Fear no one.

That was Christ’s command to the Twelve after He told them they were going to be flogged in synagogues and dragged before governors and kings. That would be the fate of the Twelve, Christ’s hand-picked confidants, His band of brothers.

Band of Brothers was a highly acclaimed miniseries released 25 years ago (2001). Based on a book of the same name, it told the true story of a U.S. Infantry regiment during World War II. It featured farm boys and city boys, green recruits at basic training in Georgia, who became seasoned veterans at the end of the war in 1945.

In one scene in a dark, bombed-out forest in France, a young private gives an unsolicited confession to a feared young captain from Boston, named Ronald Speirs. Captain Speirs has a reputation for being murderously ruthless. He is none too fond of taking German prisoners and has a very low tolerance for misbehaving American soldiers.

The private tells Captain Speirs that on D-Day, when they parachuted behind enemy lines into Normandy, he did not try to join up with his company and fight. Instead, he took a nap in a ditch. Captain Speirs stares at the private and says, “What’s your name soldier?” And the private softly answers, “Blithe, Albert Blithe.” Speirs then asks, “You know why you hid in that ditch, Blithe?” Blithe sheepishly says, “I was scared.” And Captain Speirs replies:

We’re all scared. You hid in that ditch because you think there’s still hope. But Blithe, the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to function as a soldier is supposed to function. Without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends on it.

Many today would argue Captain Ronald Speirs’ speech was quite morbid. But was Speir’s speech much different than what St. Paul wrote to the Romans?

Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with Him through baptism into death…Consequently, you too must think of yourselves as dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus. (Rom. 6:3-4, 11)

Do you think of yourselves as already dead? Listen to Christ:

…and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. (Mt. 10:38-39)

At the Offertory Rite, I remove the chalice veil, symbolizing the stripping of Christ’s garments and preparation of the Lamb for sacrifice. I pour wine into the chalice, which will become His Blood. Then I pour a drop of water into the chalice. That represents you. It means you’ve come here to die.

For centuries, directly before the pouring of wine and water, the priest held up the host (bread), looked up at the crucifix, and silently prayed:

Accept, O Holy Father, Almighty and Everlasting God, this unspotted Host, which I, Thy unworthy servant, offer unto Thee, my living and true God to atone for my countless sins, offenses, and negligences: on behalf of all here present and likewise for all faithful Christians, living and dead, that it may avail both me and them as a means of salvation, unto life everlasting. Amen.

The priest prayed this prayer, essentially unchanged since the 800s. In 1970, it was changed to this:

Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you: fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the bread of life.  

Does that sound like the preparation of a sacrificial victim for death? No, it sounds like a blessing before a meal. Bless us O Lord, and these thy gifts… And that is what it is. It’s cobbled together from a 5^th century A.D. Jewish “enjoyment” blessing found in the Talmud. Did the bishops at Vatican II vote to change the centuries-old offertory prayer to a meal prayer? No. A committee of modernist-types, in non-synodal fashion, pushed that through a few years after Vatican II ended, after all the bishops had already gone home.

And in doing so, the committee helped bring on a paradigm shift at Holy Mass, in effect turning the priest into a presider, and the sacrifice into a supper. The thing about being invited to suppers is that you do not have to go. But God commanded we publicly offer Him sacrifice. Do you understand then why your friends and family aren’t going to Mass today? We’ve had three generations now conditioned to believe that Mass is nothing more than a “fraternal banquet” and a “nice service.” Why get out of bed for that?

I have been crucified with Christ, and the life I live now is not my own. (Gal. 2:19)

Note that St. Paul did not write, “I have eaten with Christ.” And note that Christ did not say, “Take up your fork and spoon and follow me.” Note this, and understand what you are actually supposed to be doing at Holy Mass. You are here, not as a dinner guest, but as a priest to offer yourself. You are here to die. For your life is not your own. You’ve been bought, not with silver or gold, but with Blood—the Blood on Calvary, which is the same Blood in the chalice.

My friends, this is why Christ commanded us to fear Him and not the world.

The psalm states:

He grants the desires of those who fear Him, He hears their cry and He saves them.

No less than the Virgin Mary herself prayed:

He has mercy on those who fear Him in every generation.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer feared God. A German Lutheran pastor and theologian, he was hanged by the Nazis at the age of thirty-nine in 1945, two weeks before American infantry liberated the area and twenty-eight days before Nazi Germany surrendered. Bonhoeffer wrote:

When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.  

He also wrote:

Death is hell and night and cold—if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.

The Band of Brothers title given to the American infantry group in the miniseries comes from William Shakespeare. It’s a speech from England’s King Henry V, in which he rouses his outnumbered and demoralized soldiers before the big battle with France:

If we are mark’d to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother.

My friends, we are all scared. Deep down, we’re all scared because we’ve lost the culture to the enemies of the Cross. We’re now outnumbered and demoralized. And too many of our captains have gone AWOL. They want to listen and dialogue with evil. They want to “accompany” it instead of fighting it. How then do we function as soldiers of Christ? We do so by realizing there is no hope. That’s right. There is no hope for a passing-away world. It is doomed, not made to last.

Look then to your mighty champion, your fearless warrior (Jer. 20:11), your crucified captain on the cross. Look to the one who is murderously ruthless when it comes to sin and death. Witness Him take His vengeance on it—without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war for souls depends on it.

Fear no one, my friends. Die to the world and live for Christ. Shed your blood with Him, and you shall be His brother. Do that, and you can transform death.

And that is what is just so marvelous.

Photo by Duncan Kidd on Unsplash

The phrase attributed to Mother Teresa of Calcutta, “The worst feeling: resentment,” offers a profound reflection on the human condition and the way emotions shape the course of our lives. While there are painful feelings such as sadness, fear, frustration, and loneliness, resentment has a distinctive quality: it endures over time and feeds on the memory of a wound. It arises not only from suffering itself but also from the decision—conscious or unconscious—to hold on to it. For this reason, many philosophical, psychological, and spiritual traditions regard it as one of the most destructive human emotions.

This idea gains particular strength when viewed in light of Irene Villa’s testimony. Her life is one of the most remarkable examples of resilience and freedom from resentment. In 1991, at the age of twelve, she was the victim of a terrorist attack that resulted in the amputation of both her legs and several fingers. Yet rather than building her life around hatred or revenge, she chose the path of forgiveness and resilience. Her experience demonstrates that even after immense suffering, it is possible to avoid becoming trapped by bitterness.

Resentment usually originates from experiences perceived as unjust. It may arise from betrayal, deception, humiliation, or any situation in which we feel deeply hurt by another person. Pain and indignation are natural initial reactions; however, when these emotions become permanent, resentment takes root. The wound ceases to belong to the past and becomes a constant presence that shapes a person’s life.

The most dangerous aspect of resentment is that it becomes an emotional prison. Those who harbor it often believe that keeping the offense alive protects them or ensures that they never forget what happened. In reality, the opposite occurs. Each time the injury is revisited, part of the original pain is relived. The harm no longer depends on the person who caused it; it is sustained by the one who continues to carry it.

Mother Teresa, who devoted her life to serving the poorest and most vulnerable, observed that many people suffered not only from material deprivation but also from deep emotional wounds. She understood that resentment and hatred can impoverish the human spirit just as poverty impoverishes the body. From this perspective, resentment becomes a form of suffering that limits one’s ability to love, understand, and live in peace.

