Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • On The Other Side

    On The Other Side

    Ash Wednesday

    Joel 2:2-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20 – 6:2; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

    An elderly monk and a young monk, walking down a road near a stream, came upon a beautiful woman standing by the water. She asked if they would help her cross to the other side. You see, she said, the stream is deep and I might drown. Looking down, the young monk muttered, “Sorry, we can’t.” The older monk sighed, picked her up, carried her across, waded back, then continued on his way. For a long time, his companion said nothing, but was clearly troubled. Finally, the older man asked, “Is something bothering you?” The other replied, “Why did you carry her across like that? What a terrible temptation!” Smiling, the elderly monk said, “Brother, I left her on the other side. You’re still carrying her. She’s getting heavy, isn’t she?”

    We’ve now entered that time of year the Church sets aside to ask what we need to leave “on the other side.” In other words, what burdens are we carrying? It could be many things: Maybe guilt, regret, anger, or frustration; maybe the burdens of stress due to illness or addiction. No matter what load weighs on our shoulders, even the strongest of us will eventually tire trying to carry it.

    The good news is that we don’t have to carry it at all. Like the elderly monk in the story, God will meet us in our struggle and help us lay our burden down. How? The readings break it down into three steps:

    First, we repent, or, as the prophet Joel says, return to God with our “whole heart.” Wholehearted repentance means not just telling God we’re sorry, or acting like we’re sorry, but really being sorry; that is, making an honest effort to change our behavior and our attitudes. In Confession, we call that having a firm purpose of amendment.

    Second, we reconcile. With whom? Anyone we’ve sinned against, which includes both God and other people. In fact, St. Paul urges us to be “ambassadors of reconciliation.” Even though we carry the burden of our sins and are tempted to hold onto them, God calls us to forsake our old ways, accept His gift of mercy, and be strengthened by His grace, that we may be more closely united to Him and to each other.

    Third, we renew ourselves in the practice of our faith by genuinely seeking God presence, not other peoples’ attention, by humbling ourselves before God rather than focusing on what we’re giving up, and by giving to others out of love, not for what can get out of it.

    May this Lent be for all of us the time we allow God to help us lay our burdens down. Through repentance, reconciliation, and a renewed commitment to living quietly and authentically before God, let’s leave our old selves on the other side and continue on our way with the lighter heart and open spirit He has in mind.

    —

  • Hidden Beams, Open Eyes

    Hidden Beams, Open Eyes

    Sunday of the 8th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 27:4-7; 1 Corinthians 15:54-58; Luke 6:39-45

    Years ago, my son (then 8) went with me to bring Communion to people in the nursing home. One day, on our way out, an elderly man sitting in the hallway smiled at my son and reached out to touch him. Getting in the car, I asked him, “You know what that man saw when he looked at you?” My plan was to get him thinking about how an elderly man, seeing a lively, happy little boy, might recall his own youth or his children. But, like so many things with that kid, it didn’t turn out that way. “Yeah, I know what he saw when he looked at me.” “What?” I asked. Smiling and very confident, he replied, “A saint and a chick magnet.”

    Well, if nothing else, that got me thinking about how differently we can see ourselves compared to how others see us. Jesus speaks about this in today’s Gospel with His metaphor of “wooden beams” — the faults in ourselves we fail to see because we’re too busy looking for faults in others. To me, these beams represent two extremes in our spiritual life.

    The first is pride. Not the healthy pride that acknowledges our worth in God’s eyes, but the self-importance that blinds us to our need for Him. This pride says, What I want for me matters more than what God wants. This is the root of all sin; it tempts us to rely on ourselves rather than on God’s grace.

    The second is harder to name. I call it spiritual despair, the temptation to believe we’re unworthy, inadequate, and beyond God’s help. This is the despair that whispers, What I want doesn’t matter, because I don’t matter, and leads us to avoid responding to God’s call. It diminishes us to the point that we feel paralyzed, unable to act.

    Perfectly balanced between these two extremes lies what the ancient Greeks used to call the golden mean — the place where virtue is found. What is the balance point between pride and spiritual despair? Humility, the virtue that says, What I want matters, because I want for me what God wants for me.

