Spirit and truth
By Father Aaron Williams
Our study of the liturgies of Holy Week picks up in this edition with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday night. For the sake of these columns, I will save discussion of the Chrism Mass for a later issue since this Mass is historically new and deserves a fuller treatment. In older times, the ‘Chrism Mass’ was simply the Mass of Holy Thursday celebrated in the Cathedral church.
From an aesthetic and ceremonial perspective, the Holy Thursday Mass is the simplest of the Triduum lituriges. In many ways it resembles a ‘normal’ Mass, which seems fitting on the night which honors the institution of the Mass itself. From the beginning of the Mass, the overarching theme of the Triduum is put forward. The entrance antiphon begins, “Let us glory in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” This same text is used as the entrance antiphon only on one other occasion in the year: Sept. 14, the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.
We tend to try to place ‘themes’ upon the Triduum liturgies, but the Church desires us understand these rites as a continual zooming in on the one Paschal Mystery. Holy Thursday should be understood as a Mass of the Passion, and retain the same somber tone that we would approach Good Friday. It is for this reason that the rubrics of the Holy Thursday Mass tell us that following the chanting of the Gloria, no instruments or bells are used until the Gloria at the Easter Vigil. The remainder of the Mass is sung a cappella. All through Lent, the church gradually strips away the ceremonial surroundings of the liturgy, and this comes to a climax on Holy Thursday night.
The Gospel read, both in the modern from and in the traditional Missal, does not actually tell the story of the institution of the Eucharist. Rather, the Gospel of the foot washing from St. John is used. This is to underscore the theme of the Passion in the Holy Thursday Mass. The reading of the foot washing on Holy Thursday isn’t a disconnected moment from the Triduum. Those who return for Good Friday will find that the Passion reading at that service will pick up where the previous night finished — again to underscore the one continual mystery celebrated through the Triduum.
In the Holy Week rites before 1955, there was no foot washing rite at this point. The Mandatum, as it is known, formerly was a rite reserved for Cathedrals and Monasteries when new members would be added to the clergy or monastic community. The head of the community would wash the new member’s feet while the community chanted, “Mandatum novum do vobis … I give you a new commandment, love one another as I have loved you.”

Pope Pius XII gave permission for this rite to be celebrated after the Holy Thursday Mass. In the later reform of Holy Week in 1955, the Mandatum is inserted into the Missal as an optional rite after the gospel — which made this rite unique considering there is very little that is optional in the traditional liturgical books. The modern liturgical books maintains the Mandatum as an optional rite, but moves its location to after the homily, rather than after the gospel. The traditional chant is still provided as an optional text to be chanted during the rite.
When this rite is celebrated, it must be the priest to perform the washing (and multiple priests should not be used). The priest takes the place of Christ, strips off his chasuble, and puts on a linen apron (or an amici tied about his waist). He should go one-by-one to each person and wash and dry at least their right foot. Remember that the theme of the entire Triduum is the Passion, so the emphasis here is that the priest, representing Christ, is also representing how Christ’s sacrifice was made not simply for all of us, but for each of us personally, which is why only the priest must celebrate this rite. Christ personally offers himself up for each of us in his Passion.
The Mass continues from this point as normal. The First Eucharistic Prayer (the Roman Canon) must be used in this Mass, and it takes a special form where, prior to the institution narrative, reference is made to the fact that the Eucharist was instituted on Holy Thursday night.
Following communion, a ciborium (not a monstrance) remains on the altar. After the post-communion prayer, all kneel and the priest incenses the ciborium. Putting on a humeral veil, the priest carries the ciborium veiled around the church in a solemn procession with incense and lamps. It is appropriate that some members of the faithful follow this procession as at least a representation of the parish. The procession leads to a special altar which is richly decorated and prepared as the place of reservation for the next two nights.
This altar is traditionally called the ‘Sepulchre’ or tomb. Some modern theologians compare this altar to the Garden of Gethsemane, but traditionally it is understood as a representation of the tomb of Christ, since the Holy Thursday Mass is a celebration of the Passion and not simply of Holy Thursday night. In medieval rites, this altar had a significant role in the Easter liturgy, which we will visit at another time.
After the procession, the ciborium is placed inside the temporary tabernacle and the door is shut. Candles are left burning and adoration (without a monstrance) is kept solemnly until midnight. After that point, adoration may continue more simply, but the altar is to be left decorated through the Triduum — which is why it is best this altar be in another place than the church itself.

