As we approach the great feast of Christmas, meant to be a time of great joy and peace of heart, it is easy to find ourselves harried with unbridled busyness and overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting holiday expectations, or facing this season of good cheer all alone.
I didn’t notice it so much when I was a child, when my most memorable experience was joyful expectation of what gifts Christmas would bring. But as a parent of a large family that has grown exponentially throughout the years, I have frequently been at the heart of holiday overload.
It wasn’t until I truly embraced the season of Advent, those four weeks set aside for thoughtful, heart-filled preparation for the birth of Jesus, that I discovered a spiritual oasis and the return of that joyful expectation of Emmanuel—God with us.
Though I was baptized into the Roman Catholic faith, I have fond memories of Mass in the small Syrian Orthodox church where I sometimes celebrated liturgies with my mother and her side of the family. Chief among those memories are lots of icons, lots of incense and the beautiful sound of hymns and prayers in the Arabic language.
In my own childhood church of St. Teresa of Avila, in upstate New York, I remember Advent as purple, in the priests’ vestments and the Advent candle, except, of course, for Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, when the candle lit was rose colored.
From the Orthodox Church, I still recall the Nativity Fast—the 40-day, not four-week, period of fasting, almsgiving and preparing body and soul for the feast of the Nativity.
We fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays (some say Mondays as well, but I don’t remember that) much the same as Lent and adhered to a mini-fast after midnight on the day before receiving Communion. It was holy preparation for a most holy reality—the incarnation of the Lord.
Perhaps that spiritual discipline begun at an early age, and from which, admittedly, I have often fallen away, is one of the reasons I still find Advent to be a blessing, a time when we prepare for Christmas by not planning, not spending, not worrying, by focusing on the love of God and remembering that while we may be alone, we are not abandoned.
Because I still have a fondness for the beloved Church of my mother, I often read reflections from my Orthodox brothers and sisters. This one, from Father Marc Dunaway, pastor of St. John Orthodox Cathedral in Alaska, is especially meaningful as we move into Advent: “The usefulness of Advent depends on your perspective of Christmas. If the aim of a ‘holiday season’ is simply to seek cheer in winter through gift exchanges, office parties, and family gatherings, then Advent really has little place. The holiday celebrations can begin as soon as Thanksgiving is over and end in a party on New Year’s Eve.
“However, if Christmas Day itself is, first of all, a ‘holy day’ to remember the birth of Jesus Christ as God becoming one of us, then the grandeur and wonder of that singular event summons those who believe to prepare themselves through prayer, fasting, and acts of kindness, so that they might properly esteem and celebrate this day and let it change their lives. This preparation is the ancient purpose of Advent.”
Advent as a time of holy preparation of our minds and hearts will help us avoid the secular holiday author Matthew Gallatin describes this way: “Just as the guest of honor walks through the door, it’s all over.”
Mary Regina Morrell, mother of six and grandmother to nine, is a Catholic journalist, author, and syndicated columnist who has served the dioceses of Metuchen and Trenton, New Jersey, and RENEW International in the areas of catechesis and communication.
When I was a child, I had a special outdoor place that was all mine, a hide-away place where I could make-believe, dream or read my favorite Nancy Drew books beneath the thick cover of weeping willow branches stretched to reach the ground. It was a magical place, made more so by the frequent visits from lady bugs or grasshoppers or the one-eyed squirrel my mom fed every day, and where the only music I heard was bird songs. It was my version of a tree house which never got off the ground, but I loved it.
For my husband, his go-to place was the woods behind his house, complete with a small creek. He says most of his childhood was spent in those woods, exploring, building, collecting lizards and such, and making up games to play with friends.
In our generation, kids and outdoors were perfect together.
Today, many children are said to be suffering from what is referred to as nature deficiency disorder. Children’s natural connection to nature is being disrupted, with sad consequences for them and for nature.
Without time for free exploration of the outdoors, to observe, absorb and build connections with the wild things of earth, children will not learn to carry nature in their hearts and may not learn to care for the earth which provides so many blessings. For a child or young person who is by nature sensorial, needing to touch, smell, hear, and see, being outside is a rich sensory experience that cannot be matched indoors.
