IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Does God have sense of humor?
This may seem a frivolous or impious question, it’s anything but that. It’s an important question and a reverent one as well. Why? Because healthy humor and playful banter help bring joy, lightness of heart, and healthy perspective into our lives. Can we imagine all that wonderful lightness of heart having no connection to God?

Does God have a sense of humor? For sure! Without doubt! Jesus teaches that God is the author of all good things. Humor, playfulness and healthy banter are good, healthy things. They can have their ultimate origin only in God.
Why are they good things? What positive role do they play in our lives?
Freud once suggested that sometimes we can understand things more clearly by looking at their opposites. What are the opposites of humor, playfulness and banter? We see their opposite in three things: over-seriousness, needless irritation and pomposity (none of which are healthy).
Consider this example: I have lived almost my entire adult life within a religious community of men, and by and large it has been positive and life-giving. But among the (literally) hundreds of men with whom I have shared community over more than fifty years, there have sometimes been confreres who were over-serious and their presence in the community room or at table could sometimes effectively rob the room of joy.
I recall one such incident at table where someone shared a rather earthy joke (spicy, though not in bad taste). Most of us responded with a hearty laugh, but as soon as the laughter died down, one of our confreres in a heavy and overly pious tone, asked: Would you tell a joke like that in front of the Blessed Sacrament? That not only ended the laughter in the room and injected a certain heaviness into our gathering, it also effectively drained the oxygen out of the room.
Over-seriousness, while not a moral deficiency, can leave us too raw before the demands of family and community to which we can never perfectly measure up. On the other hand, playfulness, humor and banter, when healthy, can provide some important “grease” for family and community life.
For example, when you join a religious congregation you take a vow to live within a community (of men, in my case) for the rest of your life. Moreover, you don’t get to choose with whom you get to live. You are simply assigned to a community, which invariably will include some members whose temperament is very different from yours and with whom you would not normally choose to live.
Well, I have lived in this type of religious community for nearly sixty years and, with very few exceptions, it has been life-giving and enjoyable; mostly because I have been blessed nearly always to live in a community where part of our very ethos has been the daily exchange of humor, playfulness and banter. Prayer and a common mission of course have been the main glue that held us together but humor, playfulness and banter have been the grease that have kept petty tensions and the occupational hazard of pomposity at bay.
It’s interesting to note that the classical Greek philosophers understood love as having six components: eros – infatuation and attraction; mania – obsession; asteismos – playfulness and banter; storge – care; philia – friendship; and agape – altruism. When we define love, we generally make room for most of those components, except asteismos, playfulness and banter. We pay a price for that.
My oblate novice master, a wonderful French-Canadian priest, once shared with us (a group of young novices) a joke with a purpose. It runs this way: a family was planning the wedding of their daughter but were unable to afford a venue for the festivities after the church service. So, the priest made them an offer: “Why don’t you use the entrance, the foyer, of the church? There’s enough room for a reception. Bring in a cake and have your reception there.” Things were fine, until the father of the bride asked the priest if they might bring liquor to the reception. The priest replied most emphatically, “Absolutely not! You may not have liquor in a church!” The father of the bride protested, “but Jesus drank wine at the wedding feast of Cana.” To which the priest replied, “But not in front of the Blessed Sacrament!”
This joke can serve as a parable, cautioning us vis-à-vis stripping God of humor and playfulness.
God has a sense of humor, a sense of playfulness, and a talent for banter far beyond that of our best comedians. How could it be otherwise? Can you imagine spending eternity in heaven without laughter and playfulness? Can you imagine a God who is perfect love, but with whom you would be afraid to joke and banter?
Is the last laugh before we die to be our last laugh forever? No. God has a sense of humor which will without doubt be for all of us a delightful surprise.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Things Old And New
By Ruth Powers
After Mass a little while ago, my young granddaughter asked me a question that made me stop and think. She asked, “Gran, why do we thank God that Mass is over at the end? Shouldn’t we be happy that we were here with Jesus?”
I realized I didn’t have a really good answer for her, but her question made me think and sent me into research mode.