(Father Aaron Williams is the administrator at St. Joseph Parish in Greenville)

Kneading Faith
By Fran Lavelle
You can ask anyone who knows me, I love to cook. I love making wholesome and healthy meals and I absolutely love having people over for dinner. I love every minute of meal planning, shopping, meal prep, table setting, wine chilling, dessert making, and I love most the gathering of friends and family around my big country table. The pandemic has authoritatively terminated dinner parties and holiday gatherings since mid-March and will likely continue to scrub such activities for some time into the future. Not only have our gatherings been deferred but the glorious trip to Mother Kroger has been completely and utterly transformed.
Prior to the pandemic I never and I mean never thought I would utilize the “clicklist” shopping option at my local Kroger. Since the pandemic I use this option almost weekly and order my Mom’s groceries the same way. So, you are asking yourself, what do dinner parties and grocery shopping have to do with spirituality?
Here is the thing, as a society we have grown so accustom to having what we want, when we want. For most of us, we are a might bit demanding and our expectations for variety and quality are high. In a world of excess, it is easy to grow accustom to having what we want regardless of the season. But our present reality has made a mockery of our need for instant gratification and the best of the best. We have lost control of the things we have taken for granted like fully stocked shelves at the grocery store. The reality of having someone else shop for you means that you no longer control which bunch of bananas ends up in your cart. And we all know where we stand on the banana matrix of ripeness. If you are like me, slightly speckled bananas are considered over-ripe. If substitutions are made, you are not the one making that decision. On more than one occasion, I have found myself singing the Rolling Stones, “You can’t always get what you want” whilst unloading my “clicklist” groceries.
Therein lies the deeper lesson of this pandemic. This is a season of life marked by the destructive nature of an uncontrollable virus, but also marked by the opportunity to let go of our sense of control and seek God’s will. Ecclesiastes 3:1-5 reminds us, “There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.” This ebb and flow of life’s events recognizes a proper time for everything under the sun.
What has this time of pandemic been for you? In March, I thought we would shelter in place for a few weeks, beat down this beast called coronavirus and be back in business by mid-April. I saw an opportunity for a hard reset that would take us out of the unhealthy and all-consuming busyness of our lives. Five months into this gig and the unhealthy busyness is creeping back in. I do not want to backslide. So, I am making an effort to reprioritize how I give myself to God, my family and my work.
We will look back on this time in the years to come and think about the many ways our lives have been forever changed by the pandemic. Some of them are as small as giving up control of what tomatoes end up in our shopping cart. Some of them will be seismic shifts in how we live. Sorting out what gifts we take with us from this pandemic and what we leave behind might be difficult. Just like the parable of the wheat and the weeds we may need to wait until harvest time to separate what is life giving from the things that just are not that important anymore. For now, I am leaning in. I know there are important lessons to be learned in all of this. The pandemic and the Kroger “clicklist” continue to remind me that I will not always get what I want, what I get may be less than what I expect, and there is a season for everything.

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

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Recently in a radio interview, I was asked this question: “If you were on your deathbed, what would you want to leave behind as your parting words?” The question momentarily took me aback. What would I want to leave behind as my last words? Not having time for much reflection, I settled on this. “I would want to say: Don’t be afraid. Live without fear. Don’t be afraid of death. Most of all, don’t be afraid of God!”

I’m a cradle Catholic, born to wonderful parents, catechized by some very dedicated teachers, and I’ve had the privilege of studying theology in some of the best classrooms in the world. Still it took me fifty years to rid myself of a number of crippling religious fears and to realize that God is the one person of whom you need not be afraid. It’s taken me most of my life to believe the words that come from God’s mouth over three hundred times in scripture and are the initial words out of the mouth of Jesus whenever he meets someone for the first time after his resurrection: Do not be afraid!
It has been a fifty-year journey for me to believe that, to trust it. For most of my life I’ve lived in a false fear of God, and of many other things. As a young boy, I had a particular fear of lightning storms which in my young mind demonstrated how fierce and threatening God could be. Thunder and lightning were portents which warned us, religiously, to be fearful. I nursed the same fears about death, wondering where souls went after they died, sometimes looking at a dark horizon after the sun had set and wondering whether people who had died were out there somewhere, haunted in that endless darkness, still suffering for what they’d had not gotten right in life. I knew that God was love, but that love also held a fierce, frightening, exacting justice.

