IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI

Sometimes there’s nothing as helpful as a good metaphor.

In his book, The God Instinct, Tom Stella shares this story: A number of men who made their living as porters were hired one day to carry a huge load of supplies for a group on safari. Their loads were unusually heavy and the trek through the jungle was rough. Several days into the journey they stopped, unshouldered their loads and refused to go on. No pleas, bribes or threats, worked in terms of persuading them to go on. Asked why they couldn’t continue, they answered: “We can’t go on; we have to wait for our souls to catch up with us.”

That also happens to us in life, except mostly we never wait for our souls to catch up. We continue without them, sometimes for years. What this means is that we struggle to be in the present moment, to be inside our own skin, to be aware of the richness of our own experience. Too often our experiences aren’t very soulful because we aren’t present to them. I cite myself as an example:

For the past twenty-five years, I’ve kept a journal, a diary of sorts. My intent in keeping this journal is to record the deeper things that I’m aware of throughout each day; but mostly what I end up actually writing down is a simple chronology of my day, a daybook, a bare, no-frills, recounting of what I did from hour to hour. My diaries don’t much resemble Anne Frank’s diary, Dag Hammarskjold’s Markings or Henri Nouwen’s Genesee Diary. My journals resemble more what you might get from a schoolboy describing his day at school, a simple chronology of what happened. Yet when I go back some years later and read an account of what I did on a given day, I’m always amazed at how rich and full my life was on that day, except that I wasn’t much aware of it at the time. While actually living through those days, mostly I was struggling to get my work done, to stay on top of things, to meet expectations, to carve out some moments of friendship and recreation amid the pressures of the day, and to get to bed at a reasonable hour. There wasn’t a lot of soul there, just routine, work and hurry.

I suspect that this is not atypical. Most of us live most of our days not very aware of how rich our lives are, forever leaving our souls behind. For example, many is the woman who gives ten to fifteen years of her life to bearing and raising children, with all that entails, tending constantly to someone else’s needs, getting up at night to nurse a child, spending 24 hours a day on constant alert, sacrificing all leisure time, and putting a career and personal creativity on hold. And yet often that same woman, later on looks back on those years and wishes she could relive them – but now, in a more soulful way, more consciously aware of how privileged it was to do precisely those things she did within so much tedium and tiredness. Years later, looking back, she sees how rich and precious her experience was and how because of the burden and stress how little her soul was present then to what she was experiencing.

This can be multiplied with a thousand examples. We’ve all read accounts wherein someone shares what he or she would do differently if he or she had life to live over again. Mostly these stories rework the same motif. Given another chance, I would try to enjoy it more, that is, I would try to keep my soul more present and more aware.

For most of us, I fear, our souls will only catch up with us when, finally, we are in retirement, with diminished health, diminished energy, and no opportunity to work. It seems we need to first lose something before we fully appreciate it. We tend to take life, health, energy and work for granted, until they are taken away from us. Only after the fact do we realize how rich our lives have been and how little of those riches we drank in at the time.

Our souls eventually do catch up with us, but it would be good if we didn’t wait until we were in assisted living for this to happen. Like the porters who dropped their loads and stopped, we need to stop and wait for our souls to catch up.

Early on in his priesthood, when Pope Francis was principal of a school, he would at a certain point each day have the public address system cut in and interrupt the work that was going on in each classroom with this announcement: Be grateful. Set your horizon. Take stock of your day.

We all need, regularly, to lay down our burdens for a minute so our souls can catch up with us.

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

GUEST COLUMN
By Carl E. Olson

Imagine for a moment that St. Peter, standing before the centurion Cornelius, had said, with a somewhat embarrassed grimace, “Well, it’s my personal opinion that Jesus rose from the dead – whatever that means. But that’s simply my truth – just one possible explanation.”

It sounds ridiculous. But it’s impossible to ignore that such words have often come from the lips of many modern-day Christians. Perhaps they have only a passing knowledge of what Scripture, tradition and history say about the Resurrection. Perhaps they don’t wish to offend those who scoff at such a “simplistic” acceptance of a supernatural event. Or perhaps they really feel different people can have different “truths.”

