Going into the crisis long ago, we barely considered what it would mean for our love. But when I was done with all the treatment, the question lingered unspoken in the air—what would our marriage look like? Stranger still, what would it feel like?

I knew he loved me before all the surgeries. Fourteen happy years and three children assured me of that. But we had never really, really been tested by the experience of heartache, loss, and fear that a cancer diagnosis brings.

In the aftermath, I could not begin to fathom what our intimate moments might be like, now that I had been surgically taken apart and permanently altered.

My husband just smiled and kissed the boo-boos. And he never stopped.

The miraculous healing power of lips to scars transformed the broken hearts and the marriage that cancer had tried to lay to waste, better than life-saving surgery ever could.

He later told me that it was graces of inviting Christ into our marriage on our wedding day at work. The power of the vows permeating every aspect of our lives, and even the blessing of chastity had come back, to aid us in those first post-cancer episodes. We had stood at that altar and vowed to love one another—sight unseen in terms of what was yet to be consummated—and pledging to accept the all of the other.

And it has been that way ever since. We will take it all, the good and the not so good, as long as we could stay by each other’s side. With God’s help, we will not alter the vow we made at the altar.

After nearly thirty years together, we’ve lived all the exquisite highs of love and marriage and family life. Sure, there have been setbacks and disappointments. We know there are more to come. Yet we’ve walked together through the excruciating moments that have befallen us, thanks to the graces available in the Sacrament of Matrimony.

Two keys keep us walking in sync. First, as a married couple we exist for one another’s mutual sanctification in and through Christ. Second, we try to remember not to scorn the struggle of suffering when it comes.

We keep the big picture ever before us: we each have a responsibility to help bring the other to heaven. The unchanging truth and graces of a sacramental marriage always trump the feelings that come and go, for the goods of marriage are objectively just, charitable, and beautiful.

Our marriage is a vowed life until death. We know one of us will get there first. We just don’t know how or when.

So when headlines shout to us about making physician-assisted suicide legal, or whether or not it is ethical for a “healthy” spouse to divorce a “sick” spouse because the illness has robbed the marriage of its protracted happiness, we know that we have to redouble our efforts to affirm life and love.

The chief complaint against remaining faithful to one person for your whole life is that it is hard. That it really isn’t humanly possible to keep loving and caring for a spouse who, due to illness, insensitivity, or ignorance may show little appreciation for your efforts.

But every worthwhile endeavor involves some sort of hardship or sacrifice or noble dedication. Marriage is no different.

We cannot escape the fact that human suffering exists, or that many marriages are torn apart by addiction, abuse, and adultery every day. No one is immune from heartbreaks. And some breaches may never mend this side of heaven. To suffer alongside an ailing spouse, or because of their wayward actions, is one of the most difficult things we will ever do.

But the Good News in all of this is grace.

Grace is supernatural aid—a participation in God’s divine life in our human one. It is heaven reaching down to earth, lending support in our innate weaknesses. And I have found, in our marriage, it is the divine glue that keeps us sticking together, “in sickness and in health.”

The power of the vow has blessed us again and again.

When couples exchange marriage vows in a Catholic Church grace abounds. The dignity of the human person is verified when we pledge ourselves to the love and welfare of the beloved whom we believe has inalienable, inestimable, and unrepeatable value. Of course, they were made that way long before we ever loved them, their dignity conferred from being made in the image and likeness of God. We just grew to see and fall in love with that amazing attribute, and so much more.

Essentially our love is meant to validate what God first declared about our spouse: that he or she is cherished forever and their worth will never be diminished; the spouse must never become disposable or an inconvenience, or reducible to the status of, say, a pet or an object.

“Two becoming one flesh” symbolizes a larger reality besides the sealing of a couple’s mutual consent and oath before God (Cf. Gen. 2:24; Mt. 19:5; Mk. 10:8). That oneness is something God always sees in the couple, even when we do not. Two people marry the totality of the other, complete in both body and soul. That means the marriage continues even when the body ceases to function in a healthy manner, or when the soul of the other suffers pain. The oneness of the two is especially made manifest when one shares in the cross of one another’s suffering, perhaps even more profoundly than when they share the delights of the marriage bed.

This does not mean that certain situations are not intensely painful for either party, but as we have explored in this column recently, suffering, properly aligned with grace, can be borne for a greater good. We cannot ignore the reality that suffering can be a path to holiness when we look at the human life of Jesus, and his suffering and death on the cross.

A suffering, sickly spouse has an opportunity to choose a redemptive path through their sufferings—even unto the decline and letting go of one’s mental and physical faculties—by aligning one’s suffering to Christ.

The “healthy” spouse can also employ redemptive suffering, by similarly aligning their emotional and spiritual sufferings to Christ, and also to Mary, the Mother of Christ, who stood close by to her dying, beloved Son on the Cross. It becomes a privilege for the healthy spouse to somehow bear some of the burden, by the gift of their comforting presence.

By the grace of God, a Catholic’s sacramental marriage pledges loving fidelity until one says goodbye to their spouse at the door of a natural death that will usher them to a new life.

To live in such a way is to grow in grace, even to begin to shine with the glow of heaven. To live in such a way is to ultimately win one’s soul, and possibly many others, to Christ.