Those fears went partially underground during my teenage years. I made my decision to enter religious life at the age of seventeen and have sometimes wondered whether that decision was made freely and not out of false fear. Looking back on it now however, with fifty years of hindsight, I know that it wasn’t fear that compelled me, but a genuine sense of being called, of knowing from the influence of my parents and the Ursuline nuns who catechized me, that one’s life is not one’s own, that one is called to serve. But religious fear remained unhealthily strong within me.

So, what helped me let go of that? This doesn’t happen in a day or year; it is the cumulative effect of fifty years of bits and pieces conspiring together. It started with my parents’ deaths when I was twenty-two. After watching both my mother and father die, I was no longer afraid of death. It was the first time I wasn’t afraid of a dead body since these bodies were my mother and father of whom I was not afraid. My fears of God eased gradually every time I tried to meet God with my soul naked in prayer and came to realize that your hair doesn’t turn white when you are completely exposed before God; instead you become unafraid. My fears lessened too as I ministered to others and learned what divine compassion should be, as I studied and taught theology, as two cancer diagnoses forced me to contemplate for real my own mortality, and as a number of colleagues, family, and friends modeled how one can live more freely.

Intellectually, a number of persons particularly helped me: John Shea helped me realize that God is not a law to be obeyed, but an infinitely empathic energy that wants us to be happy; Robert Moore helped me to believe that God is still looking on us with delight; Charles Taylor helped me to understand that God wants us to flourish; the bitter anti-religious criticism of atheists like Frederick Nietzsche helped me see where my own concept of God and religion needed a massive purification; and an older brother, a missionary priest, kept unsettling my theology with irreverent questions like, what kind of God would want us to be frightened of him? A lot of bits and pieces conspired together.

What’s the importance of last words? They can mean a lot or a little. My dad’s last words to us were “be careful,” but he was referring to our drive home from the hospital in snow and ice. Last words aren’t always intended to leave a message; they can be focused on saying goodbye or simply be inaudible sighs of pain and exhaustion; but sometimes they can be your legacy.

Given the opportunity to leave family and friends a few last words, I think that after I first tried to say a proper goodbye, I’d say this: Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of living or of dying. Especially don’t be afraid of God.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Reba J. McMellon, M.S., LPC

If you have felt all sorts of crazy in the past six months, join the crowd. COVID-19 seemed to start gradually then hit us like a tsunami.

We were just beginning to hear about it, learn to spell and pronounce it, discuss it among family and friends when bam! – a “shelter at home” order was issued.

Businesses were shut down, re-opened then shut down again. Initially all the masks looked like those blue medical things that portend some sort of medical procedure involving pain or discomfort. Now we’re use to people looking like they are going to a robbery. Facial expressions are blocked. Tension doesn’t begin to describe what we all felt and are still feeling in the atmosphere “out there.” In the beginning, every time I heard shelter in place or shelter at home, I pictured a chihuahua shivering with his nose in a corner waiting for a thunderstorm to pass. But this is no thunderstorm. It hasn’t passed. Does that leave some of us shivering in place?

Then comes the debate: What is this? Is it blue, is it red, does “it” have ties to being liberal or conservative, does it have left wings or right wings, can it fly through the air, does it make you really sick or not sick at all, do people die from it? It’s something we can’t see, touch or taste. It’s also something we can’t control. We Americans do not like things we can’t control.
It’s a type of sickness that will physically separate you from your loved ones, especially those in the margins of life. No. Uh huh, that just isn’t acceptable. A pandemic that hits the United States?

We thought we, as a society, were way past that sort of thing. We’re used to having fast paced control. Just look at what our cell phones can do. Technology is the way of the world, not some viral outbreak no one has heard of. This sort of thing might happen across the pond but not in our country. We tend to be vague about our world geography and ignore all things not in our backyard, so let it be something that happens somewhere else.

But here “it” is, all up in our backyard. This leads to a little bit of acceptance that went something like this: “Ok, I’ll accept a couple weeks of disruption that could lead to a month or two but that’s it. Then we’ll move back to normal.”

