Category: Behold Vancouver

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.