This Sunday marks a turn in our Lenten journey; with the coming of the Fifth Sunday of Lent we now enter into the second part of this penitential season known as Passiontide. This time is marked by our use of the custom of veiling images in the Church, which not only mark a liturgical shift but also invites us to sharpen our focus.

The covering of these images, this “deprivation” of our sense of sight is meant to heighten our listening to the Word of God which will not focus on our Lord’s impending passion, death, and resurrection.

Even though we are making this liturgical shift into Passiontide this does not mean that we jettison the initial theme of Lent, the call to repentance and conversion, that has been guiding our journey since Ash Wednesday. This theme is manifested wonderfully in our Gospel this weekend with the story of the woman caught in adultery.

The Scribes and the Pharisees think they have finally caught the Lord. They bring a woman to him who has been caught in adultery (oddly, we hear nothing about the man even though adultery takes two people).

The Mosaic Law stated that such a crime was to be punished by stoning. If Jesus tells the crowd to let her go, then the authorities will say that he is subverting the law. If he tells them to follow the law and stone her, then the religious authorities can turn Jesus over to the civil authorities for inciting the crowd since the Jews could not inflict capital punishment on anyone themselves for any crime.

Next there is a rather dramatic pause, one that has baffled scholars as to what Jesus was writing on the ground. One theory, one which I very much like, says that the Lord was writing the sins of the woman’s would-be executioners on the ground in front of them. This theory is set forth because the normal Greek verb for “to write” is graphein; here, the Greek verb used is katagraphein which can mean “to write a charge against.” Whatever the Lord was doing in that moment is ultimately inconsequential because then he eloquently turns the tables on his would-be trappers. Reminding the crowd that the one who seeks to pass judgment is also liable to judgment, one by one they drop their stones and walk away.

The Gospel then leaves us with only the Lord and the woman, but to only focus on the Lord’s dispersing of the crowd and to not pay attention to the exchange that follows between the two would be a mistake. It would also be a mistake to underplay what the Lord says to her. The Lord Jesus extends his mercy to the woman, stating that he does not condemn her, but he also calls her to conversion: Go, and from now on do not sin anymore. Here we see the beautiful interplay between justice and mercy. Mercy is extended to this woman, but, with it, her conversion is commanded in justice. It is the same for us as well.

God does not dismiss our sins. He forgives us our sins with the understanding that we are to change our lives and avoid sin in the future.

Interestingly, this section of John’s Gospel was edited out for a time in the first few centuries of the Church’s life. St. Augustine states that this was done by certain Scripture scribes because it was a scandal to some in the early Church; a scandal that Jesus might seem to be “too light” on a sin as grievous as adultery. To the contrary of that ancient view of some, this story should be well-known to us because it reminds us first that, no matter how great our sinfulness may be, God’s love and mercy is greater. Second, as gracious as God’s forgiveness is, we should never be presumptuous of it, but accept it with humble gratitude and a firm resolve to change our lives. Finally, we must remember that ultimately there is one judge and no of us is he, and, in the end, we will all be in need of his mercy.

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

Like the dark smudge on your forehead, Lent is something that has already disappeared for many in today’s stressful world. However, observing Lent can alter our perceptions and how we view the world can be greatly transformed. So, while there’s still time during this holy season, all is not lost.

We can take a page from a Jewish rabbi on this. On Yom Kippur he gave out to each member of his congregation a small piece of paper. On one side of it was written: “It’s later than you think!” On the other side, it said, “It’s never too late!” What he was speaking about is a sense of mindful prayerfulness — being in the now with our eyes wide open to the presence of God in so many different and wondrous ways. And, fortunately, this Lent, we still have time if we take it now. So, why not reflect on the following four ways Lent can change you?

1. Remember the ashes

The message of “from dust to dust we shall return” is not really a downer — it is reality. When we remember that we are mortal, impermanence can help us appreciate our lives even more. The ashes teach us to be more grateful for the people and things in our lives that are already there. Even though the ashes are physically gone, remember what they symbolize and you will live differently knowing this day can be your last.

2. Recognize that sacrifice is truly an act of beneficial simplicity

When we give things or activities up during Lent, it is not simply an act of self-denial, although it is good to postpone gratification at times. Instead, through the simplicity practiced in Lent, making our needs and consumption smaller, we can gain a greater appreciation of what is in our lives. Secular society would have us think we need more, but when we have it, we need even more. It also would have us think we need different but once we have it, it is the same. And, secular society would have us think we need perfect but there is no such thing or person but God. Lent helps us make our world smaller so our perception of all that is so good in it now becomes keener.