When two weeks turned into two months and now six months with no end in sight, family and friends began to splinter in how they chose to cope. Conspiracy theories of fake tests, clandestine financial motives, political gain or loss, election plans, medical financing-you name it. Anger at not being able to bargain our way through “this” gave rise to anxiety, fear and irritably. Sometimes extreme irritability. When this stage started to wane, a sadness-like depression rolled around. Lethargy, giving up, giving in, preoccupation with health, fear of routines that previously brought comfort, finding new comfort in numbing out, giving up and giving in.
Life as we knew it is, well, over. This leads to a new level of acceptance. Acceptance of a life and lifestyle previously unfamiliar to most. One of much less doing and much more being. Living more simply and present in the moment can be extremely uncomfortable for a society that values doing over being. A society that equates busy with important. Depending on your personal value system and level of spiritual maturity, this could be asking you to rework your whole system of thinking.

Just when you think you’re over the anger, irritability, shock, anxiety, denial and bargaining, a sense of new peace flows down and you feel as though you’ve arrived at acceptance.

But, just like the stages of grief, the feeling may roll back around and play out again and again. The good news is, the more you lean into acceptance, the shorter the other stages will last. We, as a society, have a lot of strengths. Patience and trust don’t tend to be our top two. We are a nation that gets to work and fixes things. Natural disasters? No problem. We show up and rebuild. But COVID-19 is intangible. Most of us can’t show up anywhere and fix any of it.

We are, as a nation, hardheaded. Hardheaded but not hopeless.
The five stages of grief (loss) are: shock, denial, bargaining, anger, depression, testing and acceptance.

If you find yourself stuck in one stage for more than two weeks, it’s a red flag. Check in with yourself on a regular basis. Write on a calendar or in a journal so you can keep up with your moods and thought processes, as well as the days of the week, the change in seasons, the months that pass by.
If your mood causes you to lose your perspective, your ability to love your neighbor, family or friends and your ability to find joy or humor in something every day, talk to somebody! Not just anybody, talk to someone who really listens. You may need to see your medical doctor or mental health counselor. If you didn’t need extra support to see you through this COVID-19 crazy, you are in the minority. Needing a little extra help is a normal response to an abnormal situation.

If there were ever a time for the serenity prayer, it’s now. Light your candles, use holy water, listen to God, follow the liturgy of the word. If not now, when?

Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. The courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

(Reba J. McMellon, M.S., LPC is a licensed professional counselor with 35 years of experience. She currently lives in Jackson, Mississippi and works part-time as a mental health consultant and freelance writer.)

By Sister Constance Veit, LSP
Summer is usually a lot of fun in our retirement homes. The elderly enjoy getting outdoors for picnics, gardening and community outings, especially when they include a stop for ice cream.

