Recently, our Catholic paper published a fantastic issue centered entirely on the Church’s consistent ethic of life. It served as a good reminder to readers that the pro-life issue encompasses more than abortion, for which I am deeply grateful. As I flipped, I was searching for the resource page for families interested in adoption or making themselves available for foster care; and it was not there. 

It simply is not there.

There is a gaping hole in adoption services within the Church’s consistent ethic of life. I have heard this from hopeful adoptive parents for years, and have been personally frustrated that any hope I have entertained of enlarging our family in this way has been thwarted simply by the expense, or red tape of working through state programming.

For hundreds of years, providing care to children without families (for whatever reason) was the work of the Church. Creating opportunities for those children to be placed in loving homes was a vibrant ministry. This is no longer the case and there is a great deal of collateral damage in terms of families who dream of having children, who cannot. And children who dream of having families, who simply will age out of the system while they wait for the bureaucratic wheels to turn.

Echoes of social work classes I took back in the day have been coming to mind with frequency. There was always a tremendous emphasis placed on the baby boomers who would require resources, care, nurses, etc. in our lifetime. The current systems would experience a surge that would likely push past the breaking point of what the care industry would be able to absorb. We needed to be attuned to this, and ready to step up with creativity and awareness. 

In the wake of the recent Dobb’s decision, I cannot help but feel that we are approaching a very different sort of baby boom. In a new way, it is clear that we are not prepared for the surge of needs that are about to come down the pike, but we haven’t had decades to prepare for it in the same sense. Not that the resources aren’t available, but the systems are simply not in place. Which is shameful as the current number of families in the U.S. waiting to adopt is somewhere between one and two million.

‘Good news and bad news. The good news is we have all the money we need for the project. The bad news is, it’s still in your pockets,’ as my favorite tongue-in-cheek fundraiser put it.

I wonder if you have ever considered adoption as an option? Do you know families who are? If so, you’ll likely know that US private adoptions cost somewhere in the ballpark of $40k. In many cases, the adoptive family is required to make a website advertising their eligibility as a candidate and they can wait years (YEARS) to be matched with a child. That’s if they have the resources to shell out tens of thousands of dollars to expand their family (in addition to time off, paperwork, legal fees, agency fees, etc). What about the families with the desire and space for more children in their homes for whom cost prohibits the very idea of adoption?

Mainstream media is looking to the Church as a first responder in the recent turning of the tide when it comes to abortion laws in the US. ‘What is the Church going to do now that Roe has been overturned?’ I heard in one interview. A wise Archbishop responded: ‘The Church will do what it has always done to accompany women in crisis pregnancy situations, but we cannot do it alone.’ 

During the pandemic, while church buildings had closed their doors, there was an important distinction being made while criticism of churches closings cropped up. ‘The Church isn’t closed–we are the Church!’ That is as true today as it was in the early days of Covid.

In other words, this change is going to ask something of all of us. If we haven’t stepped up our game to support individuals in crisis pregnancy situations already (or any crisis situation), it’s time. 

“What we would like to do is change the world–make it a little simpler for people to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as God intended them to do. And, by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, the poor, of the destitute–the rights of the worthy and the unworthy poor, in other words–we can, to a certain extent, change the world; we can work for the oasis, the little cell of joy and peace in a harried world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever widening circle will reach around the world. We repeat, there is nothing we can do but love, and, dear God, please enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy as our friend.” -― Dorothy Day

The Catholic Church holds all life sacred from conception to natural death and will advocate for life in all circumstances. However, without a major overhaul of accessible adoption options, Catholics (or anyone for that matter) are no more likely to avail themselves for the impending baby boom, no matter how pure and deep the desire to do so might be. It will simply remain out of reach. I suspect this is where the creativity of the Body of Believers is needed most urgently.

Instead of go fund me pages and yard sales, what if families could go to their parish and request financial assistance to become certified foster families, or to help fund adoptions? Creativity & awareness.