3. Lent gives us the opportunity to be compassionate in new ways

Almsgiving, which is one of the hallmarks of Lent, doesn’t involve simply giving money — although, once again, that is good too. It is giving of ourselves to others in our family, circle of friends, and at our workplace in a very different way. Namely, with a true sense of mitzvah, expecting nothing in return — not a smile, not a thank you, not an iota of appreciation. Learning this type of complete gift-giving of ourselves has a true platform in Lent under the banner of “almsgiving.”

4. Prayer gets a fresh start

By putting ourselves in the presence of God in the morning as we reflect on these four ways, we can allow Lent to be a time of change for us. The prayer life we always promised ourselves we would start or strengthen comes to life — maybe for the first time in a long while. We know that, along with fasting and almsgiving, prayer is the third and most important part of a Lenten practice, but after Ash Wednesday it usually falls by the wayside until we are abruptly awakened to the need for it during Holy Week. If we take a couple of minutes in the morning (remember, regularity rather than length of prayer is what’s important) to quiet ourselves before we get out of bed, maybe in the shower, or during our ride to work, we can begin a new prayer life regimen.

When God’s will and our will intersect, we become free, more whole, and life changes for the better — no matter what darkness we may be facing at the moment. And so, while some of Lent is still before us, let’s remember that “it’s later than you think” and “it’s never too late” if we turn to God now with a sense of spiritual intrigue as to how God is walking with us through life.

Dr. Robert J. Wicks is a clinical psychologist on the faculty of Loyola University Maryland. He has authored more than 50 books, the latest of which is Perspective: The Calm within the Storm.

In our efforts to evangelize and proclaim the Gospel, it is good to keep our focus and prayer on the goal of our work—that others will come to faith in Christ and enjoy a personal relationship with him. This intrinsic connection between faith born from evangelization begins with Jesus himself in Mark’s Gospel where his first words are: “The time has come and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe the Good News!” (1:15). For St. John in his Gospel, his entire life of preaching and writing about Christ has been at the service of faith in him: “These things have been written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God and that through your faith in him you may have life” (20:30). So what then does this faith look like? What kind of faith do we hope to be born from our efforts to evangelize?

A Faith Born from Above.

In the fourth Gospel, Jesus reminds us that “no one can come to me unless the Father draws them” (John 6:44). Faith then is a gift from God born of hearing his Word and seeing it in action (cf. Rom. 10:17). Faith is not our own opinion or achievement. We cannot come to it by our own efforts. Faith does not arrive to us through one single argument or even a series of converging signs. Even when these signs are in place, it takes the gift of the Holy Spirit for us to finally “get it” and to assent to faith with our whole being. This is because the love of God engages the entire human being with all of his or her physical, psychological, and spiritual powers. This is what happened in the case of Lee Strobel as he tells his story in The Case for Christ in the movie based on the book of the same name. He set out to debunk his wife’s faith and gathered all the evidence he could find to prove his case. But while the evidence moved him in the direction of faith, it was the love of his wife and her prayers that finally clinched his assent.

A Faith that Grows. We often think of faith as something we have or we don’t have. I believe or I don’t believe and those are the only two possibilities. We also can think of faith as something that remains static and doesn’t grow. The truth is that faith can be born or reborn in us at any time, just like it was in the people who encountered Christ in the Gospels. For those who believe, there is an organic quality to faith that we recognize over time. Faith lives and grows. In the Gospels, Jesus often likens the gift of faith to a mustard seed (cf. Matt. 17:20). It begins small but can grow to such a degree that others benefit from it, like birds in the branches of a tree that began its life as a seed. Our faith in Christ is something alive and active. It prompts us to think in new ways, to act differently, and to understand God in bigger terms, beyond the image of him we already have. Faith also takes us beyond our comfort zones, moves us closer to those on the margins, and grounds our faith in the service of truth and charity.

This demands a necessary openness on our part to allow our faith to grow, to be affirmed and to be challenged when necessary. So when it comes to the big questions of our time, we should not be afraid to engage our faith with the confidence that the Holy Spirit gives us. The Gospel message entrusted to us bears within itself the truth that sets humanity free and sets us on course for a better life.

While this task of engaging with the big questions of the world can be difficult and even dangerous, it affords us the opportunity for our faith to be tested and to grow. It is like a muscle of our bodies that grows stronger when it is used and made to work. So far from being something static, our faith is something that progressively changes us to become more Christ-like and sends us on mission in his name. There is a dynamism in faith that invites us to a meta-noia or “going beyond the mind we have.” It opens us to new horizons and to see all things with new eyes.

