GUEST COLUMN
By Joe Pearson
There were many sleepy eyes as we seminarians gathered for Mass at 3:15 a.m. before departing for our mission trip to Costa Rica. The chapel was dark and quiet, without the usual buzz of the choir rehearsing, but there was an air of excitement and anticipation.

The prayer over the Offerings for that Mass, the Memorial of St. Francis Xavier, was a fitting send-off: “Receive, O Lord, these offerings we bring you in commemoration of St. Francis Xavier, and grant that, as he journeyed to distant lands out of longing for the salvation of souls, so we, too, bearing effective witness to the Gospel, may, with our brothers and sisters, eagerly hasten toward you. Through Christ our Lord.”

As part of our priestly formation, each year the class of first-configuration seminarians travels to the Diocese of Limón on the western coast of Costa Rica. The week consists of evangelization, manual labor and the celebration of liturgy with the people.

Our flight arrived in the capital city of San José, and from there we bused to our base camp in Limón. We were joyfully greeted by Father Pablo Escriva de Romani, a missionary priest originally from Madrid, Spain, who would be our leader for the week. We immediately gathered for an hour of Eucharistic exposition and evening prayer.

“It is important to remember we are evangelists, not social workers,” Father Pablo said over dinner that first night, a point he reiterated throughout the trip. The source of our strength was prayer. Our purpose was not merely to perform charitable acts but to encounter people. Our motivation was not simply that it is good to help those in need. We have encountered the gratuitous love of our Lord, and as a consequence we are compelled to share that love with our neighbors, especially the poor, with whom Christ aligns himself in a unique way.

The next day, we set out a few miles down the road to work in conjunction with the Missionaries of Charity, the religious order founded by St. Mother Teresa. Through them, we were connected with two refugee families whose homes were in desperate need of repair. We spent the day tearing out rotting floors and digging holes for the concrete pillars that would support new ones. Throughout our work, we spoke with the families, and at the end of the day we gathered to pray with them and thank them for the opportunity to serve.

From there, our trip transitioned as we drove to remote villages of the indigenous people to minister to them and celebrate Mass. I rode with Father Pablo as we bounced along rough mountain roads in his old 4Runner. His excitement was contagious. He grinned from ear to ear, like a child awaiting Christmas morning. His love for the people was tangible.

For more than 40 years, the indigenous communities had not been visited by a priest until Father Pablo began doing so about 10 years ago. The people knew they were Catholic in name but little else about the faith. Over years of loving, zealous care, Father Pablo has helped build up a vibrant community.

I was deeply moved by the faith of the indigenous people. Many walked miles along rugged mountain paths from neighboring villages when they heard Mass would be offered on Sunday. They prayed fervently late into the night before the Blessed Sacrament.

At the end of our trip, we set aside a full day for a silent retreat to reflect on our experiences and the graces the Lord offered during our time on mission. It is true that the Lord is never outdone in generosity. As missionaries, we prepare to give of ourselves and to witness selflessly and boldly to the Gospel. Yet so often it is the people we encounter who witness to us by their faith, leaving us spiritually edified.

Over the course of the mission trip, we experienced the essence of the priesthood: offering worship to God and, out of longing for the salvation of souls, inviting all to share in the joy of the Gospel. And what a joy it is. As we invite others to hasten toward the Savior, we simultaneously hasten toward him ourselves. There is no greater gift, no greater happiness.

(Joe Pearson is a seminarian for the Diocese of Jackson in the first-configuration class at St. Joseph Seminary College in St. Benedict, Louisiana.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
It is becoming ever more acceptable today, whether in politics or in general discourse, to speak of brute human strength, force, and power as being the forces we need to guide our lives. Indeed, empathy is now sometimes named explicitly as a weakness.

It is one thing for people to say that strength, force, and power are in fact what govern the world, but it is dangerously wrong to try to throw a Christian cloak over this. In brief, this is the antithesis of Jesus, as the Gospels make clear.

Here’s how the Gospels define strength and weakness.