Not so this year! As summer wears on with no end to the pandemic in sight, the mandated social isolation is beginning to take a serious toll on our elderly residents.
In many of our homes, the residents have been living in forced isolation in their rooms since late March. Direct contact with family and friends has been forbidden for the last five months. While people from many walks of life have been incredibly generous in sending messages to our residents and helping us to provide for their physical needs, and we have been able to use technology to ensure screen contact between the elderly and their loved ones, screen time cannot fully replace person-to-person connections with loved ones and socialization with fellow residents.
The longer the pandemic lasts, the more concerned I am about the isolation of the elderly. It’s bad enough for our residents, but I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely it is for seniors who live by themselves, especially in rural areas and regions that lack adequate internet service – an estimated half of all Americans lack high-speed internet service at home – or for those unfamiliar with technologies many of us take for granted.
Since the beginning of the pandemic celebrities of all types have reached out online to lift our spirits and remind people that we are all in this together. “Alone together” has become a popular catch-phrase, but what about the 50 percent of Americans – including many seniors – who lack internet access and who are especially vulnerable to the scourge of loneliness?
I’m afraid that the marginalization of frail seniors could become the new normal. A recent study carried out by the National Bureau of Economic Research suggests that both economic damages and loss of life from COVID-19 might best be limited by “a simple targeted policy that applies an aggressive lockdown on the oldest group and treats the rest of the population uniformly.”
The NBER working paper (May 2020) states that gains from “targeted policies” can be substantially increased by combining them with additional measures such as increasing the “social distance” between the oldest group and the rest of the population, reducing visits to older relatives and segregating the times when different demographic groups can go to grocery stores and pharmacies.
Such measures are referred to as a form of “protective custody” intended to protect the elderly.
After seeing our Residents suffer through five months of lockdown, concepts such as “targeted policies” and “protective custody” make me cringe. Surely our society can do better than this for our seniors!
Feeling the weight of these issues, I happened upon a recent tweet of Pope Francis. “The COVID-19 pandemic has revealed that our societies have not organized enough to make room for the elderly, with just respect for their dignity and fragility. Where you don’t care for the elderly, there’s no future for the young,” he wrote.
And then I read our Holy Father’s message to young people on July 26, the feast of Sts. Joachim and Anne, the grandparents of Jesus. He asked the young to perform “a gesture of tenderness towards the elderly, especially the loneliest, in their homes and residences, those who have not seen their loved ones for many months.”
“Dear young people,” he said, “each one of these elderly people is your grandparent! Do not leave them by themselves. Use the inventiveness of love, make telephone calls, video calls, send messages, listen to them and, where possible, in compliance with the healthcare rules, go to visit them too. Send them a hug.”
Taking up our Holy Father’s challenge, the Vatican has launched a campaign entitled “The elderly are your grandparents.” It invites young people to be inventive and do something concrete for older people who are vulnerable to loneliness. The campaign is associated with the hashtag #sendyourhug.
Let’s evaluate our own attitudes and behaviors during this difficult time, asking ourselves if we are sensitive to how our actions might adversely affect the wellbeing of others, and if we could do more to safely reach to the most vulnerable.
Let’s get inventive and find ways to make sure that our elders never feel marginalized or forgotten, no matter how long the pandemic lasts!

(Sister Constance Veit is the director of communications for the Little Sisters of the Poor.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Monks have secrets worth knowing, and these can be invaluable when a coronavirus pandemic is forcing millions of us to live like monks.

Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, millions of us have been forced to stay at home, work from home, practice social distancing from everyone except those in our own houses and have minimal social contact with the outside. In a manner of speaking, this has turned many of us into monks, like it or not. What’s the secret to thrive there?

Well, I’m not a monk, nor a mental health expert, so what I share here isn’t exactly the rule of St. Benedict or a series of professional mental health tips. It’s the fruit of what I’ve learned from monks and from living in the give-and-take of a religious community for fifty years.

Here are ten counsels for living when we are in effect housebound, that is, living in a situation wherein we don’t have a lot of privacy, have to do a lot of living within a very small circle, face long hours wherein we have to struggle to find things that energize us, and wherein we find ourselves for good stretches of time frustrated, bored, impatient and lethargic. How does one survive and thrive in that situation?

1. Create a routine – That’s the key. It’s what monks do. Create a detailed routine for the hours of your day as you would a financial budget. Make this very practical: list the things you need to do each day and slot them into a concrete timetable and then stick to that as a discipline, even when it seems rigid and oppressive. Resist the temptation to simply go with the flow of your energy and mood or to lean on entertainment and whatever distractions can be found to get you through your days and nights.
2. Wash and dress your body each day, as if you were going out into the world and meeting people. Resist the temptation to cheat on hygiene, dress and make-up. Don’t spend the morning in your pajamas: wash and dress-up. When you don’t do this, what are you saying to your family? They aren’t worth the effort? And what are you saying to yourself? I’m not worth the effort? Slovenliness invariably becomes lethargy and acedia.
3. Look beyond yourself and your needs each day to see others and their hurts and frustrations. You’re not in this alone; the others are enduring exactly what you are. Nothing will make your day harder to endure than excessive self-focus and self-pity.
4. Find a place to be alone for some time every day – and offer others that same courtesy. Don’t apologize that you need time away, to be by yourself. That’s an imperative for mental health, not a selfish claim. Give others that space. Sometimes you need to be apart, not just for your own sake but for the sake of the others. Monks live an intense community life, but each also has a private cell within which to retreat.
5. Have a contemplative practice each day that includes prayer. On the schedule you create for yourself, mark in at least a half hour or an hour each day for some contemplative practice: pray, read scripture, read from a serious book, journal, paint a picture, paint a fence, create an artifact, fix something, garden, write poetry, write a song, begin a memoir, write a long letter to someone you haven’t seen for years, whatever; but do some something that’s freeing for your soul and have it include some prayer.
6. Practice “Sabbath” daily. Sabbath need not be a day; it can be an hour. Give yourself something very particular to look forward to each day, something enjoyable and sensual: a hot bath, a glass of wine, a cigar on the patio, a rerun of a favorite old sitcom, a nap in the shade in a lawn chair, anything – as long as it’s done purely for enjoyment. Make this a discipline.
7. Practice “Sabbath” weekly. Make sure that only six days of the week are locked into your set routine. Break the routine once a week. Set one day apart for enjoyment, one day when you may eat pancakes for breakfast in your pajamas.
8. Challenge yourself with something new. Stretch yourself by trying something new. Learn a new language, take up a new hobby, learn to play an instrument. This is an opportunity you’ve never had.
9. Talk through the tensions that arise within your house – though carefully. Tensions will arise when living in a fishbowl. Monks have community meetings to sort out those tensions. Talk tensions through honestly with each other, but carefully; hurtful remarks sometimes never quite heal.
10. Take care of your body. We aren’t disembodied spirits. Be attentive to your body. Get enough exercise each day to keep your body energized. Be careful not to use food as a compensation for your enforced monasticism. Monks are careful about their diet – except on feast days.
    Monks do have secrets worth knowing!

