfect, which is why he gives you Jesus. Jesus died on the cross and rose from the dead. With Jesus, you move through death to life. With Jesus, you can move from feeling guilty to living life as Jesus wants you to live.

As Catholics around the world embark on the Jubilee of Hope, Archbishop J. Michael Miller, CSB, has shared a Pastoral Letter encouraging us to embrace this sacred time as a season of renewal, grace, and spiritual growth. Drawing from the rich traditions of the Church, he outlines five meaningful ways to fully participate in the Jubilee Year of 2025.

Here are his five practices to help you along the way:

1. Welcome Christ into Your Heart

On the Feast of the Holy Family, we opened the Jubilee in the Archdiocese of Vancouver. With the Church throughout the world, we  proclaimed: “For everyone, may the Jubilee be a moment of genuine, personal encounter with the Lord Jesus, the ‘door’ (cf. John 10:7,9) of our salvation, whom the Church is charged to proclaim always, everywhere, and to all as ‘our hope’ (1 Timothy 1:1).”

This year of Jubilee – as in any other year! – is a time to welcome Christ more profoundly into our hearts. For some, this may mean welcoming Him to be the Lord of their lives for the first time. The Jubilee urges others to deepen the relationship begun at Baptism and re-centre themselves in Him. 

Conversion and ongoing conversion are always available to us as a grace of the Holy Spirit. St. Ambrose spoke succinctly of these two conversions, “there are water and tears: the water of Baptism and the tears of repentance.”  May these words of St Ambrose lead us this year to seek more profound encounters with Christ, our “hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27)!

Indeed, the Jubilee of Hope can inspire a new beginning in our spiritual life, the possibility to starting again from Christ and the Gospel.

2. Sow Hope

Christian hope differs from the wishful thinking that everything will align with what we want. Optimism is fleeting; it always has an expiration date. On the other hand, Christian hope is an enduring gift of the Holy Spirit. It remains steadfast because it’s rooted in God’s unwavering fidelity. This hope strengthens us, allowing us to navigate even the most challenging times with confidence. 

As the Apostle Paul reminds us, “If God is for us [and He is!], who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31). We should also share the profound insight of the medieval mystic Julian of Norwich: “All will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”

True hope doesn’t lead to passivity but to action. “The one who has hope lives differently; the one who hopes has been granted the gift of a new life.”  In this Jubilee year, let’s combat pessimism by fanning the spark of hope into a flame and helping others look to the future with confidence. 

Have you ever had one of those experiences that was a big turning point in your life? In the moment, perhaps you didn’t know how it was going to affect your future, but you knew you’d be different as a result of it?

Yeah, well that was me after I went on a nine-day pilgrimage to France this past Christmas.

A pilgrimage is a journey made to some sacred place as an act of religious devotion, but traveling to different holy sites in France with four friends of mine was so much more than an act of religious devotion — it was a spiritual adventure. I left life behind, logged off all my social media accounts, put my phone in my backpack, and embraced where I was.

Setting out on the trip, I had a few questions stirring in my heart. At 23, I was unsatisfied with my current career path, and wanted clarity on the future, so I left. I don’t know that I was searching for answers to those questions as much as just a greater depth and understanding of who I am, who God is, and what I’m being called to do with my life.

I knew by getting to know the One who created me more intimately, I would understand more about life, myself, and the questions on my heart. The trip gave me the opportunity to quiet my heart and just be. I went in with a wide open heart, and though I didn’t find any concrete answers to the question about where my life was going, I came back with a sense of profound peace.

While I experienced many beautiful blessings on the trip, the biggest ones occurred in Lourdes, a place in France people visit to seek healing because Mary appeared there.

Over several months in 1848, Mary appeared a number of times to a 14-year-old peasant girl named Bernadette. The young girl had little education and when she tried to explain what happened to her, everyone thought she was making it up. During one of the apparitions, though, Mary instructed Bernadette to start digging in the ground and drink from the spring that would appear. People became concerned as the young girl began digging, eating dirt, and drinking muddy water, but soon, a miraculous spring came forth.