But Peter’s words were direct and bold. “We are witnesses of all that he did,” he said. “This man God raised on the third day and granted that he be visible, not to all the people, but to us, the witnesses chosen by God in advance.” Such words are, to many people today, triumphalistic, exclusive and arrogant. But, then, we live in an age in which the only firm belief given a free pass is the belief that faith is not believable. “Faith” is seen as superstitious, based (at best) on feelings and intuitions.

Yet St. Cyril of Jerusalem wrote that when Peter and John ran to the empty tomb they did not “meet Christ risen from the dead, but they infer his resurrection from the bundle of linen clothes” and connected that physical fact to Jesus’ words and the prophecies of Scripture. “When, therefore, they looked at the issues of events in the light of the prophecies that turned out true, their faith was from that time forward rooted on a firm foundation.”

Hans Urs von Balthasar observed that Peter represents the ecclesial office – the papacy – and John symbolizes ecclesial love. Love, not burdened by the cares of the Office, runs faster. “Yet Love yields to Office when it comes to examining the tomb, and Peter thus becomes the first to view the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head and establish that no theft had occurred.” Then Love entered, “and he saw and believed.” This indicated, von Balthasar stated, that “faith in Jesus is justified despite all the opaqueness of the situation.”

By the time Peter preached on Pentecost (Acts 2:14-36) and to the household of Cornelius, the opaqueness had completely dissolved in the light of the Risen Christ. Peter and the apostles were witnesses – and it is important to note that the Greek root word for “witness” and “testimony” (see John 21:24) is “martus,” from which comes “martyr.”

Peter, in particular, had a special role as witness. “If being a Christian essentially means believing in the risen Lord,” Pope Benedict XVI wrote in “Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week,” “then Peter’s special witnessing role is a confirmation of his commission to be the rock on which the Church is built.” This is brought home emphatically in the final chapter of John’s Gospel, where Peter’s place as head apostle was reaffirmed by Jesus and then further affirmed by the promise of martyrdom (Jn 21:15-19).

When it comes to Jesus and the resurrection, the world offers a host of opinions, most of which dismiss and deny the possibility that “this man” was “raised on the third day” by God. But, as St. John Henry Newman pointed out, “No one is a martyr for a conclusion, no one is a martyr for an opinion; it is faith that makes martyrs.”

(Carl E. Olson is editor of Catholic World Report and Ignatius Insight.)

On Ordinary Times
By Lucia A. Silecchia

This past weekend, side by side in the grocery store, lay both bags of salt to pour on icy sidewalks for winter’s last hurrahs and bags of topsoil to spread in flower beds to welcome spring’s first blooms. This juxtaposition perfectly represents the unique place of March in the cycle of the year.
Some say March goes “in like a lion and out like a lamb.” However, seeing March as the season of salt and soil captures its essence as well.

On the one hand, March still remains very much part of winter. Some infamous blizzards have buried cities with snow just as winter-weary residents let down their guard. In a single week, a warm day that beckons the start of spring can be followed by a dip in the temperature that, once again, sets furnaces humming for a week. Light spring jackets and heavy winter coats both wait in our closets. Somehow, it still seems too daring to put away winter boots.

We set our clocks forward and relish the longer nights that seem like summer. Alas, though, our mornings are dark and still tinged with winter chill. Whenever there are a few spring days in a row, we dare to believe that spring is here to stay. Yet, we remain cautiously unsure.

In many ways, March seems like the perfect metaphor for the human condition and for our journeys through this life.

We are so often torn between the shadows of our winters that hold us back and the bright joys of spring for which we hope. We know the temptations, weaknesses and faults that keep us from being who we are meant to be. We also know those things that are good and true toward which we move. Yet, just as March toggles back and forth between winter and spring, so too can human nature seem to do the same thing.

