When I was making arrangements for my one-week stay here as a live-in volunteer, I anticipated chaos, dirt, smells and unpleasantness.  I expected tragic situations, repulsive sights and extremely difficult tasks.  But it hasn't been that way at all.

I arrived on Sunday afternoon while the 35 sisters in the house were in the midst of their daily period of prayer and rest.  The residents who live in the women's section were similarly at rest in their dorms.  One of the sisters emerged from the cloister and greeted me warmly.  She showed me the chapel, and then escorted me to my simple, clean room and invited me to take a nap.

I awoke in time to help prepare the residents for Mass.  Each woman was putting on her Sunday finery consisting of the nicest donated skirts and blouses.  Those who needed assistance had the loving attention of a sister or a volunteer to help zip, button and tie.

After everyone was dressed, we began the long trek up three flights of stairs to the chapel of this former orphanage.  We laughed joyfully at the traffic jams caused by the slow but determined "grandmas" as the sisters lovingly call the older women.  I helped one very frail younger woman up the stairs; I later learned she was picked up off the street when she was on the verge of dying from AIDS.  We arrived at the chapel and sang during Mass with the sisters –  mostly from Africa, India and South America — who led us in joyful music with guitar, drum, and tambourine.

Then it was back downstairs to serve dinner to the residents.  I chatted with several of them in the living room after dinner. One of the grandmas taught me how to play Deuces Wild after I braided her hair. Then it was time for Holy Hour upstairs for the sisters and volunteers.

When I walked into the smaller of their two chapels, I saw five perfect rows of sisters in white saris with a single blue stripe, just like the one worn by their foundress, Mother Teresa.  They knelt on the floor, facing the Eucharist exposed in the monstrance.  Their voices blended beautifully as they prayed the rosary in front of Jesus, their beloved spouse.

As I laid my head on the pillow that first night, I had to remind myself that I was here to do mission work with the poorest of the poor.  How could such undesirable work be enveloped in so much peace, joy and beauty?

My answer came the next morning as I learned about the daily schedule.   The first item on the agenda?  Mass and prayer.  The sisters and volunteers were in the chapel by 7:00AM to begin the day focused on Christ.  We prayed a beautiful prayer by Cardinal Newman, which every Missionary of Charity in the world prays every day after Mass.  It begins:  "Dear Jesus, help us to spread your fragrance everywhere we go."

This is what the sisters do.  They cleanse, purify and transform their daily tasks with the radiance of Christ.  They see Him in all they do.  Every interaction with a resident is an encounter with Christ who is present in "the least of these." Every meal prepared, every towel folded, every bed made, every adult diaper changed, every counter scrubbed, every blouse buttoned is an act of service to Christ.

As I mopped the floor the next morning, which I had just mopped the day before and knowing I would mop it again tomorrow, it struck me that the repetitive domestic work the sisters do is the same work that most mothers do in keeping up their homes and caring for their families.  A wife and mother spends much of her life cooking, cleaning, and attending to the needs of the husband and children which God has entrusted to her care.  I believe the secret to the sisters' joy in such work is being rooted in prayer and the Eucharist, and daily professing out loud the intention to be Christ to others.  I wonder what effect it would have on the world if every mother started her day in the same way?

When I begin to mop my own kitchen floor with as much joy and commitment as I have mopped this "missionary" floor, I will be well on my way to living my vocation with authentic happiness and holiness.  The Missionaries of Charity don't have a monopoly on transforming domestic drudgery into a holy act of love; our kitchens and laundry rooms are mission fields too.

No Separation in Roles

I didn’t realize the sudden burst of music was coming from a phone until she started rummaging through her purse to produce the source of the distraction. Much to my surprise, instead of silencing the thing in a humiliated fluster, she glanced at the caller ID, flipped it open, and said hello.

The rosary came to a polite halt.

“Hi mom,” came a voice from the other end. I wondered if this breech of chapel etiquette was because of some sort of family emergency.

“I’m at church, honey” she informed her son. He said something and she replied, “Maybe when I get home.” I debated whether I should scowl or smile.

They exchanged farewells, and we were back to our prayers.

When she returned the device to her handbag, I went ahead and smiled. This woman’s maternal concern was apparent. She didn’t separate her role as a parent from her role as a praying Christian. Although stepping outside of the chapel would have been the better option, the bottom line was that she didn’t stop being a mom while she was at the chapel, and rightly so. After all, God entrusted her with the privilege and duty of caring for her child. She was doing her best to live out her calling as a mother by attending to her son’s needs at that particular moment.