That same spring continues to flow even today and has been the source of many miracles. The Church eventually approved Lourdes as an official Marian apparition siteand millions of pilgrims began journeying there each year seeking physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental healing.

And I get it. To many people in the world today, miraculous waters may sound like some kind of ploy to get attention or money.

At Mass one Sunday morning, as I was kneeling after receiving Communion, I glanced up to see a man pushing his wife’s wheelchair over to the Eucharistic minister. I watched the husband patiently stand by his wife and coax her to open her mouth to receive the host. I found out later that the woman had early onset Alzheimer’s. The tragedy of this disease was eclipsed by the unconditional love I saw in this husband living out his marriage vows. It was an example of pure and beautiful love, a true display of a Godly marriage and faith lived out loud. 

During my spiritual journey, I have struggled to feel close to God during Mass, despite knowing He is physically present. I yearn for this closeness, and I feel jealous when I hear others talking about their profound experiences with the Eucharist. This intimacy has always felt unattainable to me, and while I don’t know why I haven’t experienced it, I keep going back. I hope for this one day, but in meantime, God has found other ways to draw me closer to His heart. 

God speaks to me through small, day-to-day miracles — through interactions with strangers or in the beauty I find in art or nature. It can be as simple as a funny conversation, witnessing an act of humanity, or observing from afar how people treat one another. When I find a piece of art that is profoundly beautiful, I am always awestruck by how our talents are God-given, and the act of using them is a way of saying “yes” to God. Catholics sometimes have the impression that we must reject all things “worldly,” but my faith experience has led me to embrace the world and to not be afraid of what it has to offer. My mom always describes this approach by saying that we are meant “to be in the world, but not of it.” This doesn’t mean unconditional acceptance of everything, but rather only of the pure, beautiful, and true. It’s so easy to get caught up in the despair, sadness, and unsightly things we come across on a day-to-day basis. The goodness that presents itself in the simple minutiae of life can lead us to God’s presence. 

The saints were my first examples of what it means to live a holy and faith-filled life that puts God first. The saints are amazing role models, and their example can teach us how to find God in the everyday. Many found holiness removed from the world, however. The lives of some of these holy men and women seem distant and unattainable — we are not all called to a monastic religious life or to spend hours each day in prayer. 

“What should I do with my life?” It’s a question on many hearts, maybe even our own. 

In this video, Father Mike Schmitz gives some direction that can lead to an answer for ourselves or someone we know. He shares how a vocation is more than just figuring out whether we’re called to married life or religious life, and it’s about more than just finding out what we like to do. 

As he breaks down three different types of vocation we all have, he draws a practical path we can follow to pursue holiness.

We become like the things we spend the most time with.

At the beginning of this year, I made a goal for myself to stop reading journalism with shallow or narrow perspectives. I didn’t like the way it was forming me to think and I wanted to be more proactive about the things I let into my mind. I canceled my news subscription and signed up for a print magazine. I don’t agree with everything this magazine publishes but I like the way it makes me think.

I’ve had a habit for a little while now of checking their top stories each day and reading them. Over time, I’ve noticed that the more I read their articles, the more I start to embrace their way of thinking. Their view of the world, culture, and social issues has impacted how I consider and evaluate issues in my own life and I appreciate the way it’s deepened my ability to think critically.

We become like the things we spend the most time with.

This reality was something that the Hebrew educational system in Jesus’ time seemed to take very seriously. An ancient Hebrew proverb says something to the effect of “may you be covered in the dust of your Rabbi.” The image here evokes someone who follows so closely behind their teacher that the dust from his feet is kicked up onto them and covers them. This was the educational system Jesus chose to invite His followers into, one where the dust from His feet would cover them as they followed Him ever more closely.