Irene Villa’s story illustrates this truth powerfully. After the attack that transformed her life, it would have been understandable for her to develop hatred toward those responsible. Yet she has explained on many occasions that she chose not to allow resentment to govern her existence. She realized that hatred would mean remaining a victim of the attack every single day. By renouncing bitterness, she regained an inner freedom that no act of violence could take away.

From a psychological perspective, resentment consumes an enormous amount of mental energy. Those who harbor it often devote significant time to revisiting grievances, imagining arguments, or dwelling on what others should have done differently. These repetitive thoughts generate stress, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion. They can also affect physical health by disrupting sleep, increasing tension, and diminishing overall well-being.

Furthermore, resentment alters the way we perceive reality. When a person clings to an offense, they may begin to see the world through a lens of distrust. New relationships become conditioned by past experiences, and the fear of being hurt again makes it difficult to open oneself to others. In this way, an old wound ends up limiting present opportunities.

Another important aspect is that resentment often harms the person who harbors it more than the one who caused it. In many cases, the offender has moved on with life, while the resentful individual remains emotionally tied to the painful event. This paradox helps explain why so many spiritual teachings emphasize the importance of freeing oneself from hatred. The goal is not to justify injustice but to prevent it from continuing to exercise power over one’s life.

Here, the concept of forgiveness becomes essential. Both Mother Teresa and Irene Villa, though shaped by very different experiences, have emphasized its liberating power. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting or minimizing the harm that has been done, nor does it imply abandoning the pursuit of justice. Rather, it involves deciding that suffering will no longer dictate one’s thoughts and emotions. It is an act of personal freedom that allows individuals to regain control over their lives.

Forgiveness, however, is not always easy. Some wounds are deep and require time to heal. Certain experiences leave lasting scars, and their emotional impact may accompany a person for years. For this reason, forgiveness is not just a one-time choice. Instead, it might be helpful to view it as a gradual process of inner reconstruction. Each individual must travel that path at their own pace.

The idea that resentment may be the most harmful emotion can also be applied to social coexistence. Communities and nations can become trapped in cycles of collective resentment that perpetuate conflict across generations. When grievances become part of a group’s identity, building bridges of understanding becomes increasingly difficult. By contrast, processes of reconciliation show that it is possible to acknowledge suffering without remaining chained to it.

In everyday life, all of us encounter situations that test our ability to overcome resentment. Family disputes, broken relationships, workplace conflicts, and personal disappointments can all become sources of bitterness. In these circumstances, it is worth remembering that holding on to resentment rarely resolves problems. Empathy, reflection, and dialogue, on the other hand, often open more constructive paths forward.

Irene Villa’s experience offers a particularly valuable lesson. If someone who endured such a devastating tragedy was able to build a life grounded in hope, perseverance, and forgiveness, then others can find inspiration for confronting their own wounds. Her example shows that true strength does not lie in returning the harm we have received, but in refusing to let that harm define our capacity to live fully.

Ultimately, the reflection attributed to Mother Teresa remains deeply relevant. Resentment has the power to prolong suffering, occupy the mind, and restrict inner freedom. While many negative emotions gradually fade, resentment can remain alive for years if it is continually nourished. The message that emerges from both Mother Teresa and Irene Villa is therefore profoundly hopeful: forgiveness cannot change the past, but it can transform the present and open the way to a life that is freer, more humane, and more fulfilling.

Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash

Since my mother’s womb, you have been my strength. (Ps. 71:6)

Today, the Church celebrates the birth of John the Baptist, one of just three liturgical birthday celebrations, along with that of Jesus and Mary. According to pious Christian speculation, John was born (though not conceived) without original sin by the action of the Holy Spirit at the moment in which Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting.

Of course, John’s prenatal “leap” is not the only evidence that tradition has relied on to come to this incredible conclusion; it is simply a “sign.” Far more foundational is the prophetic message that the Angel Gabriel imparted upon John’s father, Zechariah:

He will be FILLED WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT even from his mother’s WOMB. (Lk. 1:15)

And if the angel’s word isn’t enough for us (as it unfortunately wasn’t for Zechariah—at least not at first), then surely the words of Jesus Christ Himself should be convincing:

Amen, I say to you, among those BORN of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist. (Mt. 11:11)

Still, ancient tradition is not the same as official dogma, so we are free to reserve judgment on the matter. Suffice it to say, the Church deems John the Baptist worthy of an honor that is otherwise reserved for Jesus and Mary alone, so regardless of the nature of his soul at birth, let’s try to understand why Jesus has such high praise for his kinsman John, right from the time of his birth. To do that, let’s begin by looking at the Lord’s praise for his disciple, Peter.

Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father. And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church. (Mt. 16:17-18)

Peter is a man clearly moved by the Holy Spirit (just as was John the Baptist) to speak words that have come from deep within himself, almost as if they are not his own. And indeed, they are a gift from the Father, poured out through Peter’s heart, and shared with humanity. And Jesus calls him “blessed” for this. So blessed is Peter, in fact, that Jesus decides he will be the one upon whom the Lord will build His Church! That is one impressive blessing.

And yet, Jesus doesn’t call Peter the “greatest” man that ever was; that honor goes to John the Baptist, a man who did not even live to see the Church’s birth at Pentecost. John was the “forerunner,” the one who came before the inception of the Church, the one who came to announce its coming, by way of prophecy.

So what could possibly have made him any “greater” than Peter? Of course, we know the faults and failings of our dear first vicar; but on the other hand, Peter was not born without original sin. Doing the right thing wouldn’t have come naturally to Peter in the way it would have to John. How is it fair to laud John’s “greatness” when it was a greatness that he didn’t exactly have to work for, but rather, was freely given him?

When Jesus calls His cousin “great,” in one sense, He is not referring to His cousin at all. The greatness that Jesus glorifies is the greatness of God in which John lives and moves and has his being (Acts 17:28). It is the same reason that Jesus pronounces blessing upon Peter at the words of his own incredible revelation. But in another sense, Jesus indeed is praising John for his personal greatness, even measuring it above that of Peter—or anyone else for that matter.

Why? Certainly, John gave of himself sacrificially, even to the point of martyrdom—but did not the Apostles do so as well, at least after Pentecost, as well as so many others who came after them? What made John’s act any “greater” than anyone else’s?

He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah to turn the hearts…to prepare a people fit for the Lord. (Lk. 1:17)

The thing about John the Baptist is that in terms of his role as “prophet,” his mission was a little unorthodox. After all, the prophets who came before him spoke of a messiah who would come hundreds of years later. After a while, the ancients must have wondered whether the words they read in the Torah were more mythological in nature rather than based on any real prediction. But when it came to John the Baptist, his “prediction” was taking place right then and there. He pointed to his cousin, just three months younger than he, and said, “He’s the One.”

Other than the dove incident at Jesus’ baptism, there would not have been a lot of mystical fanfare surrounding these two men. Jesus didn’t glow in the dark (at least not until later), and John the Baptist didn’t levitate or turn his locusts into tasty olives. It would have taken a lot for the people to get on board with whatever this tattered-looking man who lived in the desert was preaching.

And that is the whole point.

John the Baptist appeared, preaching in the desert of Judea [and] saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!”…Jerusalem, ALL Judea, and the WHOLE REGION around the Jordan…were being baptized by him…as they acknowledged their sins. (Mt. 3:1-6)

John the Baptist managed to single-handedly convince “all” of Judea and the entire “region around the Jordan” to repent. He persuaded them to turn their hearts back to God and to prepare themselves for the arrival of His kingdom. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Camel hair and locusts should have been enough to turn the people “off;” instead, they could not get enough of John’s mysterious message. They hungered for it. They thirsted for it. They recognized it as truth in the silence of their hearts. John’s unappealing appearance and lifestyle only lent proof to the fact that it was the action of the Holy Spirit working seamlessly and continuously in and through him.

