“Reminders of home,” she called them. I looked up from my coffee and out the window as my friend casually gestured to the seagulls outside. Seeing that I wore confusion on my face, she elaborated. “Seagulls, anywhere but the sea are reminders that we are travelers on the way; that we will always be foreigners until we are home.” 

I was reminded of her observation on the way to the grocery store this week as, you guessed it, I watched the seagulls (Gulls! My high school biology teacher would be sure to correct me) circling the parking lot. Why they do this, I will never understand. I will be forever grateful for her insight because of their ever-present company circling above the parking lot light posts and unintentionally calling me out of myself. 

We are approaching Holy Week once again, and although I tell myself we listen to the story for my children, I suspect I will always go back to C.S. Lewis this time of year, allowing fauns, beavers, and Aslan, to guide me out of the season of ‘eternal winter.’ Because good children’s stories are timeless and communicate important truths, I am paying attention to light posts. This delicious ritual alongside Madeline L’Engle’s encouragement (Walking on Water) to tesseract our way to places, uninhibited by time and space, as we are in art.

And so we all do, as we navigate Passiontide, becoming pilgrims, having our feet washed after the last supper on Holy Thursday, venerating the Cross on Good Friday, feeling the ache of the tomb on Holy Saturday, and rejoicing on Easter Sunday. 

In the same way, passing gulls remind me of the eventual hope of heaven; entering into Holy Week puts into practice our ability to be present in the Paschal Mystery right now. 

Whether with Aslan, Mrs. Whatsit, Mary, Simon, Mary Magdalene, or the Crucified Lord, I pray that you are accompanied through this holiest of weeks and that it is deeply meaningful. I’ve included a variety of reflections from previous years if you are looking for ways to enter more deeply into Holy week:

Maundy Thursday, Lodgepoles

Holy Thursday & an invitation, if you didn’t get to join the Catholic Social Teaching Spotlight last year, you can find it all here.

Good Friday, I hear you, Mary

Holy Saturday, see below for a reflection I shared for a local volunteer group this week

Easter Sunday, Scripture verses about Resurrection

Be on the lookout for a prayer I’m sharing with Mothering Spirit this week, for when we cannot afford the luxury of Lent.

Holy Saturday

A reading from the Gospel according to Luke:

It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spiced and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the sabbath according to the commandment.

//

It had been a long day.

Take a minute to imagine how these women must have been feeling.

Luke, always sure to include detail about the presence of women, describes that it was Jesus’ friends Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary who stayed until the bitter end of the longest day. Long enough to see where it was that Jesus’ body would be laid because, in all practicality, they were preparing to do what came next: anoint him. His friends were preparing themselves to prepare his body for burial in the Jewish tradition. Not only that, but they were in a hurry because it was nearly dusk, and as faithful Jews themselves, they would have been going home to observe Shabbat.

Perhaps you have found yourself in a similar position. A place where your heart hasn’t had time to catch up to what is being asked of your hands. Your head is not processing, and your heart has not accepted the truth of what is plainly before you. 

This experience is one of shock, grief, and disbelief, all co-mingling and taking up residence. Most are familiar with the stages of grief, which begin with denial. Instinctive or otherwise, denial numbs us from the whiplash of what was true and isn’t any longer because we simply cannot catch up, emotionally. 

Think about what these women, all of the disciples, must have been trying to reconcile: Jesus was not who he said he was.

Just hours earlier, they were eagerly watching to see how their friend Jesus, Son of God was going to be made known to the world. Their friend, the One they had come to know as the miracle worker and Messiah, had come to set Israel free and reign, victorious. But…

Imagine their confusion when Jesus does not approach the Sanhedrin with force or might. Imagine their humiliation as the One they had come to believe would be their Savior, is mocked, spit upon, and stripped of his clothing in front of the jeering crowd. Jesus was not the heavenly King they expected–he was all too human, and his crucifixion proved it.

We have to begin here, in this place of deep desolation, and in the context of previous days’ events, to fully appreciate what the women were about to undertake as they made preparations to bury Jesus, alongside their hopes of a Savior.

Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Joanna showed up at the place of pain and humiliation–their beloved Jesus’, and their own (how could they have gotten it so wrong?!). The very tactile act of mixing burial spices, making tangible again the truth they hoped not to believe.

They didn’t have to show up–in fact, most didn’t. It’s not clear where the rest of Jesus’ disciples spent ‘holy Saturday.’ After all, purity laws being what they were, being in contact with the dead at the dawn of Shabbat would have made them ritually unclean, and Jesus appeared to be a fraud. But, despite their deep grief, and out of love for their friend, they rolled up their sleeves and took on this work of mercy to dignify their beloved.

There is wisdom for us here, of course. 

The women in Luke’s Gospel are small figures in the greater Easter story, but we find them giving, digging in when the world appeared not to be watching. Disillusioned as they may have been, they showed up, imperfectly carrying out the next step on a journey they couldn’t understand or predict. Not so different from us on any given day.

In the same way that we venerate the Cross and acknowledge Jesus’ agony on Good Friday, we might do well to spend some time in prayer with the faithfulness of Jesus’ friends on Holy Saturday.

-Who do you love that has disillusioned you, and what is your posture toward them?

-Which of your hopes have gone unfulfilled? How do you choose to move forward?

-Have you left room in the space between your head and your heart for the Christ to do something illogical, unpredictable, and unimaginable?

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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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No, I haven’t actually participated in drive though confession Catholic-style (although they exist), but rather a different kind. This exchange was more of a catch-all, non-denominational sort of approach.

“I miss thrifting,” I confided in the drive through barista who complimented my bag on the passenger seat. This was my fancy coffee run on a mother’s day gift card. Having not spoken to strangers in months, I was taken aback a bit by the claim. Quarantine is doing strange things to me, that’s for sure. What does that say about what I hold dear, I wondered as I drove away.  Am I overly-consumeristic? Stir crazy? Simultaneously tired of these four walls and the pristine boxes that arrive on my doorstep in all of their pre-packaged glory? 

[Yes]

And, maybe under some of that, there’s a search for the quirky, the tried and true balm that is finding that picture book you love for a quarter, or a vase for your summer bouquet’s that reminds you of your grandmas’s kitchen, the mug with your name on it (spelled correctly!).You know it’s not junk and you’re not supporting ‘the man,’ but instead lost pets, teen moms, folks just out of prison, and the combination just makes you want to shout it from the rooftops. Yes?

This is the season for shouting from the rooftops, after all.

At 8 pm most nights, I’m tying up my worn-out tennis shoes and heading outside for a some fresh air and blessed time alone. Nearly every night this coincides with our neighborhood howl, echoing down streets and over fences; out of garages and bedroom windows. With little more that we can offer, this audible appreciation is just that–loud thanksgiving for front-line workers. And basically, this is the formula for prayers of praise and thanksgiving. Our words of appreciation are what we have to fling back in response to grace out-poured, and so we do. We do not howl because it does anything for those on the front-lines at this time. Just as we do not give praise to God because it adds to God’s greatness–we simply know at our core to respond back in praise and thanksgiving.

It’s still Easter–Alleluia! 

In the words of St. John Paul II, “We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song.” I’m embarrassed to tell you that my kids thought we were kidding when we explained that it is still Easter–home school catechesis for the win!

It is a triumphant season spiritually, if not particularly triumphant feeling, otherwise. 

Along these lines, I’m sharing about St. Mary Magdalene in honor of her feast day today (who was a bit of an evangelist herself)! Mary Magdalene has the tremendous honor of being called ‘Apostle to the Apostles,’ because it was her discovery of the empty tomb in John’s Gospel that prompted her eager announcement to Jesus’ followers that he had disappeared from the tomb and appeared to her in the garden, though her eyes hadn’t seen it at first:

If you have done much historical reading, Biblical or otherwise, the lion’s share of accounting belongs to the voices of men. Women’s voices, roles and responsibilities waxed very much domestic and have been viewed as mostly inconsequential.  Given this context, it would be logical, perhaps even wise  to imagine that Saint Matthew’s crescendo in the final chapter of his Gospel would have heralded in the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection with unquestionable authority—particularly given the controversial nature of the claim: Jesus Rising from the dead. *After all, if you have incredible news, common sense dictates the tremendous benefits of the person left holding the metaphorical megaphone be…credible. Click here to read more.