A Faith that Draws Us into Relationship.

Faith is often exclusively associated with religion. So we might hear someone say: “Yes, I have faith, I believe in God”; or, “No, I don’t have faith, I am an atheist.” This is inaccurate because it assumes that only religious people have faith while nonreligious people don’t. The truth is that faith is much more part of everyday life than we realize. As Bishop Barron has often pointed out, if a young man is in a relationship with a girl, he can collect all the data he wants about her, but until she speaks to him, the relationship can never get off the ground. Only when the two parties speak to one another can the trust begin to grow. And if the relationship grows to the point of them wanting to marry, then their decision is still based on faith and trust. By getting married, both put their faith in one another and nourish that trust afterwards as husband and wife.

So it is with God. God has spoken first through his creation and through the history of a people he loved. In the words of St. John: “God loved us first” (1 John 4:19). As Christians we see this love offered to us through the person of Jesus Christ who came to reveal God to us. Faith then is our “Yes” that accepts the truth of what God has spoken and the love for us that he has revealed. Faith is a “Yes” to a “Yes.” It is our “Yes” to God’s “Yes” that comes first. This is the basis of a relationship that unites us to God.

A Faith in Christ Jesus Our Lord.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus reveals a God who desires a personal relationship with each of us. Through faith and trust we are invited to know him and be known by him, to be loved by him and to love him in return.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus invites us to faith in him: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God still and trust in me” (John 14:1); “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will never die” (John 11:25-26). What an extraordinary claim for anyone to make! There are only two possible responses to this invitation to faith by Jesus. One is to reject him out of hand as a narcissistic madman, and the other is to do exactly what he asks us to do and come to believe in him and who he claims to be. There is no middle ground.

The more we contemplate the life of Christ—his goodness, truth, and beauty—the easier it is to believe in him. First, his goodness —his mercy, his compassion, his patience, his understanding, and his love. He spent his whole life doing good for everyone, and his love gave birth to faith in him. His truth—before Pilate he said that he had come for this, was born for this, to bear witness to the truth, and all who are on the side of truth listen to his voice. Without truth, humanity caves in on itself in deception and fear. His beauty—the life of Jesus was beautiful and radiant with light as revealed at his Transfiguration. And all who are united with him in Spirit radiate that same light and exude the fragrance of his charity. This is why he asks us to be light to the world (Matt. 5:14) and carry the light of his presence to all we meet.

A Faith to Be Shared.

The gift of faith is not given for ourselves. It is given to be shared. The joy of the Gospel leads us to be people of mission in all kinds of ways. We want others to know God and we desire to lead others to faith in him. We want his kingdom of peace and justice to flourish, and so pray for it and work for it. In this spirit, Pope Francis urges us to “go forth to offer everyone the life of Jesus Christ” (The Joy of the Gospel, 49). Our act of believing must allow the joy of faith to shine through in lives that are centered on the Lord and united to others in community. And it is with others in the family of the Church that our faith is nourished and strengthened to carry it forth to all in Jesus’ name.

For us dedicated to evangelization, the haunting words of Jesus are never far from our hearts: “When the Son of Man returns, will he find any faith on earth?” (Luke 18:8). Evangelization is not an end in itself but is at the service of faith. This article has described five features of that faith: that it is a gift from God that grows, that draws us into relationship, that centers on Jesus Christ, and that leads us to give ourselves away in loving service and mission. May the quality of our own faith be marked by these features so that we can share it confidently and effectively with a skeptical world.

Fr. Billy Swan is a priest of the Diocese of Ferns, Ireland. He holds a degree in chemistry and worked for a number of years for a pharmaceutical company before entering seminary. Ordained in 1998, he served for four years as an associate pastor before further studies in Rome where he was awarded a Licentiate and Doctorate in Systematic Theology from the Gregorian University. He served for four years as the Director of Seminary Formation at the Pontifical Irish College, Rome. He is currently based at St Aidan’s Cathedral, Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford.

Right after our last child, I was recovering from the cesarean surgery and started to notice that my foot was sore. My husband is in orthopedics, so one morning over breakfast, I told him that it was hurting a bit. He promised to keep an eye on it, and we went about the day. Two days later the pain had grown worse, and by the end of the day it was swollen. We tried to treat it medicinally until I couldn’t walk on it at all. It was a Friday, and he told me to come in for an x-ray. I didn’t go. It was tough to get all the kids taken care of and make time for all of that. So the weekend came and it got progressively worse. I finally went in that Monday and got the x-ray.