This is the truth of laying one’s life down for the sake of the friend, the spouse. It is how we, mere mortals, live Eucharistic lives: “This is my body, given up for you” (Lk. 22:19).

Loving someone until death is as hard as it is beautiful. It will mean sacrifice. It will also be a well of deep, refreshing joy.

You will have battle scars over time from the hardships that life throws at your marriage. But when we invite Christ into our marriage, he sends graces to heal every scar that our fingers can trace, as his love magnifies and lingers in every embrace.

This article appeared previously at the Catholic Portal on Patheos, and is used with the author’s permission.

If you care for other people you cannot avoid putting yourself out for the sake of another.

And it’s just what we need, really.

Sacrifice for another, it might be said, is perhaps the ultimate “yes” that one can offer another person, and unto God.

Sacrifice acts on behalf of another, putting them first, not furthering one’s own cause. It entails interrupting or delaying our own plans, desires, trajectories, goals, and even giving something we may be afraid to lose—our time, money, comfort, power, or prestige—for the sake of another who may or may not be worthy of it.

True sacrifice is a profound offering—a mix of generosity, magnanimity, humility, love, and selflessness.

We sure do appreciate it when someone else shoulders our burden in the muddiness of life, or has our back when the fight is on, or stands in the gap between what we can and cannot do for ourselves.

In the midst of being on the receiving end of another’s loving service, we often have no idea to what depth they chose to intervene on our behalf. And it’s often not until long afterward that we have an opportunity to respond in gratitude to what’s been received.

We can all tell the story of how someone’s sacrifices, be they large or small, have made a difference in our life.

Not so long ago, in the middle of the night, I watched my husband moving around in the dark of our bedroom—not wishing to awaken me—using his trusty flashlight. He didn’t know I was already awake.

In the dim light I could see Jesus: head bowed, arms stretched wide open upon the crucifix on the wall, a cherished gift from our wedding day. Just beneath the feet of Jesus, a wooden frame displayed a much younger bride and groom gazing into each other’s eyes, unaware as yet of how proximate the love of the cross would be to their own. Next to the wedding photo, my favorite person dropped down to sit in our old comfy chair. His head bowed as he leans over, stretching lanky arms to reach the laces of his dress shoes. He is preparing to catch yet another early flight for business travels.

I am still in bed taking in this little scene against the backdrop of the cross of Christ and my marriage memories. And suddenly I’m wondering about Eden and just what it meant when God said man would now earn his bread “by the sweat of his face” (Gen. 3:19). And I find myself moved by this man of mine, who faithfully bears that burden in the early morning hour.

And in the next moment, a holy clarity comes into view—Someone Else was Once So Moved—and the words of Jesus echo in the example of my spouse: “This is my body, given up for you” (Lk. 22:19).

And I wondered how many other people were making sacrifices on behalf of someone else in that moment. I’m sure many were up before the first light, whether by choice or by duty.

There are babies to be nursed, hands to be held, fields to be plowed, meals to be made, trains to catch, and all-night care in the local Emergency Room. There are soldiers standing guard, police and firefighters keeping watch, and a third shift needing a fresh pot of coffee. Somewhere someone is receiving the last rites and Viaticum. And in every case, someone is up in the wee hours tending to what is needed.

Sure, some folks might say there is nothing heroic or special about what they do to provide for those they love, or to keep a stable home, or to keep the bills paid. But what is heroic is the faithfulness in which they do it. The giving up and the laying down of a million and one sacrifices made every day and every night. “This is my body, given up for you.”
This is the sacrifice that we bring to the pew at Mass. We kneel, we pray, we offer. We gaze at the blanched corpus of the Savior, no longer bleeding, for it is drained of every last ounce of blood for the sins of the world. Now, it is poured out in a new way.

The priest’s voice breaks in again with the clear truth as he elevates the Host: “This is my body, given up for you.”

I gaze at the Eucharist being offered by the priest unmistakably positioned under the crucifix that hangs from the rafters in our church. I smile a wry grin as I lift my prayers, for I am learning.

A broken body is no longer repugnant; it resembles the sacrifices of many people I know. They all just happen to look like Jesus.

The cross is the unique sacrifice of Christ, the “one mediator between God and men”.1 But because in his incarnate divine person he has in some way united himself to every man, “the possibility of being made partners, in a way known to God, in the paschal mystery” is offered to all men.2 He calls his disciples to “take up [their] cross and follow [him]“,3 for “Christ also suffered for [us], leaving [us] an example so that [we] should follow in his steps.”4 (Catechism of the Catholic Church, par. 618)*

It’s one thing to witness and applaud the extraordinary sacrifices of our esteemed heroes and heroines, thanking them for their determined and dedicated service, especially when we consider the tragedies of 9/11, or any other epic disaster you can name.

But it’s another to remember that sacrifice, for a Christian, is not for emergencies only. It is a way of life, a path to life-giving love. Every day.

The call to holiness is not for wimps. They don’t remember a martyr as having “heroic virtue” for nothing. Indeed, the call to sainthood—sanctity—summons the baptized first to prayer and then to action. Often simultaneously.

