This year’s liturgical reading cycle focuses on Matthew’s Gospel, thus the Passion Narrative that is presented to us this Palm Sunday. Matthew, like Luke, relies heavily on Mark’s Gospel. Luke’s Passion Narrative, however, has a different feel than Mark’s narrative. Luke’s narrative shows us a Jesus who ministers to those around Him to the very end; as grim as the narrative is, it is immersed with compassion and light. That is not the same feeling that is elicited from Matthew’s Passion Narrative. Like Mark’s narrative, from which Matthew greatly draws, Matthew’s narrative is dark with a sense of swirling and impending doom around Jesus. Towards the end of Matthew’s narrative, he records the Lord crying out in the words of Psalm 22: My God, my God, why have you abandoned me (Ps 22: 2)?

As I read again Matthew’s Passion Narrative recently, I must admit that I noticed the weight of the darkness more than in times past. For the past several weeks, we have gradually seen our lives upended by a growing darkness, an invisible enemy that seems to draw nearer and nearer. We call that enemy COVID-19. For many people the anxiety is real concerning worry over the health of those we love, job security, financial resources, and how life might change on the other side of this pandemic. In moments like these we may find ourselves making these words of Psalm 22 our own. But there is more to know with this Psalm.

The Church prays this Psalm every year on Palm Sunday, no matter whether the Passion Narrative is from Matthew, Mark, or Luke. What we hear every year is the beginning of the Psalm; we do not hear the whole Psalm, we do not hear how it ends. The same is true with the Passion Narrative; we hear the beginning of the culmination of the Paschal Mystery but we have to wait a week to hear how it ends, even though we know how it ends.

If you read the whole of Psalm 22, you will find that the prayer turns from one of fear and the sense of anxious abandonment to a prayer of praise and thanksgiving. Psalm 22 has four parts and the turn happens with the beginning of part three. Part two ends with the verses: deliver my soul from the sword, my life from the grip of the dog. Save me from the lion’s mouth, my poor life from the horns of wild bulls (vv 21-22). And then shorty after, in verse 25, the Psalmist prays: For he has not spurned or disdained the misery of this poor wretch, did not turn away from me, but heard me when I cried out. Ultimately, Psalm 22 becomes a prayer of praise to God who hears the cries of His faithful and comes to them in their need.

Men and women far more learned in the Scriptures than I am will argue over what the context was when Jesus made the prayer of Psalm 22 His own. For me this year, the Psalm is made new. Yes, we face an enemy and our peril is real, but just as real is the God we believe in and His power to save. Cast your cares, your fears, and your anxieties on the Lord. He will hear you and respond with the fullness of His grace. Just like with the end of the Passion Narratives, we truly are not in suspense since we know how the story ends. The same is true with this current cross as with all other manifestations of the Cross: the ultimate victory belongs to God to those who place their hope in Him.

Father Christopher House is the Rector of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, namely Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

When I was expecting my second son, I remember spending hours poring over decisions on his birth and what I wanted things to look like. Every step of the labor and delivery process was already planned out in my mind. So, when at 40 weeks pregnant and ready to make this plan reality, I experienced a partial placental abruption, I was completely blindsided. Everything that I had anticipated for his birth was undone and I was sent on a completely new path in that single moment. In God’s providential care, my son was born healthy. There was so much suffering that came from that birth, but that moment was also a vital turning point for me as a mother and Catholic and I wouldn’t change it. God allowed it all for a good I couldn’t see yet. I learned the profound lesson that our ways are very often not God’s ways.

This Lent, our entire world has learned a similar lesson at a much larger scale. Many of us planned to spend our days preparing for the Lord’s Passion and Resurrection in a very specific way. Like many of my friends, I had mapped out exactly what I was fasting from and the spiritual practices I would be implementing in order to create a little curated Lenten journey I thought fit to help prepare my heart for these holy days. However, this year we have seen in God’s providential care that he has allowed a new way to be carved out for many Catholics this year. A way that God may see fit to call even more hearts to conversion as the world navigates the immense challenges of a pandemic. We’ve been called to give up far more than most had planned. At the same time we’ve been called to renew our hope and trust in the God who sees beyond any earthly suffering, not as a passive spectator but as the one who took on flesh in order to feel deeply the pangs of human suffering, in order to redeem it. At the end of Lent many of us are realizing God’s plans were not our plans, and His plans will bear so much more fruit even if we don’t see it yet.