Of course, not everyone has a yard to play in or even open green space in their neighborhood. There is a true inequality of outdoor space distribution across cities and suburbs. So, sometimes we need to build in time for nature by taking nature walks in our neighborhoods, visiting national parks, which often have special activities just for children, or a local park where climbing and playing in the open air surrounded by trees and grass under their feet can be invaluable to a child’s mental and physical health.
Other times, bringing nature indoors may be a good solution—plants to care for, a bird nesting box on a window for viewing, treasure boxes for collecting nature’s simple gifts like pinecones, stones, a variety of leaves, seeds, shells, or sea glass if a beach trip is possible.
Children who can write may enjoy keeping their own explorer journal where they log their finds and answer questions like, “What does it feel like? Look like? “How is it used?” “Can it grow?”
Binoculars, magnifying glasses, shovels, inexpensive cameras, and plenty of containers of varying sizes support the young nature lover. Budding artists can be inspired with an easel and their favorite paints set up outdoors, invited by an almost unlimited supply of subjects and no paint on the floor.
Children have a remarkable ability for wonder, and nowhere will they experience it in such variety as in nature. Sharing that wonderful work of miracles with our children is the perfect time to teach them that the earth belongs to God and was created by God for our good. Then they may look forward to their role as future stewards of creation with love and joy.
Mary Regina Morrell, mother of six and grandmother to nine, is a Catholic journalist, author, and syndicated columnist who has served the dioceses of Metuchen and Trenton, New Jersey, and RENEW International in the areas of catechesis and communication.Respect is a mutual gift between two individuals, but in raising and teaching children we often forget that even the youngest of children deserve respect. It is from our respect for them that they learn how to respect others.
As a pre-school teacher, I encountered many children with different talents, abilities, and views of the world. One of my pupils saw the world as filled with color, and his artwork was a result of that view. Purple trees and flying red dogs often graced the page of his crayon masterpieces, filled to the edges with color, until one day a teacher from another classroom stopped in to visit. She walked around the table where this youngster was drawing, leaned over, and said, “Oh, no. Trees are not purple, they are green, and dogs are not red. You should do this over.”
My student hung his head while I tactfully escorted the teacher to the door so our next activity could begin. When I returned to my student, I sat in the little chair next to him and told him his purple tree was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen, and I would give anything to have my own flying red dog. Certainly, if God made giant rainbow squirrels, which live in the forests of India, he certainly could make flying red dogs.
“Really?” he asked, his face brightening. “Absolutely,” I said, and showed him some of the photos of these amazing creatures.
I explained that not everybody had the ability to see things as colorfully as he did, and there was no reason for him to redo his art. His ability to draw was a gift God had given him.
I remember this experience vividly because when he looked up at me he had the most beautiful of smiles on his face. He then promptly picked up his crayons and added some blue and purple squirrels to his picture.
The next day, during our reading session, I brought out the book with the multicolored squirrels so all the children could see a bit of the magnificence of God’s creation. They “oohed” and “aahed” over the photos with childish wonder and, of course, from then on my young artist was not the only one to have blue, orange, and purple squirrels in his artwork.
The visiting teacher missed an important opportunity for teaching a child respect, by respecting the child’s artistic expressions. Criticism of a child’s sincere efforts is not constructive. Every child needs correction at times, but it is best not to couch criticism as a correction. Correction helps build a child up, criticism tears down.
Respecting a young child’s individuality, their vision, coupled with offering direction when needed, will help a child begin to develop an understanding of what it means to respect others.
Mary Regina Morrell, mother of six and grandmother to nine, is a Catholic journalist, author, and syndicated columnist who has served the dioceses of Metuchen and Trenton, New Jersey, and RENEW International in the areas of catechesis and communication.
On my kitchen counter is a small statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Every day I light a tea candle at the foot of the statue and pray in gratitude for big and small blessings and offer prayers of petition for my family, friends, and communities.