This image of discipleship has been top of mind for me over the last few years as I’ve considered the things that I allow to shape and form me. I’ve been led to ask myself the difficult question: “is there anything or anyone I allow to ‘disciple me’ more than Jesus does?” If I’m honest, there is one thing that competes most successfully for my attention.

The global daily average for time spent on screens is 6 hours, 58 minutes. Statistics such as this one are often presented in an alarming way. I don’t believe this is always warranted – it’s a fact of life that in our digital age, we will spend much time working, communicating, and recreating through digital devices. At the same time, I fear that many Christians who hope to seriously follow Jesus, have not given enough thought to how these digital devices are forming and shaping them. In other words, do I ever consider what kind of person my technology is making me into?

Here are some of the questions I have used over the last few years to evaluate the impact technology is having on my life, as well as a practice recommended by my spiritual director that has been instrumental in helping me make room for Jesus to be the one who forms me first.

We are told to honor our mother and father…but what about our grandparents? Well they get a special shout-out today, in the readings, and in our lives. Preached on a mission at St. John the Baptist Church in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma on March 11, 2015.

© 2024 Busted Halo^®, All rights reserved.

I stepped through the door of the newborn intensive care unit (NICU) trembling. When I found my daughter’s son, Allen Joseph, I froze. It was the first time I had ever seen him. I’d never expected a moment like this, his premature, tiny body swaddled in a blanket and connected to machines all around him. As I placed my finger on his cheek, tears streamed down my face. Welcome to the world, Allen Joseph.

That’s when it happened. My heart stretched and grew a whole new chamber. From the very first moment I saw him, I loved every single ounce of my first grandson. And I knew I would never be the same.

Today we have four grandsons, and we have dreams for each one: Allen, Sam, Matthew, and Michael. Our deepest desire is that they each will lead great lives. We want them to be happy. We pray each will find life in Jesus and his Church.

God has great dreams for each child. And he calls grandparents to help our grandchildren achieve them. God has given us this new vocation, the life of a grandparent.

Here are five simple ways to play a significant role in shaping your grandchild’s life and faith:

1. Love lavishly

Children value and follow those they trust and love. If you want to help shape your grandchild’s life, they will have to trust you first. To trust you, they will first need to experience your love.

This love is experienced most of all in time spent being fully present with your grandchild. Hug your grandson. Tell your granddaughter you love her every time you talk to or see her. Let your home be a place of refuge and security. Send cards or gifts. Make video calls. Text messages of love. Visit as often as you can. Play together. Listen attentively to everything they say.

Your undivided attention shows children that they matter and are loved, and secure love lays the foundation for faith.  

2. Pray passionately

Just imagine what your family would look like if you made it your one goal to pray each day for their faith and their lives. Every family needs a prayer champion. Imagine the confidence your grandson or granddaughter will feel throughout their life by simply knowing that their grandparent prays for them each day by name.

3. Dream deeply

Dreams are powerful, and each of us has them. Kids dream naturally. In those dreams, they find their purpose for life and their passions for living.

How do you help your grandchild to dream? Ask questions. Ask them about what they want to be, what they hope for, or what makes them excited.

Your grandparents, aunts and uncles, and older loved ones have a lifetime of wisdom to share. Why not carve out some time to sit down and ask them about it?

We’ve put together this list of questions that you can print out and jot down their answers about their childhood, favourite things, and life lessons. And don’t feel like you need to stick to the handout — the questions can serve as conversation starters. Your loved ones will likely have more to share than we could even think up!

Download the worksheet by clicking the link below:

Download Worksheet

©2024 Grotto Network

On which sin are we reflecting today?  Envy.  A young married woman gave me permission to share how she’s struggling so much with not being able to have children yet.  Every time a friend gets pregnant, or someone talks about the beauty of children, her heart sinks.  Why can’t she have children of her own?  Why won’t God the Father give her something good, that we’re made to have?  When some friends try to console her by saying, “God’s calling you to be a spiritual mother,” that does nothing for her whatsoever.