In September, the feasts within the Catholic Church’s liturgical calendar lend perspective to depths of sacrifice. The Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, on September 14, readily comes to mind as we contemplate the salvation won for us by Jesus on Calvary. On September 15, the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is recalled. September 20 commemorates the 19th-century Korean martyrs of Sts. Andrew Kim Taegon (Korea’s first priest), Paul Chong Hasang, and companions. Finally, September 24 reminds us of the forty-nine Martyrs of Chalcedon who perished under Diocletian’s reign in the 4th century.

You cannot get better role models embodying sacrificial love than Jesus and Mary, and the faithful martyrs of the Church who sought to imitate them.

We see in Mary the woman whose fiat at the Annunciation brought a surrender of her own will to the will of the Father. Her “yes” led to the Incarnation and the immense joy of God’s Son come to earth. It also required, in part, a life that suffered what the Church traditionally labels as the Seven Sorrows of Mary. Each exacted various sacrifices in Mary’s life; including her suffering what theologians call a white martyrdom at Calvary, the bloodless martyrdom that is a true offering of oneself. Still, we can envision her life as a series of many steps of faith leading up to that moment.

We can imagine the young Mother Mary, with tenderness, teaching her young son Jesus the ways of obedience. Demonstrating by her own fortitude that while giving one’s “yes” may be costly, it is often it is the only response required.

Fast-forward, and we can see Jesus as a young rabbi, facing his own imminent death as he prays in Gethsemane. Sweating blood, the soon-to-be-Savior has a very human moment of struggle and anguish as he submits his flesh to the “yes” to do the Father’s will.

This article appeared previously at the Catholic Portal on Patheos, and is used with the author’s permission.

So why would an aging catechist like myself dare to become a podcaster, a blogger, and use social networks like Facebook and Twitter? There are several reasons, but none more important than this one: the internet is like a second home to my three young adult children.

Having raised a family in the digital age, I have one observation: nowadays the search for meaning often begins with Google. Or Bing. Or Yahoo.

That’s not a joke, that’s a reality.

The search for God is online now.  Its not the only place people seek him, but its one of the most accessible.

The fact is, new media technologies are changing the way we live and work.  At the same time, it is changing the way Catholics grow and learn about their faith. Many seek spiritual answers and information on the internet in the same way they connect for business, entertainment, or just to find out about the weather. The Generation Y’s and the Millennials will be even more “connected to the internet as its applications expand into the next decade.

Pope Benedict XVI recently compared the web to “a digital sea,” asking Catholics to utilize it for the sake of the gospel.  The Holy Father, in a recent address in Rome at a Congress called “Digital Witnesses”, made this savvy appeal:

Let us set sail on the digital sea fearlessly, confronting open navigation with the same enthusiasm that has steered the Barque of the Church for 2,000 years. Rather than for technical resources, although these are necessary, let us also qualify ourselves by dwelling in this world with a believing heart that helps to give a soul to the ceaseless flow of communications that makes up the web.

This is our mission, the inalienable mission of the Church. [Emphasis mine.]

New media technologies are the mission tools of this evangelization.  More and more, as a catechist and a writer, I’ve experienced the shifting attentions of my audience, from print and books to electronic media… and from sitting in a class to learning online or from an mp3 file on an iPod.

Let me tell you that despite my media efforts, I’m still more than a tad techno-phobic.  But I’ve come to understand that new media, and social media are not some passing fads.  And the Church, and Christian apostolates must have a strong presence in cyberspace to handle all those online searches.

So let me suggest myself as Exhibit A.  If I can learn how to evangelize using new media, you can too. Let me tell you how I started down this new media path.

First I prayed: to Mother Mary for wisdom, and then to St Peter for courage and inspiration. After all, Peter knows a thing or two about setting sail into deeper water, as the Pope suggests. (Cf. Luke 5.)

Then I registered for an event that really inspired me… and I hope you might consider it too….

Responding to the call for this new evangelization, the 3^rd annual Catholic New Media Celebration, (CNMC), sponsored by SQPN, and hosted by the Archdiocese of Boston takes place August 6-7.

Attendees will learn how to evangelize using digital media, with special emphasis given to podcasting and blogging.  “Newbies” will learn alongside “veterans” by sharing ways to use new media effectively, all within an atmosphere of Christian community.

The goal of the Catholic New Media Celebration is to inspire and develop individuals and groups to use new media effectively to create powerful, unique content for the benefit of the universal Catholic Church and beyond.

“This year’s CNMC will focus particularly on three things,” says Fr. Roderick Vonhögen, host of “The Break” and CEO of SQPN.  “We will be exploring the best practices for creating quality content; how authentic catechesis and spirituality are incorporated; and, how a true sense of mission is instilled in those who consume this media and become a part of our online communities,” he says.

Tracks at the CNMC will focus on three interest areas. First, Fr. Vonhögen will lead of team of SQPN podcasters in a podcasting track.  Second, the blogging track will feature presentations by bloggers Thomas Peters of American Papist, Sarah Reinhard of Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering and Rachel Balducci of Testosterhome and Faith and Family Live. Finally, there is a children’s track (limited to first-come, first-served) led by Allyson Sweeney of The Catholic Family Podcast, and Lisa Mladnich of Amazing Catechists.

Keynote addresses will be given by Fr. Robert Reed of Catholic TV, and Lino Rulli, That Catholic Guy on the Sirius/XM Network, Lino Rulli.

