This is the final resting spot of St. Monica, patron saint of mothers (especially of wayward children) whose feast we celebrate today. It is natural that we mothers want the best for our children, want them to know true happiness and fulfill their purpose in this world. We Catholic moms know the surest path to happiness, freedom and self-fulfillment is through our faith, so our lost sheep bring us pain, despite (or because of) our love for them. Just last night I was chatting with a group of friends who kids range from 4 to 30-something, in various states of religious observance, but generally affiliating with the “nones” that define the younger generations. (The 4 year old is still standing firm, could teach the millennials something!) As we shared our own sometimes-winding faith journeys, and shared our hearts’ pain for our kids, St. Monica was there, a model for prayer and patience and perseverance. St. Monica prayed for her son’s conversation for decades, a hard idea for us in our Next-Day-Amazon-Prime-Delivery culture. But pray we must and we can rely on Monica to understand the pain in our hearts.
This summer, on pilgrimage in Rome with some of these dear friends, we passed this church and our leader mentioned St. Monica was buried there. He had planned to just point it out and keep moving to another church on our itinerary. Three of us, who have been sharing our prodigal-mother’s hearts with each other for a few years, staged a mom-style mutiny. Not looking back, we said we had to go in and say a brief prayer—wait for us or not, we were going in. So I had my chance to visit with Monica, mother-to-mother. I can’t change the path my children choose, I can only set my own. But I will continue to ask St Monica to intercede for them, and also for me. Because I need her comfort on my weary mind as much as I need her prayers for them. St. Monica, pray for us! #catholiclife #stmonica #rome #catholictravel
Today’s gospel reading is the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb, unable to recognize the risen Jesus in the form of a gardener. (That always makes me feel good—Mary mistakes the Lord for the help and still makes it to heaven. Maybe I have a shot.) Much has been made of why Jesus chose to appear first to Mary Magdalene, with theories ranging from the lurid to the feminist to the practical. I wonder if Jesus was so touched by Mary’s devotion through his awful passion and death that he wanted her to be the first to have her grief assuaged. Or maybe Jesus sought to head off another “which one of us is the greatest?” headache like on the evening of the Last Supper and so avoided getting the boys involved. But I latch onto that detail of the gardener and think maybe His appearing to a woman in that way is beautiful symmetry.
In the first garden, God is the gardener who plants the seeds of life and in that garden, a woman chooses her own will and separates mankind from God through original sin. It is only fitting, then, that Jesus appears as a gardener again, this time to a woman whose selfless devotion kept her by His side as he died to redeem that first act of defiance.
So this feast of Mary Magdalene brings us back to the core of the mystery, to the foot of the cross and to the open tomb. To the redemption of us all, witnessed by a woman. May Mary’s devotion and love be a model and a reminder that Jesus is with us, even when we don’t recognize it.
#feastofmarymagdalene #marymagdalene #catholiclife #saint #resurrection
What could possibly be better than being Catholic? Why, being an American Catholic, of course! In the spirit of Independence Day, I offer you some, ahem, "important" moments in Catholic American history.
1649: The Maryland Toleration Act is passed. Contrary to popular belief, this act mandated religious freedom for Catholics in the colony, not that big, bad Virginia stop teasing its runty neighbor.
1769-1782: Junipero Serra completes his mission trail, from San Diego to present day Ventura, California. The now-saint is rumored to have said, “I would have finished earlier, but my mules were exceeding California emissions standards and they found an endangered toad living on one of my sites.” 1793: Diocese of New Orleans, the second diocese in the new country, is created. Soon thereafter, the Vatican cracks down on the practice of throwing beads after a particularly good homily.
1855: Chicago Lager Riots. Years of nativist hatred and violence, including job discrimination, destruction of Catholic property, and even calling the Church the Whore of Babylon, is not enough to cause Catholic immigrants to take a stand. But when Mayor Boone enacts an ordinance outlawing the sale of beer on Sundays, full-scale riots break out, eventually repealing the prohibition and ousting Boone from office.