    Humility resists both extremes. Against pride, it reminds us that we cannot draw closer to God on our own; we must rely on His grace, especially through the Sacraments. Against spiritual despair, humility reassures us that feelings of inadequacy are part of being human, and that our imperfect efforts still matter. God never looks for perfection in our actions; He looks only for a willing heart.

    If only it were easy to find that center point! How do we do it? Today’s readings give us a guide, through self-reflection and some tough questions.

    • Sirach reminds us that our words reveal our true character. In our interactions with others, do I boast, speak arrogantly, or put others down? Or do I remain silent out of fear that I have nothing worthwhile to say?
    • St. Paul urges us to be steadfast in the work of the Lord, allowing ourselves to be transformed. Do I ignore transformation because I think I don’t need it, or toward the other extreme, because I feel unworthy of it?
    • Jesus warns us about the blind leading the blind. Am I so self-assured that I overlook my own faults, or maybe so self-critical that I hesitate to act at all?

    These can be very uncomfortable questions, but we can’t avoid them, for that itself is an answer, pointing to one of the two extremes. On the other hand, humility urges us to embraces the challenge, trusting that God’s grace is more than sufficient to help us.

    Lent is soon upon us, offering a perfect opportunity to reflect on these questions and answer them openly and honestly. Also, Lent is the perfect time to make our own personal Way of the Cross, seeing pride and spiritual despair as the two wooden beams of our own cross. Every time we participate in the Sacrifice of the Mass, we unite our cross to the cross of Christ, offering to the Father what he offered: our whole self. In return, God will take that worldly sign of defeat and humiliation and transform it to the perfect sign of divine victory and salvation.

    As we remain steadfast in this work, the transformation St. Paul speaks of becomes real in our lives. This is the greatest gift humility can offer: the same wooden beams that once blinded us become the instrument through which we see more clearly the infinite love and call of Almighty God.

    —

  • The Love Behind It

    The Love Behind It

    Saturday of the 7th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 17:1-15; Mark 10:13-16

    As parents, we try our best to give our children everything they need in life to prosper; a good, stable home, a solid education, including faith – the best upbringing we can provide. We don’t expect thanks, but it’s in the nature of children to give anyway. Even the very young make special, little gifts for their parents, who are very happy with them – their real happiness, of course, being that they see the kids are learning the value of giving. Parent or child, it’s not the gift that matters, but the love behind it.

    Our relationship with God is much the same. As Sirach reminds us, God has given us so much! First, He made us in His image and likeness; the only creatures of Earth to receive that wonderful gift. Second, He’s given us the Earth and dominion over it. On top of that, He gives us the gifts of the Holy Spirit. They appear throughout the passage: We are endowed with a strength of His own (fortitude), with counsel, the discipline of understanding, fills our hearts with wisdom, puts the fear of Himself in our hearts, sets before us knowledge, and does all that so we might glory in the wonder of his deeds and praise His holy name (piety). As if all this isn’t enough, He’s given us His only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, who in the Gospel shows once again how God is never outdone in generosity: When parents bring their children for a blessing, Jesus goes further – he takes them in his arms and embraces them. But again, as parents with children, God doesn’t do this because He has to. He’s teaching us that what matters isn’t the gift, but the love behind it.

    So, what are we as God’s children to give Him in return? Jesus made that clear when he said that if we love God, we will obey Him (John 14:23). He gives us two ways in today’s readings to do that. First, as He says in Sirach, “Avoid all evil.” This is the natural law, the law written in our hearts: Seek the good (God) and avoid anything that takes us away from Him. The second we heard in the gospel. When the disciples rebuked people bringing children to Jesus, he said, Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these (Mark 10:14). In other words, we are to bring people to Christ and be Christ to others, treating them as we would treat him – even, and perhaps especially, those who (like children) cannot repay us. We do this expecting nothing in return, because once again, what matters isn’t the gift, but the love behind it.