The canticle in the second reading helps us commit to heart this reality: no matter how deep our suffering is or how tragic our world becomes, no matter how many plans are disrupted, we have a God who is so profoundly on our side that nobility and earthly power mean nothing to Him. He has literally cloaked Himself in the weight of our sin and sorrow in order to save us and ensure we get back to Him. If I had planned for a king to save the world, the last thing I would plan is a suffering servant who had to endure a horrendous death. But in His mercy and goodness, God planned a way that would convince even the hardest heart that we are never alone, and we will someday be in paradise with Him if we remain faithful and trust in Him.

Author Fr. Jacques Philippe teaches us about this trust in his book “Fire & Light” when he says:

“To the extent we have riches or place our trust in security and human support, we can’t really practice hope, which consists in counting on God alone. God sometimes permits us to go through trials, the loss of some of our security, even lamentable falls, in order that we learn in the end to count on nothing but Him and His mercy. Peter is a good example: he had to fall, denying Christ during his Passion, in order to learn not to lean on his own virtues, his own courage, the momentum of human enthusiasm, but only on the love of Jesus.”

Let us welcome Palm Sunday and our Lord’s Passion this year with new hearts that have been formed by God’s will, even if it didn’t come as we had planned, leaning into the love of Christ and his wounded heart.

Angie Windnagle, BSC is an author for Liturgical Publications, Inc. and writes reflections on the Sunday readings.

The Triduum is the time of the Church year when we celebrate the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This threeday celebration begins with the Holy Thursday Mass and continues on Good Friday with the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion. At the end of this liturgy, we leave the church in silence, waiting to celebrate the glory of our Lord’s resurrection. Then, on Saturday at sundown, the Church re-gathers to celebrate the final, and most grand moment of the Triduum: the Resurrection of our Lord.

The Triduum is somewhat like a three-day prayer marathon, and if you are a novice there may be some rituals that are unfamiliar to you. This guide will help you walk and pray through the liturgies of the Triduum.

Holy Thursday
The Mass on Holy Thursday is commonly known as the Feast of the Lord’s Supper. This Mass is a time for Catholics to remember the Last Supper where Jesus and his apostles gathered to celebrate Passover. In the Holy Thursday celebration, two ritual actions stand out among the rest:

The Washing of the Feet
At the Last Supper, Jesus took a basin and a towel, got down on his hands and knees and washed the feet of all of his apostles. After this action, he commanded the apostles, “I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do” (John 13:15). This is Jesus’ commandment: Just as Jesus has been a servant to his apostles, so the apostles must go out into the world and be servants to everyone around them.

We are called to do the same in our daily lives. Well, we are not called literally to wash each other’s feet (though sometimes that may be the case). The action of washing one another’s feet reminds us of the call to humble servitude. Foot washing is not a re-enactment or re-creation of a past event, but rather, it is a commemorative action that reminds us that God calls us first and foremost to be servants to others in our daily lives.

The ritual washing of the feet can take place in many ways. Some churches choose to have 12 people, who represent the apostles, have their feet washed by the priest presiding over the celebration. Other churches invite the entire gathered community to have its feet washed (this particular tradition is very powerful because everyone is invited to come and have their feet washed by someone else in their community). However the ritual takes shape, foot washing should always be a reminder that Christ has called us to be servants to the entire world.

The Celebration of the Eucharist and the Eucharistic Procession At the very first Last Supper, Jesus also instituted the Eucharist for the Church. At this Holy Thursday celebration, we are reminded of who we are in Jesus Christ and that, through the sacrament of the Eucharist, we are and we become even more the Body of Christ together.

At the conclusion of the Holy Thursday celebration, there is no concluding prayer. Once the celebration of the Eucharist is completed, there is a Eucharistic Procession (where the Eucharist that is left from Communion is processed to a Chapel of Reservation). This procession to the Chapel of Reservation reminds us of Jesus’ time in the garden of Gethsemane when he prayed so fervently through the night. The entire community is invited to join in this procession and then join in the silent prayer and adoration until night prayer is prayed and the Eucharist is put in the Tabernacle. The gathered community leaves in silence only to return in prayer the next day for the Good Friday celebration.

Reflection Questions for Holy Thursday:

• Who are those people who need our help the most?
• Am I willing to get down on my own hands and knees and help those who are unable to help themselves?
• What does the sacrament of the Eucharist mean to me?

Good Friday: Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion
In this solemn celebration, we remember the Passion and Death of Our Lord. The service is marked by several important rituals including the proclaiming of the Passion according to John, the Veneration of the Cross, an extended form of General Intercessions, and finally, the distribution of Communion (reserved from the Holy Thursday celebration of the Eucharist).