We rejoice when there are hard won victories over vices and look forward to each new day lived better than the one before. Then, sometimes, just as a string of spring days in March can disappear with a returning gust of winter, so too can come the setbacks in our own lives. We know that each day can bring us closer to God and the good, just as we know each day of March brings us, undeniably, closer to spring, Yet, sometimes, this progress can feel fragile.

In all its frustrating challenges, in all its uncertainties, and in all its tensions between victories won and setbacks endured, life can sometimes seem to be a season that looks suspiciously like a very long March!

This year, though, March is a little different. Whatever its first thirty days may hold, there is something uniquely beautiful about celebrating Easter on the very last day of March. It is joyously comforting to know that the tempestuous days of this unpredictable month will end with the joy of Easter.

When we celebrate Christ’s resurrection, it is the definitive end to the darkness of winter. It is the victory over all those things that pull us back when we ache to move forward to new life. It is the triumphant celebration of a new life that is no longer temporary and tenuous. It is not a timid warm day in March that can be easily overtaken by a returning gust of winter. It is, instead, a final victory over sin and death.

Through the roller coaster that is March, and through the highs and lows of life, there remains the beautiful hope of Easter joy. It is a hope that sustains and strengthens through our turbulent march through ordinary time.

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

Kneading Faith
By Fran Lavelle

”For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Church leadership hears the same often bleak news about the state of religion in our country. According to the most recent PEW Research study, 28 percent of adults in the United States are religiously unaffiliated. The religiously unaffiliated are also known as nones.

The decline in membership is being felt across the spectrum of Christian denominations. The questions this reality begs are many but chief among them is simply – why? Why are folks leaving organized religion? According to the PEW study:

The reason “nones” give most often for not having a religion is that they question religious teachings: 60% say doubt about these teachings is an extremely or very important reason why they are nonreligious. In addition, 32% cite a lack of belief in God or any other higher power. Altogether, 67% cite skepticism or nonbelief (or some combination of both) as a key factor in why they are nonreligious.

Meanwhile, 47% of “nones” say their dislike of religious organizations is an extremely or very important reason they are nonreligious. And 30% cite bad experiences with religious people. Altogether, 55% of “nones” mention religious organizations or religious people (or both) as key reasons for being nonreligious.

About four-in-ten “nones” attribute their lack of religiousness to not having a need for religion in their lives. And 12% say they don’t have time for religion. Altogether, 44% cite a lack of need or a lack of time (or both) as reasons for why they are not religious.

I have been working on the Pastoral Reimagining process for the diocese for the last year. Enveloped in this process is a desire to dream. It is important to dream but it is equally important to anchor our dreams in reality. This process for me has done both. The question posed by many of our parishes and missions is how do we reach out to the “nones” that once identified as Catholic? What are the areas of church life that need to be examined and reimagined?

The diocesan process for the Synod on Synodality identified unity and healing as the greatest need in our parishes. I refer to it as finding our way back to one another. Like any relationship some people have moved on feeling like they no longer need the church. Other folks have told me that they “took a break” for going to Mass and didn’t really miss anything. The challenge in all of this is not be defensive and assign blame on those who no longer worship with us. The difficult thing to do is look at who we are as a community and ask how we can be more welcoming and inviting. This is not to say that there needs to be a cheesy welcome to visitors like it’s their first time on a cruise ship, but a reinforcement of everything we do from the time people arrive in the parking lot until the time they get in their cars to leave they have been surrounded by the love of Christ manifested in how they were treated when they were with us.

We have a tendency to dismiss the missing. Statements like, “if they only believed this” or “if they were more that” diminish our responsibility to understanding why people leave in the first place. Many of those who have left said that once they were gone no one called or wrote to see how they were doing. One of my former college students told me after she left college and moved to a large city, “no one noticed when I was there, and no one noticed when I was gone.”

Catholics are creatures of habit. Most families sit within a two-pew area every week. The other members of this noted pew seating chart know when someone is not there. How can we respectfully reach out without seeming nosey? One of my friends at St. Joseph in Starkville lets me know when she is out of town, so my Mom doesn’t worry about her. Likewise, when Mom is not at Mass several church members “drop by the pew” on the way out and ask, “How’s Momma?”

