Feast of Saint Nicholas

This Thanksgiving, I was asked to think of 3 things this year that I was thankful for. Surprisingly, THE struggle made the list! I thought I was doing well with God… a few other disappointments and I found such peace and joy in Him. But when the economic delays hit my finances and even more so, when I was concretely helpless in others’ struggles, it hit me.

This was/is the year to face my limitations and weaknesses. During the time when the job hunt got rough, I couldn’t understand why I was so discouraged and couldn’t find joy in Christ.

Today’s Gospel reading reminds me of our limitations. How the paralytic, because of his disability, couldn’t reach Jesus amongst the crowd. But thanks to his friends who carried him on a stretcher through the roof, he was able meet Jesus and be healed.

The beauty of community. How God uses the relationships around us to bring us to His fulfillment. My pride got in the way of this awareness at first, but by frustration then grace, I was able to see that people around me gladly extended to help and were willing to embrace all of me… weaknesses and all. Being more open and honest with this area (to myself, others, and to God), was a new thing to me. It was rough, but then again, God’s not boring; and really, I probably wouldn’t have listened any other way.

Who are the “stretcher- carriers” in your life? Who fills your limitations and brings you back home where you feel most safe and loved?

God of Surprises! You remind me of a Vietnamese chef. My mom uses the bone for this dish, the fat for that... thank You for using all of me, even the parts that I feel are unfit, to nurture growth, relate to others, and to draw me close to You. May I "go when You tell me to go and stay where You tell me to stay" even when it hurts. For in this present moment, You are here.

reflected by Chau Nguyen

Second Sunday of Advent

“I am baptizing you with water, for repentance, but the one who is coming after me is mightier than I. I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” – Mt 3:11

Often times, it is easier to say sorry than to change one’s mind. I apologize often; and most of the time, I am genuinely sorry. This is part of what John the Baptist means by repentance. However, the Greek word for repentance, “metanoia,” means more. Literally “metá” means “beyond” and “noos” means “mind.” Hence, metanoia signifies a change of mind, a shift in mindset, a different way of seeing the world, ourselves, and others. This shift of mind triggers a conversion of heart and change in the way one relates to others, God, and self.

To my surprise, there are occasions when a conversion of mind and heart happens in me, beyond just saying sorry. I had an “allergic reaction” to a brother in the house. When I am physically near him, I feel like a bomb goes off inside. I feel agitated, annoyed, anxious, tempted to judge. I also feel bad and guilty for having these feelings. It took me some time, but slowly I learned just to let my feelings be without judging myself. I learned to embrace these negative feelings, be at peace, and actually listen to discover what might be going on within me. Gradually, I became more honest with myself and to even allow God in, to make space for God. I tried to look at my brother Jesuit with the eyes and heart of Jesus, to imagine Jesus being with him, caring for me, and loving him in his needs and struggles. I tried to pray this brother, for his well-being, even to imagine how I could cooperate with Jesus in loving the man. It took some time. But I began to notice a shift in attitude, in the way I see this Jesuit brother, with the way I relate with him. I became a bit more patient with myself, and grew to trust God more. Perhaps this is a glimpse into the baptism with “the Holy Spirit and fire” that John the Baptist announces: a conversion from rejecting my “allergic reactions”; a conversion for greater acceptance of someone quite different from myself. I am grateful for this change.

Lord, what negative feelings do you invite me to embrace and listen without judgment? Who do you invite me to greater acceptance, including accepting myself?

Saturday of the First Week of Advent

"Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give.” - Matthew 9:35-10:8

In today's Gospel, Jesus gives his disciples not just the authority to perform miracles but a special mission to give of themselves to the "troubled and abandoned" and "lost sheep". When we think of giving ourselves to others, we naturally think of our talents. Our talents are our unique abilities that we can do especially well. However, in thinking that we give only from our talents, we start to forget that what we can do exceptionally well does not completely define the extent from which we can give.

We each may have a few talents, but our gifts are more abundant. Henri Nouwen wrote, "our gifts are the many ways in which we express our humanity...friendship, kindness, patience, joy, peace, forgiveness, gentleness, love, hope, trust..." These gifts are often things we take for granted and do not think as gifts to give others. For most of our lives, we sometimes struggle to give because we remember how hard we had to work to cultivate and maintain our talents. So, the idea of giving it away to those who did not put in the time to earn these talents sometimes seems unfair to us. However, we must remember that God is the source of all good things. He freely gave us the seeds of our talents and our gifts so we may give to others.