For centuries the chosen people, feeling oppressed, longed and prayed for a Messiah from God who would come brandishing intimidating muscle, would vanquish their enemies, bring them prosperity, and bind them together in community by a strength, force and power that was superhuman. But that’s not what they got.

Against every one of their expectations, when their hopes and prayers were finally answered, their longed-for Messiah appeared, not as a superhuman, but as a helpless baby unable to feed himself, helpless to nurture himself into adulthood.

Granted, as an adult he performed miracles and sometimes displayed a strength and power that was supernatural. However, the power he displayed in his miracles was never political, militaristic, or physically intimidating. His miracles were always displays of God’s compassion and fidelity.

There’s an interesting play of words in the Gospels when they speak of “power” or “authority”. They use three different Greek words: Sometimes they refer to power as Energia – the type of power a star athlete can bring to a playing field; and sometimes power is referred to as Dynamis – the type of power a rock star can bring to a stage. However, whenever the Gospels refer to Jesus as powerful or as having authority, they never use these words. Instead, they use the word Exousia (for which we have no English equivalent), though we do have a concept of it.

Exousia is the paradoxical power a baby brings into a room. On the surface, it looks like powerlessness, but ultimately it’s the greatest power of all – vulnerability, the moral power to create intimacy.
Simply put, if you put three people into a room: an athlete in the prime of his physical prowess, a rock star who can electrify a stadium with energy, and a baby. Who ultimately has the most power? Jesus answers that.

We see this clearly in the manner of his death. As he hangs on the cross, suffering and humiliated, he is being taunted, if you are the son of God, come down off that cross! If you have divine power, show it! Jesus doesn’t take the bait. Instead of demonstrating the kind of power we like to believe God should be using, Jesus instead resorts to another power, a higher one. In his powerlessness, he gives over his spirit in love and empathy and, in that, shows us the place where intimacy is born.

Moreover, Jesus could not be clearer in his teaching. As he makes clear in the Sermon on the Mount (perhaps the greatest moral code ever written) human strength, force, and power are not what bring about the kingdom. What creates community and intimacy among us?

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 5:3-11)

Unfortunately, today in our politics and in our civil discourse (which sadly often lacks civility) people are increasingly putting their faith in brute human power – political power, economic power, military power, social media power, historical privilege. These, as many politicians now claim, are what’s real. They decide things in the world. It’s the strong, the powerful, and the rich who will inherit the good things of this earth. Those who are poor in spirit, who mourn, who are meek, who are merciful, and who are persecuted, will miss out on life. And, undergirding this is the belief that empathy is a weakness.

What’s to be said in the face of this? What should be the Christian response?

Since the beginning of human life on this planet, brute strength and power have always made themselves felt and have often been a dominant force in shaping history. The meek haven’t always inherited the earth (at least not this earth). And today the meek are being threatened from all sides.

However, whatever its political or economic expediency, this kind of raw strength and power may not cloak itself with Jesus and the Gospels. It is the antithesis of Jesus and the Gospels.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a professor of spirituality at Oblate School of Theology and award-winning author.)

KNEADING FAITH
By Dr. Fran Lavelle, D. Min
Our nephew works offshore on an oil rig. When he is back in Starkville visiting his folks, I often invite him to have dinner with us. My husband and our nephew have common interests, from music to healthy eating to farming. On a recent visit, we were having a conversation about how people get labeled with pejorative monikers that often have lasting negative impacts, sometimes even demonizing a whole culture or race. He travels internationally work and encounters people from many cultures and races. We talked about how our prejudices are dismantled when we actually encounter people who are different from ourselves.

This kind of labeling or name-calling is meant to diminish the value of the other. It often elevates the sense of self-worth in the name-caller. Terms like lazy, crazy, radical or stupid make it easier to dismiss the person or persons. As children, we are taught that name-calling is unkind and hurtful. I remember growing up in our family, and pejorative terms used about another person were met with immediate consequences. This line in the sand was drawn from my mother’s own experience as a child.