I think the good Archbishop is right about one thing, it is going to take everyone re-thinking and stepping up to support the women, men, and children most intimately affected by the Dobbs verdict who find themselves in uncharted waters; coincidentally that has a ripple effect. That might mean finding a local pregnancy center to support, accompanying families walking through new parenthood, or the emotional road of placing a child for adoption. At its core, I think living into this new era as the Body of Believers begs the question of each of us: 

Why not us? Could we make room for one more? 

Because at its core, that’s what love does. It makes room where there was none (think Advent). A longer table; more water in the soup. What greater witness could we offer than to open our own homes so that all would know the love of family (and that doesn’t just imply babies)? That instead of laws that are strictly pro-birth, we could embrace the all-encompassing title of pro-life. What if we resembled the shocking community of the early church that found people slack-jawed in its wake, murmuring: ‘Look how they love one another.’

There is no such thing as other people’s children. This is a reality I find myself grappling with in a new way. Maybe you do, too?

(For further inspiration, listen to The Highwomen’s Crowded Table) 

The post Longer Tables appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Holy Thursday

The Triduum is upon us, friends. Tonight we celebrate the washing of the feet and the institution of the Eucharist. I have long been grateful for the humble, practical way that we enter into the low lows and high highs of this week; that the story of salvation begins with a posture of service toward others. How, in recent years, Pope Francis has continued to make this tangible by celebrating Holy Thursday in detention centers and prisons.

As I prepare to enter into these holiest of days, and with this reminder, there is one idea and invitation that I am bringing with me:

Stagnant

Maybe it has been the anniversary of pandemic living that has me thinking in terms of the broader community that shaped me before my whole life took place from my kitchen table. I have been thinking back to when the needs of those on the margins were part of my daily and professional conversation and reflection. While our kiddos have certainly provided a place to intentionally practice the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, it has been an isolating year, to say the least. Intentionally being around the unmet needs of others kept me from becoming complacent, spiritually or otherwise, and to be honest, I don’t feel like I am in that place of constant examination and call to conversion of heart anymore…and I don’t like it.

I am also looking ahead with hope to a time when won’t feel the burden of public health guidelines to inform our interactions with others. The concept of time when we can be physically present to one another again. What will that even look like?!

Staying in the mix

I recently prepared a reflection on Jonah, my (humbling) Scriptural personality twin, who also likes to keep the peace and doubts seriously the clear invitations laid out before him, by God. He’s just that guy who reminds me of my ugly tendencies to get comfortable and stay there. So in honor of Holy Thursday, and in an act of self-awareness that could pull me from a place of comfort and back into the mix a bit, I’ll share with you something I’ve been waiting for someone else to do for a long time.

Since they haven’t, I’m hoping that you’ll consider joining me as I respond to my inner promptings.

As a grad student, and a parishioner working in outreach, I’ve been disappointed by the lack of user-friendly materials that invite the faithful to incorporate and deepen their relationship between faith and service, faith and justice. For ages, I have wished for an accessible way to engage people in the wealth of life-giving resources the Church has in her reserves in terms of teachings for times such as these. What could/should outreach look like? Where do we put our resources? Amidst the litany of unmet needs, where do we begin? How does our tradition stay Ever Ancient and Ever New? And why does the Church come off from time to time as, a bit nosy?

‘Best kept secret‘

You might recognize what I’m getting at as Catholic Social Teaching, but if you don’t—you’re not alone! One unfortunate tag-line that is associated with these beautiful teachings is that they remain the ‘best-kept secret in the Catholic Church.’ Of course, you don’t have to be Catholic to participate, but if you are I hope that delving deeper into what is already ours is an enriching experience.

I hope to provide an evergreen foundation that offers an introduction to these teachings and a challenge to participants to grow in their understanding of what it means to be a Church that serves Christ in those they encounter on the margins; in the other.