    Today, we are reminded of the great blessing of living and loving with the innocence of children. For we love most like children of God when we give freely from our hearts without reservation. And we live most like children of God when we do good, forgive readily, and uphold the dignity of all people, remembering that they, like us, are made in His image and likeness. Above all, let us do everything with the tenderness of Christ, who invites us to give our hearts completely to him with the trust of little children, expecting nothing in return, but offering everything out of love. For that is what he, the only Son of God, did to his last breath – gave himself that we may live. Finally, like children, let us receive and rejoice in the Holy Eucharist, not only because it is the greatest gift of all, but because through it we are brought ever more deeply into the infinite Love behind it.

    —

  • Time for Wisdom

    Time for Wisdom

    Wednesday of the 7th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 7:14-19

    The elementary school I attended was next to a large building my friends and I used to call “the old folks home.” As I’d watch them walk in and out of there, I remember wondering why they moved so slowly and carefully. I mean, what’s the big deal? You fall down some stairs, you get up and keep going, right?

    Yeah, right. Being one of the “old folks” now, I’ve learned the wisdom of being careful. Sure, as a kid, you fall and in a couple of hours it’s like nothing ever happened. But when you’re one of the old folks, it’s more like a couple of weeks – maybe a couple of months. If you can get up at all!

    Time has a way of teaching us some very important things, sometimes painfully. For example, as we grew up, we learned that the things in life most worth having – like love, security, peace, and good health – take discipline. They require hard work, sacrifice, and maybe some trial and error as well.

    It’s the same with wisdom, as we heard in Sirach. A gift of God, wisdom takes a long time to acquire and can be hard to appreciate. No wonder why; as the author describes it, wisdom comes as a stranger, tests us with trials, and brings fear and dread. Doesn’t sound like much of a gift! And, if we leave it there, it isn’t. But, if we submit to its discipline and persist in faith that God works in ways we do not yet understand, wisdom will bring us happiness, reveal secrets to us, heap upon us treasures of knowledge, and give us an understanding of justice (Sirach 4:17-18).

    Clearly, persistence is the hard part, and it doesn’t get easier as we age. We might think that when we’re older, the tests and trials will be behind us. After all, we’ve lived a long time, endured many of them, and learned a lot. But the truth is that God is never finished with us; He continues to shape us at every stage of life. Young or old, our faith is always being tested and refined.

    So, let us remember today that in God’s eyes, we’re never done learning, growing in wisdom, or trusting in Him. Instead of resisting the trials that come our way, let’s try to look at them as a sign of God’s infinite love for us, and His desire to perfect our soul. And let us pray that no matter how challenging it is to do, we remain open to the wisdom of God, trusting that every day He is conforming us to Himself, and that as long as we continue to seek Him, He will never stop seeking us.

    Even if we’re “old folks.”

    —

  • Beyond Barney’s Badge

    Beyond Barney’s Badge

    Feast of the Chair of St. Peter, Apostle

    1 Peter 5:1-4; Psalm 23:1-3a, 4, 5, 6; Matthew 16:13-19

    For years, my favorite TV show was Andy Griffith, and my favorite character was Barney Fife, the small, clumsy deputy whose courage – despite his fear – came shining through in one episode when he was confronted by two burly lawbreakers. Trembling, Barney said to them, “See this badge? It means I’m sworn to uphold the law. That’s what I intend to do, and you fellas better respect that… You’re both a lot bigger than I am, but this badge represents a lot of people, and they’re a lot bigger than either of you. Now are you going to get movin’?” In that moment, Barney’s small stature was overcome by the power of what he carried: A badge symbolizing a far greater authority than his own.

    Of course, when we think of authority in the Church, we don’t think of a badge but a chair; specifically, the chair of St. Peter, which we remember today. Our Scripture passages help us do that in a couple of ways.

    First, the letter of Peter tells us that Church leadership is pastoral; leaders are shepherds who tend, not tyrants who bully. What’s more, both the flock and the authority to tend it belong to Christ, not to his appointed shepherd. Such pastoral leadership, like Barney’s badge, represents something much larger than itself. We see that in Matthew 16: When Jesus declared Peter the rock on which his Church would be built and entrusted to him the keys of the kingdom, Peter – though an ordinary man – took on a role greatly magnified by the divine power invested in him by Christ.