Without John’s great ministry, it is possible that not a single soul would have recognized the Messiah who stood before them. These souls were not filled with the Holy Spirit as was John, and they most certainly were born with the stain of original sin.

Let’s understand: “all” the people who came from Judea and the “whole region” around the Jordan to become John’s disciples included ones such as Andrew—the one responsible for bringing Peter to Jesus. John the Baptist was not just the “forerunner” of Christ; he was the forerunner of our Church, the same Church of which we ourselves are members to this very day!

So while it’s true that John did not help found the Church from its inception at Pentecost, without him, there may have been no one around to build that foundation. It’s not that God could not have found another way to accomplish this task; it’s just that “another way” was not the Father’s gracious will.

Author’s Note: This article was adapted from a chapter in 26 Steps with the Characters of the Bible, coming summer 2026.

Image from Wikimedia Commons

May marked the 130th anniversary of the birth of Stanisława Leszczyńska, a Servant of God and midwife at Auschwitz-Birkenau. The unveiling of a monument in her honour was preceded by a solemn Mass at the Visitationist Church in Warsaw.

Cardinal Grzegorz Ryś, the Archbishop of Kraków, presided over the liturgy, joined by the Archbishop of Warsaw, Adrian Galbas. Among the large congregation was Ewa Machaj-Antosiewicz, one of the children delivered by Stanisława in the concentration camp.

Cardinal Ryś noted that “after the war, she did not want to speak about the camp because she did not want to incite hatred toward the Germans. And when she did speak of those she encountered there, she saw them more as victims of a system than as executioners.” The cardinal emphasized that Leszczyńska was fully aware that she was saving lives that could be taken—murdered or gassed—the very next day.

ARREST

When the Germans invaded Poland, the Leszczyński family began covert work to help Jewish families in their neighbourhood. Moreover, the men were members of the National Armed Forces (NSZ). Following a denunciation, the entire family was arrested in February 1943. Stanisława and her daughter were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau after enduring brutal interrogations and torture. She was remarkably fortunate to have secured—and, more importantly, smuggled into the camp—credentials as a midwife.

“Her apartment served as a transit point for smuggling goods from the Łódź Ghetto to the ‘Aryan side.’ One of her accounts also mentions a girl from the ghetto who found temporary refuge in the Leszczyński home,” noted historian Fr. Prof. Gliński.

According to historian Dr. Robert Derewenda “the Germans were fully aware that Poles were helping Jews. That is why they announced the harshest penalties against any Pole who had contact with Jews, refused to hand them over, or otherwise tried to help them. Under German occupation, Poles faced the death penalty for such actions, and yet some still helped Jews.”

A GLIMMER OF HOPE

Until 1943, every child born in the German concentration camp was killed immediately, often by drowning in a barrel. From 1943 onward, only Jewish infants were murdered; the others were subjected to medical experiments or, if they had so-called Nordic features such as blond hair and blue eyes, were taken from their mothers and sent to German families.

Upon arrival, Stanisława and her daughter were assigned to the most gruelling labour. Each day, they were marched beyond the camp gates to dig ditches and haul clay. Under the strain of this backbreaking slave labour, their strength waned with each passing day. All around them lay the bodies of women who had already succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

Yet, after only a few days, the miracle they had prayed for happened. In the maternity block, the camp authorities began a desperate search for anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of medicine. For Stanisława, this was a singular opportunity—not only for the survival of herself and her daughter, but also to return to the profession she loved.

In the beginning I was alone in my work. In difficult situations, when a specialist doctor was necessary, I had to handle it myself. German camp doctors, Rhode, Koenig, and Mengele could not “lower” themselves to treat non-Germans, so I had no right to ask for their assistance. Later, I was helped several times by a doctor working at another barrack and totally devoted to her patients, Janina Wegierska. (The Report of a Midwife from Auschwitz)

A MATERNITY WARD IN HELL

The camp block was a place of relentless infection, stench, and vermin. It swarmed with rats as large as cats, which gnawed at the ears, noses, fingers, and heels of the gravely ill women, too emaciated to move. Whenever possible, Stanisława drove them off, taking turns with the woman on night watch. Even the convalescent women helped, dividing their few hours of sleep to keep the rodents at bay. The vermin were drawn by the scent of the women, who had no way to wash or change their clothes.

The midwife had to secure the water needed to wash both mother and newborn herself. Fetching a single bucket took twenty minutes. She delivered babies on the brick chimney flue that ran the length of the barracks; since it was heated only a few times a year, icicles hung from the ceiling in winter. Instead of sterile sheets, she had only a filthy blanket teeming with lice.

DEFIANT MIDWIFE

The orders were clear: every newborn infant was to be drowned in a barrel immediately after birth. Fluent in German, Stanisława made it clear to Dr. Mengele that she “would not kill any child.” At first, the German could not believe that anyone would dare oppose him; after all, everyone around him trembled at the mere sight of him. “What?” he asked, raising his voice. “You are to kill all newborn children immediately. Do you understand?” She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “No, never,” she replied. “Children must not be killed!”

A MIRACLE OF LIFE

Before every birth, Stanisława prayed for the health of the children and their mothers, and after they were born, she baptized them, commending them to God’s care. When—using modern language—complications arose, she did not turn to the Virgin Mary with a plea, but with an alarm that sounded like a command: “Come, even in one slipper!” And indeed, help always arrived!

On one occasion, the camp physician, Dr. Josef Mengele, demanded to see the data on perinatal mortality. When Stanisława presented him with the figures, he refused to believe them. “He remarked that even the most impeccably run German university clinics could not boast such success,” she later recalled. “In his eyes, I read only anger and hatred.”

Of the three thousand deliveries she attended, not a single mother and not a single child died in childbirth. About five-hundred of the babies were sent away to be Germanized. Only about thirty infants survived in the care of their mothers after liberation. She delivered the final infant on the very day the Germans fled before the Soviet advance.

Such a record was unmatched by the physicians of the Third Reich, and it remains unsurpassed by modern maternity wards today. Even more surprising, many of the women she looked after said they felt little or no pain during childbirth, even though almost all of them gave birth without any medication.

A WITNESS TO FAITH

After the war, she continued to work as a midwife in Łódź, a city associated with the great Polish saints St. Faustina Kowalska and St. Maximilian Kolbe.

She died of cancer in 1974. In the final stage of her illness, she consistently refused to take painkillers. Thousands attended her funeral.

When Pope St. John Paul II visited Łódź in 1987, he said that Stanisława Leszczyńska is an example of Christian heroism. She is also an example of an extraordinary way of life, one marked by trust in God, hope, and serenity. She saw goodness where many would not have had the courage to look for it.

In the early 1990s, the Catholic Church formally opened Stanisława’s sainthood cause, giving her the title “Servant of God.”