Recently, I added a second statue, that of Saint Joseph. Most often, he is lying on his side resting on small pieces of paper—my prayer intentions. It’s a practice I borrowed from Pope Francis, who has long had a devotion to Saint Joseph and keeps a statue of the sleeping Saint Joseph in his office.
The Holy Father acknowledged, “When I have a problem, a difficulty, I write a little note and I put it underneath Saint Joseph so that he can dream about it! In other words, I tell him: Pray for this problem! … Do not forget Saint Joseph who sleeps! Jesus slept with the protection of Joseph.”
I love this image of the sleeping saint because like many of us, I, too, often make a decision to “sleep on it,” when I have a problem or decision to make. Sometimes, I wake up with a sense that God has given me my marching orders but my reply is not always the internal, silent, yes of Saint Joseph.
My initial reaction is just as likely to be “Seriously?” “You’ve got to be kidding,” or “Ummm, I don’t think so.” It might take me some time to come around to what God wants, but Joseph does not falter.
The Church will soon celebrate the feast of Saint Joseph the Worker on May 1. But that is not the only time the earthly father of Jesus is celebrated on the liturgical calendar. His primary feast on March 19, the Solemnity of Saint Joseph, honors him as the husband of Mary, the Blessed Mother. On the Sunday after Christmas, he is honored on the Feast of the Holy Family in his role as guardian and teacher.
When Pope Francis declared a Year of Saint Joseph to run from December 8, 2020, until December 8, 2021, it was to mark the 150th anniversary of the proclamation of Saint Joseph as the patron of the Universal Church and to encourage the faithful to go to Joseph for intercession in times of need and to honor the saint’s role as humble protector of the Holy Family.
In his Apostolic Letter, Patris Corde: With a Father’s Heart, Pope Francis explains his desire for the faithful “to increase our love for this great saint, to encourage us to implore his intercession and to imitate his virtues and his zeal.”
“Each of us can discover in Joseph—the man who goes unnoticed, a daily, discreet and hidden presence—an intercessor, a support and a guide in times of trouble,” wrote Pope Francis.
That’s been my experience, and the height of Saint Joseph’s “bed” on my counter is evidence of my belief.
While looking for new and unusual ways to decorate Easter eggs, I came across an article about NASA hiding Easter eggs on the Mars Perseverance rover.
How interesting, I thought, considering the rover is unmanned.
Just how far I have drifted away from the world of technology quickly became evident as I discovered the term Easter egg also refers to an intentional secret message or feature in a video, movie, computer program, or it seems, spacecraft.
In the case of the article I was reading, engineers, using binary code, hid the phrase “Dare Mighty Things'' on the parachute of Perseverance. The code was visible in a striking red and white pattern when the parachute opened. All that was needed was for some brilliant mind to decode it.
But why “Easter Egg?”
When I thought of the elaborately decorated Easter egg music box on my desk, and the angel hidden inside until the egg is opened, it made sense. My little porcelain egg has always reminded me of the intricately jeweled Fabergé eggs commissioned by Tsar Alexander III as annual gifts to his wife Empress Maria Feodorovna. Each ornate egg contained a hidden surprise.
The much-loved Christian tradition of dying or painting Easter eggs, and sharing them with family and friends, may not be one of hidden messages but it is one filled with symbolism.
The eggs themselves are symbolic of new life, particularly at Easter, the new life of Christians made possible through the Resurrection of Jesus.
When I was young I would watch my Syrian grandmother dye eggs with red onion skins to symbolize the color of Jesus’ blood, shed for us on the cross. At that time, we were not allowed to eat eggs during Lent so the dyed eggs were placed on the Easter table as a reminder of why we celebrated with an Easter feast.
We played games to see who could crack the other’s egg first, hitting one egg against another. I am certain, as children, we didn’t realize the symbolism of the eggshell as the tomb and breaking open the egg as Christ breaking open the tomb (though the tombstone was really rolled away).
I believe it says a lot about our capacity for God when we find in the ordinary things of life a sign of the extraordinary and allow it to move us into a deeper relationship with God.
As we approach Easter, may our celebrations be filled with the richness of our traditions, and may our hearts be filled with the promise of new life.