St. Mary Magdalene, pray for us!

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I’m sitting back after a full week of visiting with a friend from out- of-town, reflecting on really special event on Saturday evening, and musing on the Feast of the Annunciation at Blessed Is She, today. Here’s a little summary.

In the dark

Over the weekend I had the opportunity to offer a reflection on spiritual blindness at an event hosted by the Blind Cafe’.  It was a vulnerable experience because I was completely off-script which is not my comfort zone. I’d also add that it’s an odd exchange when you receive a phone call during which the caller explains they’re looking for a person to speak to spiritual blindness and, Katie, you came to mind.

Feeling humbled and ill-equipped to speak on the topic of blindess, in the company of folks who are blind, I sought out the Easter readings.  So, I called on the name of Providence to guide this conversation and my bumbling thoughts on how our limited sight can perhaps illuminate our spiritual vision. 

I listened to the Easter readings with a new awareness of our shared and universal experiences of spiritual blindness—those times when our own parameters, or perhaps God’s timing actually prevent us from seeing what is directly before us.

• Mary Magdalene—So stricken with grief in the garden that she believes the Risen Christ to be the gardener until he speaks her name.
• The disciples didn’t trust their vision of the Risen Lord. They feared that they were seeing a ghost, until Jesus had eaten with them.
• On the road to Emmaus when the disciples meet Jesus, they are walking with him, but do not physically recognize him until the breaking of the bread. Only then do they remember: ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road?”
• The Gospel this weekend is the one of the ‘Doubting Thomas,’ in which Thomas cannot believe just his friends or his eyes, but instead must physically touch the wounds and scars that Christ suffered in order to believe. Jesus says to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen? Blessed are those who have not seen and believed.”

If there is something to be gleaned from these Easter readings, it might be that although we are accustomed to engaging the world with our sight, perhaps it is not how we best engage the Risen Christ.

Certainly my attention has been on these themes because of this event at the Blind Café, but I think this language from Luke’s Gospel calls us back in a particular way.

“Were not our hearts burning within us?!”

The Good News/The Easter message I am hearing this year is one that seems to be taken in with nearly all of the senses but sight (alone).

St. Paul instructs: ‘I pray that they eyes of your hearts may be opened.’

Let us make that our prayer, too.

May the eyes of our hearts be opened.

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As I write, the spring sun chasing snow from the shadows of our yard. We’re tending four, adolescent chickens in our basement until it is warm enough to send them outside. Fellow bee club members are offering a crash-course in swarm-catching as my beloved beehive succumbed to a mite infestation last week.  I’m devouring Christie Purifoy’s gorgeous Roots & Sky, while plotting a renegade perennial pollinator garden on the ugly strip of dirt that lines the street behind our home.

In short, I’m itching for spring.

//

It being Holy week and all, I figured: Why not sit a spell and consider what is about to unfold, and already unfolding?

Today is Holy Thursday—Maundy Thursday if you prefer. Actually, I just learned that ‘maundy’ is derived from the Latin, ‘mandatum,’ which means commandment. How striking that the day is commemorated for the commandment given the disciples to become the servant to one another…and that I am just now unpacking what that powerful title conveys.

So when he had washed their feet and put his garments back on and reclined at table again, he said to them, “Do you realize what I have done for you? You call me ‘teacher’ and ‘master,’ and rightly so, for indeed I am. If I therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet. I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do

-John 13: 12-15

Perspective

It’s been a year already since last Easter, and I’m anxious to embrace this Triduum in a new way. I can’t unlearn how viscerally or spiritually painful Good Friday can be, or how stark the contrast can feel between Friday and Sunday—a pace too break-neck for casual participation. Having had a year to sit with the Good Friday experience, I’m hoping that this year, I can enter into the week mindful of those for whom this day is impossibly difficult—a confirmation of hurt and brokenness, while begging for the grace of an Easter Sunday of celebration of resurrection.