    Psalm 23 is, therefore, a great reassurance. Again, think of Barney’s badge: As that reassured those around him that he wasn’t acting alone but on behalf of a greater power, so the authority given to the Church shepherds assures us that ultimately the Lord is our Shepherd. How could we want for anything, knowing that we are always under the protection and care of the Good Shepherd, working in and through the leaders He has appointed?

    Finally, this Feast prompts us to think about leadership and courage in our own lives. Why? Because Christ has “deputized” us through our baptism to proclaim the gospel. Where do our strength and courage come from? Our abilities? Our size? No; they come from the authority and grace God bestows upon us. Like deputy Barney Fife who, despite his fears, held his ground and did his duty, each of us is called to hold fast to our faith; to lead, to serve, and to be beacons of God’s love, always under the care and authority of the Good Shepherd who guides and backs us every step of the way.

    So, let us embrace the badge Christ has given us, whether we are leaders in our community or quiet witnesses to His love, and trust that His authority, like Peter’s keys, opens the door to new beginnings and eternal hope. May we be emboldened to act with the courage of deputy Barney Fife, knowing that we are cared for, and backed by, a power infinitely greater than ourselves.

    —

  • Embracing God’s Promise: The Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

    Embracing God’s Promise: The Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

    Genesis 1:20—2:4a

    As you heard, the reading from Genesis ended with the seventh day. Did you notice that, unlike the first six days, the author didn’t say, “Evening came and morning followed – the seventh day”? That’s his way of telling us that this day is different; it symbolizes a relationship with God that was never meant to end, when Heaven is united to Earth in perfect unity and peace. As we all know, it didn’t take long for sin to disrupt that union. Still, as God shows throughout the rest of the Bible, He is always willing to offer us healing and restore that peace.

    One way God continues to do that is through the Blessed Mother. We remember particularly today her appearances in France in1858, near the small town of Lourdes. Many who have visited there have experienced God’s healing power through her intercession. Not only that, Mary’s message of trust, compassion, and renewal is a wonderful reminder that God’s mercy is always available, that He’s always calling us into a more and more sacred union with Him – like that of the seventh day.

    Who doesn’t long for that kind of peace? What joy, what happiness! It may seem like a dream, especially to many of us, who find life burdensome and full of struggles. While it’s easy to get discouraged, remember something Mary said to Bernadette at Lourdes: “I cannot promise you happiness in this life; only in the next.” I think from that we can take at least two things:

    First, while we cannot run away from the problems and struggles in this life, we do have this life. Every day, every breath, is a gift of God to us. Why not set aside a few extra moments to thank Him for life, for the privilege of waking up, being able to be here, and most of all for the gift of His Only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ? And, as we receive Christ, thank him for keeping the promise he made to the Eleven: I am with you always, until the end of the age (Matthew 28:20). He is always with us, always at work in our lives. Those few quiet, thankful moments never go unrewarded, and mean the most when coming from the hearts of those who suffer; God always finds ways to restore in us a measure of peace, like the healing water of Lourdes.

    Second, Our Lady reminded Bernadette about happiness in the life to come. Healing and rest are not only possible, they’re God’s promise to us! So, even when peace eludes us and life feels out of control, try to do what Mary did: Trust in God’s perfect plan and remember that He is in control. Our strength and comfort come from not from anything we can do, but from knowing that our eternal rest is secure in His love and that, if we unite our will to His and Our Lady has done, then, like her, we will one day be with God and know the unity and peace that only He can give.

    May the intercession of Our Lady of Lourdes guide us toward daily moments of rest and healing, helping us rediscover that perfect union of the seventh day – a union where every day holds the bright promise of God’s eternal, loving rest.

    —

  • Vulnerability: The Path to True Love

    Vulnerability: The Path to True Love

    Saturday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 13:15-17, 20-21; Psalm 23:1-6; Mark 6:30-34

    When I was a kid, my cousin and I debated many important things, like whose comic book superhero was better. I said Spiderman, he said Superman. When I asked him why Superman was better, he said, “Simple. He’s invulnerable. Spiderman isn’t.” I had to look up ‘invulnerable.’ Turns out it means Superman is immune or highly resistant to physical damage, injury or disease and illness. In other words, he’s almost impossible to hurt.