With snow in the forecast for St. Patrick’s Day in New Jersey, I recall fond memories of St. Patrick’s Day a few years ago when we had a veritable blizzard.
We had been expecting an email from the conductor of the consort with whom I sing, telling us the St. Patrick’s Day concert had to be canceled, but to our surprise, his email was, “The concert is on!!”
A forecast later in the day indicated the potential storm would be no more than a few inches of the wintery mix, certainly something we could all manage to get through.
So we happily donned our boots and concert blacks and headed out. Unfortunately, the snow and ice hadn’t heard the latest forecast because by the time we got on the roads it was unrelenting. The only way to travel safely was by creeping, inch by inch.
As we arrived at the historic church where the choir and orchestra would be performing, we sat around large wooden tables hoping to dry off before curtain call. “We are all crazy, you know,” laughed one musician. We all laughed; no one argued the point.
But as more and more of our assembly slid in to join us, it seemed to me that crazy was not the way to describe it. Passionate seemed more appropriate, and certainly so for an evening celebrating a saintly, holy man who made an extraordinary difference in the world.
St. Patrick was passionate, and his passion enabled him to undertake difficult missionary work which changed the face of Ireland. But it wasn’t always so.
Patrick had no plans to go to Ireland but he was kidnapped by Irish raiders at 16 years of age from his home in Britain and taken to Ireland where he served as a laborer and shepherd, badly treated and often close to starvation. He spent six years there until he finally escaped and returned home.
His difficult and painful experience began to solidify his faith and he began to study for the priesthood. In a dream about the Irish people, Patrick believed God was calling him to return to Ireland and teach the people, who were largely pagan, about Jesus and the Gospel.
In his Confessio, St. Patrick writes, “I am first of all a simple country person, a refugee, and unlearned. I do not know how to provide for the future. But this I know for certain, that before I was brought low, I was like a stone lying deep in the mud. Then he who is powerful came and in his mercy pulled me out, and lifted me up and placed me on the very top of the wall. That is why I must shout aloud in return to the Lord for such great good deeds of his, here and now and forever, which the human mind cannot measure.”
While St. Patrick was never officially canonized by the Catholic Church, he said yes to God and embarked on a mission that would be dangerous and difficult. He was able to accomplish what he set out to do because of his passion for God. With humility and trust, he walked in the footsteps of Jesus who was the example of life imbued with a passion for doing the will of his Father.
St. Patrick, known and loved as the “Apostle to Ireland,” was an ordinary man who did extraordinary things because of his faith—surely something worth celebrating on March 17.
Question of the Week, Second Sunday of Lent, Year B
Today’s Second Reading (Romans 8:31b-34) has long been one of my favorite Scripture passages. When I find myself feeling defeated, discouraged, or confused, I often quote it to myself. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31b)
Like many of you, I’ve had a lot of things come against me. I’ve had days and seasons in my life where I boldly asked God, “Where are you?” (This year of confinement, isolation, and challenge might prompt us to frequently ask this question!) But the truth is, even on the hardest of days and in the hardest of times, God is for us. Just sit with this thought for a second. “God is for me!”
What does God’s being for us look like in our lives? It’s the note or call that comes on just the right day. It’s the beautiful colors of the morning sky that cause us to stop and say, “Wow, God!” It’s food on the table, a roof over our heads, friends and family by our side (or via Zoom!). It’s a good book and time to read, an answered prayer, or finding something we thought we’d lost for good.
And it is the gift of the Son, his Body, and Blood in the Eucharist. It’s the presence of community and the power of the Sacraments. It’s the truth and beauty of God’s Word and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. It is love poured out on the Cross and love poured out to us through others.
This second week of Lent, make this promise a part of your daily prayer: “God is for me.” Be aware of the many ways this has been true in the past and is true in your life today. Look for opportunities to remind others of this truth too. A kind word, a simple gesture of thoughtfulness, an act of generosity can often be all it takes to let others know they are not alone and that God is for them too.
Question of the Week, 1st Sunday of Lent, Year B
What an interesting time to consider this question! My first thought is, “What activities?” Hasn’t the pandemic already done a number on our calendars? Except for daily tasks and the occasional run to the grocery store, my own calendar is pretty blank. There’s just not much left to forgo!