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Meg Ferguson
In the grand sea of types and styles of prayers, I’ve found myself at home in

prayerful ponderings. I love to take a virtue (like gratitude) or a specific topic (like suffering) and investigate it from all sides in hopes of clarifying how I can better live out this virtue or gaining some deeper insight into the topic. I could look at Scripture passages or writings of saints that relate to that theme, try to imagine what their lives were like, ask questions, and see what new insights speak to my heart. Usually, I will ponder one topic over days or weeks mulling the idea repeatedly in my head asking for the Holy Spirit’s inspiration. Recently, I’ve been meditating on pregnancy and the mystery of creating new life, and I would like to share my small insights with each of you.
Since I am currently pregnant with my first child, it’s no surprise why the topic of pregnancy has been weighing on my heart lately. My husband and I got married this past December, and we are so blessed to be able to start a family right away! Our little one is due in October, and we just found out it’s a boy. The joy and anticipation that fills this chapter of my life can hardly be put into words!
In my prayers, I find myself focusing on two passages in Scripture over and over again: Psalm 139:13-14 and 1 Kings 19:11-13. In Psalm 139, the psalmist is praising God for his greatness and all-knowing, all-powerful nature saying, “You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am wonderfully made; wonderful are your works!” (Psalm 139:13-14). This passage makes me feel elated and, indeed, wonderfully made, and a little confused. I can’t help but get stuck reading the metaphor of being ‘knit in a mother’s womb.’ I thought to myself as I read, is God like a master knitter? Somehow, the image of God the Father sitting in an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair intently focused on a knitting project made me smile (and laugh a little). But on a more serious note, God is like a knitter who meticulously crafts something beautiful. In Psalm 139:13-14, the beautiful creation God is so focused on is a child in utero. And in this metaphor, the mother is the one supplying God with the yarn, so to speak. That is, a mother provided the raw materials for God to create a new unique and truly awe-inspiring tiny human. God could have chosen to create new life another way, without the contributions of human men or women, but He chooses to work with us. How amazing is that!?! In all pregnant mothers, God, the Creator of All Life, is at work in a special way. But it’s not just pregnant mothers who work with God, fathers, too, are co-operating with God’s creative action.
In thinking about this brief Bible passage, I am reminded that God is not a God who is faraway uninterested in human life, like a divine watchmaker who winds the watch and lets go. God is actively involved in our lives every day! Every breath we take is a gift God personally hands us like a flower picked for a special gift.
In 1 Kings 19:11-13, Elijah recognizes God’s presence in his life. God tells Elijah that he will be passing by, and Elijah diligently waits. A tornado-like wind sweeps by, an earthquake shakes the mountain where he is, and a fire rages on, but Elijah knows God is not present in those destructive powers. Rather, when he hears “a light silent sound,” Elijah recognizes the Lord. When I read this passage, I connect the small gentle sound to the little baby kicks I have only recently started experiencing. God is present in the tiniest wiggle of my little one, and I am filled with joy! I ask myself, ‘How often do I miss the other tiny moments when God makes Himself present in my life (like a phone call or text from a friend, or the kind act of a stranger)?’ ‘How often to I forget to thank God for all that I’ve been given?’ I hope and pray we all strive to see God’s presence working in the everyday moments of our lives.