What you can expect

In this bi-monthly undertaking, I’ll include my curated reflections and prayers in addition to incorporating the source documents that make up Catholic Social Teaching. You will also get to hear from holy men and women who have contributed to and continue this tradition today. If you subscribe, you’ll receive two additional e-mails from me each month during this series. *I’m also planning for some fun giveaways and ways to continue the conversation!

The Invitation

As I mentioned, this is new territory for me and I’m learning as I go. In a perfect world, I would *love* for this to serve as a pilot for a resource I could someday make more widely available for others, so your feedback is essential!

If this has you as excited as it has me, subscribe here to be sure you’re on the CST Spotlight email list as we’ll begin next Thursday! I am only making this available for those who subscribe. That said I’d deeply appreciate your passing along the invitation to others you know who might be interested in delving deeper, too! For those with schedules that do not allow for anything extra right now, fear not, you will continue to receive periodic e-mails from me, but nothing additional.

Here’s to embracing the call to wash feet, committing to growth in the Easter season & stepping away from *those* tendencies that bog us down. I’m looking forward to diving deeper together!

But first, delve into Holy week. I pray that it is nourishing, challenging, and celebratory in all of the ways we most need!

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Happy Earth Day!

I hope you get to embrace it by taking a hike–or a travel mug; biking to work, or upgrading to paperless billing–however you like to celebrate the day!

Last month, before all of this quarantine business got underway–which is  having a strangely positive impact on the planet– I was invited to speak on the spiritual dynamic of stewardship in terms of faith. I was over the moon to make this connection because for as much Theology as we have on the subject, very little time or attention is committed to what I feel is a hallmark of our faith tradition:

Stewardship as care for creation

Parishes are superb about educating on the tenets of stewardship and the three T’s: Time/Talent/Treasure. Each of these are paramount in carrying out the mission of the Reign of God on Earth. What is less clear is our shy approach to including ourselves among the stewards of creation itself.

Scripture is chalk-full of references to what it is to steward, well. Beginning in Genesis in the first Creation account, and sprinkled throughout the Gospels and Epistles, it is very clear what a steward is– and what kind of steward with which we might wish to be associated.

• Genesis 2: 15— The LORD God then took the man and settled him in the garden of Eden, to cultivate and care for it.
• Luke’s accounting of the Unjust Steward
• 1 Peter 4:10— As each one has received a gift, use it to serve one another as good stewards of God’s varied grace.

The long view

The Catholic Church has a rich history of naming creation as a gift of the Creator, and thereby worth respecting. Saints, Popes, theologians, mystics, and lay people alike, have found the subject worth contemplating.  Most traditionally this has played out by emphasizing the dignity of the human person as image bearers of the Creator, but the dignity of the human person cannot be singularly extracted from the reflection of the Creator in all things.

The glory of God is reflected in the majesty of mountain ranges, the wonder of  the circulatory system, the mystery of photosynthesis, the perfection found inside a beehive, the power of ocean tides, the transformation in metamorphosis,  the unpredictability of weather, and the fantastic diversity of rain forest life.

To honor humanity as the sole communicator of God’s majesty is both limiting and hubris. This is not to say that humanity does not have a particular role as image-bearers in the world, it is to say however, that as such we are invited to cultivate the gifts given in a way that honors the Giver of said gifts.

In the Mass, we hear:

“For, although you have no need of our praise, yet our thanksgiving is itself your gift, since our praises add nothing to your greatness.”

In these terms I cannot but imagine that in the same way our very praise is a gift offered to God—not because God is somehow in need of it, but because we are. So too might our response as stewards of creation have less to do with maintaining a pristine status quo, but rather a posture of gratitude for gifts given to be cultivated respectfully out of reverence for the Giver. 

Sharing more thoughts on Church as Steward in honor of Earth day, at Blessed Is She today:

A few years ago, I heard a newscaster reporting on a scene from the Vatican, in which Pope Francis presided over the Liturgy during Ordinary Time. The newscaster, offering commentary on the event, enthusiastically shared that in the spirit of Earth Day, the Pope was sporting green vestments.