Her pain is real and normal.  Let’s acknowledge the pain that many of us feel when we want something good and don’t receive it: wanting to get married, be healthy, have financial security.  But then there’s the sin of envy we feel when we see others have what we desire and we’re not happy for them.

We can understand the experience of the older brother in the Gospel.  He’s in the field working, and, while approaching the house, hears the celebration.  A slave tells him that his younger brother, who is depicted in the parable as truly an awful person, is receiving the celebration.  The older brother then tells his father, “Listen!  For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” (Lk 15:29-30).

The experience of perceived injustice is painful.  It would be one thing if the younger brother had received the same treatment as he did, but the younger brother receives more!

Here’s the first step in overcoming envy: Speak your pain.  Never insult God, but do say exactly how you feel.  The Father expects us to speak and listens to it.  

The second step is to ask Him questions: “Father, why do You give good things to those who don’t deserve them?  Why don’t You give basic good things to me?  Why can’t I receive them?”  Once we get it all out, then we’re ready to hear what He says.

The Gospel says that “his father came out and began to plead with him” (15:28).  This father is actually not unfair; he cares about both his children equally.  That’s why he humbles himself as a father and goes out to meet his elder son.  And his words reveal his heart: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours” (15:31).  The word ‘Son,’ and of course, ‘daughter,’ reveals God’s love for us.

One of the defining struggles of our generation is to balance the way technology occupies our attention and desire with our calling to live intentionally and boldly. Digital technology certainly enriches our lives, but we all know that restless, distracted feeling it can leave us with, too.

Cal Newport’s most recent book, Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World, offers a practical and convincing solution to those of us who feel enslaved by the dizzying swarm of our technological “conveniences.” Newport, a professor at Georgetown and a New York Times best-selling author, understands that what’s needed is not merely a list of helpful tips or theorized critiques regarding our relationship with digital technology, but an entirely new approach to living.

Such an approach, according to Newport, is summed up by the phrase “digital minimalism,” which he describes as a “philosophy of technology use in which you focus your online time on a small number of carefully selected and optimized activities that strongly support things you value, and then happily miss out on everything else.”

The key word here is “happily” — Newport isn’t proposing a way of life concerned with superficial outcomes like efficiency or utility, but rather one with greater happiness and fruitful relationships.

What I appreciate most about Newport’s insights (besides the fact that they are well-researched) is that he takes very seriously the issue of our addiction to technology. To be clear, Newport is no Luddite — he’s a computer science professor, after all — so he doesn’t fault the latest technologies in and of themselves, but rather their unintentional and aimless use. For Newport, a haphazard and unreflective relationship with the latest technologies ultimately hinders a well-lived life.

Here’s his main thesis: Our lives are cluttered with technologies that offer us little benefit in exchange for their cost. For example, it’s easy to justify maintaining platforms like LinkedIn or Twitter because of the benefit of possibly connecting to others who can introduce us to new opportunities. And while that can indeed be a benefit, if it comes at the cost of spending 20 hours a week on those platforms, then we need to reconsider the actual value of that benefit.

In other words, we need to be doing a cost-benefit analysis of the technologies we use and not overlook the hidden value of our time — something that we all have in limited supply. Such costs can come in the form of weakened relationships with loved ones, feelings of restlessness, and countless hours of lost time.

Newport also highlights that we tend not to think about how we use a given technology — only whether we should use it or not.

Throughout history, people have asked the question, what makes us human? Philosophers, scientists, and theologians have all tackled this question in different ways, and I won’t claim to have a new answer. But I have found that looking at humanity through the lens of technology — and the future we’re building towards with it — offers me new insights into the answer to that question.  

