IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
I grew up in a rural area where most everyone was either a first or second-generation immigrant. Most of us were just above the poverty line, struggling economically and struggling to speak English properly. We were also struggling to access higher education, both because a lot of my peers had to end their schooling after the eighth grade to help support the family and because the idea of university education was not yet part of most families’ ethos.

In our community there was one family for which this wasn’t true. They were comfortable economically and a number of them had gone on to higher education and were now professionals in different fields. They were a privileged family.

But they wore it well. There was no snobbishness, flaunting or superiority complex. The opposite. They used their gifts to try to help the community. One of their sons became a teacher and taught in one of the local schools, and for a number of years the family set up a curling rink every winter for the community. They were both admired and respected.

One day one of their sons was sitting with a group of young men who were sharing a beer, sharing stories and enjoying some healthy banter, when the son of this much respected family made a blatantly racist remark. There was an awkward silence. Then one of men, in a gentle voice, said this to him: “You know, it surprises me that you would say something like that. Your family is so classy. We all look up to you. This doesn’t sound like you.”

The man’s reaction was immediate and contrite: “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I say things like that. That was stupid.”

I can imagine a very different reaction had he been challenged with hard words like: “You’re a racist! How can you say something like that!”

When we challenge each other in harsh words, the effect often serves to make us more defensive and freeze us in our view. We are being scolded, rebuked, shamed, and that can work just as easily to re-entrench as to persuade. It also serves to harden the space between us rather than invite us to what’s best and highest in ourselves.

We need to invite and challenge each other to what’s best and higher inside us.
And what is best and higher inside us?

Some of our early Christian writers (the Church Fathers) suggested that each of us has a double personality and heart. In each of us, they submit, there is a big, generous, noble, altruistic heart. But, inside each of us too, there is a wounded, petty and selfish heart; and at any given time, we can be operating out of one heart or the other. We can be big-hearted and we can be petty, and this can change from one hour to the next depending on what’s meeting us in life.

Here’s an example: Imagine you wake up some morning feeling altruistic and noble of heart. At that moment, you have the mind and heart of Jesus. In that holy frame of mind, you go to work and there someone is cold and sarcastic with you. In one minute, everything can switch; you no longer have the mind and heart of Jesus, nor the mind and heart of what’s best in you. The wounded petty heart in you trumps the big heart, warmth and understanding leave you, and you now feel cold and bitter.

Now imagine this in reverse: You wake up some morning feeling paranoid, misunderstood, and nursing old wounds. At that moment you don’t have the mind and heart of Jesus, nor are you attuned to what’s better and higher in your own mind and heart. You go to work in that unholy state and there, unexpectedly, some co-worker greets you warmly and shares how much she appreciates your work and your friendship. In one minute, the noble mind in you trumps the petty mind and all that’s best and generous in you rises to the surface and you want to be a better person. You flip from bitterness to graciousness in one minute.

We live in a polarized world today where so many issues bitterly divide us and invite us not to what’s noble and best in us, but rather to what’s wounded, paranoid, and defensive. We need a new tone in our discourse, one of invitation and respect, one that recognizes what’s noble and big-hearted in the other and then challenges the other to own what’s best in him or her.

Instead of name-calling and assaulting each other with slogans, we need to say to each other: “You know, it surprises me that you would say something like that. You’re so classy! We all look up to you. This doesn’t sound like you.”

That kind of invitation can help thaw some of the coldness that for all kinds of reasons perennially besets the human heart.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a professor of spirituality at Oblate School of Theology and award-winning author.)

Things Old And New
By Ruth Powers
Most Catholics are familiar with St. Francis of Assisi and brown-habited friars who belong to the order founded by him 800 years ago. In honor of the anniversary of the Transitus (death) of St. Francis in 1226, this year has been designated as the Franciscan Jubilee Year by our Holy Father, Pope Leo XIV. To recognize the Jubilee Year, I want to write about some aspects of the Franciscan family that may not be well known.

The Franciscan family consists of three orders. The First Order, founded by Francis, is for men – the Friars Minor and their offshoots: the Conventual Franciscans, the Observants, and the Capuchins. The Second Order is for women and was founded by Francis together with St. Clare. They were known originally as the Poor Ladies but came to be known as the Poor Clares. This is a cloistered order that is still in existence today. The final branch of the Franciscan family tree is the Third Orders, Secular and Regular.