There’s a “Meet & Greet” reception the night before, and several folks will be going to Mass together the day after. There’s more, but you can read all about it on the CNMC website. Complete details can be found at celebration.sqpn.com.

Two years ago, I was a writer and a catechist. Then I went to the first Catholic New Media Celebration in 2008.

Today I still do those things, but now I do them using digital media.

Think what you can do.

[Pat Gohn is a regular columnist at Today’s Catholic Woman on CE, and she is SQPN’s conference coordinator for the Catholic New Media Celebration in Boston, Aug 6-7.]

It’s a polite warning for rail travelers to mind your footing as you step onto or off the train, taking notice of the distance between the arriving train car and the platform. You see the sign and the notices everywhere. And the automated public address system reminds you day and night of the same, all with proper British civility.

Your safety depends on minding the gap. Keeping aright amidst ongoing change demands deliberate attention and action.

Lately, in my own little corner of New England, I’ve been finding all sorts of new applications for the phrase mind the gap .

Creative financing with my checkbook… mind the gap .

Flossing my teeth at night… mind the gap(s).

Missing my out-of-state sisters – I must give a call… mind the gap.

My teen-aged driver is learning how to parallel park, not to mention pulling my car into the garage: mind the gap , (or its second cousin, with the prefix, please God! )

And now this one: allow me suggest that mind the gap can be a fruitful caution for married and engaged couples.

If your marriage is like mine — it often resembles a fast-moving train through life — its course passing through many stations in life. Each station brings platforms of varying height. Failing to mind the gap may be perilous.

A marriage must constantly adjust to new terrain and circumstances.

Recently, I expressed to my husband that I was feeling a gap between us. He knew what I meant. He was feeling it too. We had failed to mind the gap.

We had been separated by necessity (business travel is a common occurrence in our home), and we had peaceful homecomings, but other pressures were mounting. Stressors in our family life and routines were pushing us away from one another.

Weeks of not minding the gap allowed it to grow and take its toll on us.

By mentioning it aloud, in a gentle way, I was taking the first deliberate step toward proper footing.

The next step was a date night of sorts: we knew we needed to unload some frustrations about the state of our relationship, and we needed to get out of the house to do it. Coffee and sharing a piece of pie at a local diner would suffice.

The good thing about talking about one’s problems in a public setting is that it allows proper civility to reign. Courtesy toward one another and others is demanded, even when you have a difficult topic to broach. (Bear in mind, I do believe in privacy for spouses. Often discreet time alone is needed to address delicate concerns out of the earshot of others. This was not one of those times. We needed time away from the stressors at home.)

Thankfully, the providence of God knew just what we needed too: our restaurant hostess guided us to a private corner booth.

We placed our order, smiled cordially, and chitchatted about the kids and some routine household matters.

When the pie came, it was the moment of truth.

What of the gap? What was happening to us lately? How did we let this stress consume us for so long?

We took turns, respectfully, unloading our burdens. There were many good reasons for the gap that has swallowed us. Life is just hard sometimes, and for the last few months, it has just been getting harder.

The humble pie consumed, the waitress refilled our coffees.

What was needed was the work of apologies and forgiveness. We had hurt each other, no doubt. In not minding the gap, the shifting circumstances of our life tripped us up.

Very simply, we were not being MINDFUL of one another.

We had taken each other for granted. It was a painful misstep. Sometimes when you’ve been pulling into the same station for years, you forget to actually enjoy the local scenery and observe your surroundings.

Mindfulness is taking a deliberate, attentive step onto something solid. It is taking notice of situations and positioning oneself to take the next logical step.

Mindfulness is more than just knowing the other’s preferences… it is actually taking that knowledge and acting on it, deliberately. It is placing another’s needs and desires ahead of our own.

Mindfulness is doing the good thing, the right thing, yes, even the holy thing, on purpose.

Mindfulness in Christian marriage means we are always seeking to be ONE, instead of two.

When we are mindful of one another in our daily lives, we dwell in security and peace and protection. When we fail to be mindful, we trip and fall.

Jesus stood in the gap for us between heaven and hell, between real life and something less, a counterfeit. He came because the Father was ever mindful of the gap.

God saw that the disturbing distance between his people and himself needed deliberate attention. And not just temporary stopgap, but a permanent bridge that brought full restoration and communion between both sides.

And so he sent Jesus. And thanks to Jesus, we have the way, the truth and the life – the permanent fix for gap-minding and gap-mending in our own lives.

So, hubby and I renewed our love for one another, after confessing our shortcomings. We talked about how certain choices and responses to circumstances crowded “us” out. There was more, but you get the point.

To quote my husband, it was like we were in a rat race and the rats were winning. We needed to recalibrate, redirect, and recharge our unified effort in fighting off the proverbial rats in our midst.

After all, rats are those creepy gap-dwelling critters found under railway tracks and platforms.

Oh yeah, that’s another good reason to mind the gap .

[This article was originally published by CatholicMom.com , and is used by permission of the author.]

(Note: If you are squeamish about medical procedures, skip over the next paragraph.)

Most recently, I’ve had a new tooth implanted into my jawbone by a skilled periodontist. But that was pretty small compared to the work my orthopedist did: implanting a new titanium hip replacing the one that was ruining my gait for years. And back in ‘96, an amazing medical team removed tissue and muscle from one side of my body and re-implanted it on the other side to aid my recovery from breast cancer.