1883: American Standard begins enameling cast-iron tubs, giving them a smooth, paintable interior. Bathtub Mary is born.
1918: Knute Rockne becomes the Notre Dame football coach, creating confusion for generations of Catholics who didn’t realize Saturday Vigil actually meant going to church instead of a tailgate party.
1920: Nearly 1,500 Catholic high schools operate in the United States. “Leave room for the Holy Spirit” enters the American vernacular.
1967: The Flying Nun premiers. Because America didn’t think Catholics were weird enough.
2015: Pope Francis visits the United States. Americans embrace the pope that reminds them of themselves—open, a little quirky, but warm and generous, with a New World exuberance.
Happy Birthday, America! God truly shed his grace on thee. #catholic #catholichistory #america #americancatholic #fourthofjuly #4thofjuly #bathtubmary
My great-aunt’s husband Luther died in the invasion of Normandy, 75 years ago today.
Luther was also, to quote my aunt, “a mean son-of-a-gun” and a fairly poor excuse for a husband.
Do his personal failings take away from his sacrifice? Do they make his actions on the beach that day less heroic?
We know God uses flawed vessels to do His work—just look at the murderous acts of David and Saul, but whose works for the Kingdom of God are immeasurable. Maybe God used the fear Luther felt that June morning to break his anger and pride. Maybe his weaknesses as a man served some purpose in the fight that day. All I know for sure is that Luther was an ordinary man, in an extraordinary time, and whatever his flaws, Luther was part of a tremendous force for good in the world.
We look at those black and white photos from 70-some years ago and see heroes, and they certainly were. But seeing only an idealized heroism loses the humanity of those men. Look at their faces. They are our husbands, our sons, our fathers. They are strong and brave and decent but also weak and scared and flawed.
It is their very ordinary-ness that makes their heroism so profound. To sacrifice your very life for the welfare of another, to move forward when every fiber of your being says to run—it’s an unimaginable reality for all of us save first responders and military. And most of those men were neither. They were farmhands and teachers and factory workers. They were ordinary. But God used their ordinary heroism to break the back of evil.
So Luther might not have been a good husband or even a good man. But his sacrifice for justice and peace was for good—and that’s extraordinary. #dday #dday75 #greatestgeneration #heroes
This morning, on my way to an appointment, I stumbled upon a “reproductive rights” rally in the parking lot of the train station in a neighboring town, complete with our governor and congresswoman. I said a quick prayer and was about to continue on to my meeting when one of the signs in the crowd caught my eye. “Shout Your Abortion!” it read.
I felt myself tear up, saddened by the pain that woman must hold, and by the pitiful irony of championing abortion on this Feast of the Visitation, when we Catholics celebrate the faith and trust of two mothers with unplanned pregnancies. Her sign didn’t seek measured conversation about a difficult subject, it was an in-your-face exultation. A celebration of choosing to make oneself god, with right and wrong dictated by what we feel, what we want.
How different is our example of Mary as she visits Elizabeth. “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God my Savior. For He has looked with favor on His lowly servant.” Mary is joyful, not angry. Mary is trusting, not self-righteous. Mary is humble, not arrogant. Even in her own condition, she chooses to serve her cousin, to offer support to the heavily pregnant Elizabeth.
I think of the Marys in our own word, those who walk beside women with unplanned pregnancies. The Sisters of Life, who provide support and love not only to the pregnant, but to those who have undergone abortions. Or the wonderful folks at the Gladney Center for Adoption, whose work gives homes to so many children, including my two wonderful godchildren.
Those of us who are saddened by signs like the one I saw need to be Mary, too. How can we be a blessing to those facing the challenge of an unplanned pregnancy? Maybe we aren’t called to join the Sisters or to adopt, but we can volunteer our time and donate our treasure to organizations that are Mary to the Elizabeths. And we can certainly do what Mary did, and continues to do. Pray for the unborn, for the mothers and the fathers and for all of us, that we may learn to trust God just as she did. #chooselife #sistersoflife #adoptionrocks #adoption #rachelsvineyard #gladneycenter #feastofthevisitation #visitation