Let these reflections end with the following prayer:

O God, Creator of all life, who in Your omnipotent goodness blesses human families with the gift of new life, grant that Your Servant Stanisława, whose profound love for mothers and children led her to protect many from death, may find many women to join her cause and, in God’s grace, be swiftly raised to the Altars. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Photo by Frederick Wallace on Unsplash

As a child I was fascinated by the television show Bewitched. I dreamed of having Samantha’s ability to twitch her nose and make a messy room neat as a pin, a broken lamp unbroken, or dress and be ready for a fancy party straight from her housework clothes. The word fascinate itself means to bewitch, enchant, or put under a spell, which seems very appropriate for the other-worldly attraction the instant fix has on humans.

Today, makeover shows and reels of every kind give us the satisfaction of extreme change and restoration in a half-hour or less. The dopamine hits that were once reserved for such long worked-for events as bringing in the year’s harvest or completing a piece of fine craftwork are now readily available to all scrollers with a few minutes to spare.

These forms of entertainment train our brains to constantly look for and expect the next delight, rather than to be present to the simple pleasures of the moment. Small progress is rarely noticed and sometimes even derided.

Poco y Poco

In direct opposition to our culture’s adoration of the instant fix and rapid makeover is Our Lord’s way of a little at a time. Training us in many virtues, including patience and humility, and taking baby steps and being satisfied with them is another way Jesus and His Church run countercultural. Eschewing the world’s ways and choosing instead to start small allows God room to move in our hearts and in our lives.

As opposed to the quick makeover or the weekend warrior project, scripture offers us the often-used saying, do not despise the day of small beginnings, which has its roots in the biblical passage Zechariah 4:6-10:

Then he said to me: “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, and not by power, but by my spirit, says the LORD of hosts. Who are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you become a plain. He will bring forth the first stone amid shouts of ‘Favor, favor be upon it!’”…For whoever has scorned such a day of small things will rejoice to see the capstone in the hand of Zerubbabel.

This story demonstrates that we testify to our trust in the Lord when we pray, trust, and take the next, often humble, step God shows us.

Famed Spanish artist and architect Antoni Gaudi began construction of La Sacrada Familia in 1882. When asked about the painfully slow building process, Gaudi famously replied, “my client is not in a hurry.” One hundred years after his death, the glory of a work offered to God is complete. As cathedrals go, 144 years was fairly quick, given that some have taken 500 or more years to complete. Whole generations of artisans came and went knowing their work for the glory of God would continue long after they were gone. They themselves did not live to see the coveted “finished product” but that did not deter them from making their contribution.  

When we do not despise the day of small beginnings but instead choose to begin something God has placed on our hearts, we show that we trust Him with all things, including our time.

Trust Sometimes Seems Impractical

Not being comfortable with either of the two major political parties’ ballot offerings in the most recent presidential election, I looked into a third option.  The worldly-wise voice in my head gave me the same old practical warning that voting for a third party would be wasting my vote or worse, be equal to voting for the party I disagreed with more. But God gently whispered, do not despise the day of small beginnings. He was essentially whispering, trust me and vote your conscience. My conscience found that every single item of Catholic Social Teaching is included in that third party’s platform, and nothing is included that runs contrary to it.

I made the prudential judgement to trust God and not despise the day of small beginnings. As expected, the candidates I voted for only received about 42,000 votes nationwide. A small beginning indeed, but our votes were offered as a voice affirming another option besides an angry stand-off between two very different and deeply flawed ways of governing. Even more, our votes affirmed the hope of small beginnings.

God’s Pace is Not Our Pace

Bewitched, makeover shows, and even political promises can instill unrealistic dreams of how change happens and work gets done. More than that, these and other cultural influences teach us to despise slow change and alter our pace of life. When an advertisement at the gas pump on June 6^th tells you that the holiday season is right around the corner, something important is off.

The world attempts to program us to rush, hurry, and leave the present moment rather than be present and trust that God will arrange all as we take care of the duty of the moment and attend to the people that He has placed before us to love. We are trained to work like machines and program our lives to such an extent that there is no apparent need to slow down, be present, and listen for God’s guidance. It’s full steam ahead at all times.

However, when we choose to be present and live at a human pace, we are increasingly able to hear God’s whispers and respond to them. When we do this, we discover that God rightly orders our time, along with everything else with think we need to take care of on our own. When we share Jesus’ yoke and follow His pace, things go much better, even if they go more slowly.

Nowhere in the gospels is there a description of Jesus rushing about. The only quick makeovers He performed were His miracles which came directly out of His life of deep prayer union with the Father. Jesus’ life is a model for us in how we were created to live and thrive. Let us trust God enough to live life one moment, one step at a time, inviting, not despising, the days of small beginnings.

Patient Trust

A Prayer by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

The Holy Spirit is rightly called the Sweet Guest of our souls because He is the loving God of power and consolation dwelling within us. Yet He is also called the Great Unknown because we do not know Him as much as we should. He is the powerful guest with us and within us always, yet we often fail to remember Him.

Because we do not know the Holy Spirit, our lives cannot be pleasing to God. St. Paul writes to Timothy, “God did not give us a spirit of timidity but a spirit of power and love and self-control” (2 Tim. 1:7). When we are ignorant of the Spirit within us, we lack the courage and strength to be faithful in the face of difficulties and challenges in our world. We cannot make good decisions and maintain our focus on God and His will for us in times of great emotional turmoil. We are easily overcome by our fears because our love is weak.  

Therefore, the first thing we must do is not simply multiply our spiritual practices: receive more sacraments, accumulate more prayers, or read the bible more. Our first task is to deepen our relationship, to know the Spirit well so that we can respond to His movements in our spiritual practices and daily choices. He is the one who makes us good, inspires us to do good out of love for God, and makes our efforts supernaturally effective. He will direct and guide us in our religious and spiritual practices so that we experience His powerful life and love through them.

Our lives are pleasing to God and beneficial to others only when we know the Spirit as we should and do all things under His gentle impulse. Here are six truths to know about the Holy Spirit at all times if we are to glorify God with our lives.

1. Spirit of Sanctity

By the abiding presence and power of the Spirit, we belong to God as His beloved children, and we participate in His holiness. Our identity as God’s beloved children does not depend on our performance, experiences, or conditions in this life.

The Holy Spirit sanctifies us and moves us to live truly holy lives. We have this hope of holiness through the Spirit.

Beloved, we are God’s children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who has this hope based on Him makes himself pure as He is pure. (1 Jn. 3:2-3)

By the power of the Spirit, we too can be truly holy in this impure world. We can please God in our thoughts, words, and deeds by the power of the Holy Spirit. We can no longer excuse ourselves from striving for personal sanctity because of the sinfulness of our world or the temptations to conform to the world.

2. Spirit of Love

In the words of St. Paul, God has generously poured His love into our hearts: “The love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Spirit who has been given to us” (Rom. 5:5). We can enter into and participate in that very love between the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.

By the presence of the Spirit, we are always and unconditionally loved by God. Are we living as God’s beloved sons and daughters? Are we still living in fear while possessing that “perfect love that casts away fears” (1 Jn. 4:18)? Are we confident in the love that God has for us, no matter our experiences in life?

Do we also realize that, by possessing the Spirit of love, we can also be truly loving people who love God and others as Jesus did? We, too, can and should love, pray, serve, obey, forgive, and endure like Jesus because we have His Spirit of love within us.

3. Spirit of Truth

Jesus assures us that the Spirit will “guide us to all truth” (Jn. 16:13). He will teach us truth about God, ourselves, and others, and how we are to live out our relationship with Him. The very first words that the disciples spoke after receiving the Holy Spirit on Pentecost were the truth about God and His deeds in Jesus; “We hear them speaking in our own tongues of the mighty acts of God” (Acts 2:11).