    Of course, in real life things are different. We all know, especially as we age, that the human body is quite vulnerable. So is the human heart; certainly parents, children, and spouses feel in their lives that connection between love and suffering. Indeed, some people are afraid to love others for just that reason; they don’t want to be hurt.

    But I don’t think it can be any other way. Why? Because, to be genuine, love requires vulnerability. We see that even with the first step: trust. Psalm 23 reminds us that God is our Shepherd and calls us to trust Him. With what? Our entire self! Placing ourselves wholly in His care requires total openness and surrender – in other words, being vulnerable. The psalmist beautifully expresses this trust when he says, Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for you are at my side (Psalm 23:4). Such trust isn’t about relying on our own strength, but surrendering to the guidance of the Good Shepherd.

    Then in Mark 6:30-34, Jesus shows us the payoff for that. When he saw the people’s hunger – not just for food, but for guidance and meaning – their vulnerability moved Him with pity. This is love in its purest form, empathetic and totally self-giving. Christ can only love totally, so he doesn’t shy away from their neediness, but embraces and fills it. This is what happens when we let go of control and allow ourselves to show Him that we are in need.

    We see this in the life of St. Josephine Bakhita. Torn from her home as a child, subjected to cruelty, and stripped of control, she had no choice but to be vulnerable. However, when she encountered Christ, she found that vulnerability isn’t just a condition of suffering, but also the gateway to love. She learned to trust in God’s love, not to hide her wounds, physical or emotional, but to give them to him, and allow him lead her to peace and healing. Her decision to forgive those who hurt her was an act of profound love, requiring the courage to let go of resentment and trust in God’s justice.

    Just as in human relationships, where love requires the risk of being hurt, our relationship with God requires us to move beyond fear and trust in His guidance. When we let down our guard and allow Him to be our Shepherd, we experience a love that is not only protective but also transformative. In so doing, we mirror Christ Himself, who made Himself vulnerable for our sake; taking on human suffering, loving to the death, and ultimately revealing that true love is not about self-preservation, but about self-giving. That is the irony of love: Only by giving ourselves away do we ever really find ourselves.

    —

  • Nourishing the Heart

    Nourishing the Heart

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 10:11-18; Mark 4:1-20

    A man who lives not far away from me has made it clear that he really loves his lawn. It seems like every time I pass by, he’s out working on it. The effort shows; his lawn is the nicest I’ve seen. As for mine, I don’t do half what he does, and that shows, too. If you just pass by it, it may look fine, but trust me – if you stop and take a closer look, you’ll see way too many weeds lurking in the soil.

    In the gospel, Jesus has made it clear that he’s also concerned about soil, but of a very different kind: the soil of our hearts. He certainly made the conditions ripe for growth, as the Author of Hebrews told us when he said, For by one offering he has made perfect forever those who are being consecrated (10:14). And not only that, God has planted the Word in our hearts (10:16). So, the issue Christ wants us to consider is, what have we done with that soil? Is it rich, soft, and full of growth like my neighbor’s, or is it more like mine – looking OK from a distance but, on closer inspection, full of weeds and hard patches where little grows? I have to ask myself:

    • Do I spend too much time on work, social media, or other entertainment? If so, then some “fasting” is called for; I need to stop the overwork, cut back the hours on the internet and TV, and use that time to deepen my relationship with God, my family, friends, and those who need my time and attention.
    • Do I worry about money, relationships, or success, rather than entrusting myself to God? If so, then I need to replace that worry with prayer, asking God to give me the grace to remove distractions from my heart, that I may bear better fruit.
    • Speaking of fruit, what about the fruits of the Spirit? Looking at myself over these past months, have I become more loving, patient, kind, etc. (the fruits listed in Galatians 5:22-23)? If not, what sins are hindering their growth or hardening my heart? Nothing softens that soil like a good examination of conscience.
    • If I resist that kind of examination, I have to ask myself whether I really trust in Christ’s saving work on the cross, as we heard in Hebrews, or if I rely more on my own strength and understanding. The antidotes to such pride are humility and fortitude; humility, that I accept whatever correction and guidance I’m given from Scripture, Church teachings, or spiritual mentors, and fortitude, that I may put it into practice.