The x-ray tech set me up and went over to hit the button to take the picture. Then, she kind of chuckled, I think.

“So, what have you been doing?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “Have you been hiking? Or on a boat or something?” “What? No. These questions are pretty random.”

It turns out that there was an old piece of metal in my foot. I had to have it removed that week, and the diagnosis was that I had stepped on it when I was a child. After my pregnancies and other bodily changes, it festered and resurfaced. (Yes, this is all totally true. This is literally my x-ray.)

It had finally festered and needed to be removed. That resonates deeply, especially during Lent.

How many unhealed wounds do we walk around with? What will it take to finally let go and allow healing?

Two illustrations of operating in woundedness come to mind: turning off the light and broken bones.

If you are in a well-lit room (maybe wherever you are reading this) and turn off the light, the darkness is shocking at first. But, if you wait a moment, your eyes adjust. You can probably make out the outlines of the furniture around you. You could get up and walk around without stubbing your toe. You might even be able to pour a drink amidst that darkness. If there are people in the room, you could still find them, commune with them, speak with them.

But the Lord does not intend for you to live “just getting by.” To be fully alive requires illumination. With the light of the divine, everything can be seen. You can pour the drink, but now you can see the color of the liquid. You can speak to your friends, but now you can see the outlines of their smile lines when they laugh and the pain in their eyes if they are heavy hearted. Illumination is required for a joyful life, fully entrusted to God. Now, the broken bones. I asked my husband about his knowledge of field medicine after reading about St. Ignatius of Loyola’s horrific run-in with a loose cannonball. I realize that many of us walk around on broken bones, set on the front lines of battle.

When my mother died, to get through the funeral and all of the planning of laying her to rest, I slapped a band-aid on my broken heart. But to live my life in pursuit of God, I had to revisit my broken heart, rip the band-aid off, and allow real healing to take place.

The broken arm that’s set and wrapped in the ER can heal in that position. The person can probably use their arm though not fully. They can “just get by” until the deficiency becomes too hard to bear. They return to the doctor, and here’s the kicker: in order for the arm to be healed correctly, it has to be re-broken.

When I think of Lent, I think of an invitation for authentic healing. That usually takes place in the desert. It usually can only happen if we allow our old wounds and our broken bones to be re-broken and band-aids to be completely ripped off. Let the wind of the Holy Spirit and the hands of the Divine Physician put everything as it should be. Let him take our hearts of stone and turn them into flesh.

Where in your life are you just getting by?
Where is the wound that you have tried to hide but continues to fester?
Where does real healing need to take place?

Think of the person with chronic knee pain that finally has the time and money to get it fixed. You’ll hear them say, “I feel like a new person.” Or, “I had no idea life could be like this.” Usually, living with such chronic pain or woundedness makes us numb to the possibility of life without it. We live without hope and aren’t even aware of it.
When we become aware of the piece of metal that we were wounded with when we were children or maybe even when we are adults, we have to endure the suffering of reopening a wound to really allow for the removal of that which has broken our hearts.

In Co-Workers of the Truth, Joseph Ratzinger wrote the following: It is only by enduring himself, by freeing himself through suffering from the tyranny of egoism, that man finds himself, that he finds his truth, his joy, his happiness…The crisis of our age is made very real by the fact that we would like to flee from it; that people mislead us into thinking that one can be human without overcoming oneself, without the suffering of renunciation and the hardship of self-control; that people mislead us by claiming that here is no need for the difficulty of remaining true to what one has undertaken and the patient endurance of the tension between what one ought to be and what one actually is….There is, in fact, no other way in which one can be saved than by the cross.

Christ constantly invites us into union with his suffering. In her wisdom, the Church turns up the volume on this invitation during the season of Lent. When all is stripped away, we can hear his cries even greater: “Return to me with your whole heart.” And as you revisit these wounds and make yourself vulnerable to healing, may you also hear the quiet whisper of Love Himself. My child, these wounds do not define you. Love Himself descends into humanity, drawing you into his divine life with an ever-ending refrain that he whispered over all of creation. You. Are. Good. This wound, this sin, is not the definition of who you are. You are good. Be made whole this Lent.

Rachel Bulman is a wife, mother of 4, speaker, and blogger. She enjoys seeking truth, finding beauty, rediscovering the goodness in all things; and answering the call to holiness through her life as a beloved daughter of God. Find more of her work at RachelBulman.com.