The Veneration of the Cross
It seems strange that in the Good Friday liturgy Catholics choose to venerate, or show reverence to, the very instrument that was used to crucify Jesus. The Veneration of the Cross reminds us that through this Cross, the Glory of the resurrection emerges. So, on Good Friday, we come forward to show our great reverence and respect for the Cross. People have various traditions when they approach the Cross. Sometimes they kiss the Cross, kneel before the Cross, or even just touch it in some fashion. As you participate in this ritual, venerate the Cross in whatever way feels most normal. And most of all, just take in the experience of the gathered community coming so close to such a tragic, but integral, event in our faith.

The General Intercessions
If you enjoy spiritual aerobics, then this ritual is for you! In this expanded form of General Intercessions, the presider and the deacon work together to pray 10 intercessions. These intercessions are the same intercessions the entire Church prays on Good Friday, and they include praying for the Holy Church, praying for the unity of all Christians, praying for the Jewish people, praying for people who do not believe in Christ or in God, praying for people in public office, and praying for people who are suffering or facing difficult times. These prayers recognize how universal our Church is and that we should be aware of all of the faiths and traditions in the world that are different from our own.

Reflection Questions for Good Friday:

• What does the death of Jesus mean to me?
• What does it mean to “Glory in the Cross”?

The Easter Vigil
The celebration of the Easter Vigil tells the whole story of our salvation — from creation to resurrection and beyond. Because of all the ritual moments, this service tends to be on the lengthy side (an average Easter Vigil will last at least 2-2 1/2 hours). But don’t let the length of the celebration detract you from participating. The Easter Vigil includes the lighting of the Easter Fire and Paschal Candle (the large candle that we will use throughout the year), the singing of the Exsultet (the Easter Proclamation), the expanded Liturgy of the Word that traces time through Salvation History (the story of our Salvation), the Liturgy of Initiation (where new people come into the Church), and the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. All these rituals come together for one purpose: to remember and recall the saving deeds of our God on our behalf. Here’s an explanation of two moments from the celebration.

The Singing of the Exsultet
The Exsultet, or the Easter Proclamation, is a hymn that is sung by a deacon, priest, or cantor. This hymn speaks of how God has interceded in our lives on our behalf. The Exsultet especially recalls the Holy Night when Jesus Christ rose from the dead. What makes this moment particularly dramatic is that the Exsultet is sung in a church lit only with the light of the Paschal Candle and other smaller candles, which people are holding. In order to pray this hymn along with the deacon, priest, or cantor, try reflecting on the words of the hymn throughout Holy Saturday.

The Liturgy of the Word
The Liturgy of the Word for the Easter Vigil is comprised of nine readings and seven responsorial psalms. The first reading begins with the story of Creation and then, each subsequent reading recounts the story of our faith lives through history. You’ll hear the story of Issac and Abraham, the story of Moses and the Exodus, and more. All of these readings lead up to the singing of the Gloria when all the lights come on in the church, and then the final reading, the Resurrection of Christ, is proclaimed. Why so many readings? Again, like the singing of the Exsultet, the readings recount the many ways in which God has interceded on our behalf throughout history.

Most churches do not do the entire set of nine readings (for time’s sake). But keep in mind that the point is to recall how God has interceded on humanity’s behalf from the very beginning of time and that through this Easter Vigil we celebrate that God is present and always working in our lives, even still today.

Reflection Questions for the Easter Vigil:

• How has God interceded in my life?
• After hearing the Resurrection story, what events do I see in my own life that are in need of new life, in need of resurrection?
• How can I carry on the story of the resurrection to others? Easter

Throughout these three days, we experience the highs and lows in our faith, ending with the ultimate high — the new life of the resurrection. The Easter Season begins with the Easter Vigil, and we enter a time (50 days) when endless “Alleluias” will ring out throughout all of our liturgical celebrations. May you experience the joy of new life in your own way this Easter Season. Have a happy and blessed Easter!

Julianne E. Wallace is the director of campus ministry at Alvernia University in Reading, Pennsylvania. She is currently working on a D.Min. in Educational Leadership from Virginia Theological Seminary. She earned an M.T.S. in Word and Worship from the Washington Theological Union in Washington, D.C. and a B.A. in Music Performance from the University of Mary Washington in Virginia. Julianne is passionate about sharing the joy of liturgy with others and helping everyone to worship well.

What does sacrifice look like?

I think of those who serve in the Armed Forces. They have sacrificed much for my freedom and to work towards real peace in our world. I think of those in service to our Church: priests, deacons, and religious. Their lives are dedicated to prayer and good works so that the Good News might not only be preached but be seen in the love they display toward God and their fellow brothers and sisters. I think of parents who stay up long nights with sick children and then one day find themselves staying up even longer as they wait for them to return home. I think of teachers who work hard to educate the next generation of citizens with low salaries and little respect.