In its simplest form, a human is a person as distinguished from an animal or (in science fiction) an alien. However, being human is much more complicated than that. We are rational beings capable of understanding and making decisions, we have curiosity about the world around us and we have a wide variety of emotions that affect both of the former. In a spiritual sense, we are beings that live for one another when fully cooperating with the Lord through our free will. He did not want to make slaves or clones but instead, those who are in His likeness. Due to this, we are meant to be creators and not solely consumers of the things around us. 

The rise of technology

In the last two decades, technology has been a significant part of people’s lives. From the increase in household use of the World Wide Web to the unveiling of the iPhone in 2007, the world has been increasing its use of technology in daily life. Facebook changed the way we share information with friends and family, initiating the start of social media. 

Today, AI tools are capable of writing papers, creating realistic images, imitating people’s voices, and much more. Robot vacuums clean our houses for us. “Alexa” turns on our lights, sets reminders for us, and changes the temperature in the room with a simple voice command. We have increased people’s ability to talk with those on the other side of the world as well as enabled clearer communication for those who are nonverbal through keyboard or eye-scanning communication devices. 

Along with these benefits of advanced technology, there have also been drawbacks. Technology has pushed society towards more consumerism. Not only do we consume media through our phones and televisions, but we are also bombarded by advertisements in our social media feeds, encouraging us to buy more using an algorithm that pushes ads individually suited to our tastes and habits. 

Technology shapes our lives

Since the rise of social media and the widespread use of the internet, scientists have been interested in the effect of technology on the brains of both young and old individuals. One study found that most adults use the internet daily, and nearly one out of four report being online most of the time.

Maura’s Story

Around a dozen girls, sporting the reliable Catholic school plaid, sat in a classroom tucked away in a side hallway on the third floor of an all-girls high school. During the fall of 2006 and into 2007, the room was filled with raucous, back-and-forth conversations every time the class met. We talked about the genocide in Darfur, homelessness in our city of Boston, and the death penalty. Tough topics, but this was senior year theology at my high school: a yearlong class in social justice.

We read the work of Catholics who dedicate their lives to social justice work, watched Frontline documentaries, and studied the seven themes of Catholic Social Teaching until they were basically second nature. When we weren’t in our classroom chairs, there was a community service requirement to fulfill, because the mission of the sisters who founded our school, the Sisters of St. Joseph, is to “love the dear neighbor without distinction.”

We didn’t always have the same ideas about how to help or even who to help. One classmate sold T-shirts and donated the proceeds to a nonprofit. Another volunteered at a local food pantry. I helped out at a theatre camp focused on building self-esteem in preteen girls. But whatever we did, it all came back to the idea that every life has inherent value and potential.

I’ve been Catholic since my baptism in November 1988, but attempting to live out what I learned during senior year high school theology is why I’m Catholic today.

For me, the heart of the Catholic Church and Jesus’ message, is reaching out and helping others. Different messages and priorities might seem louder or more prominent, depending on who is talking, but my lived experience of being Catholic is one that aligns with the image of a welcoming Jesus — a man who sought out people who were different from him, who helped people who were otherwise overlooked.

There have been times when I’ve been embarrassed to be Catholic, especially with all that continues to come to light with the clergy abuse crisis. Sometimes, it feels like my experience of Catholicism might not exist anymore, and it definitely isn’t the one that gets attention. I’ve worried that people might assume the worst of me when they hear the worst of my Church. But then I remember those conversations in that third-floor classroom, and the group of women who went out into the world to bring justice to others, each in their own way. So I resolve to be that vision of Catholicism, to be representative of the Church at its best, not its worst.

One of my favorite church songs is called “The Servant Song,” and it includes these lyrics: “We are pilgrims on the journey, we are travellers on the road.

Research suggests that, on average, we make well more than 200 decisions every day about what we eat and drink. And yet, most people are aware of making only 15 to 20 daily nutrition-related decisions. These findings could easily be extrapolated to other areas of decision-making throughout a typical day. Not only do many of our choices lack intentionality, but often we aren’t even aware we’re making decisions at all.