My mother went to Catholic school in her small southeastern Ohio town and remembers Catholic children being taunted by public school kids passing by on the bus. She was called names like “Cat Licker” (right? Where did that come from?). She vividly remembers her closest friend, who was African American, being especially harassed for being Black and Catholic in a place where Black Catholics were part of a super-minority.

We all can recall memories of when we were the object of someone else’s name-calling. Too fat, too thin, not smart, ugly, not enough, too much – the list goes on. My mom and her friend grew beyond those remarks, but the underlying need for the use of such name-calling has remained.

Proverbs 19:11 tells us, “Good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense.” We are called, therefore, to fight the urge to respond in kind. After all, provocateurs thrive on reaction and love when arguments are escalated. Look at our culture of keyboard warriors. The time lapse between an insult and an inferno is measured in nanoseconds. We have become a people quick to judge, label, diminish and dismiss.

Sadly, there are those in the Catholic world who use their platform to add to the nastiness. The dualism that dominates our culture and our conduct is killing us – literally. I remind myself often, and speak it gently to the world, that if we believe in the dignity of the human person, that dignity extends to all people, not just the ones with whom we align our political, religious or other beliefs. As Catholics, we are called to a higher standard. Colossians 3:7-8 reminds us, “You used to do these things when your life was still part of this world. But now is the time to get rid of anger, rage, malicious behavior, slander and dirty language.”

Years ago, I quit smoking for Lent. What I learned was that nicotine leaves the body in three days. After that, the real challenge – breaking the habit. One must train the mind to do something else instead of smoking. I took up cross-stitching. It gave my hands something to do in the evening, when I was most apt to smoke.

The same can be said for changing how we respond on social media. Look, my nature tends to look for the best in a situation, but I am also a realist. People who cannot break the habit of name-calling and dismissive behavior are often living out of their own insecurities and brokenness. One must first be aware of their behavior. I am not suggesting that you muzzle your First Amendment rights, but rather ask yourself: Are you adding to a positive discourse, or are you adding to the vitriol?

Perhaps we would all be well served if we applied this acronym attributed to Dr. Ed Young. He suggests we T.H.I.N.K. before we speak, asking ourselves if what we have to say is: true, helpful, inspiring, necessary and kind.

Lent is a great time to put into practice the wisdom of our nephew – prejudices are dismantled when we have an encounter with people who are different from ourselves. So perhaps instead of firing off a divisive response to a social media post of a friend, go out for a cup of coffee. And if all else fails, remember the Golden Rule: “Do to others as you would have them do to you” (Luke 6:31). A more peace-filled and blessed Lent awaits.

(Dr. Fran Lavelle is the director of faith formation for the Diocese of Jackson.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
One pair of brand-new white socks. You might have received a pair last year about this time, but none since, and the ones you get weekly from the laundry are not necessarily yours. You sit in a prison cell, perhaps on death row. Consider how you feel when you slip those socks on – clean, unworn by anyone else, just for you. You are not sure whom to thank, but the chaplains are a good place to start. What you do know is that you received them through an act of kindness – kindness from people you do not know, people who are concerned for your welfare, people who follow Jesus, the rescuer and explorer.

“Anyone who is kind wants to know when people have been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked,” writes Frances Hodgson Burnett in The Little Princess. Happy, no matter where you reside, is a blessing.

Or maybe you received some writing paper, an adult coloring book, hard candy or a hygiene product. Perhaps you also received a Christmas card, peanut butter crackers or a new toothbrush and toothpaste. A puzzle book, a new ballpoint pen or some crayons. The point is obvious – when you receive these few items allowed by Parchman prison, especially for death row and maximum-security prisoners, you are one of the fellows welling up with gratitude.

Kindness seems a small thing, and it is when many of us take things for granted; we miss its deep gift. “Kindness must be the highest virtue; don’t let me forget that ever,” writes Joan Blos in A Gathering of Days.

I find in the Psalms – 47 and counting – the call to kindness, the description of kindness, and the God who is kindness. For example, Psalm 103:4, 17 tells us: “God redeems your life from destruction, crowning you with kindness and compassion; the kindness of the Lord is from eternity to eternity toward those who fear him.” (See also Psalm 89.)