I can see sacrifice all around me. I think you can see it, too, if you look. However, I also see too many seeking to get ahead at the expense of others. I see those who have so much and only crave for more. I see those caught up in themselves to the point where families fall apart, friendships disappear, and people literally die from a lack of compassion. I see many who have forgotten where all their gifts in this world came from, if they even knew in the first place.

I think of all those who sacrifice and see all those who do the opposite. May our eyes see more of those who are generous. May we never focus on those who have forsaken others more than those who have given freely to others. May the witness of true sacrifice show us the way to the Father and to a world full of His love.

Tracy Earl Welliver is currently the Director of Parish Community and Engagement for LPI where he manages the company’s coaching and consulting efforts. He has spoken on and coached dioceses, parishes, and individuals on stewardship, engagement, strengths, and discipleship all over North America, Australia, and New Zealand.

Next Sunday, Jesus’s ministry reaches its earthly climax with the triumphal entry into Jerusalem marking the beginning of Holy Week. Today’s Gospel, as recorded by St. John, provides an impetus for the fervor of the crowd as Jesus performs arguably his greatest sign in raising Lazarus from the dead. This Gospel stands out as a beautiful demonstration of the reality of Jesus Christ being both God and man.

Jesus comes to Bethany at the request of his friends. Martha and Mary have sent Him word that Lazarus their brother is gravely ill. Jesus comes to Bethany, though later than Martha and Mary had hoped for, and finds that Lazarus is dead, in fact he has been buried for four days. At the reality of Lazarus’s death and the grief or Martha and Mary, John records for us that Jesus weeps. This is a detail that we cannot simply pass over. It is important for us to see that Jesus truly did assume our human nature and that, like us, he was affected by the tragedies and sorrows of life.

Here we see how wondrously our shared human nature is joined in Jesus to the divinity of His person. Jesus comes to Lazarus’s tomb and, over protestations, asks that the stone be rolled away. In what must have been an astonishing moment, Jesus then calls Lazarus forth from the darkness of the tomb and back to life, showing that He truly is the Lord of life.

In these days late Lenten days, as we prepare to enter into Passiontide, we need to remember that Jesus Christ both shares in our human trials and at the same time offers us the grace to be lifted above them. Jesus is no stranger to frustration, disappointment, uncertainty, and even fear. He truly is one with us in all things but sin. At the same time, He is the God who is calling us out of darkness and beyond our fears into light and hope.

As we face the on-going challenges and uncertainty of this pandemic, we wonder when is it going to end, how might things change, and/ or what am I going to lose? Remember Jesus’s words when Lazarus come forth from tomb, wrapped in burials cloths: untie him and let him go. Jesus makes this same command regarding our fears, uncertainty, and doubts, but we also have to be willing to let them go.

Easter is set. There is no moving it. There is no stopping the coming of the feast. We may not be able to celebrate these coming days as we would like but our present challenges do not change the reality of Holy Week and Easter, that Christ has died, risen, and will come again. In fact, He is coming to us each day, calling us out of the tombs of doubt, uncertainty, fear, and our sinfulness. He is calling each of us by name; do not let His call go unanswered.

Father Christopher House is the Rector of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, namely Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

Like so many high school seniors, I had a plan for how the rest of my life would go. Since eighth grade, I had been completely in love with the idea of attending the U.S. Naval Academy. I felt a call to serve God by serving my country. I spent my last year and a half of high school applying to get in, forming my academic schedule around the classes the selection committee encouraged, and choosing my extracurriculars accordingly. I made it to the last stage of the application process and then, suddenly, didn’t get in. After stretching myself thin and shaping my life to be the perfect applicant, the plans I had made fell apart.

When the rejection email came, I was sitting in my blue Prius in the parking lot at the gym, listening to a Christian radio station. After I read the email, I turned the radio off. I had been praying so fiercely for so long. I prayed that I would attend the U.S. Naval Academy. I prayed for the wisdom to know if this was where God wanted me to go. Through all of this prayer, I genuinely believed that God’s will was for me to be accepted. So when the rejection came, I felt like God had disappointed me. I immediately began trembling and tears filled my eyes. In a moment of pure reflex, I called my mom and told her what happened. She kept her voice steady and reassuring, but I knew she had started crying too.

Before pulling out of that parking lot to go home, I turned the Christian radio station back on. It didn’t seem very significant at the moment, but in retrospect, it was a step toward deciding that I wouldn’t give up on God because of my disappointment, but instead lean into him.

