IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
I heard this story from a renowned theologian who prefers I don’t use his name in sharing this, though the story speaks well of his theology.

He was giving a lecture and at one point stated that God didn’t want Jesus to suffer like he did. A woman in the audience immediately raised her voice: “Do you mean that?” Not knowing whether this was an objection or an affirmation, he invited the woman to speak to him at the break. Approaching him at the break, she repeated her question: “Do you mean that? Do you believe that God didn’t want Jesus to suffer as he did?” He replied that indeed he meant it. God didn’t want Jesus to suffer as he did. Her response: “Good, then I can pray again. I struggle to pray to a God who needs this type of suffering to pay some kind of debt.”

Why did Jesus suffer? Was his suffering needed to pay a debt that only a divine being could pay? Was the original sin of Adam and Eve so great an offense to God that no human sincerity, worship, altruism, or sacrificial suffering could appease God? Indeed, does God ever need to be appeased?

The idea that Jesus needed to suffer as he did to somehow appease God for our sins lies deep within our popular understanding of Jesus’ suffering and death, and there are seemingly strong references in support of that in scripture and in the theology of atonement. What these suggest is that some quota of suffering was needed to pay the debt for sin, and Jesus’ suffering paid that debt. And since the debt was huge, Jesus’ suffering had to be severe.

But, how much of this is metaphorical and how much of this is to be taken literally? Here’s another take on why Jesus chose to accept suffering as he did.

He did it to be in full solidarity with us. He accepted to suffer in such an extreme way so that no one would be able to say: “Jesus didn’t suffer in a way that I have! I have suffered in more painful and humiliating ways than he ever did!”

Well, let’s examine Jesus’ suffering in the light of that challenge.

First, in his life before his passion and death, he suffered the pain of poverty, misunderstanding, hatred, betrayal, plus the loneliness of celibacy. As well, on the cross he suffered a dark night of faith. But these are ordinary human sufferings. It’s in his passion and death that his sufferings become more extraordinary.

Jesus was crucified. Crucifixion was designed by the Romans as more than just capital punishment. It was also designed to inflict the optimum amount of pain that a person could absorb. That’s why they would sometimes give morphine or some other drug to the one being crucified, not to dull his pain, but to keep him conscious so that he would suffer longer.

Worse still, crucifixion was designed to utterly humiliate the one being crucified. Crucifixions were public events, and the one being crucified was stripped naked so his genitals would be exposed and in the spasms as he was dying, his bowels would loosen. Utter humiliation. This is what Jesus suffered.

Moreover, scholars speculate (albeit there is no direct evidence for this) that on the night between his arrest and his execution the next day he was sexually assaulted by the soldiers who had him in their custody. This speculation grounds itself on two things: a hunch, since sexual assault was common in such situations; and to suffer this kind of humiliation would be Jesus’ ultimate solidarity with human suffering.

Perhaps no humiliation compares with the humiliation suffered in sexual assault. If Jesus suffered this, and the hunch is that he did, that puts him in solidarity with one of the deepest of all human pains. Everyone who has suffered this humiliation has the consolation of knowing that Jesus may have suffered this too.
Why did Jesus accept to suffer as he did? Why, as the Office of the Church puts it, did he become sin for us?

Whatever the deep mystery and truth that lie inside the motif of paying a debt for our sins and atoning for human shortcomings, the deeper reason Jesus chose to accept suffering as he did was to be in full solidarity with us, in all our pain and humiliation.

Jesus came from our ineffable God, brought a human face to the divine, and taught us what lies inside God’s heart. And in doing this, he took on our human condition completely. He didn’t just touch human life, he entered it completely, including the depth of human pain.

Indeed, there are particular sufferings that perhaps Jesus didn’t explicitly experience (racism, sexism, exile, physical disability) but in his dark night of faith on the cross and in his humiliation in his crucifixion, he suffered in a way that no one can say: “Jesus didn’t suffer as I have suffered!”

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

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
“Don’t turn a deaf ear when I call to You, God. If all I get from You is deafening silence, I’d be better off in a Black Hole.” (The Message, E. Peterson, Ps 28:1)

And that’s how it is for many of us … there is no answer to prayer, no sense that God is listening. During Lent we have been turning our minds and hearts toward the relationship we have with Jesus so that we might be purified vessels for God to use. How is that working for you? Have you made great progress this year, unlike years before? Maybe not.

Our CCC highlights this issue in Part Four, Christian Prayer. Here are a few key ideas: “Why do we complain of not being heard? (2735 ff) … what motivates our prayer: an instrument to be used or the Father? … pray to be able to know what He wants? If we enter into the desire of the Spirit, we shall be heard.”

Psalm 28 continues, “I’m letting You know what I need, calling out for help and lifting my arms toward Your inner sanctum. Don’t shove me into the same jail cell with those crooks who are full-time employers of evil. They talk a good line of ‘peace’, then moonlight for the devil.” Oh, ok … I’m letting You know … what arrogance! Deciding what God should do and how He should do it. Maybe it is all ‘about me’? Afterall, it is my prayer. Really, I’m the one who knows who I want to pray for, what I need, and what I think God needs to hear. Does it surprise you that He might not be listening to that attitude while deciding what He will be gifting you?

We also find this in the CCC (2697 ff): “Prayer is the life of the new heart. It ought to animate us at every moment. But we tend to forget Him who is our life and our all … prayer is a remembrance of God often awakened by the memory of the heart: ‘We must remember God more often than we draw breath’ (St. Gregory Nazianzus).”