If you’re finding yourself resonating with and struggling to move from the scenes or death and humiliation of Christ’s passion, to the joy of new life this Easter, know that I’m holding you with me in a particular way.

(Consequently I’m hoping to do this with children in-tow—flying solo—as my husband recently joined the choir to get his Gregorian chant fix. I’ll let you know how that goes…)

Holy Thursday

I’m also sharing my thoughts on a different angle of Holy Thursday on the Blessed Is She blog, today.

Blessings to you during these Holy days.

The post Maundy Thursday appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

A favorite professor once asked which person of the Trinity our class most frequently sought out in prayer. The answer seemed obvious–to everyone—and conversation erupted! This question brought a new awareness of the gifts each of these persons has to offer me as well as the importance of knowing who is accompanying me on this spiritual journey. I know now that my spirit longs for and is nourished by different aspects of God throughout the year.

Triangular diagrams, stories of Adam and Eve and others from the Old Testament influenced the description of God the Father for much of my childhood. Only later did I discover the story of the Prodigal Son and the description offered of God the Father in this lavish and merciful light (Luke 15:1-3, 11-32). The placement of this reading on Laetare Sunday, as well as my own experience of Metanoia, brought to life for me the very powerful love of the Father as so well-depicted by Henri Nouwen in The Return of the Prodigal Son. God the Father invites me to be lavish in mercy.

During the Christmas season I find myself riveted by the vulnerability of God who takes on flesh out of love, to be born in a manger; the helpless, innocent and perfect Christ-child in the company of barnyard animals, fledgling parents, shepherds and travelers from distant lands. We see the whole intimate scene: Jesus born into a poor family in the midst of social and political turmoil where it might have been unsafe for any child, certainly any child prophesied to be the King of the Jews (Matt 2:1-2). The state of affairs of that ancient time is sadly similar to the global climate today. And yet, into the midst of these dismal circumstances, Emmanuel enters history, thereby dignifying humanity by its opportunity to receive the Holy of Holies, even in humble disguise.  Annually, the infant Jesus invites me to brazen vulnerability.

During Lent, there is something especially compelling about the trust of Jesus as a man that my soul needs to absorb. It has to do with his absolute awareness that there is more to the story and his loving response when the details are unclear: when he is tempted in the desert for weeks; when he is betrayed; when he is alone in the garden and his friends are asleep; and finally when he is crucified between two thieves. This Jesus encourages me to endure the barrenness of my own deserts because beauty beyond my imagining, awaits me. And, if I am awake, Jesus reveals himself to me within my own desert places as well. Lenten Jesus invites me to seek beauty where I have ceased to seek it.

Come Easter, there is an exhilarating possibility and wildness about the Spirit. Sometimes referred to as the Paraclete, wind, fire, wisdom or love; we get a sense that the Holy Spirit is moving and seemingly eager! There is something so inviting about the way this person of the Trinity finds their way into my life; whether that be in the small whisper (1 Kings 19:12) or the wild movement of a spring wind whipping through my hair on a Pentecost morning. The Holy Spirit invites me to be surprised.

I am perhaps coming to love this figure of the Trinity best because of the magnanimity of it—there is far less known of the Holy Spirit than about Jesus or God the Father. We cannot recreate the scene or story where the Spirit began or ended in quite the same way we tell the story of Jesus. Scripture, Tradition and Sacraments are laden with references to the Third Person of the Trinity and it is as inviting as it is mysterious. With the Holy Spirit, the question is no longer, “Is God moving in my life?”, rather, “When, where and how has the Spirit been at work and where is it leading me next?!”

Where is the Spirit leading you?

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(This is a real time conversation in my head that began on Good Friday and continues inconveniently and honestly, into the Easter season).