The months that followed were difficult. I didn’t really have time to process any of the disappointment and confusion I was feeling. I had one month to choose a college. Even though my own plans were derailed and my heart was broken, I could still feel that God was present. As I shared the news that I didn’t get in, I was treated with tender compassion and sympathy. Friends sat with me in the library for hours, making lists of pros and cons at new schools and brainstorming career paths. Even friends whom I hadn’t seen in months were sympathetic and supportive. With only two weeks left to spare, I chose Siena College as my destination for the fall. Sitting in the car with my mom, driving home from my last college visit, I was suddenly overcome with this feeling that God wanted me to go to Siena. I couldn’t quite explain it, and while there were several things I really did like about the school, the feeling that God wanted me there helped me make my final decision.

With every new day at Siena, I find another reason why I’m meant to be here. During orientation weekend, I met Sam, who has now been my best friend and my boyfriend for a year. He supported me through a very difficult freshman year, filled with family deaths, depression, and other challenges. Along with Sam and other new friends, Siena has given me the opportunity to grow in my faith and to continually discern what God wants me to do in the future. After having a concrete plan for so long, I’m finally able to be okay with not knowing exactly what’s coming next. I’ve learned that when I feel lost, God knows where he’s leading me, and that God will put people in my path to help me along the way. By trusting in God, I was able to find joy in the present moment and plan for the future while surrendering it to his will, and truly meaning it. Today, as I’m making a new plan for the future, I find joy in taking hikes with my family, in the relationship I’m building with Sam, and in the friendships I’ve made at Siena.

Recently, I was at Sunday Mass when one of the readings was about the healing of Jairus’ daughter in the Gospel of Mark. In this reading, Jesus says to the little girl in need of healing, “Talitha koum,” meaning “Little girl, I say to you, arise.” This line struck a chord with me. It brought me back to how I felt last year when the time came for me to pack up and leave for college. I felt like Jesus was standing by my bedside as I laid there helplessly, unable to move. I still didn’t feel like I was ready to move on from the heartbreak of being denied from the Naval Academy; I hadn’t even been able to process the loss fully. I felt as though I couldn’t try again or stand without fear of falling and at that moment, Jesus said to me, “Talitha koum.” Even though I couldn’t see the path ahead, I felt God was guiding me where I needed to go.

In my rejection from my dream school, God didn’t give me the answer I preferred, but it was the answer I needed. It’s incredible to look back and see that had my plans worked out, I would most likely have never met my community of friends at Siena. I’ve had opportunities that I never would have had otherwise. My experience has taught me that it’s okay to make plans, but it’s even better to make them with an attitude of surrender. And if those plans don’t work out, I know that God will be there to remind me, “Talitha koum.”

Kelsey Baron enjoys writing about her faith and speaking on the subject of chastity. In her free time, she can be found hosting friends at her family’s house on Lake Wallenpaupack, rocking her Birkenstocks around Siena College, and praising God through song on her ukulele.

In the past, I never paid much attention to Lent. The little I had heard about this season in the Church just led me to believe that Lent was a time of personal austerity, when you weren’t supposed to enjoy things (especially chocolate!). It seemed to me that Lent was mainly about following outward restrictions. But in the last couple of years as I’ve drawn deeper into my faith, I’ve begun to realize that Lent is an important season that prepares us spiritually for the joy of Easter. Of course, sacrificing a favorite food or pastime and giving to others during Lent are important ways to engage with the themes of the season, and I’ll try to do both this year.

However, I’m learning that it’s not so much about following the same rituals year after year, but about opening ourselves to an increased understanding of the true meaning of the crucifixion and the resurrection, and sharing that with others. So by adding a deeper spiritual dimension and creativity to my Lent practices, I feel that my preparations during Lent will enhance the celebration of Easter and all that it means.

And nowadays there are many creative ways to recognize Lent. Last year, I was given two huge (and delicious) cakes, both from kind church friends who’d each decided to bake a cake every day during Lent and give it away. This was their way of giving something to others as a reminder of how God loves us. So, this year I’ve decided to pay more attention to Lent as a season of repentance and renewal. I’ve been looking for more creative ways to bring Lent to life in my daily devotions. If you’re considering what to do during Lent, these ideas might inspire you.

Make your own cross
Making a cross to act as a centerpiece for prayer and worship can actually be quite an easy craft. It can be as simple as binding two pieces of stick together and hanging it on the wall or displaying it in a prominent position. A cross made from recycled materials can look very beautiful, like one made from clothespins, and the whole family can get involved in prayerfully crafting one for your home. If you’re keen on DIY, you could make a more sophisticated cross, such as one made from different colored woods. Or consider a fabric cross, like a stunning patchwork cross, or perhaps embroider a stitched cross.

A couple of years back, my adult daughter took part in a “Peaced Together” course, focusing on how beauty can come out of brokenness. One week, she made a stunning mosaic cross from crockery shards. It reminded her that even though she’d been through some difficult times and was in some ways “broken,” beauty could still shine through.