His observation was as innocent as it was inaccurate, which made it all the more humorous.

Yet, it gets to the heart of what can feel is a disjointed relationship between the faithful and our responsibility to be good stewards of creation.

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Ever notice how October is a bit of a glory hound? It comes in with a blaze, still warm afternoons, pumpkin spiciness, grinning jack-o-lanterns, kids in costume, and we hungrily eat it up.

November feels a bit somber by comparison–especially if you’re Catholic. Bang! As soon as you turn the page on the calendar, we dedicate two marvelous days to honoring the dead: Saints to begin, and then our own litanies of loved ones who have passed. *I wrote on both of these days for Blessed Is She this month if you want to delve in. Then we turn the clocks back and all hell breaks loose in our internal rhythm–darkness moves in and ushers with it muted brown and gray leaves, if there are any left after the sleet and wind. Baking and comfort food are redeeming qualities, though, it can begin to feel like we’re  trudging our way to Thanksgiving and Advent.

Yes?

My husband recently shared a quote from Teddy Roosevelt that feels appropriate to add to the conversation, seasonal or not: ‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’ A pretty pithy little phrase.

I’ll be honest, this is a skill I’m honing. I still roll my eyes at my neighbors’ ever-present Halloween decor that hasn’t come down in the years we’ve lived on this block. It’s easier on my eyes and my conscience when the things before me do not remind me of insufficiency, need, or apathy. When I can tidy things up and make them appear to be less broken and more lovely. I recognize this is broken thinking, that it is actually our brokenness that makes room for beauty to spring forth, and yet…

Because the atmosphere this time of year lends itself to comparison, and the fact that I’m not particularly good at avoiding it, here’s a couple of folks who are worth paying attention to, and can speak eloquently on ways we can also choose to see beauty in the small, imperfect, goodness that surrounds us:

Shannan Martin–I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Shannan (The Ministry of Ordinary Places) is the queen of holding up the very good and usual, and proclaiming it, beautiful; lovable, even. Cook in a shelter by day, writer by night, married to a jail chaplain, she sees the world for what it is, and adores it. In many ways, she could be the patron saint of November’s ordinariness. And when she points it out, I see it too.

I try to channel Shannan when I need to re-frame the ordinary into the lovable.

My friend Cara of the Dorothy Exchange, who has the ability to cultivate children’s learning from nature, and grown-ups learning to do beautiful things by hand through her Skillshare–inspired by Dorothy Day (swoon!). What she notices and passes on to her children, and those around her is so encouraging to me in the ways I can also integrate simple beauty and wonder into each day.

I am listening for her words as I try to intentionally prepare our home for Advent.

Jack Jezreel, founder of JustFaith ministries and author of A New Way to Be Church. His words are lingering with me, along with his deep love for the Catholic Church which seems to fuel his innovation in the very places parishes have run out of creativity–by way of a new take on empowering parishioners to meet the needs of their local communities in new ways. To heed his words would challenge us to see just how much more we might do, and how we might be changed by re-imagining what it looks like to meet the needs of the marginalized and our role in it.

I hear these words lately as I enter our parish.

It turns out that paying any heed to their wise voices or practices is a true act of resistance to the culture of comparison as well as consumerism,which is a God-send this time of year. Not just theirs, of course. Any words that help us to see the goodness of what is, minus the analysis of how it may compare to anything else.  I’m finding their voices echoing in my head as I begin the process of clearing out the clutter of my heart and making room for the Christ child this season.

Advent is near and we can feel it. There is an equally pithy little phrase that can help in times like these when we long for something more and maintain a testy relationship with what is: ‘Already and not yet.’ This is eschatology in a nutshell–or really great fuel for prayer life. In the same way we desire the perfection of what is to be, we are mired down right here in the present circumstances, playing whatever role we have been given to bring about the Kingdom on Earth–as imperfect and messy as that may be.