In a conversation with my five-year old daughter the other day, I asked where she wanted to grab breakfast on Saturday. I said, “Do you want pancakes or donuts, buddy?” Her response, “Mom, duh, I can’t have donuts because I gave them up for Lent! Did you forget already?” I did. I wouldn’t say I “forgot” it was Lent, but rather being present and mindful to daily sacrifices or Lenten activities haven’t been top of mind. Yes, I humbly admit, this has been a difficult Lent for me. With much going on at work and two more little ones in the family (5 month old twins), my distraction level is high.

A sacrifice is a challenge that is meaningful and intentional. Giving something up and offering it as a sacrifice shouldn’t be easy, rather an act of intentional discipleship. During Lent, we are preparing ourselves to witness the ultimate act of sacrifice and unconditional love. Jesus sacrificed everything. Easy and meaningless are not in the description.

Many of us need to recommit midway through Lent. Here we are closer to the end of Lent, rather than the beginning. Those early Lenten promises we made may have been put on the backburner or forgotten. Maybe we have found ourselves slipping in an extra meal when we are fasting, forgetting it is meatless Friday, or taking in a quick sweet we were supposed to be giving up. I get it. Life gets in the way, or we feel like it does. It is hard to adjust one’s routine or behaviors. It is hard when we fail. We fall, we drop the cross, we are incomplete. However, we shouldn’t be discouraged. We need to realize in those moments of weakness that we can find strength to get back up through Jesus. We can be forgiven and we can try again.

Think about Jesus as the model. Jesus was met with challenges and struggles. He was tempted in the dessert, distraught in the garden, burdened by the cross and ultimately sacrificed His life for us on the cross. It is through this Lenten journey we are walking alongside Him- step-by-step, fall-byfall, but with his help we get up again. We are lifted through prayer, humbled through fasting, and gratefully generous through almsgiving. We know Jesus’ unconditional mercy and love for us abound. The journey of the cross enables us to receive the grace to courageously go out and live the Gospel, despite our failings or worries.

So, how do we begin again? One day at a time. One intentional act after another. Making a choice to put Jesus first, then again, and again. Before you know it, you won’t find yourself in the Dunkin Donuts line, but rather in the pews, before Jesus. Right where we are supposed to be.

 Katie Price is the Coordinator for Stewardship at the Cathedral and works in Discipleship and Stewardship at the Diocese.

We need you!

Recent extreme abortion legislation has awakened a new resolve in the faithful to fight against abortion. The Cathedral is determined to keep right to life as a priority issue. We need some volunteers to help coordinate our efforts. If you are interested in helping to co-chair a Pro-Life Committee please call the parish office or email [email protected]. Thank you!

Still time to contact your lawmaker!

We still need your help in contacting legislators. If you have yet to contact your legislator, please do so by going to the Catholic Conference of Illinois (https://www.ilcatholic.org/) and hit the button that reads, “Contact your state lawmaker.” If you have already written your legislator, please send your friends and family an email or post to you social media account and encourage them to do the same!

Have a movie night!

The upcoming film, Unplanned, is coming to Springfield, IL. The movie Unplanned is the inspiring true story of one woman’s journey of transformation. The movie tells the story of Abby Johnson. She was the youngest Planned Parenthood clinic director in the nation, was involved in upwards of 22,000 abortions and counseled countless women about their reproductive choices. Her passion surrounding a woman’s right to choose even led her to become a spokesperson for Planned Parenthood, fighting to enact legislation for the cause she so deeply believed in…Until the day she saw something that changed everything, leading Abby Johnson to join her former enemies at 40 Days For Life, and become one of the most ardent pro-life speakers in America.

• You can find out more information here: https://www.unplannedfilm.com/
• Purchase tickets for the movie here: https://www.amctheatres.com/movies/unplanned-59384
• If you are interested in getting together with other Cathedral parishioners for dinner and a movie, please contact Katie Price at [email protected]. We are looking to get a group to head to the movies together!

The Gospel selection from Luke for this Third Sunday of Lent comes in two parts. The first part speaks of two different tragedies that are recent in the minds of those in the crowd following Jesus. The second part of the Gospel passage is a parable from our Lord concerning a fig tree.

In the parable of the fig tree, Jesus tells the story of an orchard owner who comes upon a fig tree in his orchard and states that he wants the tree cut down because it has not produced fruit. This is not a rash decision on the part of the orchard owner because this is the third year that the tree has not produced fruit. The gardener intercedes asking the owner for more time to work with the tree. If the tree still does not bear fruit then it will be cut down.