I learned that the dismissal formula used in the current English translations of the Mass is based on formulations from various Eastern rites of the church, but you have to admit that the response “Thanks be to God” after the announcement “The Mass is ended, go in peace” can sound a little jarring.
It is one of the less felicitous translations of the Mass into English and can make it seem as if we’re saying, “Thank God that’s over.”
The direct translation from the Latin dismissal, Ite, missa est, isn’t any better: “Go, it is the dismissal.”
The Latin phrase makes more sense when one investigates its history. The phrase predates Christianity and apparently was used in the Roman military. Ite, missa est was the command spoken by an officer as he sent a soldier or soldiers off on a mission. It had the meaning, “Go, you are sent.” It was an order, not a request, with the subtext that whatever task had been given, speedy and appropriate completion was expected.
Later, the phrase became a common way to dismiss the people after a public assembly of any kind.
Recognizing the origins of the original words of dismissal for Mass presents much food for thought. We are being dismissed, but not to brunch, or to watch the game on television, or to take a Sunday afternoon nap, or to do so many of the other things that we do after Mass.
It is not a dismissal to go about our lives as usual until the next time we meet for Eucharist. Instead, the dismissal at the end of Mass is a clarion call to us. We have been given our marching orders and are being sent out.
What are we being sent out to do? We can take our orders from Jesus in many places in the Gospels.
In Luke 10:1-24, Jesus sends out the 72 disciples with the mission to proclaim the kingdom of God throughout the region in preparation for his own visit. They shared Jesus’ message and were given the power to heal the sick and cast out demons.
We can also share the Gospel every day through word and action; and although we may not be able to literally heal or exorcise, we can make sure that we are not contributing to the spiritual woes of the world by acting with kindness and casting out Satan’s demons of divisiveness and prejudice in our interactions with others.
We can take Jesus’ commands in Matthew 25:31-46 seriously, when he tells us that in order to inherit eternal life and not be cast into hell, we must feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, take care of the sick and visit the imprisoned.
Finally, we can remember the Great Commission at the end of the Gospel of Matthew: “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” We follow it by leading others to Christ by our good example.
If we understand the dismissal at the end of Mass as a sending out to follow the commands of Jesus, the response “Thanks be to God” now becomes the only appropriate response.
We have heard the Word of God, we have been strengthened for the task by the Eucharist, and we have been sent out to fulfill the mission by our Lord.
Thanks be to God.

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

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
The main character in T.S. Eliot’s play “Murder in the Cathedral” is Thomas Becket, a bishop, who from every outward appearance is saint. He is scrupulously honest, generous to a fault and a defender of the faith who dies as a martyr. Yet, at a certain point in his life, prior to his martyrdom, he recognizes that he might not be distinguishing between temptation and grace.
Many of us are familiar with how he famously expressed this:

The last temptation is the greatest treason:
To do the right deed for the wrong reason. …
For those who serve the greater cause
May make the cause serve them.

What’s the temptation here that can look like grace?

Simply put, we can be doing a lot of good for the wrong reasons. Moreover, this can be enormously subtle; not least in those of us who serve the greater cause, because, as T.S. Eliot points out, it is easy to make the cause serve us.

How can we make the cause serve us? How can we be doing good for the wrong reasons?
Here’s an example: I can be doing a lot of good things that help others and serve God’s purpose here on earth. I can be generous to the point of martyrdom. However, what if I am doing this (serving the greater cause) mainly because it makes me look good, makes me feel moral and righteous, draws respect, earns me praise and admiration, and will leave behind me a good name?

These questions probe the difference between temptation and grace. I can be doing the right things and, while not doing them for a bad reason, I can still, for the most part, be doing them for myself. I can be making the cause serve me more so than I am serving the cause.

The late Jesuit Michael J. Buckley (one of the major spiritual mentors in my life) pushes us to make a painful examination of conscience on this. Am I doing things to serve God and others or am I doing them to make myself look and feel good?

In his book “What Do You Seek? The Questions of Jesus as Challenge and Promise,” Buckley writes this: “For, in a thousand ways, those who serve the greater cause may make the cause serve them. This can be enormously subtle. Sometimes a nuance at the initial formulation of an action or of a life can work the unexpected twist, the unrealized but profound reorientation so that zeal masks a hidden but vicious ambition; it is hidden because ambition and zeal, however profoundly contradictory, can look initially so much alike. The desire to get something achieved can mix the intrinsic worth of a project with the reflected glory of the accomplishment.”

As a priest, in ministry for more than fifty years, I find this a particularly challenging prism through which to examine myself and my fifty plus years of ministry. How much have I served the greater cause and how much have I, blind to self, made it serve me? Who is the bigger winner here: God and the church or me and my good name?