Meditate with symbols of the season
Having a focus for prayer, Bible reading and meditation can be very helpful. Lent in a Bag is a perfect example. This set of meditations features a rock, sand, a human figure and a candle placed in a fabric, paper or plastic bag. Each object is accompanied by a Bible verse and reflection prompts. For example, “Sand represents Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness. What wilderness experiences have you lived through? What did you learn?” Lent in a Bag could be used for individual or communal prayer. For example, you could invite family members or friends to choose a symbol and share its significance to them.

Look at visual prompts
Displaying small Lent-related objects around the home (or even at your workplace if it’s appropriate) is another way to bring the season to life. Our church once gave out a large nail to each member as a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice – I taped mine to the freezer door so I saw it multiple times each day. Images are also great for this. Consider some of the events in the last few weeks of Jesus’ life, and find some pictures to remind you of them. Choose one each day and display it in a clip frame or on a pinboard. Each time you notice it, spend a moment in reflection about its significance for you or offer a short prayer to God.

Use a Lent calendar
A calendar is a wonderful way to keep track of your devotions during Lent. The Busted Halo Lent “Fast, Pray, Give” calendar features a daily inspirational quote and a concrete action to take each day, such as donating to a charity, volunteering your time, or attending a weekday Mass. A calendar for coloring each day is also a good way to focus your thoughts and prayers. Praying With Color has several printable calendars including a spiral, boxes, and a stained glass window, together with instructions to get you started. Or, why not make your own calendar? Take a large sheet of paper and divide it into 40 squares. Then, use one square a day – you could stick photos of people you’ll be praying for, draw a Lenten symbol, or add a scripture verse each day. You can even engage the family in planning what to put in each day’s square.

Keep a Lent journal
Many people find that keeping a written journal during Lent is a valuable way of recording what they discover over the weeks. Some like to take a deeper dive into the Bible reading for the day or imagine they’re an observer at key events in Jesus’ ministry. But often, a prompt makes the process easier, especially if you’re new to spiritual journaling. Amy Brooks, blogger at Prayer, Wine and Chocolate, has a thought-provoking prompt for each day of Lent that I always find useful.

So as I observe Lent this year, I intend to be as creative as possible, both to enhance my appreciation for Christ’s sacrifice and also to share that appreciation for God’s love with others around me. Maybe you could consider introducing some new and creative ways to observe Lent in your home too!

Elizabeth Manneh is a freelance writer, sharing her time between the UK and The Gambia, West Africa. She’s written for many publications, including Huffington Post, ReadersDigest.com, and The Good Men Project. She’s on a lifelong exploration to find ways of bringing God into all aspects of her everyday life.

Experiencing anxiety when someone we love is ill can be extremely difficult. As faithful people, often our first (and best) response is to seek the Lord’s help. Waiting for an answer to that prayer can also be anxiety-producing. It must have seemed so confusing to Mary and Martha, knowing how much Jesus cared for their brother, that he would delay coming to his assistance.

Jesus loved the family from Bethany, but he loved the Father more. Not only did he know all would be well, but more importantly, it was also to be an opportunity to glorify Him in the delayed response. In the reading from Romans, St. Paul reminds us we are not just flesh, but also spirit. Jesus demonstrates through his response to Lazarus’ illness and death the importance of answering prayers ordered to renew, strengthen, and heal the spirit over physical healing. Though He promises Lazarus’ illness will not end in death, and it does not … eventually, Lazarus, like all of us, does indeed die. Jesus’ discussions with both Mary and Martha in today’s Gospel illuminate how His answer to our prayers should first and foremost lead us to deeper faith and hope in Heaven.

Remember, Martha is the sister upset, during Jesus’ previous visit to Bethany, that her sister is sitting at his feet instead of helping with the work of serving. She is taught, then, by the Master, of the need to balance our service and work with making time for the essential work of prayer. She’s taken his words to heart. Martha demonstrates her strength of faith within the anxiety and grief of her brother’s illness and death. Although devastated at the loss of her brother, she clings to her faith in the resurrection.

Later in the Gospel Martha says to Jesus, “‘I know he will rise, in the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus told her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world’” (John 11:21-27).

As we pray and the answers do not come, we can feel abandoned or punished by God. Like Martha, we must cling to the truth and enter as she does into dialog with Jesus. Prayer is the vehicle of that dialog. Simply put, prayer is a conversation. Remember, it is meant to be a two-way discussion. How can we hear God when he seems quiet or distant? We can turn to the Scriptures; it is the Word of God.

Martha draws from the promises of Scripture to seek comfort in her brother’s death. She recalls the promise of the resurrection, her own faith strengthened by her ability to learn from her earlier conversation with Jesus to balance work and faith life. Her words demonstrate she has learned the blessings that come from stepping away from the constant doing, to be with him and listen, since her initial encounter with Christ.