It not only makes me realize how much they care about her, but it also makes me realize how easy it is to make the effort to let people know that their presence matters.

As Lent continues and Holy week approaches, who do we need to ask, ‘How’s Momma?”

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

GUEST COLUMN
By Dr. Greg Popcak

Lent is a time of reparation – a season of sorrow for sins committed and expressions of a sincere desire to reform our lives. But what does it mean to be sorry? What are the components of real remorse?

Whether we are expressing sorrow to God, a spouse, family member or friend, it can be hard to say, “I’m sorry.” It can be even harder to say it well. Sometimes, when people say that they are sorry to us, we can feel like there is something missing. Often, it’s because there is. But what?

As we express our sorrow to God this Lent for the ways that our lives do not reflect his plan for us, it can be important to make sure our “I’m sorrys” have all the components of sincere remorse. Researchers note that good apologies involve three ingredients: empathy, restitution and objective criteria.

When people offer a sincere apology rooted not in obligation but genuine remorse, they tend to express a real emotional understanding of how their actions hurt us. “I am so sorry for doing that. I never meant to treat you that way. I know how badly you were hurt. Please forgive me.”

The truly remorseful person doesn’t make excuses or tell the person they hurt that they were “just kidding,” or that the wounded party needs to get a thicker skin or a better sense of humor. They understand the impact of their actions and they let you know that they feel your pain.

When we express our sorrow to God this Lent, are we going through the motions of repentance, or are we allowing ourselves to express genuine sorrow for the pain God feels when we reject his attempts to love us and make us whole?

When people offer a sincere apology, they don’t just “say the magic words.” They offer a plan for making things right again. Or, if they don’t know what to do to make it right, they ask you what you need them to do to heal the hurt their actions caused. They say things like, “The next time I feel that angry about something, I’m going to do this instead of that,” or, “I really want to make this right. What can I do to earn your trust again?”

Restitution isn’t about asking people to jump through hoops for the sake of watching them dance. It is about committing to the process of reconciliation – healing the wounds our actions caused.

When we confess our sins this Lent, have we put some time into how we would handle similar problem situations differently in the future? Hearing the words “I absolve you” is just the beginning. How will we let the grace of that absolution compel us to heal the wounds our actions have caused those we love, and how can we make sure to avoid those problem behaviors the next time we are tempted to go down a similar path?

Truly sorrowful people don’t hide out behind the belief that “the real problem” is that others are expecting too much of them. If we are truly sorry, we recognize that the person we hurt had an objective right to expect more from us.

How often do others apologize to us in ways that make us feel strangely ashamed for daring to expect them to be faithful, trustworthy or respectful? How often do the apologies others offer sound like, “I’m sorry, but don’t you think you’re being a little controlling/sensitive/judgmental/ needy/demanding/unfair?”

The person offering a sincere apology acknowledges that anyone in a similar situation would be reasonable to expect what you are asking of them. “You’re absolutely right to expect more of me. I’m really sorry I let you down.”

In our relationship with God, how often do we think that the real problem is that he is just asking for entirely too much. Sure, we’re sorry for what we did, but the real problem is that he expects us to be saints. Saints, I tell you! Can you believe it?!? How ridiculous is that?!?

As we conclude Lent, will we continue to pay lip service to the idea that God wants great things for us, or will we embrace the fact that every day he is calling us into deeper union with him and greater perfection in his grace?

Whether we are expressing remorse to God or others, being sorry isn’t, ultimately, about making ourselves seem pitiful enough or appearing pathetic enough to make the other person feel bad and let us off the hook.

Apologizing is about picking up our cross and embracing the hard work that comes with changing our behavior – not so that we can jump through some spiritual hoop but so that we can participate more effectively in the healing process that allows us to achieve our ultimate destiny: loving union with God.

(Dr. Greg Popcak is an author and the director of www.CatholicCounselors.com.)