Be that as it may, as we enter into the season of Lent--a forty-day retreat time of intense prayer, fasting, and almsgiving--I am captured by the reminder in today’s Gospel (Mark 1:12-15) that during his own forty-day time in the desert, angels came and ministered to Jesus.
This image of angels ministering to Jesus captures my attention because every morning I pray specifically that angels will surround and protect a young woman I know who struggles with severe depression. This is not my usual way of praying for someone, but this is how I feel called to pray for her. In light of today’s Gospel, and through this season of Lent, I want to draw upon this image of angels ministering to others as I offer my morning prayer.
At the same time, I know my own need to be ministered to by the angels, who protect me and who speak God’s message to me. In the spirit of today’s Gospel, I want to carve out just a few minutes each day to invite the angels to minister to those places in my mind, heart, and spirit that need to be healed, renewed, and strengthened too.
Lent is always a season to pray for and do acts of charity that benefit others. But perhaps this Lent is also a time to place ourselves into the loving, protective embrace of God and of God’s angels, and to return to a prayer from our childhood: Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen.
Sometimes, if you are lucky while reading through the many quotes that are buffeted back and forth and shared in workshops, retreats, and now, social media, you find one that resonates enough with you to cause you to pause, to reflect, and possibly, make a difference in how you live your faith.
That quote, for me, comes from Jesuit Father Pedro Arrupe, once a superior general of the Society of Jesus. Today, this quote often surfaces around Valentine’s Day because it is a powerful insight about love; more particularly, the love of God:
"Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the mornings, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."
After reading this quote I felt I needed to learn more about Father Arrupe. His history includes being arrested and imprisoned in Japan during the war and ministering to the wounded after the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. His ministry to those in need continued to the very poor in Latin America.
I recently read a story about Father Arrupe’s time in Latin America, where he said Mass in the poorest of all areas. After Mass, the priest was invited to the home of the man who wanted to thank the Jesuit for all he had done for the community. The house was no more than a shack. The man gave Father Arrupe an old chair and asked him to sit and watch the setting sun in all its beauty with him. It was the only gift he had to share.
Father Arrupe reflected, “He gave me his hand. As I was leaving, I thought: ‘I have met very few hearts that are so kind.’”
As we prepare to celebrate St. Valentine’s Day, a tradition that has grown up around a third-century Roman saint of whom not much is known, we may celebrate the day more meaningfully by remembering the simple gift of a setting sun and Father Arrupe’s gift of self to those who needed to be sure of God’s love.
Our best present is always a presence. It’s a mark of kindness and one that finds its strength in our love of God.
Question of the Week - Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
I expect that if I asked twenty Catholics to answer today’s question, I would hear twenty different answers. “Love,” some might say. “Serve.” “Obey the Ten Commandments.” “Go to Mass.” “Confess your sins.” And which of the multitude of responses would be correct? Why, each one, of course!
Correct, yes, but taken on their own, incomplete.
When I am asked to lead a workshop or day of reflection for RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) directors and catechists, I often begin by asking them to draw a circle and to divide the circle into four equal sections. Then I invite them to label each section with one of the following words or phrases: catechesis (based on the liturgical year); community life; prayer (and reflection on the Word of God); and service. These are the four ways the Church herself says that we are to form, guide, and train catechumens and candidates in Christian life. Each of the four is equally important in mentoring disciples and leading them to maturity of faith. (See RCIA paragraph 75.)
Those four ways of growth should apply to those of us who are lifelong Catholics too! As we stand at the start of the new year, with Lent not too many weeks away, perhaps we could each draw our own circle, label the same four sections, and ask ourselves, “What am I doing to grow in faith? How have I matured in each of these areas of discipleship? What could I do at this time in my life to become a more committed follower of Jesus Christ?”
Tomorrow, January 18, is the beginning of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. The theme for this year’s Week of Prayer is “Abide in my love . . . you shall bear much fruit.” Pray this week for the Church throughout the world and for the unity of Christians.