Kindness is God’s essential character, and in Hebrew the word is hesed. You might be surprised to learn it has many meanings: loving devotion, mercy, goodness, generosity, loyalty, favor and love. When you do a kind act, you may not think much about all that – just “git ’er done,” because it is the right thing to do. Yet there is much deeper meaning, and I hope in this new year you will want to know more.

Hesed also means dependable, faithful, sacrificial love – no matter the circumstances – and unwavering reliability. Here is the key: It is an active commitment, not just an emotional sentiment. We find this lived out throughout Scripture – in Exodus, Ruth, Hosea and Micah – where we discover the covenant God has made with us, his people.

When you have a covenant, such as marriage, you are in a constant relationship. This means the promises are not spontaneous feelings but deliberate actions taken to maintain the bond. Kindness means taking gracious action, built on the faithful and enduring actions of a loving God. We experience God as rescuer, bringing us relief and revealing his divine compassion. The parishioners of the tiny parish who collect these items each Advent know the joy of gracious action. What else does it look like?

St. Mother Teresa wrote in Something Beautiful for God: “Be kind and merciful. Let no one ever come to you without coming away better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting.”

Another aspect is one St. Paul points out to the Romans: “Do you not know that God’s kindness is an invitation to you to repent? Despite this, your hard heart and impenitent heart is storing up retribution on the day of wrath when the just judgment of God will be reveled, when He will repay everyone for what they have done: and immortality by eternal life for those whom strive for glory, honor, patiently doing right; wrath and fury to those who selfishly disobey the truth and obey wickedness.” (Romans 2:4ff NAB)

In this new year, full of opportunities for random acts of kindness – paying it forward and sacrificing for people you might not even know – I pray to learn. God keeps his promises. Will I?

“A man was lost in the desert. Later, when describing his ordeal to friends, he told how, in sheer despair, he had knelt down and cried out to God to rescue him.

‘And did God answer your prayer?’ they asked.

‘Oh no! Before he could, an explorer – a rescuer – appeared and showed me the way,’” writes Anthony de Mello in The Prayer of the Frog (1992).

We know that rescuer is Jesus. What great kindness. Let us do the same for one another.

Blessings.

(sister alies therese is a canonical hermit who prays and writes.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
I once lived in community for several years with an Oblate brother who was wonderfully generous and pious to a fault. But he struggled to pick up symbol and metaphor. He took things literally. For him, what the words said is what they meant!

This caused him considerable confusion and consternation when each day praying the psalms we would pray for Jerusalem and Israel and would occasionally pray for the demise of some other nation. Coming out of prayer, he would ask: “Why are we praying for Jerusalem? For Israel? What makes those places more special in God’s eyes than other cities and other countries? Why does God hate some countries and cities?”

We would try our best to have him understand that these names were not to be taken literally, as places on a map, but rather as symbols. Wisely or unwisely, I would sometimes say, “Brother, whenever you read the word ‘Jerusalem’ or ‘Israel’, just take that to mean the ‘church’, and whenever a nation or a city is named that God seems to hate, take that to mean that God hates sin.”

We might smile at his piety and literalism, but I’m not sure we don’t all still struggle with our own literalism in understanding what in fact the scriptures mean by words like Jerusalem, Israel, Chosen people, and God’s elect. Indeed, as Christians, what do we mean with the words Christian, Church, and Body of Christ?

For whom are we praying when we pray for Jerusalem and Israel?

What we see in scripture is a progressive de-literalizing of names and places. Initially, Israel meant an historical nation, Jerusalem meant an historical city, the Chosen People meant a genetic race, and God’s elect was literally that nation, that city, and that genetic race. But as revelation unfolds, these names and concepts become ever more symbolic.

Most parts of Judaism understand these words symbolically, though some still understand these words literally. For them, Jerusalem means the actual city of Jerusalem, and Israel means an actual strip of land in Palestine.