This parable shows us the patience of God the Father and the mercy that he extends to us sinners, but it’s a mercy that is limited in time. The tree is given time but it must produce fruit. The tree will be helped by the gardener. The gardener is the Lord Jesus who intercedes on our behalf. He seeks to show us the way and he freely gives us grace to help us produce fruitful lives that are worthy of our Father in heaven. We must remember that the time to produce this fruit is limited to this earthly life, however long that will be, which brings us back to the first part of the Gospel passage.

Jesus speaks of two events at the beginning of this Gospel passage. The first is an atrocity committed against a group of Galileans by the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. The second event is the collapse of a tower at Siloam that kills eighteen people. Neither event is a direct act willed by God but rather they are events that are allowed by his permissive will; in other words, things happen. The first act is of one person choosing to cause harm and the second is an accident; neither act directly involve action on the part of God.

Brining the two parts of the Gospel together reminds us that we must be about producing the fruit of the Kingdom of God in our lives. God expects this of us and he has a right to that expectation. We can only be about this work in the present life; the same is true for repentance and conversion as they can only happen in this life as well. None of us knows how long this present life will last because we do not know what tomorrow might bring or if there will even be a tomorrow for us. Therefore, we must be about the business of the Kingdom of God right now! A true disciple does not procrastinate in fulfilling the will of God in their life, but allows the work of the Kingdom to be a guiding force in their everyday living.

As always, the Saints have wisdom to impart to us and I will leave you with a word from two of them. St. John Bosco tells us “do not put off till tomorrow the good you can do today.” St. Augustine admonishes us to know that “God has promised forgiveness to your repentance, but he has not promised tomorrow to your procrastination.”

This Sunday’s first reading from the Book of Genesis tells us of the covenant that God made with Abraham. Abraham was not the first person that God made a covenant with. Before Abraham, God made a covenant with Noah after the flood and God would later reaffirm the covenant he made with Abraham with Moses, David, and through the other prophets. So why does this particular act with Abraham stand out? As God fashions his covenant with Abraham in Genesis, he promises to make of him a great nation, but he goes further in promising Abraham that their bond will be unique and personal. A covenant is more than an agreement or a series of promises; a covenant is a sacred relationship.

The covenant that God made with the children of Israel through Abraham is not undone but rather perfected in Jesus Christ and we have been made partakers of that same covenant. This Christian covenant, the same covenant made new in Christ, is both corporate and personal and we are brought into this sacred relationship through baptism. In baptism we are chosen by God and rescued from the power of sin and death. In this wonderful sacrament the promise made to Abraham is also made to us individually: I will be your God and you will be mine.

As with any other form of agreement or contract, a covenant’s value is only as good as each party’s resolve to keep it. The good news for us is that God’s resolve is infinite which is why his covenants are everlasting. God does not relent in his love and he is forever true to his word. So that’s one half of the equation secured. What about us? What about our resolve? I doubt that any of us, if asked, would say that our resolve to maintain our relationship with the Lord is anything but resolute; our words may say that, that may be how we feel, but what do our lives say? Are we living up to our side of the covenant each day? We all know that the reality of sin in our world and in our lives can very easily derail many our best intentions.

Through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the Church has this sacred season of Lent as a gift of God’s love. This season is an invitation from a loving and merciful Lord to examine our lives, our part of the covenant, and truly reckon with ourselves if we are living up to our part of the agreement, or maybe only somewhat, or maybe not really at all. The journey of Lent is a call to return to the grace that was given to us at baptism, when God made a covenant with us individually and thus made us corporate members of his Mystical Body, the Church. In his Letter to the Philippians, St. Paul reminds us that our citizenship is in heaven. God’s covenant with us has made us his heirs, heirs to the Kingdom. Does my life reflect that gift each day? If not then let us use the grace of these Lenten days to make the necessary changes, to be faithful to the covenant so that we may be faithful to the One whose fidelity to us is unwavering.

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

Seeds of the love of God are found everywhere. We encounter him in the most unexpected places. I’ve written previously about the presence of true leisure during a visit to Disney World, and how I found glimpses of him in an episode of The Flashand The Greatest Showman film. And, tonight, I found him in another unexpected place: in a group fitness class.

One of my friends roped me into going. I was late but my friend had set up my area with all the goods (weight plates, bar, some step thing). The class had already begun so I jumped right in to the routine. People came and went. There were different fitness levels in the room: the guy who clearly is a bodybuilder, the ladies who regularly take this class and it shows, the folks who keep moving when they feel like dying. Everyone was trying to get on the same rhythm, achieve the same level of ease, of difficulty, of resistance. And I was surrounded by so many glimpses of liturgy, spirituality, and evangelization.