Each implant renewed my life in some way, reclaiming it from disease and deformity.

In each case success was not measured by the skills of the surgeons, important as that may be. Success was first measured by how well what was implanted worked in “natural” harmony with my body, and how strongly the implant bonded with my bones. But the ultimate success came later, measured by what I could do following the implant. Could I do new things that I previously could not? Was I changed for the better?

This has application to the spiritual life. Especially when things in our life are broken.

If we let God in and give Him access to our most difficult and hurting parts of life, He will supply what we need most.

If we let God touch and treat what is hurting in us, He will act as a gentle, loving, and compassionate surgeon — taking us through the hard thing with hope — by correcting what is diseased or deformed in us.

In time, the scars will fade and we will find ourselves able to do new things. But first, we have to humbly submit to the work God wants to do in us. He wants to bring us to wholeness (and holiness) because He loves us. Sometimes Christians call this idea “being open to the action of the Holy Spirit.”

Maybe the surgical implant analogy is too strong for all cases.

How about the work of the farmer, or the tiller of the soil? They cut and break open the soil in order to have it receive the seed.

Recall Jesus and the Parable of the Sower (Luke 8: 5-15 NAB): The good soil gives the greatest yield, for it was most open and best prepared to receive the seed — the word of God. The rich soil allows the seed to take root, and grow into a study plant.

In fact, Jesus compares the good soil to the persons “who, when they have heard the word, embrace it with a generous and good heart, and bear fruit through perseverance (v.15).” This implies that being open to the word is not always easy, but worthy of the effort.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit gives us a word from the Lord that we to need to take in yet have trouble heeding. Sometimes a hard-yet-loving word requires some kind of permanent change in us. But it is for our own good — for our flourishing. Intuitively, we know this deep down, and can almost feel the relief it brings.

Conversion, renewal, and even healing, begin when we humbly accept that word of God… by opening ourselves up, as the earth accepts the seed, or more radically, like giving our consent for the surgeon’s scalpel.

After taking it in, we must let God’s holy word (His will for us) take root, or perhaps, let it fuse with our bones. This way, God’s word becomes one with us, so we can live and move with it “naturally”.

What is God planting in you these days? Is there an opening for His word to get inside of you?

Openness, and then surrender to the word — to what God is planting in us — is the key to Christian life. Nothing will ever grow, and certainly, nothing will ever get healed in us, unless we first surrender .

God can plant His word in us, but it bears fruit when we cooperate and act with it. Our actions must become one with that word. James 1: 21b-22 NAB emphatically reminds us:

“Humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you and is able to save your souls. Be doers of the word and not hearers only.”

God’s got His own miracle to implant in you: Receive the word. Then do it.

Recently I’ve been reflecting on my 40s, and realized that they had a great many similarities to “the 40s” I’ve encountered in my Bible reading and recent spiritual journeying. In other words, they’ve been a real preparation and testing for what God has in store for me next. These days, my personal life is curiously reflecting the liturgical calendar.

But back to the Bible for a moment…

Noah experienced 40 days and nights of rain before the clouds parted. The Hebrew people had 40 years of wandering in the desert before entering the Promised Land. Even Jesus spent 40 days in the desert before his public ministry, not to mention encountering temptation by the devil out there. Am I seeing any patterns here?

Recently, we as a Church have come through 40 days of Lent, in preparation for the celebration of Easter, a liturgical cycle we Catholics repeat annually.

Now, without sharing the annoying details, it is sufficient to say that my life has had its own share of depressing amounts of “rainfall.” At times, there have been extended “desert trials” and, certainly, aimless wandering about. The devil has even tripped me up a time or two. But, still we press on, right? We hope in God’s promises and his mercies being new every morning. (Cf. Lamentations 3:21-24.)

This year, my Lent, while fruitful, had me pining for Easter more zealously than in previous years.

Thankfully, at Easter, I had a real experience of Easter joy bursting forth, and breaking out. Like a new era dawning, the Easter renewal I experienced was more than a day… but a new reality… a new beginning timed to this new stage of life that I’m entering… almost reaching 50 and beyond.

Again, something “liturgical” kept my rapt attention: the Church keeps celebrating the joy of the resurrection long after the Easter candy is gone. In fact, Eastertide, in the liturgical calendar is a 50-day season — longer than the 40 days of Lent — just to prove a point.

The Catechism tells us “beginning with the Easter Triduum as its source of light, the new age of the Resurrection fills the whole liturgical year with its brilliance” (CCC 1168).

This Easter light and joy is ever unfolding and expansive, as we find in the Scripture readings associated with this part of the liturgical cycle. We note the Holy Spirit works overtime to expand and transform the Church from a small band of disciples to a tour de force within the Roman Empire.

This joy is meant to expand our own lives as well, transforming us by the power of the Holy Spirit being unleashed in new ways.

The Catechism continues, “Easter is not simply one feast among others, but the ‘Feast of feasts,’ the ‘Solemnity of solemnities,’ just as the Eucharist is the ‘Sacrament of sacraments’…. The mystery of the Resurrection, in which Christ crushed death, permeates with its powerful energy our old time, until all is subjected to him” [Bold emphasis mine] (CCC 1169).