It is the Secular Franciscans that I will discuss today. The Secular Franciscan Order (OFS) is formed by Catholic men and women who seek to observe the Gospel by following the example of St. Francis of Assisi. It is not like other Third Orders in that it is not under the direct control of any of the other branches of the Franciscan Family. The OFS is governed by the universal law of the Church and by its own Rule, Constitutions, Ritual, and Statutes. The interpretation of the Rule and of the Constitutions is done by the Holy See directly.

The specifics of the early foundation of the order are somewhat vague, but OFS lore speaks of a married couple from the town of Poggibonzi named Luchesi and Buonadonna Modestini who had heard Francis preach and had their lives transformed around 1213. Rather than separating so that each one could enter religious life, they felt called to live out their new way of life together. Francis was moved by the Holy Spirit to write a Rule for them that would allow them to do this, and so began the Brothers and Sisters of Penance, the original name of the OFS.

This way of life was quickly embraced by married couples and single people who did not feel called to monastic life, and the order grew rapidly, receiving papal approval in 1221. The order was, and still is, open to male and female Catholic laity and clergy who are not already members of another religious order. Secular Franciscans do not take public vows as do religious who live in community. They make a public profession of promises and are consecrated to a way of life.

The motto of the Secular Franciscans is “From Gospel to Life and Life to Gospel.” This is a calling to live the Gospel of Jesus according to the model of St. Francis of Assisi to the degree possible in one’s circumstances and state of life. It is a call to live in the love of God and in communion with Christ, poor and crucified. It recognizes our brotherhood and sisterhood with all people and all creation. It calls for a life of prayer (liturgical, personal, communal) and continued conversion. It also stresses participating in the life and ministry of the Church and living as instruments of peace. In addition, the charism of the OFS is to be lived in fraternity with other members. This does not mean communal living, but rather meeting together for prayer, study and support on a regular basis.

Full disclosure: I am a Secular Franciscan. I will celebrate the 10th anniversary of my profession in September. There is only one fraternity in the Diocese of Jackson. It is in Greenwood. There are others of us scattered around the state who travel to Fraternities in other dioceses to participate (Biloxi, Baton Rouge, Mobile). Anyone who would like more information on the Secular Franciscan Order can go to secularfranciscanusa.org.

(Ruth Powers is the program coordinator for the Basilica of St. Mary in Natchez.)

Guest Column
By Sister Constance Veit, lsp
St. Jeanne Jugan is often portrayed looking quite solemn, but she was actually very joyful. She was known to exclaim, “What happiness to be a Little Sister of the Poor!” and to counsel the young Little Sisters that “making the elderly happy is what counts.”

The idea of happiness features prominently in our national conversation as we celebrate the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Hopefully, we have not forgotten these key words of our founding document: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

As Little Sisters at the service of the elderly, we have daily experience of the right to life. In the past decade, we’ve also had extensive experience with the right to religious liberty. But what of the pursuit of happiness?

Today, many people define happiness as a good feeling, an experience of worldly pleasure or enjoyment. But Thomas Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of Independence, meant more than this. Numerous authors assert that as someone educated in ancient philosophy, Jefferson was referring to the Greek idea of eudaimonia, a state of flourishing through good character, the practice of virtue and active participation in civic life.

I recently saw an illustration of the Pursuit of Happiness that portrayed a rather comical figure chasing smiley faces with a butterfly net. This didn’t really do it for me. I see it more as an upward climb, made in the company of others, where the strong extend a hand to lift up the weak or as a circle of individuals creating a work of art together.

In 1787 Thomas Jefferson wrote to his daughter, giving her advice on how to find meaning in life. He encouraged her to develop “those principles of virtue and goodness which will make you valuable to others and happy in yourselves, acquiring those talents and that degree of science which will guard you at all times against ennui, the most dangerous poison of life. A mind always employed is always happy. This is the true secret, the grand recipe for felicity.”

We have recently received Pope Leo XIV’s first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas (Magnificent Humanity). It will take months to plumb the depths of the Holy Father’s thought but even a superficial reading of the encyclical highlights the grandeur of humanity and the truth that human flourishing is impossible without fraternity. “History can … change when individuals truly take the dignity of everyone seriously,” Leo wrote, citing the American civil rights movement and the figure of Martin Luther King, Jr.

The pope described “‘martyrs of everyday life’ who care for, educate, accompany and comfort without fanfare, such as parents, nurses, doctors, volunteers and those who remain alongside an elderly person or an outcast.”