    Being the good soil our Lord wants is hard and sometimes painful work. Bad habits or ways of thinking that have formed over many years are like hardened soil that must be dug into, broken up, and turned over. Such transformation will not happen in a day or without His grace. But if we ask, and commit to working at it diligently, Christ will give us the grace needed to soften our heart, remove the weeds of sin, and nourish the seeds of faith. Only in this way can we be the soil that bears fruit for the Kingdom of God thirty and sixty and a hundredfold (Mark 4:20).

    —

  • A Divine Prescription for Healing

    A Divine Prescription for Healing

    Saturday of the 1st Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 2:13-17

    When we’re sick and have to see the doctor, we have a pretty good idea what’s going to happen: We’ll give an account of our symptoms, get a physical exam, then treatment, which means surgery if necessary. It’s been that way probably for as long as there’s been medicine, so it’s interesting how the Author of the Letter to the Hebrews goes in reverse order: First comes the surgery with the two-edged sword, then the exam, then we render an account (Hebrews 4:12).

    Why? I think he’s trying to say that having Jesus minister to our sinfulness is completely unlike any other “doctor-patient” relationship because, unlike other doctors, he already knows everything about us, and his diagnosis and treatment are perfect. So the question really is, are we going to be a good patient and listen to him, accept his diagnosis, and do what’s necessary to be healed?

    If we need any reminders about what’s necessary, Jesus has made at least three things clear in this week’s gospel stories from Mark.

    First, we must show him our faith. We won’t be healed without it. It can be our own faith, as with the leper, or we can rely in part on the faith of those around us, as Simon’s mother-in-law, the demoniac, or the paralytic did. We can show our faith immediately, as Levi and the other Apostles did, or we can be more tentative; either way, we’re going to be tested and must pray for the perseverance to keep going. That’s what happened to the Apostles; they frequently struggled to understand much of what Jesus said and did, but, except for Judas, none of them gave up. That’s what Jesus wants us to do, too.

    Second, remember the medicine of mercy. We know how good it feels, and how healing it can be to forgive those who have hurt us, or to ask forgiveness of those we have hurt. In addition, there is the mercy of reaching out to other people who are hurting or in need. Recall in the gospel today the mercy of our Lord, who simply shared a meal with tax-collectors and sinners – people the Pharisees dismissed. Those who reach out in this way in imitation of Christ, who sympathizes with our weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15), are what Fr. Henri Nouwen called “wounded healers” – people who, recalling their own feelings of inadequacy, anger, sadness, grief, or loneliness, reach out in empathy to care for and bring a measure of healing to others who struggle with those same feelings. In so doing, wounded healers help heal themselves.


    Third, we must be willing to endure the pain of healing. Many of us have gone through physical therapy, so we know that pain is often a part of healing. But we also know this pain is different from the pain of illness, for it comes from strengthening areas that need to be exercised so we can be whole again. It’s the same in the spiritual life. For Apostles such as Levi, it may have been the pain of poverty, of leaving everything behind to follow Christ; for the Pharisees, the pain of humility, of realizing that the people they thought beneath them are loved by God as much as they are; and for the tax-collectors and sinners, the pain of justice, of reforming their lives and becoming the righteous people they were called to be. For us, it depends on the symptoms, but whatever they are, the Divine Physician has the remedy. Let us pray to have and show the faith by which he heals us, the humility to ask for and accept his healing, and the courage to persevere until the end.

    —

  • Risking Everything

    Risking Everything

    Memorial of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton

    John 1:35-42

    Today’s gospel is the same one chosen to formally welcome those who wish to become full members of the Church, or seek a deeper understanding of it. We can see why; two disciples follow Christ, spend time with him, and are so affected by that encounter that they in turn become evangelizers and bring people to Christ. It’s also the perfect gospel to consider our saint of the day, Elizabeth Ann Seton; her life as an American, a woman, and a Catholic, shines a light on this story that helps us better understand the depth and complexity of the call of Christ, its cost, and its rewards.