Happily, we are meant for both.

We crave beauty, we seek it, and we are nourished by it. All of this is good. However, I’m beginning to suspect (maybe late to the party) that we are culturally un-learning how to see beauty, and therefore struggle with gloomy times like these. Likely this is why hygge has caught on in such a big way–because we are simply over the disposable, glittery, insta-beauty, and craving something richer, more substantial. The bottom line is, the more substantial thing is not a thing at all.

Rather, the substance consists of unlikely friends, and unexpected glimpses of goodness for which we will never tire of searching;The days that were interrupted by persistent and compelling distractions. Now more than ever, would that we all be seekers of small and ordinary wonders.

Here’s to a sufficient & joyful Thanksgiving for you and yours!

***

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St. Joseph the Worker

I wrote the reflection for the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker over on the Blessed Is She Blog this week and it provided some really interesting context for yesterday’s feast—and in light of the events in Paris yesterday, some helpful context. The Feast of St. Joseph the Worker was initiated in 1955 by Pope Pius the XII, to increase devotion to this quiet saint, and as a response the communist-sponsored celebration of workers that take place on the same day.

I had no idea.

Dignity of Work & Rights of Workers

It should be said that the Church has a long history of supporting workers. This is especially evident in the collection of writings commonly referred to as Catholic Social Teaching, which began in 1891 when Pope Leo XIII attempted to define the relationship between the economy and labor. These challenging responsibilities were held up alongside of the dignity of said work during the industrial revolution, when Rerum Nevorum was published. The document is beautifully (and verbosely) written, but boils down to the idea that work is a dignified means of participating in creation, and the economy is to serve the people—not the other way around.

I digress.

Whether you celebrated May day with flower crowns and by delivering baskets to your neighbors; or in solidarity with those demonstrating in the streets of Paris, here are some thoughts on the Feast of St. Joseph the worker and our own call to participate in the work that is ours.

//

Around the web

“Look, Mom! That lady is feeding her baby while she drives!” shouted the alarmed voice from the backseat. Confused by this outburst, I looked around to find the woman in question. It didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together. We’d pulled up alongside of a woman who was pumping under a nursing cover, I imagined, as she drove to work. I fist-bumped her, one (former) car-pumper to another. I explained to my daughter that the woman was indeed feeding her baby while she drove, but there was no infant behind the steering wheel (crisis averted).

There is precious little detail provided in Scripture on Joseph’s life on earth beyond his own “yes,” after the visit of the angel, encouraging him to take Mary as his wife (Matt. 1: 20-21). His brief Scriptural appearances speak volumes about the nature of his relationship with God, as well as his relationship with Jesus and Mary.

Joseph is known as the patron of the Universal Church, fathers, a happy death, and social justice. He is nearly always depicted with a lily, symbolizing purity, or a carpenter’s square, representing his vocation as a carpenter… Click here to read more.

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This piece posted originally on the Catholic Beer Club blog on November 7, 2017.

While in graduate school, I worked as a doula for teenage girls at a local pregnancy center. Most, but not all, of these women were first time moms, without a supportive father in the picture—and very often without a supportive family member of any kind. They could come to the agency for parenting classes, health info as well as baby clothes, car seats, etc. My role was to accompany them at the hospital during delivery, to encourage them, and to make sure that they had a voice in their delivery and their stay at the hospital as they welcomed their babies.

This role is by far among the most influential experiences of my adult life, as I was invited into the most intimate and vulnerable moments of a family’s’ early beginning. Culturally-speaking, unless a woman has a sister, there is seldom an opportunity to be invited into this place of welcoming a new child with an expectant mother, as is custom in so much of the world. Comparatively, birth in the U.S. has become an isolated experience—especially for single mothers who are choosing to give life.