What is our attitude towards truth today? Have we fallen for the rampant relativism of our times, in which truth is a social construct or based on our feelings and moods? Are we people who listen to the voice of the Spirit of truth, believe this truth, speak this truth with boldness, and act on it faithfully? Do we buy into the lie that truth is the opinion of the majority?

The many examples of spiritual slavery in our time show that we do not have the truth of the Spirit in our lives. Jesus assures us that the truth from the Spirit alone makes us free, teaching that “If you continue in word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free” (Jn. 8:32).

4. Spirit of Jesus

St. Paul said to the Corinthians, “No one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3). The Holy Spirit enlightens and convicts us of the Lordship of Jesus Christ and moves us to submit to Jesus as the sovereign Lord of our lives.

If Jesus Christ is truly our Lord, we will do and endure all things for Him, to please Him and to give Him glory. We will deny ourselves even legitimate pleasures and privileges to show our complete submission to Him. We will depend on Him and live for Him. We will not allow ourselves to be mastered by sins, created things, or human love and respect. We will use all that we have to do His will and do so for His glory.

5. Spirit of Peace and Unity

The first gift that the risen Christ offered to His disciples was peace; “Peace be with you.” Then He offered them the Holy Spirit who makes this peace possible by reconciling us with God and with one another: “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained” (Jn. 20:19-23).

Through the Holy Spirit, we receive divine forgiveness for our sins and the grace to labor for unity with others. Through the Holy Spirit, we can begin to participate in that unity between the Father and the Son.

How are we enjoying and sharing with others that inner peace that Christ has won for us? How are we allowing the troubles of life to diminish our inner peace? How are we futilely searching for peace in this world, though Jesus has told us that “in this world we will have tribulation” (Jn. 16:33)? How are we agents of deeper peace and unity in our families, Church, and world? 

6. Spirit of Generosity

St. Paul reminds us that “there are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone.” We have specific gifts from the Holy Spirit for the good of the body of Christ: “To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit” (2 Cor. 12:4-7).

So, are we in touch with the specific gifts that the Spirit has given to us for the building up of the body of Christ? What are the excuses we make for not making good use of these gifts? How are we trying to deny our gifts because we are afraid of the responsibilities and duties involved?

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, we have the Holy Spirit in us from the moment of our baptism. His presence within us was intensified with the sacrament of Confirmation. He is again poured into our hearts through the Eucharist and sacramental confession. He is present in us so that we live truly godly lives in godless times.

If we still do not know Him, there is no way that we can resist the pull of the world towards the godlessness of our times. We will give in to the sinful indulgences of our times in their many forms. We will give in to pornography, greed, homosexual unions, corruption, divorce and remarriage, abortion, contraceptive mentality, etc.

We cannot possess the Spirit and still live worldly lives under the dominion of our fleshly desires. St. Paul tells us why this is so, because “The flesh in its tendencies is at enmity with God; it is not subject to God’s law. Indeed, it cannot be; those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” We are called and gifted to live in the Spirit because “we are not in the flesh; but we are in the spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you” (Rom. 8:5).

Indeed, the Spirit of God, the Great Unknown, dwells in us all the time, pouring His love, power, and self-control into our hearts.

As we encounter this Spirit again in each Eucharist, let us strive to know Him better so that our lives are truly pleasing to God, even in ungodly times.  

Glory to Jesus!!! Honor to Mary!!!

Image from The Met

Jacques Maritain and his dear friend Raïssa Oumansoff were students at the Sorbonne. Their searching intellects, however, were frustrated by the fact that they could find no truth that would satisfy their restless minds. At that time Jacques was without any religious belief, and Raïssa was a self-declared atheist.

In her 1942 memoir We Have Been Friends Together, Raïssa spoke for herself and Jacques when she stated: “I wanted to know whether existence is an accident, a blessing, or a misfortune; I scorn that resignation and renunciation of the intelligence of which we have so many examples around us.” They could not continue to live in a world that had no meaning.

In near despair, they planned to commit suicide if they could not find any meaning to life over the course of the following year. “It was then,” writes Raïssa, “that God’s pity caused us to find Henri Bergson.”

Bergson’s brilliant lectures answered the couple’s intellectual needs. Other friends entered their lives which led them to become Catholic. Jacques became the leading Thomistic philosopher of the 20^th century and a prodigious writer, while his supporting wife, Raïssa, authored several works of her own, including Adventures in Grace and Saint Thomas Aquinas: For Children and the Childlike.

Their story serves as an inspiration for anyone who is diligently searching for life’s meaning. God’s grace is ever available.

Extraordinary as the Maritain’s story is, it is not exceptional. We turn to another story that parallels that of the Maritains—an encore, so to speak, of divine grace. It is the remarkable story of Michael Pakaluk and Ruth Van Kooy.

Ruth arrived at Harvard as a brilliant student and a pro-choice atheist. Michael had been an atheist, himself. The two met as sophomores in the late 1970s. They shared a deep determination, like the Maritains before them, to find meaning in life. Harvard, like the Sorbonne, offered them little help.

Their intellectual gifts were combined with a certain honesty that allowed their mutual discussions to lead them in the right direction. They seemed to have been made for each other. They were married at the end of their sophomore year. Eventually they found their way into the Catholic Church. But they were anything but Sunday Catholics.

Michael became a university professor and a prolific writer in defense of life and common sense. Ruth became President of Massachusetts Citizens for Life. She was such an effective defender of life that abortion rights activists often refused to go up against her. The well published philosopher, Peter Kreeft has bestowed high praise on Ruth: “I have read and debated much about abortion, but I have never seen a clearer and stronger pro-life argument than Ruth’s.”

Michael’s book, The Shock of Holiness (Ignatius Press, 2025) is subtitled, “Finding the Romance of Everyday Life.” Here we find how well we can fit into the life that God has created for us. It is a never-ceasing experience of the unexpected gifts that He brings to us on a daily basis. Unlike many philosophers in the modern world, Pakaluk acknowledges both the existence and presence of a loving God. His message is clear: Christian sanctity is far nearer and far more beautiful than we think.

Over time Michael and Ruth found spiritual guidance with Opus Dei. Their marriage was blessed with seven children. Her demanding family life, however, did not prevent her from being active in her community. As her husband recalled, “She was like ‘Mother of the Neighborhood’.”

Sadly, she lost one of her children. His name was Thomas Matthew. He died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome in 1989 at six weeks of age. His passing produced a mother’s grief that could be assuaged only by Ruth accepting the evangelical conviction, “blessed are those who mourn.”

Death struck again. This time it was Ruth who contracted breast cancer. She passed away seven years later at age 41. Her life was deeply spiritual and an inspiration for everyone who knew her.

Her cause for canonization is currently moving forward. Her life as a devoted and selfless Christian is documented in her book, The Appalling Strangeness of the Mercy of God.

The extraordinary life of Michael Pakaluk continued. In 1999, he married Catherine Hardy, also a graduate from Harvard. Their marriage has produced eight children. Michael Pakaluk has become the father of fourteen (six from Ruth and eight from Catherine). He and his second bride are both teaching philosophy at Catholic University.

Catherine has gained considerable attention with her book, Hannah’s Children: The Women Quietly Defying the Birth Dearth. It is a study of the motivation expressed by American women who are open to having large families. The phrase, “Hannah’s Children” refers to the Book of Samuel. Hannah had been barren, but God answered her prayer with Samuel, and then with three more sons and two daughters. Dr. Catherine’s narrative reveals women in America who see children as their greatest purpose and blessing.