God Holds Parenthood in High Esteem

Perhaps my congeniality was bolstered by the fact that the call came right when we were meditating on the nativity of Christ. I had been thinking about parenthood and the importance of Mary and Joseph’s role in forming, nurturing and protecting their child. I had been thinking about how Jesus was dependent upon them, and that the Creator of the universe chose to carry out His plan of salvation with the help of two human parents. God holds parenthood in high esteem. I wouldn’t say the same about our culture in general, however. Too often, we treat parenthood as an inconvenience and a burden.

The privileges and duties of fatherhood, for example, are at times reduced to child support payments or material provision. This impoverishes paternity. A father is meant to provide not only material things for his children, but also guidance, encouragement, and love. I like to imagine St. Joseph letting his son “help out” in the workshop. While that wouldn’t have been the most economically efficient method of business, this holy father’s loving patience helped shape the character and personality of Jesus.

Children Are a Reward!

Mary too played her part in forming Jesus. From the moment of His conception, she fostered a welcoming environment for her son. She generously agreed to change her life to make room for His. Motherhood reveals the beauty of such self-giving. Yet maternity is misunderstood in our current cultural climate. We tend to see motherhood as a sort of disease to be fought off with pills or invasive procedures. Mothers are tragically undervalued in a society that all but equates women’s liberation with childlessness. Self-imposed barrenness is seen as a blessing and, too often, children are seen as a curse. What a contrast to the biblical image of the barren mothers — Sarah, Hannah, Rachel, Rebekah, Elizabeth — who prayed so earnestly for the gift of having a child. They understood what the Psalmist tells us: children are a reward from the Lord (Ps 127:3). To be a parent is to receive a blessing from heaven.

I think the woman praying in the chapel knew this. Her child’s needs, insignificant though they may have been, did not strike her as a burden or an embarrassment. When she got that call, she remembered her calling. She is a mother, so she did not ignore her son, or scold him, or brush him off. She welcomed his dependence upon her just as Mary and Joseph did that of their own son so many centuries ago.

Gina Giambrone is a freelance writer and speaker based in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. She holds an MA in Theology and Christian Ministry from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and is currently awaiting the publication of her first book.

But she said nothing in return. Her only response was a tiny smile that emerged when I picked her a purple petunia.

After we finished our nature tour, we headed inside for 11:30 Mass at the chapel of this Catholic nursing home. Mabel remained perfectly still until the priest came to give her communion. At that holy moment, she folded her hands in front of her heart and a clear “Amen” rang out of her otherwise silent mouth. Apparently, Mabel was more inclined to employ her verbal efforts in this act of faith than in any superficial chatter about germaniums and barn swallows. I liked that about Mabel.

Mass finished, I accompanied her to the dining room, and then headed home.

A few days later, I went back for another visit. As I was greeting the residents who were seated in the lounge, I noticed Mabel sitting by the window. I knelt down at her side, took her hand in mine and asked how she was doing. I looked in her eyes and saw tears trying to escape. Since I knew she could speak, I asked her what was wrong, and to my surprise, she answered.

Quietly, as the first tear was tracing its course down her wrinkled cheek, Mabel said “I want to die. There’s nothing left anymore. It’s empty.”

Now it was my turn to be silent.

I searched my heart for a response while my mind was offering trite suggestions which couldn’t begin to handle the depth of Mabel’s pain. Meanwhile, Mabel spoke again.

“I wanted to be so brave,” she whispered.

This hit me hard. I didn’t have much information, but it was clear that Mabel was not a whiner who couldn’t tolerate suffering. She was a woman of faith and integrity who had intended to face life’s challenges with courage and perseverance. But now she was suffering from the greatest of all trials: despair.

It crossed my mind at that moment that some people would use this heart-wrenching scene for an argument in favor of euthanasia, concluding that since Mabel felt her life was meaningless, the solution would be to end her life. But that’s not actually a solution to the problem of despair. The solution isn’t to end the life, but rather to end the feelings of meaninglessness. In a word, the solution is hope. The false compassion of euthanasia is only fuel for despair. All traces of hope must die before euthanasia can take place. But thanks be to God, there is always hope in Christ.

I reminded Mabel that Jesus also felt abandoned, and that we are never alone in our sorrows. But I knew that it wasn’t the time for an extensive theological exposition on the Christian understanding of suffering. Instead of talking about Christ, I needed to bring Christ to Mabel right then and there. I silently prayed that Jesus would touch her through my hands and that He would love her through my smile. I stayed next to her, holding her hand, and drying her tears. And when 11:30 came around, I was able to take Mabel to literally touch Jesus Himself in the Eucharist. I prayed for her and asked Jesus to fill Mabel’s heart with hope. I believe He answered that prayer. At the end of mass, Mabel stretched out her arm, took my hand in hers, looked me right in the eye and, smiling, said, “God bless you.”