//

I remember the first day I showed up for a meeting with the other doulas at the local pregnancy center. I was excited, nervous and proud to be there after all of my training. The woman at the front desk handed me a clipboard for check in. I grabbed it and began reading through the paperwork.

[Based on the nature of the questions, it was obvious that she thought I was a teen mom.]

Self-conscious about looking young for my role, combined with the indignation of being assumed a pregnant(!), teen, I quickly corrected her and took my “rightful” seat at the table for my meeting.

I have re-visited this encounter often, and with regret.

Of course I could have been mistaken for a teen mom—after all, they were the clients served by this agency. The fact that the receptionist didn’t know me from any other woman at the clinic meant that I was new, not judged. And yet, that was my unfortunate takeaway at the time.

Given a healthy amount of hindsight, I have realized a few things. More than welcoming sweet babies into the world and having a small role in the vulnerable, lonely work of these brave women who choose to deliver their babies in difficult circumstances, I owe these women a debt of gratitude for their genuine (and perhaps even, unintended) education.  Allowing themselves to be accompanied by a stranger as they crossed the threshold of familiarity and childhood into and unknown and frightening world of young adulthood as a single mom showed me just how much I had to learn about radical self-sacrifice, love and trust. Sure I was the birth coach they’d been assigned, but these women were without question, my teachers.

Context

Doesn’t this exchange get to the heart of today’s Gospel reading from Luke? Jesus is instructing the Pharisees to get mixed up in a diverse crowd—the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind—‘those who can never repay you.’ This is the exact message Pope Francis has been echoing since 2014 when he first spoke of a Culture of Encounter.

We must strive and ask for the grace to create a culture of encounter, of a fruitful encounter, of an encounter that restores to each person his or her own dignity as a child of God,  the dignity of the living person.

— Pope Francis

I am slowly learning.

How often do these scenarios Jesus is describing come up for us? You know the ones where we are hosting a dinner party and inviting all kinds of folks we don’t know and might never see again. They’re infrequent. It does remind me of those magnanimous folks who start planning at this time of year, to host the Thanksgiving or Christmas meal for out-of-towners, for college students, foreign exchange students, etc. These are the people with the uncanny knack for gathering folks because it is simply time to gather and we are made for communion with one another.

The daily readings are hinting at the waning of ordinary time, the season of anticipation and preparing to welcome those we might not be expecting. How are you hearing the invitation to see stranger as guest?

Am I seeking a place to gather and be known?
Am I being invited to consider a role as such a host?
What might I be surprised to learn I have in common with those I have separated myself from?
With whom am I already in relationship that is bearing fruits of unexpected grace?

The post Speaking of Encounters appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

One of the simplest ways I’ve noticed to consider ‘the other’ even during errand-running, is to ensure that there is ‘an other’ to consider. Case in point: self-checkout lines.

This is not backed by loads of research or polls, but grocery stores in particular employ a lot of folks as cashiers. This is the heart of honoring human dignity. Additionally, bagging groceries is a great job for folks with developmental disabilities who are interested and able to work. Beyond that, grocery stores very often partner with local schools through programs like scholarships, fundraisers, and scrip.

This partnership works best when grocery store patrons choose to be served by these cashiers and baggers. In return, there are relationships to be had and incomes to be earned by allowing people, not machines, to tally up purchases.

Admittedly I have not switched to online shopping or grocery delivery (and yes, these services employ folks, too). First, because this is not practical for us, second, because it’s important to know the names of the folks we see each week. I like talking about music with one of the young men who bags our groceries, and I adore the older gentleman that saves his pennies for our girls so that they can ride the horse after shopping. These are important relationships that do not occur in an increasingly technological shopping experience–and they’re beautiful.

#dignityofwork #dignityofthehumanperson #catholicsocialteaching #weneedeachother #green31 #write31days #littlethings

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Who doesn’t love to read labels?!

Right.