Because prayer is a fundamental relationship, the attitude mentioned might be how we relate to other people. Do we actually listen or are we reworking our responses as they talk? Does anger feature in our relationships; is there desire for retaliation in our resentment, bitterness or sadness? The desert Fathers and Mothers (4th century) offer lessons for us. “Abba Evagrius once defined prayer as ‘the seed of gentleness and the absence of anger.’ Further, ‘the opposite is also true. The desire to retaliate could be so deeply imbedded that any attempt at prayer would be futile; to be able to pray again, one would have to deal with the particular source of that anger.’”

You wonder if or when God is listening to you? Consider Abba Zeno: “If a person wants God to hear quickly, … one must pray with all one’s heart for one’s enemies (Mt 5:44). Through this action God will hear everything you ask.” (The Word in the Desert)

Oh, so I need to change my attitude? A new heart? Perhaps one resembling Brother Lawrence (The Practice of the Presence of God, Carmel, Paris, d. 1691): “Ah, did I know my heart loved not God, this very instant I would pluck it out. O loving-kindness so old and still so new, I have been too late loving You. You young … consecrate all your early years to His love … believe me count as lost each day you have not used in loving God.”

CCC challenges us to this kind of loving (2730) when facing difficulties in prayer: “the battle against the possessive and dominating self requires vigilance, sobriety of heart. When Jesus insists on vigilance, He always relates it to Himself, to His coming on the last day and every day, today. ‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek His face.’” With an attitude as arrogant as we began with, we are not seeking His face, but our will and desires. Fortunately, the psalmist has moved from that attitude to more understanding, rooting his life in thankfulness and joy, “Blessed be God – He heard me praying. He proved He’s on my side; I’ve thrown my lot in with Him. Now I’m jumping for joy, and shouting and singing my thanks to Him. God is all strength for His people …. Save Your people and bless Your heritage. Care for them; carry them like a Good Shepherd.”

As we move toward the Passion and Easter, let us, with Brother Lawrence, beg for enrichment of soul, courage in difficulty, and grateful love. “We have a God who is infinitely gracious and knows all our want … He will come in His own time, and when you least expect it. Hope in Him more than ever; thank Him…” (Br. Lawrence, Third Letter). Can He hear you now? I suspect so!

Blessings. Happy Easter.

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

ORDINARY TIMES
By Lucia A. Silecchia
Not long ago, I was sorting through some of my Dad’s old papers and I came across a candy wrapper and a Father’s Day card tucked into an envelope that bore a March 2001 postmark from Rome. As soon as I saw it, it brought back happy memories of a sabbatical I spent living and working in Rome for several spring months.

One of the highlights of my stay was the chance to celebrate the Feast of St. Joseph – Italian style. I have long thought that this strong, silent hero of the New Testament gets far less attention than he deserves.
First, of course, I honored him by indulging in several of the zeppole di San Giuseppe – a pastry made in his honor. I do not know the history of this sweet tradition, but that did not prevent me from following it with enthusiastic respect.

Second, I celebrated at a lively street festival. Although I was living in the shadows of St. Peter’s Basilica, my local parish was dedicated to St. Joseph. Thus, our festival was particularly exuberant. Talented chalk artists sketched portraits of St. Joseph in the middle of the closed street and crowded sidewalk. A traditional procession of a floral wrapped statue wended its way through the crowd, and the sound of hymns – and joyful noises – filled the evening air. In the windows of bakeries and bars were signs advertising – what else? – zeppole. Falling in the heart of Lent, the Feast of St. Joseph was the justification for a very welcome and high-spirited celebration.

Third, and most personal, was the fact that St. Joseph’s Day is also the day Italians celebrate Father’s Day. That explained why I sent my Dad a Father’s Day card in March – along with some Italian chocolate he would like. The fact that he saved the card and the evidence of the long-gone chocolate warmed my heart and made me glad I braved a crowded, inefficient Roman post office to send it to him.

I like the link between rejoicing in St. Joseph’s Day and celebrating Father’s Day. Sometimes, like St. Joseph, good fathers also get far less attention than they deserve. Fathers who are careless, absent, or worse, get attention, while those who live their vocation well are often not noticed quite as much.
So, when March 19 comes around, the Feast of St. Joseph may be a time to be prayerfully grateful for loving dads if we are, or once were, blessed to have them journey with us through life.

St. Joseph was asked to undertake a challenge he did not fully comprehend. Thanks to all dads who face difficult challenges, bearing their struggles with strength, trust and endurance.

St. Joseph housed his family in a stable when that was the best he could find. Thanks to all those struggling dads who ache to give their families more in material comfort while they give them the shelter of great love.

St. Joseph practiced his faith through his life of prayer and following religious traditions with fidelity. Thanks to all those dads who, through their example, give their children the precious bequest of faith.
St. Joseph spoke not a single word recorded in Scripture. Thanks to all those dads who work in quiet ways, putting the good of their families ahead of their own needs and wants.

St. Joseph was a carpenter and made his living with manual labor – his art and trade. Thanks to all those dads who work long hard hours in labor, art or trade to support their families, contribute to their communities, and glorify God through their work.

St. Joseph searched for Jesus when, as a boy, Jesus stayed behind in a temple in Jerusalem after a family pilgrimage. Thanks to all those dads who seek for their own children when they are lost in so many different and heartbreaking ways.

St. Joseph cared for his beloved during the months of her unexpected pregnancy. Thanks to all those dads who care for the mothers of their children as they carry their infants within them, especially when the circumstances are most difficult.

St. Joseph loved and honored Mary. Thanks to all those dads who give their children a priceless gift when they love and honor their mothers.

My own Dad has finished his journey through this life. So, on March 19, I cannot send him a card or candy as I once did. But now, like then, I can still offer him my thanks on St. Joseph’s Day. And, in a particular way, I am thankful that my Dad saved an old card and a candy wrapper. It reminded me to be grateful for ways he walked with me through ordinary times.

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

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.)