"True joy, happiness, and inner peace come from the giving of ourselves to others". Lord, grant us the grace to give freely to others the same joy, happiness, peace, and love that we experience when we acknowledge and show gratitude for your gifts to us.

Are we aware of the gifts we have in our daily lives? How can we be more willing and alert to times when God calls us to give to others?

adapted anonymously from Henri Nouwen

Friday of the First Week of Advent

"The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom should I fear?
The LORD is my life's refuge;
of whom should I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1

Today's Gospel gives us a short story about two blind men begging on the streets in Capernaum. The life of a beggar in the ancient world was dictated entirely on the place that you were begging. They would have specific spots that they held as their own; places that they can count on people to pass by and give them alms. This was their livelihood; this was how they survived. As Jesus passes by, the two men leave their places and follow Jesus! They are unable to see, yet they throw caution into the wind and follow Jesus. By the time the two men get to him, Jesus has already entered a home, yet they still enter a stranger's home to talk to him.

What blindness do we have in our own lives? What is it that keeps us from getting away from what is comfortable in our lives? Wednesday we heard of the calling of the first Apostles, earlier in Matthew 9 we hear of the call of Matthew, and it seems that so often we wait for Jesus to call us to himself directly. Sometimes the call is much more subtle. In the case of these blind men, all they knew was that Jesus had passed by and they needed to be with him. No words exchanged. Jesus didn't pick them up. The blind men followed him. They just needed to be with him. We need to be with him. And as happens in the story, Jesus will always welcome those to come to him.

Lord, grant us the faith to run to you that we may be cured of our blindness.

reflected by Matthew Keppel

Admitting Allegiances: Thursday, First Week of Advent

"Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.” – Mt 7:21

Richard Rohr remarked poignantly that we cannot genuinely pray “Thy Kingdom come” (as in the Our Father) out of one side of our mouths without saying “my kingdom go” out of the other side of our mouths. Moreover, we cannot serve two masters; we will always love one while ignoring the other (Mt 6:24). We often trust our own political parties, military, banks, credit cards, financial resources, families, cultural or religious groupings, significant others, or our own education or strengths more than God’s goodness and promise. When this happens, we are really saying with our actions, that we don’t genuinely want God’s kingdom to come.

Consecrated religious like me live by three vows: obedience, chastity, poverty. Of the three, I struggle the most with the third. More often than not, when I do not embrace actual or spiritual poverty, I will soon falter in the other two vows. Embracing poverty means placing greater trust in God’s Providential care and less on my own abilities, the financial stability of the Jesuits, or the goodness of people to provide. These are not mutual exclusive things, to rely on others’ goodness or in God’s. However, when I overly worry for a friend who suffers or another who cannot find a job, or overwork to get things done the way I’d like, or overcome by fears, or have my day “made”  by one person’s praise or “ruined” by another’s critique, am I just saying “Thy Kingdom come” but not letting other kingdoms go. This is a sobering realization.

While it is difficult, painful, humbling to admit that I really trust that other thing, myself, or person more than God in my present choices, it is also freeing. Some days, I may have to acknowledge to God, “Lord, I’m doing it again, do you still love me?” some 50-100 times. Yet, gradually, a shift is made, whether I am aware of it or not. A focus away from myself and from my other allegiances. A greater reliance on God.

Maybe this is what Jesus means later in today’s Gospel when he challenges us to build houses on solid rock foundations rather than on sand.

What “kingdoms” do you and I need to let go to make room for the Kingdom of God? It can begin with an open-eyed stance and acknowledgment, “Lord, I’m doing it again, do you love me?” or “Lord, I’m doing it again, please help/heal me.”

Following (with) Imagination: Feast of St Andrew

“At once they left their nets and followed him … and immediately they left their boat and their father and followed him.” – Mt 4:20, 22

The call of Andrew and the first disciples is at once inspiring and daunting to me. How can the disciples follow, decisively and definitively, someone they hardly knew? I, like others, have been captivated and have followed. But my fears, sins, and limitations have often kept me back. It seems as if the more I follow Christ, the more I am challenged to be countercultural, the more I am confronted with my failures and unfaithfulness.

Yet, something else is also at work.