The good news is that companies who produce their food/clothing/products ethically tend not to make it hard for you to see that. It’s generally loud, proud and stamped on the front for the world to see. Which also means, if you’re struggling to find any indication of the nature of working conditions for those who produced any given product, chances are good that there’s nothing to brag about.

As you can see, there are a wide variety of certifications and standards to seek out. See websites like this, this, this or this, to do your own looking into companies worth supporting. #areyouin?

#fairtrademonth #dignityofthehumanperson #dignityofwork #rightsofworkers #green31 #write31days

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Bread-breaking was one of my resolutions for the year, and I’d say we’re doing this marginally at our house–Welcoming others into our home to share a meal and break bread together (which is so much more than feeding people). It is the ritual in which we reveal ourselves to one another, in the posture of our teacher. To feed physically and spiritually, whether we recognize that is what we are doing or not, just seems to be in our bones.

Breaking bread changes strangers into friends

There are neighbors and friends that we have eaten with and those with whom we have not. I have noticed that I never pretend to know those with whom I haven’t broken bread with well, because (I think) we have not sat together at table. Certainly not because I don’t like them–it just feels premature no matter how long we have called one another, neighbors or friends. *Thus the resolution and the timely reminder to stay with it!

There have been a couple of selected times when I have shared a meal with another and come to see Jesus in that encounter–the homeless man that joined our family at a pancake breakfast one morning after church; nursing a helpless infant; painstakingly feeding pureed meat and vegetables to a young man with Cerebral Palsy, from a baby spoon; on a patio at Jamba Juice sipping smoothies with a co-worker. These are the scarce and blessed times when the scales have fallen off my own eyes and I have recognized Christ in front of me–maybe not the only times, but the times I was paying attention.

Gospel bread-breaking

The Gospel today describes an encounter where we read that Jesus’ disciples ‘eyes were prevented from recognizing him.’ There isn’t much reason given as to why that is the case. Huh?

So what about those seemingly God-ordained times when we are physically prevented from recognizing him? Why would that be?

Admittedly this gives me some peace to think that maybe it’s not ‘just me,’ that in fact it may be harder than I wish to notice the presence of the Creator in others—that there are even times when I am incapable of doing so. Since I have left my formal ministry role it has been a challenge to see with the same eyes, feeling as though I am not put in the circumstances of encounter that I once was working in the city and therefore not noticing  Christ in the more overt and ‘distressing disguises’ that I once did. Instead, the challenge seems to be to seek him in the ordinary: the roads I walk all the time, and the people walking them with me.

Once again, I have come face to face with the uncomfortable and obvious reality: This faith walk  is not supposed to be easy. These heaven-sent gifts described as a heart burning within, or recognizing Christ in the breaking of the bread–these are not casual occurrences, and I suppose that means my seeking cannot be casual, either.  As much as I desire my own Emmaus moment(s), their significance and elusiveness do keep me on the lookout in a sense. And maybe that’s the point.

In other words

One of my favorite local homilists shared a story about his formation with the Jesuits in which he was given one hundred dollars and instructions to make his way to another part of the country for a retreat. These funds weren’t sufficient, which required much creativity, prayer and leaning on the goodness of others. He shared a story of an encounter he had in a bus station with a man who asked for a good portion of his stipend which he reluctantly gave and when he looked back, the man had vanished.  Upon reaching his brothers in formation, the question came up: “Do you think it was Jesus?” Ultimately, he admitted he didn’t know at the time, but after much thought, he now knows the answer to the question his seminarian friends asked…

“Was it Jesus? Yes. It always is.”

His response has lingered with me. Maybe these ‘Emmaus moments’ aren’t frequent, but they do happen–those moments when my heart (or my tear ducts) are burning from within because what has just passed before me can only be described as an encounter with the living God. If nothing else, the Gospel today is a reminder to put myself in situations (physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually) that cause me to ask this question with greater frequency. 

Could this be Jesus? 

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