The unified movement of the class reminded me of the liturgy of the Mass. Prayers, Mass parts…one voice. We set up our “areas” the same way (cue the sound of the kneelers hitting the ground and the rustling of missals and hymnals opening). We follow instruction. All the while, we are all on different levels. We are all bringing different “weight” with us.

There’s something about moving together that allows our hearts to open up a bit more. Like a concert, when that song that everyone knows comes on, we sway to the same beat and sing the lyrics as loud as possible. When its over, that’s the moment that we remember—when everyone was together as one. That’s how the Lord intends it to be: united community.

There’s also a great lesson in evangelization here. The person leading the fitness class is usually in incredible shape, like they stepped off of a Muscle and Fitness magazine cover just to help you get your heart rate up. Watching their enthusiasm, you have three choices: be indifferent, disdain them, or join them.

Think of St. Padre Pio. He had people that joined him on his pursuit of heaven and many skeptics of his devotion. A select few will really understand your desire for Christian perfection, and at times, an even greater few will sacrificially walk with you through it.

Often the instructor was transformed and encouraged by the very thing they teach. They took the class first, experienced positive change, and decided they could teach it and share the inspiration. Isn’t it the same way with God? Encountering him changes our lives and inspires us to share the Good News, but the gift of evangelization truly lies in having been evangelized yourself.

Then you have the person who attends. All walks of life are represented, and the reasons for their attendance are vast, but I would conclude that each of them wants to be there. Each of them desires lasting change.

Do our encounters with God often happen when we are fed up and ready to change? We allow a strict focus on what matters most because we’ve realized that nothing matters at all without him.

And the most obvious offering of the group fitness class (CrossFit, Les Mills, etc.) is our desire for communion and the gift it offers to the human heart. I’ve watched the classes dismiss, and no one actually leaves. Groups gather outside the room, and conversations erupt—much of which have nothing to do with the class. They share about their jobs, their families, their faith. It’s incredible. Friendships flourish.

St. Thomas Aquinas wrote in the Summa: “It is reckoned a sign of friendship if people ‘make choice of the same things.’” A class, fitness or not, predisposes the students to commonality, and it makes easier the process of communion.

Lastly, communion properly orders our invitation into suffering by making it not only suffering within but also the suffering without—with the other and for the other.

Even the science behind the physical suffering of “working out” mirrors the suffering of spirit. When you reach the “fight or flight” phase of a workout, it marks the threshold of muscle and stamina breakdown. The muscle is shredded or the stamina is conquered. It’s horrible and painful, but after the pain subsides, the muscle is rebuilt stronger and stamina rises. As goes spiritual suffering. We desire Christian perfection, but we do not desire the suffering; however, there is no resurrection without the cross. Thus, perfection presupposes error, failure, suffering. After the suffering subsides, the heart is stronger and the spirit higher.

Ultimately, the love of God when well-received doesn’t mean that suffering ends. With the love of God suffering is redemptive, and the most perfect response for suffering is compassion. Compatiis means to “suffer with,” requiring the presence of the other. Group fitness classes are about much more than getting in shape. We are drawn there because they also answer some of the deepest longings of our hearts: encouragement, hope, communion, and suffering.

Rachel Bulman is a wife, mother of 4, speaker, and blogger. She enjoys seeking truth, finding beauty, rediscovering the goodness in all things; and answering the call to holiness through her life as a beloved daughter of God. Find more of her work at RachelBulman.com. This article appears on the Word on Fire blog at wordonfire.org. Used with permission.

So much has happened in our country lately that has been quite disorienting. Notably, New York legislated the country’s most aggressive abortion bill that viciously attacks the unborn. Internet assumptions, uncharity, and scapegoating characterized the incident between the Covington Catholic teens and Nathan Phillips. The government continues to show its disunity as it remains obstinately divided over many issues, including immigration and the southern border. And in the Church, the Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report and McCarrick scandals have shed and reshed light on some dark corners within the Church. Much has been disorienting.

When the news of the scandals broke out, a number of seminarians and priests in my diocese began a time of intentional prayer, fasting, and penance. Increasingly desperate times call for increasingly desperate, or rather heroic, measures…

For three months, two of my classmates and myself gave up alcohol, prayed a daily Divine Mercy chaplet, intentionally set aside time in our busy schedules to reflect on and share about our weekly joys and struggles, and fasted (two small meals, one regular meal) on Wednesdays and Fridays. Honestly, this was an idea that I was not super thrilled about at first, but then warmed to the idea after my classmates persuaded me.