Got that? The power of the Resurrection permeates and energizes our “old” time.

Through Jesus’ glorious redemption of us, the old is passing, the new is coming. What’s “old” about us, paradoxically, is being changed.

There is a quantum leap being made in my life these days.

From a time of planting to a time of harvesting… from a time of preparation to a time of fulfillment… from a time of waiting and wondering, to a time of gratefully experiencing the ride as well as the ultimate destination.

My children are older now. (I have two in their 20s, the other 16.) The “Mommy” I once was is morphing into the mature “Mom” I am. Indeed, the shift is on, and with it, entire new avenues are opening up in my life, giving me more time for prayer, for pursuing new passions, and for work and ministry of a different sort from my Mommy years.

I am just beginning to savor the joy of life as it expands into my 50s. Okay, call it maturity, or hormones, or settling into my own skin. But I call it joy. If fifty is the “downside of the hill” in our youth-entrenched culture, I ought to be picking up speed!

Here’s one more encouraging thought.

I often find the number “50” mentioned in the scripture referencing “jubilee.” The Jubilee came after 50 years. It was a time of deep joy and blessing, of freedom and forgiveness.

Our liturgical calendar places the coming of the Holy Spirit to the Church at Pentecost at 50 days past Easter.

Our society celebrates 50^th anniversaries of marriages and birthdays. Even businesses make note of such a milestone.

I’m still pondering all these things. I’m not making any grand predictions about what’s coming next in my life. But I am looking to embrace this next phase of life, and mothering, as the phase that interprets everything in terms of the radiant light of Easter, and looks eagerly for what the Holy Spirit is up to. Everything, every day, has more meaning when seen in that light.

You may think, what’s the big deal? Isn’t this the normal course of life for a Christian?

Well, let’s just say, yes, I knew this before, but now I know it. The one thing maturity teaches you is that there is a heck of a difference between knowing something intellectually, and knowing something by experience.

Lord Jesus, let me live these 50 days, and all my 50s, with Easter joy: jubilant, radiant, and with deep gratitude for all that’s in store! Amen! Alleluia!

The proposed state legislation, bill 1098, changes the way a parish church does business. It is still early in the process of becoming a law, and it likely will not pass muster constitutionally, but it is worrisome, nonetheless. Let’s review what’s at stake.

The current corporation laws state that a church has five people who make up its religious corporation: the bishop, the pastor, a parochial vicar and two parish trustees. Bill 1078 would do away with this structure, and replace it with a group of elected board members who make the financial decisions in each parish. In this new scenario, the bishop and the pastor have no votes in the local church’s financial matters. They are ex-officio members of the board. And, yes, this means the pastor has to report to the board on all financial matters.

The statement from the Diocese of Bridgeport describes it this way:

This bill violates the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. It forces a radical reorganization of the legal, financial, and administrative structure of our parishes. This is contrary to the Apostolic nature of the Catholic Church because it disconnects parishes from their Pastors and their Bishop. Parishes would be run by boards from which Pastors and the Bishop would be effectively excluded…

The State has no right to interfere in the internal affairs and structure of the Catholic Church. This bill is directed only at the Catholic Church but could someday be forced on other denominations. The State has no business controlling religion.

The first objection is the constitutionality of the proposed bill. The portion of the First Amendment of the US Constitution that deals with freedom of religion says, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…”

A change proposed by bill 1098 prohibits the Catholic bishops in Connecticut to freely exercise their authority over the parishes in their jurisdiction.

The second objection is that no parish church stands alone. It is part of the wider body of Christ, as part of a diocese under a bishop. For example, my local parish might be St. Pat’s, but it is part of the Church of Boston. By imposing a structure like the proposed bill in Connecticut suggests, each parish church’s proposed elected financial board would have no ties to the wider body, the Diocesan Church.

Now, to be honest, there are some people that wish all local parishes could be independent of a diocese. Church scandals have rocked confidence in church leadership, especially bishops, for some time. I know. I live in Massachusetts in the Archdiocese of Boston: ground-zero for the clergy sex scandals of recent history. Maybe that makes me just a wee bit sensitive when it comes to church scandal… I can understand what Catholics in Connecticut felt when, in recent years, a priest was charge with embezzling over a million dollars from his local parish to finance his personal life. He was convicted of the crime and is now serving time behind bars. It is said that embezzlements of this kind are the reason behind the legislation proposed in Connecticut. But moving to enact state legislation is not the answer to the problem of fiscal malfeasance.

Even before the sex abuse scandals, many parishes already used collaborative models between pastors and laity to run churches effectively. These days, there is much emphasis on Parish Councils and Financial Councils employing best practices for financial transparency to conduct the parish’s business of stewardship. Pastors and capable lay leaders fully cooperate, in most cases, already, with each other.

The reason we must watch what happens in Connecticut is that this financial tactic is the latest front in the war to silence the Church on public affairs. First, by trying to change the fiscal structure and take the church hierarchy out of the local parish. Second, by having well-meaning Catholics fight each other on this issue. Third, by trying to distract the Church from the task at hand: the proclamation of the Gospel to the world.