The better part Mary chose during his visit to Bethany, was to sit at the feet of Jesus. Mary acted aware of our need to turn to Jesus in prayer, to listen, await, and most of all, trust in His promises. The promise that he loves us, is always with us, and he can bring good into every situation in our lives. Above all, God is to be glorified in all things.

Allison Gingras is the founder of ReconciledToYou.com — where she shares her Catholic Faith and Relationship with Jesus with laughter and honesty, and how it is lived in the everyday, ordinary of life! Allison hosts A Seeking Heart with Allison Gingras recorded on FB Live Mondays 12:30 pm et; and distributed through Breadbox Media. Her newest project is the Stay Connected Journals for Catholic Women, published through Gracewatch.Media. Allison works for WINE: Women In the New Evangelization. As their WINE Steward she oversees and facilitates the online aspect, aka the Virtual Vineyard, including WINE Book Clubs.

After the Passion Narratives in the four Gospels, this Sunday’s Gospel from John of the healing of the man born blind is both the longest and probably the most action-packed of all Gospel passages proclaimed at Mass. This passage is made up of rapid movement and interchanges between the Lord and His disciples, the Lord and the man born blind, the man once healed being interrogated by the Scribes and Pharisees, then the Scribes and Pharisees interrogate the man’s parents followed by a second interrogation of him, Jesus’s encounter with the man, and finally Jesus’s rebuke of the Scribes and Pharisees. What becomes clear in these interchanges is that there are two simultaneous journeys happening: one is moving towards the Light and one is moving away from the Light.

The man whom Jesus heals is said to have been blind from birth. The disciples assume, as was normative for the time, that his blindness was the result of sin, perhaps that of the man’s parents. The Lord tells them that his blindness is so that the glory of God might be revealed. This points to an interesting aspect of John’s Gospel. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus’s miracles are always noted as the result of Jesus being moved with compassion for someone or for a group; in John, the miracles, or, rather, signs, that Jesus performs are not due to his compassion (which surely was not lacking), but to show the glory of God.

Another fascinating aspect of this passage is that Jesus is actually not a main actor. He is the one who animates the scene by healing the man but we see the man himself as the central evangelist. The man does not know who Jesus is but he knows that He must be of God because of what Jesus has done for him. In spite of the bullying and intimidation visited on him by the Scribes and the Pharisees, the man only becomes more persistent in wanting to know more about the man who healed him. Greater than the opening of the man’s eyes, is that his heart is opened to a new experience of faith. He professes his faith in Jesus and becomes the Lord’s disciple. He begins to walk by the light that is Jesus.

While the man born blind journeys closer and closer to the light that is the Lord Jesus, we see the Scribes and the Pharisees going in the opposite direction. They are comfortable and safe with a belief that God only works within specific parameters, only within the dictates of the law given by the Lord through Moses. They cannot accept that while God may choose to bind Himself to the law, He is never bound by the law. The law is given to lift people up to God, to help them on the journey to Him; but the Scribes and the Pharisees all too often saw the law as an end unto itself and thus made it an idol. The law is good, but God is also able to bring about good outside of the law or beyond it. Ultimately, the Scribes and the Pharisees see Jesus as a threat. They choose to blind themselves to the manifestation of the power of God in Jesus’s actions because to accept the truth of Jesus’s actions will mean that they have to change and they simply are not willing to do so.

Do we fall into the same traps at times? In our heart of hearts, do we at times know the truth that God is seeking to convey in our lives but we find it easier to “turn a blind eye” rather that acknowledging that maybe we are holding on to something that is contrary to God’s will or what God is asking of us? May the Lord heal us of any spiritual blindness and grant us the grace to not be afraid to see life by His light and to walk in his ways.

Father Christopher House is the Rector of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, namely Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

A friend of mine and I were comparing notes on how challenged we feel, sometimes, to offer real forgiveness to friends and family, and the question of enemies.

“Jesus said we are to forgive without limit,” my friend said, “but does that mean we’re supposed to keep putting ourselves out there to be victimized by people who really know how to hurt us and seem to enjoy doing it?”

It’s a conundrum, isn’t it? We are supposed to love everyone, forgive “unto seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:21-22), and we know that forgiveness is essential to our spiritual health, even if— in some cases—some people just feel like they prefer the tormentor’s role in our personal narratives. “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you,” writes the theologian Lewis Smedes, and he’s completely right.

Loving everyone is downright difficult and none of us can do it perfectly except the Lord and those saints he has so graced. My friend and I acknowledged it, but she couldn’t let it go, and wondered, “Doesn’t that mean the person we’re avoiding is our enemy? Aren’t we not supposed to have enemies?”