This divine encore, no doubt, is repeating itself, though in most instances, unrecorded, in many places throughout the world. God’s grace and how He answers prayers is the common and reassuring denominator. “Ask and you will receive.” Life is a gift. Children are a blessing. Marriage is a sacrament. These are the simple truths that American society must re-learn. The Maritains and the Pakaluks, each in their own distinctive fashions, are showing the way.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

What don’t you like about yourself? Even after going to Confession, do you still sometimes feel ashamed of your sins? And is this making you wonder if Father God is keeping you in misery because you don’t deserve better treatment?

Father God is full of compassion for you. Compassion is not something that we have to wait for. Compassion is not something we need to be good enough for. Jesus gave us a parable that describes what the Father’s compassion looks like. The story of the Prodigal Son (Lk. 15:11-32) illustrates that compassion fills the Father’s heart even while we are still far off track in the Christian life.

So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. (Lk. 15:20 NAB)

The parable of the Prodigal Son assures us that the Father cherishes us no matter what we’ve done. He waits, full of fatherly yearning, for us to turn away from our sins and turn toward Him. That’s all we need to do; just turn around. And the moment we do that, He runs to us! He wastes no time but immediately embraces us, welcomes us, and kisses us with His superabundant love.

The prodigal son had not yet asked his dad for forgiveness when he felt forgiveness wrap around him like a warm blanket. His confession came afterward. This is how the Father treats us. When we sin, He waits for our repentance with eager anticipation. He feels the pain of our absence. His fatherly heart yearns for the moment when we’ll realize that we’re better off with Him than in the pigsty of our sins.

Why does He treat us this way when He knows we will so easily fall back into sin? He sees our future. And yet He does not hold our future sins against us. He embraces us in the here and now. That’s compassion!

This is what it means to be an adopted child of God through the Sacrament of Baptism. When the Father looks at us who are His adopted sons and daughters, He doesn’t focus on what we’ve done wrong. While we are still in the state of sin, His focus is on the horizon line while He awaits our turnaround. He focuses on the steps we make in the right direction. He is driven by compassion to run and meet us, wherever we are, and to embrace us in a divine welcome-back hug that braces us up in our weaknesses.

Because of this, we can stop feeling ashamed of ourselves. We can give God’s compassion to ourselves. At the same time that we’re feeling convicted to repent, rather than beat ourselves up over what we did wrong (which is Satan the Accuser attacking us), the Father wants us to be compassionate to ourselves just like He’s being compassionate. This does not mean that we make excuses for our sins. No, it means that, just like Father God is focused on our turn-around and celebrates our repentance, so should we. Instead of unceasingly wallowing in regret, we can learn from our mistakes, and we can grow stronger in our commitment to live as the saints that God gifted us to be when we were baptized.

When my imagination illustrates the story of the Prodigal Son, I see the son limping toward home. He’s walked a long distance on an empty stomach. He’s weak and barely able to trudge through the last few miles of the journey home. His father runs to him and cries tears of joy and relief while hugging his son. Then he provides his own strength to support his son for the rest of the way.

Abba-Father is bracing you up, too, in your weaknesses—even before you conquer that persistent sin that makes you feel so unworthy. In His tremendous compassion He is giving you powerful support.

Such compassion is unimaginable for those of us who were abused or neglected or rejected by parents. And even in homes where the parents were full of compassion, to the child, discipline felt more like animosity than compassion. A good parent gives children a welcome-back hug after they’ve learned their lesson or showed a desire to improve. But if we grew up in a home where we did not feel our parents’ compassion during punishments, we’re probably projecting their character flaw onto God’s Fatherhood.

Therefore, when our prayers go unanswered or we suffer a problem that makes life difficult, we automatically assume that God is lacking compassion. Maybe we think we’re being punished.

It’s true that God disciplines us, but this always comes from a heart that yearns for us to become our best selves, which is also our happiest selves. The Father’s heart breaks when we sin. He knows that sin is destroying us in ways we cannot yet see. And He longs for us to spend eternity at Home with Him. He is all-goodness, and so He has to chastise us.

He does not chastise us by refusing to answer our prayers. That would require Him to stop being good, which is impossible. The word “chastise” comes from the Latin word castigare, which means “to set or keep right” or “to make pure.” The chastisements of Father God are designed to get our attention and make us turn to the Son who took our sins and nailed them to His Cross. By the blood He shed for us on Good Friday, we are purified from every sin that we genuinely want to overcome.

The word “compassion” means “to suffer with.” The Latin word com means “with, together.” The Latin root of “passion” is pati, which means “to suffer.” Therefore, it’s good to realize that in every chastisement, the Father suffers with us.

He is not the parent who sends an erring child to the corner; He takes us to the corner and sits with us there. He is not the parent who teaches a lesson by making the child suffer; He is the Father who takes us to the Son who chose to suffer for us.

When we accept this tremendous act of love, Jesus and the Father give us the Holy Spirit who teaches us lessons in a most victorious way. Thus, all things—including our sins—are made to work together for our good because our Father delights in turning something evil into something holy.

We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (Rom. 8:28)

Image from Wikimedia Commons

John, the son of Zebedee, was a simple man who fished the waters of the Sea of Galilee in the first century A.D. He joined Jesus after hearing John the Baptist proclaim that Jesus was the Lamb of God. He witnessed many of Jesus’ miracles, including the astonishing miracle of the healing of the Gerasene Demoniac. Witnessing Jesus heal this man through love and empathy revealed to John three truths: God is love; perfect love casts out fear; and love means that death is no longer something to fear.

Years after witnessing the miracle, John, an old man and the only surviving disciple of the original twelve, penned the Gospel that bears his name and wrote three letters to his followers. In the Gospel and Letters, we find the ultimate expression of God’s love for Christians and their love for God.

Specifically, John presents Jesus as the Logos, the Creative Word who loves all Creation. According to John, Christ is in all people, He is eternally present, and the world could not hold all the books that could be written to describe His wonderful works. In other words, the world could not hold the book of life that exists for every person. Each person hears the voice, each person reads the word, and in each person, there are miracles akin to the turning of water into wine, the raising of Lazarus, and the healing of the Gerasene Demoniac. Each person’s life is a unique miracle, and contains the basis of truth within it. In one’s own experiences, they can come to find the Word within himself. That same Word is alive and has become flesh in each person, even if most do not recognize it.

Agape: God’s Descending Love

Throughout his Gospel and Letters, John uses the Greek word agape (rather than the word eros) for love. According to Pope Benedict, agape is “descending love” because it is the love of God directed toward humans. To receive this love, humans must practice obedience to abide by God’s will. “We can thus understand how agape also became a term for the Eucharist,” Benedict wrote in Deus Caritas Est, “there God’s own agape comes to us bodily, in order to continue his work in us and through us.” He continues:

…the love-story between God and man consists in the very fact that this communion of will increases in a communion of thought and sentiment, and thus our will and God’s will increasingly coincide: God’s will is no longer for me an alien will, something imposed on me from without by the commandments, but it is now my own will, based on the realization that God is in fact more deeply present to me than I am to myself. Then self-abandonment to God increases and God becomes our joy.

Thus Pope Benedict XVI describes how our proper use of free will in the context of grace is itself our loving response to God.