Please consider reading more about this and watching Bishop Lori’s video about this cause here: http://www.bridgeportdiocese.com/Fight_1098.shtml – D

And please consider using the contacts on that page to voice your concerns.

BREAKING NEWS — MIDDAY MARCH 10: As the author and another poster are reporting below in the comboxes: The public hearing for Proposed Bill 1098 has been postponed, but the Bill is STILL ALIVE. And the Rally in Hartford is STILL ON for Wednesday, March 11, at 10:30 a.m.

Mark Twain once sent a cable to a U. S. newspaper after his obituary had been mistakenly published. His note read, “the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated…”

Recently, news of my death was reported by my high school alumni website, on their “in remembrance” page. A younger alumna visited the site and knew my family. Suspecting a misprint, she contacted my in-laws who lived nearby. My in-laws called me with the sad news. I looked it up. Indeed, there I was, named with deceased classmates in bold relief.

The alumni webmaster graciously apologized and corrected the error immediately. She mentioned that after I had missed my recent high school reunion, some well-meaning classmate emailed her the news of my death. (It’s weird to imagine the subject of my demise making the rounds of the cocktail party banter!)

Still, it’s a sobering experience — the process of announcing you are not dead, but alive. You think about your own mortality: what will your name look like on some page or gravestone? Hopefully, your name will be spelled right, and your name will have some meaning for someone somewhere.

Just in time for Lent, the news of my “death” serves as a timely reminder of what my life really means.

On Ash Wednesday, we receive ashes upon the forehead, reminding us of our death. There is no escape from it. All temporality is eventually reduced to dust and ash.

When I was little, there was a fire in my grandmother’s house. No one was hurt, but I remember the thick black dust and ash. Much was lost. When the fire department leaves you ask: What survived the heat and flames? What can be found as you sift the ash?

St. Paul contemplated this theme in terms of the “Day” of final judgment:

According to the grace of God given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building upon it. But each one must be careful how he builds upon it, for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, or straw, the work of each will come to light, for the Day will disclose it. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire (itself) will test the quality of each one’s work. If the work stands that someone built upon the foundation, that person will receive a wage. But if someone’s work is burned up, that one will suffer loss; the person will be saved, but only as through fire ( See 1 Corinthians 3: 10-15).

Even though St. Paul was giving a warning to preachers of the gospel, it carries meaning for all of us who will be judged by Christ.

When the Church puts ashes on our brow… It makes us think… really think … about our death.

The accounts of saints and martyrs give us a proper approach to death. They understood death for what it is: the end of mortal life, a punishment for sin and, yet, something that Christ has transformed. Death is no longer an end in itself. Jesus is on the other side of the veil. And by understanding the truth about death, the saints could lives that proclaimed the truth about life in Christ.

At baptism, we were marked with the sign of the cross. Baptism both cleanses us from sin and welcomes us into the family of God. But it does so by reminding us we are baptized into the death of Christ, so that someday we may also arise with Him. It gives meaning both to our lives, and our eventual deaths.

Ultimately, our baptism means we do mean something to Someone after all. We mean something to God and the family of God, being incorporated into Christ and the Church. And because of Christ, we have a future and a hope. If we turn from sin, and believe the Gospel, there is more to this life than what we see and experience here on earth.

Saints and martyrs understood this. This is why the Church celebrates their feast days on the dates of their deaths! It is a birth to new life in heaven!

In Lent, we get down to essentials. Just like the saints of old, we must understand the truth behind our beliefs if we intend live a Christian life in its fullness. Lent gives us the tools to make a fruitful assessment.

For forty days in Lent, we link our life with the forty days Jesus spent in the desert, entering solemn days of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. This desert experience also puts us in touch with our mortality.

These Lenten practices are intended to produce a “dying” to self: we hunger, we thirst, we need God, and we need each other. But this dying away signifies more than mere dying alone… it is meant to announce the budding of new life in Christ.

Knowing this “Good News,” we can better live these Lenten days. Lent, then, becomes a kind of holy addition by subtraction. By pruning back, we grow more fruitful in the days ahead: grateful for the grace of redemption that springs forth on Easter Sunday.

So, that, one day, after years of faithful practice, when the news of our death is finally announced, it will not be treated as a sad end, or a final remembrance, but as a birth day… announcing we are not dead after all, but alive in Christ.

Simply defined, behold means to see, to gaze upon, to observe, to have vision.

Whenever I find it in the New Testament, I always watch what happens next. Behold is like the sound of the drum roll you hear when the theatre curtain pulls back revealing center stage. Behold is my cue to tune in, to get ready, and see what unfolds.

Behold has been my watchword for Advent and Christmas. See if you recognize these biblical moments:

“Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel” (which means, God with us) [Matthew 1:23].

“Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus” [See Luke 1: 30-32].

“Behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For with God nothing will be impossible” [See Luke 1:36-37].

“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” [See Luke 1:38].

“Behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord [See Luke 2:7-11].

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” [See John 1:29].

The book of Revelation delights in the Incarnation, God becoming Man: “and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them’… And he who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’” [See Revelation 21: 3, 5.]

Revelation also declares, even now, that a New Advent still waits: “Behold, I am coming soon” [Revelation 22:7].