Connecting with Scripture

A wise woman I know leads Advent retreats in which she invites retreatants to imagine the role that they might play in the nativity story and anything is fair game– people, livestock, and inanimate objects. The point of the exercise is to imagine yourself in the story. I love it. I especially love it because I find that it changes for me each year. This year, I decided to enter into the passion narrative to find which experience I find myself most closely relating to. I continually found myself circling around the empty tomb of Jesus.

What do I mean?

The tomb is a unique part of the story. In some ways it is a small detail, an unnecessary place for burial as it turns out. Then again, it provides the punchline of the story; had there been no tomb to lay the crucified Lord in, or no need of a tomb, the entire story changes. Without the empty tomb, how would we understand resurrection?

Depending on how you look at it, the tomb is indirectly involved in the experience of the passion, or (if we’re imagining its participation) perhaps it was satisfied to have been given a role—any role–at all. If stones could speak, I wonder if they might have grieved for having lost the identity as a place of resting for the Word made flesh (if even in so doing, the Paschal mystery was revealed to the world)? Jesus’ resurrection changed everything, and  at the end of the day the tomb that may have felt itself very honored to have had any role to perform in service to the King of Kings, is left un-necessary, discarded…empty.

Grappling

Recently our family began to share the news that we were expecting, which is a joyful proclamation in this season of new life, I can tell you. Not long after, our first ultrasound images revealed a baby with no heartbeat. Our follow-up ultrasound was scheduled for 3:00 on Good Friday; the irony of this situation was not lost on us.  I knew what we would find even as they wrote up our appointment reminder cards, hopeful as I wanted to be. The appointment revealed that I, too, am empty. No longer filling the role I understood myself to have filled weeks earlier.

Grief has landed in my lap and I am grappling with how to make meaning of it. How in these moments of emptiness and frustration and this season of resurrection, do I bear the truth of circumstantial woundedness and choose joy?  How do I sit with the story of Lazarus or Mary & Jesus’ garden chat when my own cries feel as though they have been given little response?

One gift that has come out of a particularly somber Triduum celebration is that I have found a collection of voices that have helped to name at least a portion of this journey that I’ve admittedly paid little attention to before this year: The terrifying and valuable fruit of entering into the grief and sadness of Good Friday with my own reality. (See also, this, and this and this, and most of all, this:

“But for those of you hunkered down on Good Friday, identifying with the loss of this day in agonizing ways, ways that you did not want to understand the cross, I am your sister this year. When too many things still feel dead and resurrection feels as unlikely and impossible as it must have on this day all those years ago, I can’t help but believe Jesus has his eye on us specifically. Who can better understand the cross than the man who chose it? Who better to hold us close in our loneliness than the man who was left to suffer all alone? Nobody, not one human being on this earth understands a dark Friday more than Jesus, well before anyone thought to put a ‘Good’ in front of it.”   –Jen Hatmaker, When Treasured Things are Dead

Walking with Mary Magdalene

The wisdom of those who are mixed up in suffering and carrying it with them to the foot of the cross–How could I have missed this detail before? I don’t just mean those whose suffering coincides with Holy week, but those whose lived experience has been filled with suffering, who perservere in faith alongside of Christ in his passion, as long as that may take. 

I recognize that it is the Easter season, and I don’t want to stay mired down in the weary tones of Good Friday. I, too, celebrate that Christ won the victory over the grave, particularly as it is this very resurrection that gives me the solace this mama heart is seeking. Someone recently shared with me an insight that “‘Good Fridays’ don’t always happen on Good Friday and ‘Easters’ don’t always happen on Easter Sunday” (or something to that effect); and there is a great deal of peace in hearing this.

We read in today’s Gospel that Mary Magdalene, too, is focused on the empty tomb. Even when the risen Lord calls her by name, she cannot recognize him but believes him to be a gardener instead. It would seem that Mary’s witness is a much closer match to my experience than that of the empty tomb itself.  I can identify with Mary whose experiences blinded her to the reality that was standing before her and I do not want to stay there. In a new way, I hope alongside of Mary Magdalene that the risen Christ might be revealed to me at a time when I am able to hear him more clearly calling my name. 

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