Granted, motivation is tricky to discern, and this side of eternity is rarely pure. We are a bundle of mixed motivations, some which serve others and some which serve ourselves; and, as Buckley astutely points out, initially they can look very much alike. Moreover, certain sayings of Jesus seem to suggest that sometimes explicit motivation is less important than actually doing the right thing.

For example, Jesus says that it is not necessarily those who say Lord, Lord who will enter the kingdom of heaven, but it is those who in fact do the will of the Father on earth who will enter the kingdom. (Matthew 7:21) As well, in teaching that we will ultimately be judged on the basis of how we treated the poor (whatsoever you do to the poor, you do to me), notice that neither group, those who did it right and those who did it wrong, knew explicitly what they were doing. They were rewarded or punished solely on the basis of their actions. (Matthew 25)

So, can we be doing the right things for the wrong reasons? And, indeed, if we are doing them for less than purely altruistic reasons (approval, respect, a good name, good feelings about ourselves) how bad is this? Does it denigrate or destroy the good we are doing? Is the desire for respect, a good name, and good feelings about ourselves genuinely at odds with altruism? Might the two befriend each other? Is God judging us more by our motivation than by our actions?

Am I serving the greater cause or am I having it serve me? That is a critical question for self-reflection. Why? Because it is easy to be blind to our own hypocrisy, even as it is just as easy to be too hard on ourselves.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington
Among the countless fictional detectives on TV and in the movies, one stands out above all the others for his rock-solid faith, his vast knowledge of the inner workings of the criminal mind, and his unyielding efforts to catch lost souls and lead them back into the fold. This detective also happens to be a priest. Of course I’m referring to Father Brown, created by Catholic convert G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936) who, oddly enough, had not yet converted when Father Brown made his first appearance in a 1910 short story, “The Blue Cross.”

Chesterton based his immortal amateur sleuth on Father John O’Connor, a parish priest who would come to play a major role in his conversion to the Catholic faith. From conversations with Father O’Connor, Chesterton devised the notion of “constructing a comedy in which a priest should appear to know nothing and in fact know more about crime than the criminals.” This basic irony, which persists throughout the stories, has a startling explanation: Father Brown has intricate knowledge of criminal behavior because he has heard all the sordid details in the confessional.

Chesterton wrote more than fifty short stories scattered across five volumes about his famous crime-solving clergyman. In the first collection, “The Innocence of Father Brown” (1911), he describes his most celebrated creation as “a very short Roman Catholic priest [with] a face as round and dull as a Norfolk dumpling [and] eyes as empty as the North Sea.” He also makes reference to “his quaint blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity” and the “large, shabby umbrella” he carries. With this minimal description Chesterton leaves it to his readers’ imagination to fill in the details of what this man of the cloth looks like.

As a result of the lack of more specific information about the character’s appearance, the manner in which he has been portrayed has varied considerably. To date, at least ten actors have interpreted Chesterton’s mystery-solving cleric on the large and small screens. The first was an American, Walter Connolly, who starred in “Father Brown, Detective,” a movie released in 1934, during Chesterton’s lifetime.

One of the most notable performances was given by Kenneth More, who took on the role for a 1974 British TV series lasting thirteen episodes, each of which bears the title of a Chesterton story and is, generally speaking, faithful to the source material. Also worth noting is a 1979 film, “Sanctuary of Fear,” a typical made-for-TV movie of that period. Set in New York City, far removed from the fictional universe of the original stories, it stars Barnard Hughes, who gives a competent performance but, unfortunately, he bears little or no resemblance to the way Father Brown’s creator imagined him. The performer who currently plays the part, the likeable English actor Mark Williams, has starred in the long-running British TV series about the priest/detective since 2013. It’s paradoxical that Williams has been so successful because he is a large man, over six feet tall, playing a character who is, by all accounts, “very short.”

All the versions mentioned so far, except the 1934 film, are in color. A black-and-white production, however, seems more appropriate for creating the atmosphere of the shady world of crime. Although I wouldn’t brand these movies and TV episodes as film noir, it seems logical that the dramatization of detective stories, normally associated with the realm of shadows and the interplay of light and darkness, would achieve greater stylistic effect in black-and-white.