Her question reminded me of a what a Benedictine nun says to a novice in Rumer Godden’s In This House of Brede: “We may quarrel, we may find ourselves going down another staircase to avoid meeting some particular nun, but in times of stress…[we are all there for one another.]”

That, it seems to me, is the essence of how we are to handle difficult relationships. It speaks of a charity that does not put people too frequently in each other’s way (and tempt them into a needless, unhappy exchanges), yet is still helpful, when help is really needed, and without resentment or a desire for recognition. It puts enmity to the side for the sake of the greater good.

When I was a little girl, I used to take some comfort from Jesus’ command to “love your enemies”; the fact that he used the word “enemies” seemed like a clear acknowledgment that they exist and are a normal part of life. It almost seemed like Jesus was giving us tacit permission to have enemies, to make a place for enemies within our lives, as though they could be compartmentalized and shoved into an unused storage portion of our soul. When someone explained that “loving one’s enemies” meant little more than “not wishing them ill,” I felt like I had figured it all out: I could have my enemies, and as long as I didn’t actually wish evil on them, I was set for heaven.

That was how I rolled for about twenty years, until I actually heard someone use the word “enemy” when speaking about another. I had asked a woman in the office why she was so aggravated with a fellow we worked with. “I’ll tell you why,” she steamed at me, “because that man is my enemy. If he were dying in the street, I would walk right by him.”

Coming from the mouth of a woman I generally found to be pleasant and generous in nature, these were some of the most chilling words I had ever heard; they literally gave me goosebumps. I asked what the man could possibly have done to have earned such a vehement condemnation, and she said, with a terrible expression, “He complained about one of my kids not being friendly on the phone.” It was one of those uncomfortable light-bulb moments, when one realizes that complacent ideas from our youth can no longer work and demand reassessment. I had turned the notion of enemies into the equivalent of a benign spot on a spiritual X-ray: nothing to worry about, no threat to the soul. That was incorrect. The evidence before my eyes, demonstrated in the dark, tense expression of my coworker and her brutish tone, hit me like a swift punch to the solar plexus; with breathtaking clarity I understood that to entertain the concept of “having an enemy” was to give it room to grow. No benign practice, this was instead a path to spiritual malignancy—a true cancer that could kill the soul.

Jesus did indeed recognize that there are such things as enemies—and we are not meant to wander through our lives reckless and unaware of what or who can threaten us or do us harm. Certainly, we should not turn a blind eye to evil, which is the true enemy.

But Jesus’ command to love those we perceive to be our enemies is actually a tool for discernment, and for our own salvation. To love our enemies means a great deal more than to simply not wish evil upon them; it means making a conscious effort to find a path to our own mercy, for their sake and our own. That path is found, Jesus tells us, through prayer:

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt 5:44).

My workplace friend had made an enemy of a man who presumed to criticize her child. That might seem a trivial thing, but we do not know the whole of anyone else’s story. Perhaps her child was mildly autistic and his weak phone manners were actually part of a long process of victories and setbacks that had left her with no tolerance for picky critiques. Perhaps the man— her enemy—had been bullied by a parent into caring overmuch about social niceties and was knee-jerk and unthinking in his complaint.

The woman’s real enemy, though, was the creation of her seething resentment, which was wounding her, not him. To pray for the man’s good would ultimately have helped her to discern thoughtlessness from real evil, and brought a measure of peace. We all wrestle with what forgiveness demands of us. We may forgive someone with an authentic intention of mercy, truly meaning our words, and yet also pointedly desire to distance ourselves from them as much as possible in order to protect that forgiveness from predictable future assaults that might strain charity. Some relationships are simply toxic beyond sense or permission, and in those circumstances—especially if we know we have made numerous good-faith attempts to reach out and really seek peace—we can take Jesus’ advice to “shake the dust off” our feet” (Matthew 10:14) and move on, just as he told his apostles to do when made unwelcome.

This is one way, at least for a moment, a day, or a year, to maintain our sense of forgiveness and our desire to promote peace—in the world and in our lives—without feeling oppressed by a sense that we have not done enough. New opportunities to hone our forgiveness skills will always come.

Elizabeth Scalia is a Benedictine Oblate and author of several books including the award-winning Strange Gods: Unmasking the Idols in Everyday Life (Ave Maria Press) and Little Sins Mean a Lot (OSV). Before joining the Word on Fire team as a Editor at Large, she served as Editor-in-Chief of the English edition of Aleteia, and as Managing Editor of the Catholic section of Patheos.com. Elizabeth also blogs as “The Anchoress” at www.theanchoress.com. She is married, and living on Long Island.