The parallel passage to today’s Gospel is Luke 5:1-11. We see Jesus meeting the disciples when they are down and out. They fished all night yet caught nothing. They had given up for the day. When they followed his guidance, not without some disbelief, they were surprised by the biggest catch. Peter did not want to follow because he defined himself as a sinner. Acknowledging this before Jesus begins to free his imagination to how greater he and his life can be. Likewise in my life, my failures and limitations can be gateways to grace – to genuine encounters with Jesus who unlocks my imagination to something greater.

That something greater might be called hidden grace. Grace as strength to face my failures and limitations. Grace to re-imagine stumbling blocks as launching pads. Grace to risk and take another step in following.

Although I would modify the way she poses her “life defining” question, Amy Purdy is inspiring in this TED video:

“Instead of looking at our challenges and our limitations as something negative or bad, we can begin to look at them as blessings – magnificent gifts that can be used to ignite our imagination to help us go further than we ever knew we could go.” – Amy Purdy

What if we ask God for the grace of imagination? Then face our present fears and failures but focus on God’s personal love and grace.

Tuesday, First Week of Advent: God's Spirit Resting

“The spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and of fear of the LORD.” – Is 11:2

Archbishop Oscar Romero once said that “the Kingdom of God is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.” People call me an idealist, that I live in the clouds, that I am not practical enough. That I live in the “what if’s” and not in the “what is.” There is truth to this. There is a lot I need to learn to see what is real and not what I’d like to see.

Yet, picture of the idyllic paradise in Isaiah 11 is God’s promise that the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Jesus, the new Davidic king. The peace and harmony even among natural predators and their prey is a dramatic symbol the reconciliation and justice under this leadership:  “The wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat … the baby shall play by the cobra's den, and the child lay his hand on the adder's lair. There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the LORD, as water covers the sea” (Is. 11:6, 8-9).

I may have my own way of envisioning how this new order might come about: young adults active in parishes; communities that care more for the least than the survival of the fittest; families that helps children find their true voice; leaders more concerned about the growth of those under their care than promoting the organization’s name or ideals. But knowing the how  is less important than trusting in the who. The more I befriend God in moments of prayer, moments of letting go, moments of trust, the more I experience the spirit of the Lord resting in me. The more I am can accept difficulties and challenges, the more I can compassionately be with others, the more at peace I am. I remain the same, idealistic, perfectionistic, self-preoccupied self. Yet, I am less affected by my shadows. Somehow, I trust more in God’s dream beyond my vision, allowing God’s Spirit to work greater in my life.

Archbishop Romero was killed by the powers at be while celebrating Mass. His dream for a peaceful El Salvador or a church truly for the poor only began to emerge a decade later. It remains an ongoing, slow growing shoot. The Spirit of the Lord - that divine force given to individuals to enable fulfillment of missions otherwise beyond them - rests in him, as it rests on Jesus. That same spirit is promised to each of us. Wow!

Let us rest in God’s love and care. Take a few minutes, just stop, take 5 deep breaths and get in touch with an experience of being loved and cared for. Let’s allow the Spirit to pray through us.

Monday, First Week of Advent: Faith that Heals

"Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed." – Mt 8:8

At mass, when I whisper the words, "I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed," I sense most deeply at this point God's divinity and greatness versus my humanity and weakness.  It is a beautiful prayer we recite each Sunday, acknowledging that despite who we are, what we have done, God loves us.  Through our faith, God heals broken wounds.  We are all alike in this way, connected by a human condition, and I am left humbled before God.

The words above were spoken to Jesus by a centurion, an officer in the Roman army.  It reminds me that even people of rank bow before God.  I am inspired by the centurion's faith.  He recognizes that Jesus, a man of no rank during this time, only has to say the word, and his servant, who is paralyzed and suffering, would be healed instantly.  

I desire such a faith that recognizes that God would help me with every situation in life, if I would invite Him in.  I see that I try to solve problems myself before going to God with them.  Yet, God so desires to be with us, each day, through each moment of joy and through each obstacle.  If only I could see this and open myself up to Him even more, recognizing that I never walk alone.

Do we invite the Jesus who heals to personally journey with us and help us through our trials or tough decision-making?  Do we put our faith in Him with matters close to our heart, trusting that He loves us and will care for us?