With these technical aspects in mind, let’s move on to the screen version that captures the essence of Chesterton’s creation better than any of the other adaptations: the 1954 black-and-white film “The Detective,” starring the distinguished English actor Alec Guinness as Father Brown. Guinness, by the way, would go on to receive a Best Actor Academy Award three years later for “The Bridge on the River Kwai” and gain lasting fame for his portrayal of Obi-Wan Kenobi in the “Star Wars” cinematic franchise.

Although of average height and thus much taller than Chesterton’s extremely short priest, Guinness fits the part perfectly because on screen he strikes the viewer as a small and insignificant figure, just the type to blend into the background and be overlooked and underestimated by lawman and lawbreaker alike. Guinness takes upon himself Father Brown’s humor, charm and eccentricities to such a degree that I can’t imagine anyone else improving on his performance. The strong supporting cast includes Peter Finch as the infamous international art thief, Flambeau, and Bernard Lee as Inspector Valentine, the police detective who obstinately chases after Father Brown while the latter stays hot on the trail of Flambeau.

“The Detective,” very loosely based on “The Blue Cross,” opens with a police car racing to the scene of a crime. There, we see a man hiding in the darkness. As soon as the police enter the building, this shadowy figure manages to make his exit undetected. What the officers discover is truly shocking: a priest in front of an open safe with stacks of money in his hands. But rather than taking the money out of the safe, he was actually putting it back in. We quickly learn that when the priest had first become aware of the theft, he had convinced the real burglar to let him return the money to the safe. Later, he sets up the would-be robber in an honest job as a chauffeur to one of his parishioners. This captures the essence of Father Brown: he will go to any extreme to win over the sinner and turn him away from a life of crime.

Father Brown’s primary concern in “The Detective” involves the capture of Flambeau, but, oddly enough, he has no desire to put the thief behind bars; his only concern is for the state of his quarry’s soul. Like the “Hound of Heaven” going after His prey, the little priest is relentless in his pursuit of the famous criminal. He never gives up because, as Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen says, “unless souls are saved, nothing is saved.”

Little children also have a part to play in this drama of salvation. Although on camera only briefly, their appearance speaks volumes, especially if one calls to mind the prophecy that “a little child shall lead them” (Isaiah 11:6) and the words of Jesus: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3) In order not to give away the climactic scene, I’ll not say anything else on this subject.

As a postscript, it’s worth noting that while the film crew was shooting on location in France a dramatic episode occurred involving Guinness and a little child. This scene was definitely not in the script. During a break in filming, Guinness, rather than changing clothes, decided to remain in clerical attire. A little boy spotted him, grabbed him by the hand, and called out “Father, Father” in French. Although Guinness’ French was inadequate to carry on a conversation, the actor was, nevertheless, deeply moved that the child, a total stranger, felt a close attachment to him simply because the boy thought he was actually a priest.

Not long after this incident, Guinness converted to Catholicism. Father Brown’s tenacity paid off. He caught another one.

You can catch “The Detective” now streaming for free on Tubi.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)

Ordinary Times

By Lucia A. Silecchia

Parish bulletins now burst with joyful announcements that spring Baptisms, First Communions and Confirmations are being celebrated on grace-filled days in churches near and far. Summer weddings, and the summer anniversaries they beget, lie just around the corner. Dioceses will be blessed with the springtime ordinations of their new shepherds, and many who have lived their vocations for decades will celebrate their special jubilees.

At the same time, the rapidly waning days of the school year bring final recitals, sports championships, honors convocations, awards ceremonies and graduations. After decades of university life, I am no stranger to these happy events – and they never get old!

In the weeks ahead, many of us will have the chance to wish each other well on these joyful days of celebration. The word that will cross our lips so naturally, be written in our cards so effortlessly, and caption photographs in our social media feeds so frequently is the jubilant greeting, “congratulations.”  

To my mind, this is one of the most beautiful words we share with each other. Congratulations is a word fused together from the Latin words “con,” meaning “with,” and “gratus,” the same root as our word “gratitude.” This is not an obscure accident of etymology. Instead, there is something deeply beautiful about the fact that at the most joyous moments of our lives we choose to greet each other with an expression of thankfulness.