Christians mirror that. Mainstream Christian theology has from its very origins refused to identify those names and places in a way where (simplistically) Jerusalem means the Christian Church and Christians are the Chosen Race. However, as is the case with parts of Judaism, many Christians, while de-literalizing these words from their Jewish roots, now take them literally to refer to the historical Christian churches and to its explicitly confessing members. Indeed, my answer to my Oblate brother (“Jerusalem means the church, Israel means Christianity”) seems to suggest exactly that.

However, the words Church and Christianity themselves need to be de-literalized. The church is a reality which is much wider and more inclusive than its explicit, visible, baptized membership. Its visible, historical aspect is real, is important, and is never to be denigrated; but (from Jesus through the history of Christian dogma and theology) Christianity has always believed and taught clearly that the mystery of Christ is both visible and invisible. Partly, we can see it and partly we can’t. Partly it is visibly incarnated in history, and partly it is invisible. The mystery of Christ is incarnate in history, but not all of it can be seen. Some people are baptized visibly, and some people are baptized only in unseen ways.

Moreover, this is not new, liberal theology. Jesus himself taught that it is not necessarily those who say ‘Lord, Lord’ who are his true believers, but rather it’s those who actually live out his teaching (however unconsciously) who are his true followers. Christian theology has always taught that the full mystery of Christ is much larger than its historical manifestation in the Christian churches.

Kenneth Cragg, a Christian missionary, after living and ministering for years in the Muslim world, offered this comment: I believe it will take all the Christian churches to give full expression to the full Christ. To this, I would add, that it will not only take all the Christian churches to give full expression to the mystery of Christ, it will also take all people of sincere will, beyond all religious boundaries, and beyond all ethnicity, to give expression to the mystery of Christ.

When my pious Oblate brother who struggled to understand metaphor and symbol asked me why we were always praying for Jerusalem and Israel, and I replied that he might simply substitute the word Church and Christianity for those terms, my answer to him (taken literally) was itself over pious, simplistic, and a too-narrow understanding of the mystery of Christ. Those terms Church and Christianity, as we see in the progressive unfolding of revelation in scripture, must themselves be de-literalized.

For whom are we praying when we pray for Jerusalem or for Israel? We are praying for all sincere people, of all faiths, of all denominations, of all races, of all ages. They are the new Jerusalem and the new Israel.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a professor of spirituality at Oblate School of Theology and award-winning author.)

Things Old And New
By Ruth Powers
The Feast of the Baptism of the Lord ends the Christmas season and provides ample food for meditation for us on Baptism, the first of the sacraments and our initiation into the Body of Christ. Baptism is a sacrament which is incredibly rich in meaning and in the grace it bestows, but I want to focus on one particular aspect of it for now: that by initiating us into Christ’s body, the Church, Baptism gives us a share in His three roles of Priest, Prophet, and King.

Although this phrase is not found verbatim in the Bible, application of these three roles to the person of Jesus is found throughout the Scripture, prefigured in the Old Testament and fulfilled in the new. They also refer to the ministries of Christ shared by ordained priesthood – to sanctify (through the sacraments), to teach, and to rule. In the Vatican II document Lumen Gentium and later in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the three roles are also applied to the laity. By our baptism, we are called to express these ministries in ways specific to the lay state, an idea sometimes called the priesthood of all believers. This idea is found in 1 Peter 2:9: “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that you may announce the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” So, what are we called to do to live this calling?

What is the role of a priest? Primarily it is to offer sacrifice, especially the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and to intercede for his people. We can share in this role not only by prayer and participating in the Mass, but also by presenting our daily life, both blessings and hardships, as a spiritual offering to God. We pray for others and the world, making sure not to neglect Jesus’ command to pray for our enemies. We can also strive to make our lives an example that will draw others to closer relationship with God. Do we do this? Are we not only striving to grow closer to God ourselves, but is our life the kind of example that will lead others, especially nonbelievers, to God? If we profess to follow the two great commandments of love God and love neighbor, do we actually do so openly and actively, or do we love only selectively?