The transforming power of hope isn’t just for Mabel. Despair can be a temptation for all of us. Life’s trials can sometimes threaten to extinguish our hope. But in rising from the dead, Jesus overcame death, despair, sin and sadness. Christ’s victory is now our own. By uniting ourselves to Him, through prayer and the sacraments, we have the power to defeat despair once and for all.

Gina Giambrone is a freelance writer and speaker based in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. She holds an MA in Theology and Christian Ministry from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and is currently awaiting the publication of her first book.

Sixteen years had passed since the day I stood on top of that white sea of losing tickets with a winner in my hand. The phone rang. A voice announced that I had won a scholarship to go to Fatima, Portugal. I expressed my gratitude, hung up, and then jumped around my apartment for at least ten minutes. I had submitted an essay to win the trip. I was a bit skeptical about Marian apparitions, but I figured I’d be happy to go if I was going for free. At that point, I thought my big prize was the trip to Europe. But as it turned out, the trip itself was only the beginning.

Without much thought about it, I packed my bags to travel to a place where Mary had supposedly appeared to three shepherd children. Two days later, I was standing in Fatima. I didn’t experience any miraculous impression of the after-effects of Mary’s presence but, over the next few days, my skepticism began to fade nonetheless. The element that impressed me most was the courage of the little children to whom Mary had first appeared on May 13, 1917: Lucia, Jacinta and Francesco.

Authorities had threatened the youngsters with such tortures as being boiled in oil if they didn’t say it was all a lie. And still, they wouldn’t change their story. I can’t imagine a seven-year-old child being willing to be boiled in oil in order to protect a lie. And I can’t imagine a seven-year-old child who wouldn’t just lie and say it was all a game, even if it wasn’t, in order to avoid the oil-boil. Something had given these children supernatural courage.

The other virtues of the three young visionaries also impressed me. Clearly, their devotion to God and their desire for holiness was radically superior to my own. But for all this, I had to honestly admit that people who are successful, beautiful and popular in the eyes of the world captivated me more than Blessed Jacinta, Blessed Francesco and Sister Lucia did. I was more interested in worldly glamour than in holiness. Sanctity didn’t excite me.

As I sat in a chapel at Fatima praying about this fact, a thought crossed my mind. I realized that Mary was as successful, beautiful and popular as they come. She’s the Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven for starters. Not many of us can compete with credentials like that. Her beauty has captured the imagination of artists, poets, writers and musicians for nearly two thousand years. And there is no woman in history who more people have wanted to imitate or to whom more people have been devoted. And it was all because of her immaculate heart.

Until that day, I never understood devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. I always dismissed it as something too pious for my taste. But suddenly I realized what it really meant. Mary was pure, inside and out. Nothing tainted her, nothing got in the way. She had no spots, no blotches, no blemishes. No obstacles kept her from flourishing. She was like a flawless diamond, reflecting the Light of Christ which radiated straight through her. She was, and is, perfectly “successful,” beautiful, and popular because she was, and is, perfectly holy!

My real prize, as it turned out, was more than a vacation, it was a realization. I had learned that the secret to success is sanctity. The more immaculate we become, the more perfect our lives will be.

Now, whenever the feast of Our Lady of Fatima rolls around on May 13th, I offer a special prayer of thanks for that stroke of “good fortune” which took me to Portugal. Ever since that trip, I have begun actually to desire to grow in holiness. That authentic desire puts us in the running for the greatest prize of all, the Beatific Vision, eternal bliss, the pinnacle of true success: heaven.

© Copyright 2006 Catholic Exchange

Gina Giambrone is a freelance writer and speaker based in Cincinnati, Ohio. She holds an M.A. in Theology and Christian Ministry from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and is currently awaiting the publication of her first book.

Every creation bears the image of its creator. We bear the image of God. You bear the image of your parents. A painting bears the image of its painter, music bears the image of its composer and so on. To see the creation is to catch a glimpse of the creator. When we look at Fra Angelico’s Paradise, we encounter more than a generic rendition of heaven. We encounter a piece of Fra Angelico himself. We peek into his mind, heart and soul when we see his picture of paradise. Similarly, Fra Angelico’s moving depictions of Christ on the Cross reveal his personal knowledge of the Crucified Savior to whom he had dedicated his life. The pious friar believed that being Christlike was necessary for an artist to properly portray Christ. Aware of the connection between the artist and the art, Fra Angelico would always pray before he would paint.