Anomymous

Waiting for New Dawns

“Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, with the mountains quaking before you, while you wrought awesome deeds we could not hope for, such as they had not heard of from of old. No ear has ever heard, no eye ever seen, any God but you doing such deeds for those who wait for him.” – Is 63:19; 64:2-3

At this time of the year, there is much anticipation. The shopping season is beginning; the holidays are coming; final papers and exams are looming; other yearnings - surface cravings as well as deep desires - are stirring within us. Among these longings are those for new beginnings.

The Advent Season is about waiting for new dawns and celebrating new beginnings. Today we begin the liturgical year. Today we begin new responses and prayers at Mass, guided by the 3^rd Edition of the Roman Missal. Today we begin four weeks of anticipation and hope to celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Savior.

To be honest, I feel both eager expectation as well as uneasiness about what is to come. I woke up last week at 7:30 am in Anchorage, Alaska eager to begin a new day. Instead, I was greeted by two more hours of darkness. I am excited for new developments in ministry to young adults and online, for an upcoming Advent retreat at a nearby parish, for connecting CLC members with God’s poor, for a wedding of two good young people, for the grace of deeper trust that has been growing in me. Yet, I am also a bit wary about the busy-ness of this over-commercialized and super-packed pace season; I feel my resistance to God more acutely through the challenges of integrating prayer, caring for others, and self-care; I struggle with the fact that the new wordings at Mass will initially be less prayerful.

I believe that Jesus-God comes to us anew. As we remember his coming 2,000 years ago; as we await his Second Coming in the parousia; as we are open to his surprising presence in our lives today. I hope for these new dawns. To see things anew, to be awakened from my spiritual laziness, to dare see people I find questionable as God’s Beloved; to risk embracing my limitation and sinfulness without settling. The Jesuit John Powell once wrote that “Jesus comes to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” This describes me accurately. While I wait with hope for hint of a new dawn, I struggle in befriending the present manifestations of fearful night and seductive darkness. For the night is darkest just before the dawn, according to Irish wisdom. Yet, it is good that we wait together, for the coming One whose “awesome deeds we could not hope for.”

What are you looking or longing for this season? How or with whom or are you waiting?

For more Advent prayer resources, click here.

Adventure in Alaska

I have just returned from an adventure in Alaska. It is a fascinating country. Nicknamed America's Last Frontier, Alaska sprawls across four time zones and stretches almost the entire length of the contiguous 48 states. It is over twice the size of Texas, even larger than the three largest states combined. Home to the highest mountain and largest park system in North America by far, it has more than 10,00o glaciers. So much space and beauty. Although every day I saw at least one moose close up, I did not see the northern lights nor had opportunity to explore much landscape.

The adventure I experienced was not in the outer world of nature. It was in the inner terrain of the human heart. It was not the wide expanse of the Alaskan wilderness, but was in the depth of the human soul.

I had the opportunity to accompany five women on a Silent Ignatian Retreat. These women belong to a CLC, an Ignatian faith sharing group. Most have been to silent retreats numerous times, every year even. The majority entered the retreat with attitudes ranging from moderately open to lackluster interest. One has doubts whether the retreat would be a waste of her time and money. Yet, they gradually became quite open to the action of God. And one by one, each left the retreat with significant graces. Graces which I sensed, were more than seeds. Graces that struck them at a depth that can transform their lives and those around them in lasting ways. Their hunger for genuine encounters with God and for genuine community of faith magnified and deepened. The next six months will confirm or disprove these observations. This past weekend, God surpasses all of our wildest imaginations. I am amazed at what wonder God can do with open hearts.

St. Ignatius of Loyola encourages people to enter retreats with a magnanimous and generous spirit, for God cannot be outdone in generosity. From my experience these past twenty five years helping with retreats, I can echo that what God blesses us on retreats is only limited by our willingness to receive. God is willing to give us everything! In Jesus, God already has. God humbly waits for our reception.

I am deeply grateful for this adventure in Alaska. I hope to return and take in more of the state's breathtaking beauty. For this trip, witnessing how the Spirit works in hearts wide open to God simply takes my breath away.

Although you and I may not get a chance to go on retreat this week, we still have the opportunity to open wide our hearts to God, through whatever situation we find ourselves in. Who knows, an unforgettable adventure might begin!

 “Few persons understand what God would accomplish in them if they were to abandon themselves unreservedly to God and if they were to allow God’s grace to mold them accordingly.” – St. Ignatius of Loyola