The prophet is one who speaks God’s truth, including being willing to speak truth to power. In order to speak God’s truth, we must first know what that truth is. Do we take the time to actually study and meditate on the word of God, listening also to the guidance of the magisterium of the Church, or do we cherry-pick interpretations to fit our preconceived prejudices or the talking points of a political party or social group? To be a prophet is to be willing to speak up for God’s truth even if what we say will be unpopular or uncomfortable. Remember that we “speak” prophetically through our actions as well as our words. We are called to make our entire lives a witness to the life of God within us, working always for ongoing conversion in our own lives so that our lives may be an example of conversion to others. As a paraphrase of one of the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi says, “Preach the Gospel always. Use words if necessary.”

Finally, there is the role of King. This is the Old Testament image of the king where he was both leader and, more importantly, servant of his people. Christ gives us the ultimate example of this kind of kingship at the Last Supper where he washes the feet of the apostles and commands them to do likewise. We are to live the baptismal role of King through humble service to others, following Jesus’ example. We are called especially to use the talents, graces and gifts God has given us to advance His reign on earth through working to establish justice in our families, our communities and the world.

(Ruth Powers is the program coordinator for the Basilica of St. Mary in Natchez.)

ORDINARY TIMES
By Lucia A. Silecchia
On the Feast of the Epiphany, the 2025 Jubilee Year came to a close as the Holy Doors in Rome were sealed once again. I am sorry to see the Jubilee Year come to an end.
I did not visit Rome this year. I did not attend any special Jubilee events. Despite much attention paid to the Jubilee in Catholic media, I did not give it much deep thought as the months of 2025 passed by so quickly.

Yet, I am sorry to see the Jubilee Year end because of its beautiful theme: “Hope does not disappoint.”

In inadvertently dreary headlines, I have recently read reports that “The year of hope has ended …” or words of similar effect. That these reports greet us at the start of a new year seems a particularly unfortunate juxtaposition. If there is anything that should fill the start of a new year, it is the spirit of hope.

At times, though, it seems that hope is in short supply for all too many people and for all too many reasons. Whether it is disillusionment with politics, unease about finances, disappointment about careers, concerns about health, fears about local and international peace – or the lack thereof, angst about relationships, worries about health, or dissatisfaction about how life is unfolding, so many report a lack of hope about the future, both their own and that of their communities. In a particular way, even young people with their whole lives ahead of them can also fall prey to a lack of hope when they look toward their own futures and do not see good things for the years that lie ahead.

I wonder, then, if the start of a new year is a time to think, once again, about the importance of hope. Yes, a year with hope as its central theme may have ended. Yet, the message that “hope does not disappoint” is a timeless one, as relevant in 2026 as it was when St. Paul first wrote those words to the Romans of his day. He explained further that the reason hope does not disappoint is “because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” (Romans 5:5) What a beautiful thought with which to start the new year!

In these cold January days, we often wish each other “happy new year.” Certainly, happiness, joy, good health and dreams fulfilled are all wonderful things that, with a full heart, I wish to my loved ones in the cards I send, the texts I type and the phone calls I make.

Yet, I wonder if it might be wiser to wish loved ones a “hopeful new year.” In this, there is recognition that as a new year dawns we have no idea how it will unfold or what will lie ahead for ourselves, our loved ones and our world. We may have plans, but we have no promises. We may have goals, but we have no guarantees. We may look back on 2026 as the best year of our lives or the most challenging – or somewhere in between. Now, though, at the threshold of the new year, what will be is hidden from our view.

Nevertheless, one thing that we can wish for each other and pray for each other is an abundance of hope. It is hope that can bring solace to those who face the new year with trepidation. It is hope that can animate the joy of those who face the new year with eager anticipation. It is hope that can calm all of us who know we do not know what lies ahead.

The one thing that we do know, with certainty, is that God has poured, is pouring and will continue to pour His love into our hearts, just as St. Paul announced so long ago. It is from this love that springs the hope that can fill our hearts as a new year we begin.

So, to you and yours, I wish you a hopeful new year!

(Lucia A. Silecchia is Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America’s Columbus School of Law. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)