Since a piece of art communicates something of its creator’s soul, the sanctity of the artist (or lack thereof) is not irrelevant. Fra Angelico’s numerous works radiate their painter’s own holiness of life. Yet art does more than reveal its maker. It also affects those who encounter it. Art can make the beholder desire sanctity or sin. It can inspire, depress, motivate or pacify us. Art speaks to us by expressing realities which transcend the limits of verbal communication. The effect is positive when Truth, Beauty and Goodness are “spoken” through the piece. Good art sheds light on these realities — which find their source in God — with an unspeakable depth which only prayer can match or exceed. Those works of art which not only reveal Truth, Beauty and Goodness but also lead to prayer are, in my estimation, the most valuable ones. Much of Fra Angelico’s art deserves this distinction, including the frescoes which our late Holy Father described as “authentic prayer expressed in colors.” Undoubtedly, the prayer which preceded his artwork is the source of the prayer which proceeds from his artwork.

In this prayerful artist are unified two elements of universal appeal — holiness and beauty — which shine light on the truth without need for argument or debate. Fra Angelico embodies what Pope Benedict XVI has referred to as the best defense of Christianity, namely, “the saints the Church has produced and the art which has grown in her womb.” A prestigious Mecca of secular culture is about to present a powerful defense of Christianity through an exhibit that reveals a glorious fruit of the Christian life: the intersection of holiness and beauty.

But we can’t depend on the Metropolitan Museum of Art to reveal the fruits of Christianity to the world. That’s our job. We are called to reveal holiness and beauty. In a certain sense, we’re all artists. Our lives are our masterpieces. They bear the image of our souls. The image can be beautiful or ugly. It can inspire sanctity or sin. We may not have the artistic gifts to rival Fra Angelico’s paintings, but we all have access to the one gift necessary to emulate his holiness: grace. God’s grace can help us form our lives into impressive works of art. With His help, the saints made their lives “something beautiful for God” as Blessed Teresa of Calcutta would say. We may never be featured guests in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but like the saints, we can all be permanent residents in the hallowed halls of heaven.

© Copyright 2005 Catholic Exchange

Gina Giambrone is a freelance writer and speaker based in Cincinnati, Ohio. She holds an MA in Theology and Christian Ministry from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and is currently awaiting the publication of her first book.

I didn’t get what I came for. But I did leave with a piece of scrap paper which I filled with a slew of quotes that I couldn’t believe I was hearing.

For example: “When we’re baptized we’re all in persona Christi.”

That doesn’t even resemble the Catechism’s teaching: “The priest, by virtue of the sacrament of Holy Orders, acts in persona Christi Capitis (#1548).” If Holy Orders isn’t required to stand in the person of Christ, then “priesthood” and “laity” seem like insignificant distinctions. Buying into this error can lead to reverse discrimination in favor of lay people.

For example: “I think if you had fifty priests in the sacristy, it’s still the people who should distribute Communion.”

Wow. Sorry Fathers. Could you guys just hang out back there for awhile and twiddle your thumbs? You’re really useless here at Mass. We’re the ones doing this after all.

Contrast this image with the General Instruction of the Roman Missal which states: “The priest may be assisted in the distribution of Communion by other priests who happen to be present. If such priests are not present and there is a very large number of communicants, the priest may call upon extraordinary ministers to assist him (#162).”

I also scribbled several quotes about the communal participation at Mass which allegedly makes “Eucharist” happen.

“Eucharist,” he said, “is always something you do. It’s not a thing. It’s not something you look at.”

Really? Then what was John Paul II talking about when he encouraged us, in his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia, to pray before the Eucharist outside of Mass (#25)?

“It’s quite proper to say you ‘do’ Eucharist,” he continued. So why, one might ask, hasn’t any authoritative voice in the Church used this proper terminology?

Because we don’t do Eucharist.

In 1985, then-Cardinal Ratzinger addressed this problem: “What is distinctive to the liturgy…does not come from what we do but from the fact that something is taking place here that all of us together cannot ‘make.’”

Pope Benedict has been fighting bad theology for decades. He realizes that it’s not just an intellectual problem. It’s a spiritual problem. Bad theology robs innocent Catholics of the fullness of the faith.

My heart went out to the folks at this lecture. Their priest, dressed in a blue polo shirt, was the man proclaiming these errors.

Afterwards, I went into the church to visit Jesus in the Eucharist. I prayed for that priest, and those like him who ideologically laicize themselves. And I asked God to have mercy on us all for our lack of gratitude for the priesthood. As He told St. Catherine of Siena in her Dialogue, because of the blood Christ shed to establish the priesthood, “The reverence belongs not to the ministers, but to Me…and just as the reverence is done to Me, so also is the irreverence.”

© Copyright 2005 Catholic Exchange

Gina Giambrone is a freelance writer and speaker based in Cincinnati, Ohio. She holds an MA in Theology and Christian Ministry from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and is currently awaiting the publication of her first book.