Behold appears in the Bible in 1134 citations (in the Revised Standard Version). Often it is used as a verb, or an interjection, as we have already seen. Behold denotes wonder and surprise. Coupled with the power of the Word of God, behold invites the reader to see something that God is doing: for Scripture transmits the awesome and sublime heart of God even though it is revealed in humble human language.

Behold reminds us that God is working a wonder… a virgin conceives… God is robed in flesh… the barren become fruitful… the King of Kings and Lord of Lords is born in a manger… those condemned by sin are forgiven…  the old is made new… Christ is coming again!

Finally, behold reminds me of two smaller verbs: “to be” and “to hold.” To be is to define existence. To be held is to have or to keep in the hand.

Here’s a little word play to wonder about: What if we were to behold our existence as being held in the hand of God? And similarly, what if we were to behold God as capable of being held in our hand? Is this not our Eucharistic Lord, who comes in ways that we might know the true majesty of God-with-us?

As Advent gives way to Christmas, behold the simple, dynamic, truth as you contemplate this mystery: while the Virgin Mary enfolds the Infant Jesus in her loving arms, He encircles all of us in His.

May you behold the wonder, and be held by the wonder, and believe the wonder that is Emmanuel. Then watch what happens next. 

I whimpered a prayer: Here I am again at your feet, Mary, and, as usual, it’s not pretty. Please help me!

Three months ago I had my hip replaced. This fall might be a serious setback in my recovery.

Remarkably, I took comfort in the fact I took my fall in front of Mary. (Of course, I realize her statue had no power of its own to help me, but its presence reminded me of the Mother who did.) My meager prayer was heard. With faith in her maternal protection, I assessed the damage, and slowly stood, hobbling into the last pew. After Mass I limped back to my car and drove myself to the hospital for x-rays.

I sat in the ER contemplating my crash at Mary’s feet. This was not the first time I have found myself looking to her in desperation.

This points to my thesis: all of us should fall for Mary. Not that I’m suggesting personal accidents, but rather, we should fall in love with Mary, and not wait for tragedy to strike before we invite Mary into our lives.

As a younger woman, I avoided the suggestion that Mary should be a part of my life or, worse, a role model for me. To my way thinking, with a feminism formed-by-the-culture and not necessarily by the Gospel, Mary was a weak role model for me. Despite this bias, I never doubted Mary’s role in God’s plan. I just didn’t include her in any of mine.

Back then, for me, Mary was more of a historical character — necessary for God to take on flesh — an iconic reminder of the Jesus story. I knew she showed up at Christmas and at Calvary, but I didn’t appreciate much beyond that.

My Catholic education taught me Mary was the mother of Jesus, the mother to the Church, and a mother to me. I accepted the first two titles fine, but I denied she had any connection with me. I had no “relationship” with her, other than praying the “Hail Mary,” and an occasional rosary.

As a teenager, I had a dynamic conversion to Christ. But even with a growing faith, outside influences still swayed me. I confused staid depictions of Mary with the truth about her nature as a human person brimming with grace. I was influenced by prevalent skepticisms about Mary. My false impressions were not rooted in Scripture or Church teaching.

Two events in my adult life drew me toward love of Mary. The first was my first pregnancy. At the time, I was so sick I vomited around the clock. My life was in tatters. My only prayer was “Lord, help me!”

Jesus answered my prayers by sending me his Mother, armed with the “girl talk” and strong feminine connection I needed. And I was desperate enough to accept Mary’s help and example.

It wasn’t pretty, and I often faltered but, for the first time, I asked Mary to pray for me.

Over those nine months, I began to see what was missing. I traced Mary’s life through the scriptures, discovering the many lessons she had for me. The rosary and its meditations on the life of Christ and Mary became sources of inspiration.

I no longer kept Mary on a distant shelf — like a statue. Now she became a living, holy presence in my life. She never diminished my relationship with Jesus; she only increased it. And I began to trust the wisdom of the Catholic Church — not outside opinions — about Mary and Marian devotions.

Mary took me in — the one who denied her for so long — mothering me as I entered motherhood, forgiving my years of neglect. I trusted her. She wanted the best for me: faith, hope, and love in the Holy Trinity. After all, she is Daughter of the Father, Mother to the Son, and Spouse of the Holy Spirit.

Ten years later, a second event deepened my relationship with Mary. At 36, as a mother of three small children, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I faced my own kind of Calvary.

Recall John’s Gospel:

[At Calvary,]… standing by the cross of Jesus [was Mary]… When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home(John 19:25-27).

Mary, who stood at the foot of her Son’s cross, and later embraced His broken body, now stood by me. I was broken. It wasn’t pretty. But there she was… filling me with her gifts of grace-filled power… a mother at Calvary beside the child she loves.

Twelve years later, I still take my cue from Jesus’ words, and the action of St. John: I have made a place for Mary in my home. More important, I have embraced being Mary’s daughter.

My falling for Mary continues… I still have messy stuff in my life that needs cleaning up. I still fall and Mary picks me up and dusts me off. With her help, I’m becoming a better woman, a stronger Christian.

The ankle x-rays reported a sprain. No other damage; none to my newly replaced hip joint. You could say that I had the best possible fall, given my circumstances. I believe Mary had a hand in that.

If you haven’t already, let yourself fall for Mary, our Mother. But don’t just drop in on her “by accident,” call on her today!