We wish each other well, we praise those who have accomplished great things, and we tell our loved ones how proud we are of them as they mark the milestones of their lives. However, first and foremost, we do this – consciously or not – by expressing our gratitude. Words matter. The way in which gratitude is embedded in the very language of our celebrations is worth remembering in the days ahead any time we are blessed to speak a word of exuberant congratulations to our loved ones, or to hear it back from them.

That gratitude goes first toward God who begins all good works. The celebration of good works brought to completion is also the chance to remember to ask God’s blessings on the many new works about to begin.

It is gratitude toward friends and family, without whose love and encouragement so many celebrations may never come to fruition. Whenever I attend my own students’ graduations, I see how much they realize their achievement also belongs to those who loved them along the way.

It is gratitude for obstacles overcome, second chances given, fears conquered, opportunities seized, friendships nurtured, memories shared, good examples seen, disappointments endured and prayers answered – over and over again.

Perhaps, however, “congratulations,” and the gratitude embedded in it, is a word that should not just be kept for those special moments of celebration. Maybe, instead, it should be part of our everyday lives. Perhaps it is a word that can remind us that every day can be lived with a heart that is full of gratitude. Maybe these ordinary days hold no momentous milestones. But, so often they are filled with the blessings of quiet victories, temptations overcome, kind words exchanged, harsh words held back, needy neighbors nurtured, children loved and challenges of all kinds faced and fought with quiet courage.

If this season, you or your loved ones are celebrating a special event, I hope that gratitude fills your hearts and that you greet each other with that joyful word of thankfulness, “Congratulations!” And my best wishes to you too.

However, when those celebrations have passed and life returns to the more mundane, I hope that you will still live with this beautiful spirit of gratitude for all the smaller triumphs that fill everyday life – even when no one notices. “Congratulations,” with gratitude, for any day lived well in ordinary times.

(Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at The Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a bi-weekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)

KNEADING FAITH
By Fran Lavelle
I remember the day that Pope Francis was elected. I was still working at St. Joseph in Starkville serving as the campus minister. We had a television in the parish center lounge that the staff had on to watch the live coverage. I remember crying when they announced his name. In the photographs and television coverage that followed, I remember being taken by his eyes and his infectious smile. What I did not know at the time was how much his papacy would influence my ministry.

It is said that whatever is not transformed is transferred. Transferring supports a “that’s the way we have always done it” mentality and leaves no room for new ideas or ways of being. Transformation requires a continuous and intentional evaluation of the welfare of an organization. Pope Francis was intentional to his core. His desire to lead from the center instead of the top allowed him to model what he expected from his clerics. He invited the clergy to smell like the sheep. He chose to stay close to the poor and marginalized and demonstrated simplicity and humility.

I have been known to joke that we were basically the same person, Jesuit educated with a Franciscan spirituality, and we share the same name. But seriously, finding ways to emulate his life has not been lost on me. Out of many there is one major way in which he influenced my ministry and my life. He taught me the value and importance of synodality as a pathway for transformation.

My first experience with synodality was in 2018 when Pope Francis called a synod of bishops on “Young People, the Faith, and Vocational Discernment.” The papal exhortation, Christus Vivit, the final document summarizing the work of that synod, was published in 2019. It was an invitation to the young church and those of us who accompany them to take a long look at how we are in relationship with God and one another. Pope Francis called on adults who form youth in the church to first exercise the “apostolate of the ear” – that is to be first, a listener. He said, “Attentive and selfless listening is a sign of our respect for others, whatever their ideas or their choices in life,” quoting from Christus Vivit 292.

He was demonstrating how to journey with the young church as they discover God’s deep seeded love for them. “Rather than being too concerned with communicating a great deal of doctrine, let us first try to awaken and consolidate the great experiences that sustain the Christian life. In the words of Romano Guardini (from Christus Vivit 212), “when we experience a great love … everything else becomes part of it.”

Unpacking the wisdom of the Synod for Young People, the Faith, and Vocational Discernment helped prepare me for my role a few years later when Pope Francis called for a universal Synod on Synodality.

The Synod on Synodality was an opportunity for the people of God to pray together and ask of ourselves as individuals and within our church community where we are being called by the Holy Spirit in our journey of faith. It was the Pope’s desire to hear from all demographics, all ages, all people. This reflected his belief that the workings of the church is not a clandestine process that happens behind closed doors. Pope Francis asked church leaders to open wide their arms, ears and their hearts to hear the prophetic voice of God’s people.