Similarly, in his first letter, St. John declares that the person who keeps God’s ways has the love (agape) of God. This love is active, not just through words, but through doing things for others, hence for God. John wrote further that love comes from God, it is how we know God, for God is love. When we love other humans and creatures, we are exercising the love that God has granted us, and in return we are loving Him. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God’s love lives in him.

Love Overcomes Death

In John’s words, what is more important for us who naturally fear death is his proclamation that “perfect love casts out fear.” There is no fear in love. Fear is about punishment—the Greek word is torment—and the person who loves does not fear torment.

John is referring to the ultimate punishment, death, which all humans fear. Though death once was a punishment of Adam and Eve, with Christ, this punishment has been overthrown. Death is how we are reunited with God, Who is Love. There is no fear in God, and so there ought to be no fear in death, since it is the means through which we are united with Love. Thus John concludes that one who fears has not yet been perfected in love.

But is it truly possible to be perfected in love before death?

To Be Still and Know God

To be still and to know God is to accept His love. To love God is to abide in God. When God loves me, He abides in me. Now, in this present moment, I can accept God’s will, know His presence, and feel a moment without fear. John writes that “no man has ever seen God,” so the “proof” we have of Him is love. To love one another is to experience and to abide in God—to accept His transcendent will and His presence. Therefore, being still allows the presence of God to overwhelm fear.

Contrarily, exercising one’s own will cultivates fear.

John’s authority for his teaching was granted through Christ and his experiences watching Him love others. John saw how Jesus healed Legion, the demoniac. He was present when Jesus drove the legion of fear from the man and left him with a legion of love. John saw the power of Jesus’ teaching. He learned that there is no fear in death because death is the reunification with Love itself.

Such experiences informed John that Jesus was and is the Logos, an idea long wrestled with by Greek philosophers who unfortunately never saw it fully realized in the person of Christ. But John did. He witnessed the Logos in person. He saw Truth in the flesh healing, loving all creation, teaching, suffering, and dying.

As Pope John Paul II taught, Jesus’ willingness to suffer for the sake of love teaches us that our suffering, too, is for the sake of love—and therefore it is not to be feared.

Pope Benedict XVI wrote, “God is the absolute and ultimate source of all being; but this universal principle of creation—the Logos, primordial reason—is at the same time a lover with all the passion of a true love.” Benedict refers to God’s love, agape, as oblative love: It is a love that gives, that offers, that serves, that sacrifices. Oblative love is love that does not expect anything in return: praise, gifts, fame, physical comfort. This is the love the Church teaches. Such love is often invisible, done in secret, anonymous.

Moving Toward a Society of Love

The Greeks, such as Plato, who conceived of the Logos, also conceived of the possibility of a perfect society. Plato wrote of such a society in The Republic, arguing that only philosophers can know Truth, and that a society built on such Truth would be a perfect society. Plato’s society was based on the ideal of justice. He knew there had never been a society that was governed by justice or by truth. The Greeks’ attempts to do so failed.

But then Jesus Christ came among us. He taught us to love. If the Church has any great surpassing goal among all others, it is to bring all people to come to know God’s love. When everyone knows God’s love, when they practice love on earth, only then will humans approach the ideal that Plato suggested in The Republic and, better still, the society of love that Jesus preached throughout the Gospels.

Editor’s Note: This article is part of a CE original series on the History of Love, pursuing the meaning of love and our understanding of it throughout time.

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Dads, grandfathers, mentors, clergy—so many men in our communities are uplifting friends and loved ones, many going unseen. This Father’s Day, Catholic Exchange brings you true stories of fathers transforming lives.

Neighborhood Favorite

-Lynne Parker Davis from Atlanta, GA

My dad, Jack Gordon Parker, made friends easily and for life.

He was born in the late “roaring” 1920s. His father died in 1932 of the Spanish flu as the economy crashed. Dad always remembered the hungry times too well. There was never a creamed meat dish or seltzer served in our home.

He joined the Army during the conflict in Korea, returning with hundreds of pictures of his buddies and the children they sponsored in Japan and Korea.

He married into an Italian immigrant family at a time when Italians were reviled. Although my mother’s brothers teasingly called him “The Americano,” he was well-loved by the family. Parts of his own family expressed their disapproval, but he was never bitter.

His was a steady faith. In high school, religious education class was offered a 20-minute drive away, and Dad drove us there each week through our senior year. Now that I think back on it, there wasn’t enough time for him to go home and return. I guess he relaxed or slept in the car waiting for us.

He had tremendous faith in himself but no ego. He had the confidence to tackle difficult projects like building a house, putting up with our prickly, mentally suffering mother, and yet found time to help whoever asked.

He and Mom decided the only way they could afford a home was to build one. Mom worked the 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. shift, so every day after his work, Dad walked home, fed us, borrowed my uncle’s car, and dragged us out to the country while he constructed the amazing California contemporary home Mom wanted. Over the stretch of seven years, he put in every nail, cut every board, ran every inch of wiring and plumbing.

On Sundays, he rested.

As Mom slowly slid into dementia, he quietly took over the cooking, cleaning, and bill-paying. He took care of Mom for eight years at home and then eight years at a long-term care wing of a hospital.

He was honored with the hospital’s Volunteer of the Year award for his devotion and kindness. He brought laughter to all those around while giving Mom the special attention she needed. And he often won Best Costume in the Halloween hospital contest—just to make people smile.

When he came to live with me full-time, he moped without his bevy of friends. At 90, he took up walking to a nearby four-way-stop corner, parking himself on his rollator, and spending a couple hours waving to the people who drove by. He’d shout, “Have a nice day” and “Have fun today” to the cars, and “Study hard” to the waving kids on the bus.

People loved seeing him, especially while we were isolated because of COVID-19. His joy bubbled over. He gained such a following that, on the neighborhood app Nextdoor, I had to announce when he was visiting one of my brothers and when he was returning, so that they wouldn’t worry.

One of my messages had 2,999 hearts/responses welcoming him back.

He was like that, thinking of others and finding a way to create joy with love throughout his life. I am honored to be his daughter and live challenged by his goodness.

From Addiction to Abundance of Life

-Jacob Plante from Miami, FL

My father, John Plante, was born and raised in Derby, Vermont, to a Franco-American family of six. To someone who has never met my dad, I would describe him as “full of life.”

At 65, when many people would merely seek to lie down and rest, he makes every effort to exercise, learn new skills, teach others, and grow in any way he can. He’s also an outstanding father, who is present with love and care to everyone he meets. Some of my friends enjoy spending time with him even more than their own fathers, because they see in him what a father should be.

My childhood memories are filled with moments where my father simply delighted in me as his son, taking every opportunity to smile and laugh with me. As I grew in my faith, I realized that God the Father is the same way, delighting in us as His children.

My father’s faith has impacted me because he understands the transformative power of suffering. Before I was born, he struggled with alcoholism, which led him and my mother to an addiction ministry called Nueva Vida. It changed his life, not only helping him overcome his addiction, but also allowing him to minister to others in similar situations.

To this day, he emphasizes the value of the Serenity Prayer, which he learned during his recovery. He especially highlights the line asking God for the grace to accept “hardship as a pathway to peace,” and like Jesus, taking the world “as it is, not as I would have it.”

My dad sees this as taking up your cross exemplified, and this piece of wisdom has taught me: if I can accept the struggles of life and offer them for God’s greater glory, then no suffering is in vain.

I don’t know where I would be without my father’s love and guidance all these years, forming me in my faith, my relationships, and my life.