    Born in New York City in 1774 into a wealthy Episcopalian family, Elizabeth was intelligent, devout, and beautiful; a prize for any young man of her time. In 1793, she wed a handsome young businessman, William Magee Seton, and in nine years was the mother of 5 children. Although she also had to care for William’s siblings, whose parents had both died, Elizabeth was a busy but happy homemaker.

    Unfortunately, disaster soon struck. William’s business began to fail, and, even worse, so did his health. Hoping warmer weather would help his tuberculosis, the Setons and their eldest daughter sailed to Northern Italy to stay with William’s business friends, the Filicchi family. This didn’t work. William died in December of 1803, leaving Elizabeth a widow with 5 young children and a failed business.

    This would hardly be the time we’d expect Christ to turn and say, “Come, and you will see,” but that’s exactly what happened. While caring for Elizabeth and her daughter, the Filicchis went about their lives, which included Catholicism. They never pressured Elizabeth, but did invite her to join them. Having been warned earlier about the dangers of the “smells and bells of Catholicism” by her spiritual director, Elizabeth observed guardedly at first. However, as time passed and she began to see the rhythm of devout Catholic life – including daily Mass, Eucharistic Adoration, and devotion to the Blessed Mother – she felt Christ calling her in a way she never had before. Coming across a copy of the Memorare, she was so moved by it that it became one of her favorite prayers. Finally, watching a procession on Corpus Christi, Elizabeth found herself on her knees with the Catholics as the Eucharist passed by. In her mind, she heard an Anglican pastor snickering: ‘Elizabeth, these silly peasants believe that piece of bread is really and truly Jesus Christ.’ Deep inside, she replied, ‘So do I.’

    When she returned to America, she was Anglican on the outside, but Catholic on the inside. Knowing it would cost her dearly to convert, she struggled with the decision, but finally, two years later, became a Catholic, taking Mary as her Confirmation name in honor of the Blessed Mother.

    Elizabeth was right; conversion made a hard life even harder. Her family and William’s shunned her, and the boarding house she had opened was lost when people found out she was Catholic. But, filled with the zeal those first disciples felt after staying with Christ, nothing could stop her. She moved her family to the one Catholic Diocese in the country, Baltimore, and opened a school for girls. Soon, Catholic women from around the country joined her. Over time, they formed a convent and Elizabeth founded the Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph, the first female religious order in America. Their mission was to teach girls, especially those who could not afford an education. Elizabeth was named first superior and given the title “Mother.” In 1813, she and 18 other sisters took vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and service to the poor and in 1814, accepted their first mission, an orphanage in Philadelphia. By 1817, the sisters were working in New York.

    Sadly, even this success was tinged with sorrow. Two of Mother Seton’s daughters died from tuberculosis, and a short time later, Mother herself suffered from ill health. She died January 4, 1821, just 46 years old. Nevertheless, her legacy lives on. Elizabeth Ann Seton was beatified in 1959 and canonized in 1975, the first native-born American saint. Not only that, she is patron saint of Catholic schools, educators, teachers, people who have lost parents, people who have lost children, people who have been rejected for their faith, people with in-law problems, and all who travel at sea.

    The life of Mother Seton teaches us that it isn’t what happens to us but our response that matters. It’s easy to have faith when things are going well, but what about when they aren’t? Didn’t Elizabeth wonder where God was when her husband died, his business failed, her family shunned her, the boarding house closed, and her children died? Perhaps. Still, look how she responded. She may have gotten down, but she didn’t stay down; she got up, got busy, and found ways to serve. It is the same for us. When Christ calls us to come and see, he makes no guarantee that the road will be easy and there will be no suffering. Rather, he asks us to follow him whatever the road; not to run from suffering but to walk through it with him; to risk everything for love of Him. It is a tall order, but as St. Elizabeth Ann Seton showed so well, and as St. Teresa of Avila reminded us, those who risk everything for love of God will find that they have both lost everything and gained everything.

    St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, pray for us.

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