Since the conclusion of the Synod process, the diocese has been intentional in animating what we heard from our synodal listening. A Pastoral Reimagining process was launched in 2023 whereby every parish in the diocese was given an opportunity to reflect on where they were and articulate a plan to get them where they want to be. Those plans were collated by deanery and a reimagined vision for each deanery was set forth.

To further reflect our understanding of what we heard, a full-time young adult and campus ministry coordinator for the diocese was hired in response to a call for greater leadership for that demographic. Additionally, in response for a call for greater lay formation, the Bishop William R. Houck Center for Lay Formation is being established to provide lay people with easy access to formation opportunities. The work continues to unfold. The Synod on Synodality was the pebble in still water that continues to create ripples in our diocese and around the world.

There is much to appreciate in his years as our Holy Father. He gave us so much to reflect on … be it how we recovered from the pandemic, faced the sin or racism, addressed poverty, considered care for our common home, or care for those on the periphery. Through it all synodality was at the core of his ministry. In the Jesuit tradition to see, judge and act – Pope Francis created opportunities for dialogue rather than dictates. We are a better church for his leadership. I am eternally grateful for how his vision helped form my own.

(Fran Lavelle is the Director of Faith Formation for the Diocese of Jackson.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
Mother Teresa commented, “Everywhere there is suffering, but there is also a great hunger for God and love.” Gotta go for that, and as we welcome the ‘Pope named Bob’ as our shepherd, I suspect the tension between the two will continue to be addressed. One way Pope Francis left us, not long before his passing, was his charge to artists. As we move into this new era, let us not forget how critical beauty is!

At White Night in St Peter’s, Papa Francis told artists, “the responsibility of artists is to make beauty shine.” He included all sorts of artists … writers, dancers, musicians and painters, among many, and he set a bar for happy hearts. There is much suffering, and there is much hunger, and one way these are addressed is through the arts. That Pope Francis charged artists with the ‘responsibility’ of ‘making beauty shine’ is no small assignment. Most countries have a national arts something or other that shares culture and beauty … some nations restrict how they share it. Even the poorest of nations have marvelous works of art that lift the spirits of their families and peoples and share with others the joy of their culture.

Francis suggested that “artists must help humanity not to lose its way … to be witnesses to the revolutionary vision of the beatitudes … not only creating beauty but also ‘revealing the truth and goodness hidden within the folds of history giving voice to the voiceless.’” Over centuries, artists, builders and designers have left behind impressions and monuments, pots and aqueducts, which have stood the test of time. We saw a lot of Rome as the conclave met … buildings, statues, paintings … all telling stories that the artists wanted us to remember. The scriptures were announced, and we were reminded of the functionality of buildings and also the ways they brought exquisite beauty and harmony to the scene.

Francis continued, “We need artists to help us ask questions about time and purpose … are we pilgrims or wanderers? Does our journey have a destination, or are we directionless?” What demanding questions for people with great insight and courage. It takes both for a person to function as an artist … partly because the criticism can be high enough to cancel them out! No, he asks artists to show us the way forward … to move us beyond selfishness to sharing. If you notice, the conductor has his/her back to the applause. The conductor caresses and encourages the musicians and takes care that they make the music beautiful. Her/his responsibility is to share that joy with listeners so that their hearts might light up and their anguish be set free.

“We must learn,” he said, “to discern between the chaff scattered by the wind from what is solid like trees planted by streams of water (Ps1).” The artist leads us in at least two ways … outward toward the universe (into the 6-20 trillion galaxies and their swirls of old and new designs of stars) and/or down deep into our hearts where we are touched to grow and create. Ecclesiastes reminds us that “God has made everything beautiful in its time.” When the writer says ‘everything’, I have to remind myself that everything means just that … difficulties as well as successes, hard times as well as times of ease. Our God, the greatest of artists, has created for us such beauty and wonder that we can never, even in the longest of lifetimes, take it all in. We are grateful as well to those who can draw our attention to it through their creativity, sharing in these gifts of God. And Paul in Ephesians reminds us that we are indeed God’s work of art … and no artist wants his/her art to be trashed or considered less than. Francis would want us to remember that as we learn to treat one another with greater dignity and respect.

I imagine the era of Pope Leo XIV to be one of learning even more how to care for one another and let us thank Pope Francis for his invitation and charge to artists to make beauty shine.

Blessings.

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