We humans are an adaptive bunch. Arguably, there are thousands of micro-decisions to be made each day, and it would be overwhelming to deliberate over each one. (Chidi from The Good Place, anyone?) Part of the problem is that our commercialized culture presents us with a dizzying array of choices about things that don’t really matter, as author Thomas Merton famously diagnosed one day while shopping for toothpaste after spending the previous months “off the grid.”

The trick is to identify which decisions are worth weighing carefully and which aren’t. It might help to relearn the art of asking what might be termed “foundational questions.” Foundational questions come packaged in the rawest, most basic language and demand an answer not just from the information in our heads but from the very fabric of how we understand the mysteries of life.

Asking foundational questions is built into the very DNA of toddlers and college students, but somewhere along the way we mistakenly “outgrow” the habit. During our young professional years, many of us are busy developing the expertise and specialization necessary to analyze profit margins, decipher CT scans, or diffuse temper tantrums. Incidentally, the young professional years — when there is the least amount of mental and emotional space for asking foundational questions — are when many of us begin making for ourselves what might equally be called foundational decisions that shape the course of our lives and the type of people we’re becoming: deciding what neighborhood we live in, what kind of work we will do, and what and how much we consume.

For more than two millennia, folks in the Church have been asking foundational questions about life in this beautiful, broken, and messy world in light of three beliefs central to the Catholic Christian faith: 1) God lovingly created a good world; 2) the goodness of creation has been damaged by sin; and 3) God became human and invites us to participate in His saving work here and now toward our final good in the life to come.

Guided by these three tenets, people of faith and goodwill throughout the Church’s history have accumulated questions, time-tested good ideas, and real-life examples in building up what is known as the Catholic social tradition, or CST.

“Pass those plates down to the food disposal,” Grandpa would inevitably boom at the end of each meal, scraping sandwich crusts and half-eaten bowls of applesauce into a pile on his plate. Through the doorway of the adjacent dining room, our parents winced as Grandpa smilingly gobbled down his 18 grandchildren’s scraps. They knew that their admonitions to “Eat your dinner or no dessert” had been empty threats, for Grandpa’s presence at the kids’ table and his commitment to letting no food remnant go to waste were as ritual as the Sunday Mass we had just attended.

Grandpa hated wasting food. As he enthusiastically drank the briny juice from a pickle jar once the last spear had been consumed, he passed the value of being conscientious down to his children and grandchildren. Our attitude toward food waste is more than a family tradition, though; it is a value intimately tied with our faith. And it’s particularly linked to one of the greatest treasures of our tradition: Catholic Social Teaching.

Informed by Scripture, the Catechism, Vatican documents, bishops’ letters and more, Catholic Social Teaching offers an abundance of wisdom and guidance on living justly in our current world. The U.S. Council of Catholic Bishops has identified seven key themes that run throughout the tradition, and some of them are especially helpful when considering how we treat the food that passes through our lives.

Option for the poor and vulnerable

Keeping a preferential option for the poor means considering first how the choices we make will impact the most vulnerable members of our world. This includes the small, everyday decisions of our lives. When the burger we ordered is overcooked, do we send it back and ask for a new one? What do we do when we’d prefer a fresh meal to finishing yesterday’s leftovers? When we’re in a hurry, do we take the time to wash and prepare the soon-to-spoil vegetables in the refrigerator? In each of these choices, we are called to keep the poor and vulnerable in mind and to remember that our decisions have repercussions. Refusing to waste may not solve the problems of world hunger, but it can reduce our grocery budgets so that we are able to share more with the poor, and it can act as an antidote to entitlement, reminding us that our priority should be considering the vulnerable, not minding our own preferences.

Rights and responsibilities

Human dignity can only be honored if basic human rights are met, including the rights to food, housing, medical care, education, equality, and freedom of religion. Those of us with full pantries have the responsibility to not only make thoughtful individual choices but also to consider how our food system can better protect the rights of the most vulnerable.