(Meg Ferguson is the director of campus ministry at St. Joseph Starkville.)

From the hermitage
By Sister alies therese
It is heaving I mean fierce good ‘ole tropical summer Southern Mississippi rain and I imagine God weeping over us. Weeping and weeping, weeping over Jerusalem because we just don’t get it. What is ‘it’? Well, we are made in the image of God, each one of us, not just the privileged. Do we experience our God gazing with love at us and mourning, almost saying, ‘after all that trouble My Jesus went to…?’

The band-aid has been ripped off some of the cancerous wound. Can we be cleansed? I find that difficult. You? I am reminded that our systems advantage one and clearly disadvantage another. (Consider Frederick Douglass’ speech on July 4, 1852.) Or worse, I suppose, is that ‘I know’ and ‘have known’ all along but have done nothing, or very little. Why does change only come when there is murder, anxiety, systemic racism, death penalty, abortion, virus, disease, abuse, hatred, hopelessness and brutality? They all sound very death-dealing to me. None very pro-life! Right. Death to them all! Easier said than done.
I suppose the Gospels would inform my conscience and practice more if I’d dare to read them wanting to change (like wearing a mask) … but since I am advantaged I’d prefer, perhaps, to read them as a way of comforting myself rather than accepting Martin Luther King’s challenge: “Let us be dissatisfied.” (MLK, 1967, SCLC speech) We know some of things he was dissatisfied with: racial injustice, economic inequality, hunger and war. All those boiled down to his bottom line: he was satisfied with nothing short of the Kingdom of God, the Beloved Community, the Kindom of acceptance, of love in practice. I’m not sure I want to work that hard. You? At the heart of all this is reconciliation, not necessarily integration or assimilation or whatever the fashionable buzz-word is. In that same speech he reminded us: “I am personally the victim of deferred dreams, of blasted hopes.”
Racism is particularly ugly and over the years has been worth writing about. In 1989 the Pontifical Commission ‘Iustitia Et Pax’ produced ‘The Church and Racism. Towards a More Fraternal Society.’ (pub. CTS, 1989). This always makes me think:
“Harboring racist thoughts and entertaining racist attitudes is a sin against the specific message of Christ from whom one’s ‘neighbor’ is not only a person from my tribe, my milieu, my religion, or my nation: it is every person that I meet along the way.” (page 34)
That sin hasn’t changed. Have I? How have I begun to be an ally? What am I willing to give up? How do I understand the anguish of another and stand with them? Is each person another Christ?
The Venerable Dorothy Day twigged a similar awareness as she sat in jail: “I am the mother whose child has been raped and slain. I was the mother who had borne the monster who had done it. I was even that monster, feeling in my own heart every abomination.” (Day, From Union Square, 1938)
Thomas Merton in New Seeds of Contemplation (1961), offered this:
“If people really wanted peace they would sincerely ask God for it and God would give it to them. But why should God give the world peace it does not really desire? The peace the world pretends to desire is satisfaction of animal appetites for comfort and pleasure … really no peace at all … so instead of loving what you think is peace, love other people and love God above all. And instead of hating the people you think are war-makers, hate the appetites and the disorder in your own soul, which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed – but hate these things in yourself, not in another.” (page 121-22)
Langston Hughes in his ever-famous poem proposed a question we still need to answer:
“What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like as a sore — And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over
— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?” (Langston Hughes Reader, 1958)
We have seen a few explosions (the many murders, brutality and ‘the-19’) and in these days we have had some wonderful peaceful protests. We have seen some changes (like the Mississippi state flag). Maybe we are able together to fully turn our hearts toward God and learn how prayer and action need to match. That would be a clear delivery of the mercy of God and we could show forth we are indeed, created in God’s image, all of us.
“Love your neighbor like something which you yourself are.” (Shmelke of Nikolsburg, from Buber’s Early Masters, 1947)

(Sister alies therese is a vowed Catholic solitary who lives an eremitical life. Her days are formed around prayer, art and writing.)