I don’t share my practices to boast, but rather to hopefully convey some of the fruits of this time of prayer and penance. This article and its follow-up are going to be an attempt to help show the deep significance of fasting in the Christian life. The first parts will focus on how fasting helps to change us, while the second will work to show how it helps to change our world.

All of our efforts were meant to combat the specific evils, I believe, that are at the core of the Evil One’s continued assault upon the Church: the prideful desire for power and pleasure, the desire to isolate and the lack of transparency, and the absence of prayer and the lack of belief in its power. Everything diabolical, everything that causes division and confusion, comes from the Evil One.
Around the same time we started the fast, a priest friend explained to me that he shared with one of his parishioners that he too was entering into a time of fasting and penance for the Church. The parishioner’s reaction was as follows: “Fasting…what’s that going to do? What is that going to help with?”

I fear there exists a major misunderstanding about what the Church believes about the purpose of fasting. Fasting is not just a way that we Christians deprive ourselves good things in order to needlessly suffer. God created the world with inherent goodness and does not want his creation to suffer needlessly. While fasting can certainly be personally challenging, that does not make it a bad thing.

Surely, we know this by how willing we are to sacrifice and expend ourselves during hours of sport conditionings and practices. We know too how any dieting—Paleo and Keto most recently—takes a good amount of sacrifice and discipline in order to have and maintain a healthy body. It’s not that we don’t value discipline and sacrifice; we just don’t think our faith should lead us to do so. We’re tempted to believe that faith should only focus on positive, unchallenging feelings.

In truth, fasting is a practice of reorienting ourselves back to God, who is our ultimate happiness, when we have come to focus more on the world for our happiness. God created us not just to exist, but to live well, to live a life of virtue and holiness focused on him. This reorientation, this real transformation within us, can manifest on multiple levels and in different forms—physically, psychologically, and spiritually.

Without being a purely religiously beneficial endeavor, even the secular medical world has lately come to recognize and point to the value of fasting. Dozens of online articles can be found that advocate for fasting as a way to reorient the body to a place of adequate natural health. Personally, over the three-month fast, in sync with a slight increase of exercise, I lost almost fifteen pounds! The fast allowed me to cut unnecessary weight and I felt better because of it. Plus, for as much as I love a good craft beer and a good bourbon, detoxing from alcohol really left me with a clearer, more creative mind.

Yet the reorientation did not just play out physically. Psychologically, I could tell that, over the months, my cravings in general (food, entertainment, distractions) had greatly receded. At the end of the fast, my portion sizes were much smaller and I actually desired to have less. It is known that it takes about thirty days to break any habit and begin to form a new one. Imagine what three months—not even a quarter of a year—was able to accomplish. I did not so much feel like I was so much a slave of my passions. I felt reoriented.

Spiritually, fasting opens up the relationship between us and God as we begin to acknowledge him more as our continual provider. As we fast, consuming less, we actually become more thankful for what we have in front of us. This humility and thankfulness are at the core of a Christian spirituality. Throughout the fast I certainly noticed my attentiveness to the presence of God noticeably increase. I felt like God and I were much more in sync than we were before. More will be said in the second part of this reflection on the spiritual repercussions of fasting as it functions as an avenue for intercessory prayer.

As the Church approaches the Lenten season, it is the perfect time to reevaluate the practice and significance of fasting in our life. One increasingly popular program, especially amongst young Catholic men, is Exodus 90. The fast that my classmates and I entered into was loosely based on this program. Exodus 90 is not a comfortable addition to your spiritual life; it is a complete overhaul. It is a true exodus from all of the things in our life that distract us from what truly brings us peace and happiness. Importantly, this intense fast is never done alone, but always in community—the ideal for Christian living.

It may seem unreasonable to most people to do this program; it’s an overhaul of our spiritual, psychological, and physical lives. Yet sometimes drastic situations call for us to take drastic, heroic measures. As reflected on at the beginning of this piece, our world is full of disorientingly unreasonable people and situations. Maybe God in calling us to do something seemingly unreasonable in order for us to return to him.

I think fasting is an unreasonable and apparently nonsensical, yet wise practice that we Christians need to recover. Truly, fasting is a gift given to us, and it is up to us to embrace this gift for the good of the Church.

Deacon David Stavarz is a transitional deacon for the Diocese of Cleveland. He is a graduate of Borromeo College Seminary and is currently finishing his formation at St. Mary Graduate Seminary, in Cleveland, Ohio. David has a profound a love for music – especially on guitar or vinyl; he loves enjoying God’s creation through snowboarding, running, cycling, and backpacking; and he loves a conversation with a good friend and good cigar. Dc. David hopes to be a priest of the diocese in May of 2019.