Better Than a Millionaire

-Belkis Mejia Perdomo from Miami Beach, FL

My father, Edgardo Mejia, figures out a way to resolve anything and everything. He bends over backwards for everyone. No task is too big.

You need a lift to your house? He’ll take you there.

Your tire has a hole? He’ll patch it up.

You need a friend? He’ll listen to you without judgement.

He’s been spending time with a man who has special needs. “He needs a paternal figure in his life.”

He doesn’t openly share with others what he does, usually uttering the words, “I have a church event.” What people don’t know is he’s been planning that church event for weeks, figuring out how to run it in three days on little sleep and never showing an inkling of frustration.

My dad is from a little town in Honduras called Buenos Aires. He immigrated to the U.S. when he was 20 and, similarly to his father, he’s a contractor who loves his job. He’s always helping the nuns whenever they need help fixing something, always trying to be a better neighbor to those around him. 

He honors his parents. In his young boy heart, he still looks forward to spending time with his 92-year-old dad. For years, he’s had the same Sunday routine: wake up, pick up his dad, go to 7:00 a.m. Mass, grab breakfast, and laugh over a new story before dropping him at his sister’s for lunch. He always says, “I don’t envy what millionaires have. I have a father who has more wisdom and stories on his pinky finger than anyone I’ve ever met.” 

My dad has been a large reason why I’ve grown up loving the Faith. He taught me to be amicable, a peacemaker, and to serve people. My dad is my best friend. He isn’t always perfect, but he sure tries to make up for it.

A father who prays over me—whether it’s my friendships or work—he reminds me that no action is too small. 

The Proud Homesteader

-Connor S. Curley from Bethune, SC

⁠ My father, James Curley, is a homesteader with a Master’s degree in physics.

Besides teaching almost continuously throughout the years, he raises hogs, chickens, milk cows, and the occasional goat. He has held several side jobs to accommodate our large family of eight children. He has been a quail farm foreman, a patent agent, a fiber cable developer, and a newspaper deliverer—to name only a few. 

The stories I share about him usually end with some anecdote, advice, or inspiration he gave me, and for good reason.

I remember one afternoon, the Bethune Chicken Strut came to town. This year was special: my brother and I were scheduled to compete in bull riding at the town rodeo. And my father was just as excited as any of us.

As we were preparing to leave the house, I turned the corner on our small property carrying a pail of water for the hogs. I stumbled upon my father there, standing alone, praying his Rosary. I asked him if he wanted to ride in the rodeo with us one day, mentioning something about having opportunities that he never had.

That question is a vague memory, but I will never forget his answer.

“Connor,” he said, “sometimes, parents pressure their kids into sports, outings, or events because they are trying to live vicariously through their children. And in another lifetime, I would have loved to do all this. But I have my role being married to your mother, and that is the best thing.”

He went on, “I would have loved to be a cowboy growing up, but I don’t feel like I missed the boat. I love watching you guys, and you kids make me proud; but I have never tried to live vicariously through you guys, and I am happy watching.”

This might seem like a small thing. I suppose, when it comes down to it, every story about every father is a small thing to someone on the outside. This story may have been a bigger deal had I won a buckle that night (I didn’t). Or perhaps the narrative could do with some fabrication about my father getting his shot to be a cowboy, even after being at peace with opportunities he never got.

But none of that really happened.

That year would be our last festival: the town shut it down thereafter.

That night, though, my father watched us ride, the same way he has watched all of his kids—with excitement, love, and pride—all while standing beside my mother.

Now that my wife and I are fighting to build a family of our own, I cannot help but think of all the things my father did for us—and did gratuitously. His orientation for sharing good things with his children simply because it is good to do so is a strong factor in the life experiences my wife and I seek out, share, and communicate to our own little one.

When it comes down to it, it is not much different than what God our Father does for us. I have just had the privilege of having a proximate example.

We wish a happy and blessed Father’s Day to all fathers, spiritual fathers, and grandfathers of the Catholic Exchange community! The joy, example, and hard work you give has the power to transform hearts and influence generations for the better.

Photo by Nabil Naidu on Unsplash

The famed Dominican friar Meister Eckhart has a phrase, “Love has no why” (Die Minne hat kein Warum), and it is perhaps one of the most famous statements in Western Christian mysticism. In its fuller, but less familiar form, he writes: “Love has no why. It loves because it loves. It knows no reason. It asks for no reason.” What exactly this means, like most great poetry, is a subject of some debate.

At first glance, this sounds like a defense of irrationality, but Eckhart means something more subtle in his prose. Most human actions are done for a reason. They are directed towards some specific goal. We work to earn money. We study to gain knowledge. We exercise to improve the state of our health. These actions are all clearly goal-directed. They have a why, a purpose outside of themselves.

For Eckhart, true love is something different. Genuine love does not treat the “beloved” as a means to some further end. Loving that person or that thing is the end to itself.  If I love someone solely because they are wealthy, attractive, or useful, my love is actually directed toward those benefits and not the person. The person becomes a vehicle for something else. That is to say, love, or rather real love, is beyond any clear prudent purpose.

However, Eckhart would not say love is irrational, at least not in the same sense of being foolish or contrary to reason. Rather, love is non-calculating. It is born of an emotional certainty. Our reason often operates by comparison and purpose. Love transcends the logic of engineering or strategy. A young mother does not calculate whether her child is “worth” loving. She simply loves her child. A friend does not maintain a spreadsheet of various favors received and rightfully owed. The deepest forms of love seem excessive from a purely rational perspective. This is why lovers throughout the history of art and literature often appear irrational. Love introduces something novel into the human soul. It is fundamentally a different order of value.

Eckhart, being a mendicant friar, while he is interested in the idea of human nature, is speaking more specifically about divine love. It stands to reason that God does not love humanity because humans are useful to Him in any material way. God gains nothing from creation. Therefore, divine love cannot be motivated by any type of need. God loves because love is His nature (1 Jn. 4:8). Likewise, the soul united to God begins to love in the same way, not for the sake of some nebulous reward, not even for the proposition of heaven, but simply because goodness is lovable. Eckhart suggests that a truly holy person would love God even if no reward existed.

All of this is to say that no one, in their heart of hearts, respects love that is not freely given. True love, if in fact it is true love, is free because it arises from what we are, not from what we hope to obtain. A flower blooms because it is in its nature to bloom. Eckhart uses a similar imagery elsewhere in his writing, when he says: “The flower blooms because it blooms.” It does not bloom to be admired or born out of any sense of gratification. Its flowering is its own justification. What is more, love is entirely independent from the idea of effort. If one spouse would ask the other “Do you love me?”, among the sundry incorrect responses would be, “I’m trying very hard.” Love is also removed from any conscientious effort. The Maronite poet Khalil Gibran in the early 20th century speaks to this same observation in his own prose when he writes:        

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

Some theorists in contemporary psychology have claimed the existence of “psychological egoism,” that all people are motivated by self-interest as their primary motivation. This unique form of cynicism assumes that every behavior has an underlying motive that is fundamentally selfish. Eckhart challenges this kind of behavioral reductionism. He suggests there are moments when human beings act from an overflowing abundance, and that this abundance is synonymous with love. In that sense, “Love has no why” is a radical claim. Perhaps even a subversive claim. It posits that the greatest act of humanity is not a transaction, but as gifts freely given. As Christ Himself taught, “Freely you have received; now freely give” (Mt. 10:8).

Photo by Mark Fletcher-Brown on Unsplash