“For centuries, the Christian tradition has maintained that human beings are not confined by the boundaries of their own nature; rather, they are called to self-transcendence, not through an escape from reality or a contempt for their limitations, but through their fulfillment in love,” the pope wrote.

“We become fully human when we become more than human,” he wrote. “What saves humanity is not enhanced self-sufficiency but a relationship that liberates, a communion that transforms … A person’s future is not calculable but depends on one’s freedom – elevated by the inexhaustible grace of God – and on the relationships cultivated.”

Our Founding Fathers would have recognized their ideas concerning the “Pursuit of Happiness” in these passages of Pope Leo calling us to improve society by supporting the lives of others.

As we celebrate our Nation’s 250th anniversary, may we honor the unalienable Rights to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness by accompanying and remaining alongside the very young, the elderly, the stranger and the most vulnerable among us.

(Sister Constance Veit is the communications director for the Little Sisters of the Poor in the United States and an occupational therapist.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
One of the saints who speaks to me is Therese of Lisieux, commonly known as the Little Flower. This wasn’t love at first sight. For years I was put off and left cold and uninterested by how her person and her image have become encrusted in an overly saccharine piety. She was too sweet, too pious. Not a saint for me! That changed, thanks to a friend who told me, “Don’t read books about her – read her!” I read her and found in her a soul friend.

Who is Therese of Lisieux? She was a Carmelite nun who died from tuberculous in 1897. She was only twenty-four years old when she died, and as a Carmelite nun hidden away in a convent in rural France, she died in anonymity, probably known by fewer than a hundred people. However, during the last two years of her life, as she lay dying from tuberculous, she kept several diaries. After her death, her Carmelite sisters sent her unpublished diaries to a few other convents, intending to let a small circle of religious women know of her death and a little about her life.

The rest is history. The manuscripts were leaked to a wider public and in less than ten years, printing presses were literally having trouble meeting the demand for her autobiography. Her little convent in Lisieux was receiving more than five hundred letters a day, and people from all over the world were beginning to come to Lisieux on pilgrimage. A hundred and thirty years later, little has changed. She remains extraordinarily popular.

Why? Why this perennial intrigue about Therese? Because there is something about her that touches the soul in a particularly empathic way. How so?

Therese had an anomalous background that produced an extraordinary character. Her life as a child was in many ways tragic. Her mother got sick at the time of Therese’s birth and was unable to care for her during the crucial first year of her life. She was cared for by a nurse and an aunt. As a one-year-old she was returned to her mother, but her mother was already terminally ill and when Therese was four, her mother died. Therese then chose her older sister, Pauline, to be her new mother. Five years later, Pauline entered the convent and as a nine-year-old Therese again lost a mother.

Shortly after this she took ill and almost died. This was triggered by a visit to Pauline who was then a Carmelite nun. Together with her three other sisters and her father, she had gone to visit Pauline in her convent. After Pauline had spent some time focused on her little sister, she naturally became preoccupied in adult conversation. Left out, in sheer frustration, little Therese stood right in front of her big sister and, shaking her dress, began to cry.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pauline. “You didn’t notice!” cried Therese, “I’m wearing the dress you made me!”

She then became disconsolate and on returning home took to bed and for some weeks; despite the best efforts of various doctors and every kind of cajoling by her family, hovered between life and death. Eventually she recovered. Such was the tragedy and oversensitivity of her childhood.

Yet, and this is the great anomaly, as a child, Therese was doted on and loved in a way that few children ever are. Her father, her sisters and her extended family considered her their little queen and she was cherished and made to feel extraordinarily precious and unique. Her sister Celine photographed her every move. Few children ever grow up as nurtured in love and affirmation as did Therese.

And her personality bore out the effects of both the tragedy and the love. On the one side, she could be heavy, dark, withdrawn, and otherworldly. She made easy friends with mortality, was a mystic of darkness, the austere adult, the little girl-woman, who, wounded early, grew up fast. But, on the other side, she always remained the magical child, Cinderella, who, because she was so loved and graced, developed a very robust self-esteem, a confidence and a capacity to love as few others ever have.

So loved as child, a part of her remained ever the little girl, the puella, the incarnation of childlikeness, innocence, and gaiety. Only a Therese of Lisieux could end all her letters with the phrase: I kiss you with my whole heart!

In a soul so formed lies her mystique, that is, her unique combination of depth, insight, and other worldliness, even as she desperately clings to the tiniest gifts from her family and every small token of earthly affection. Only a soul so formed could, at age twenty-two, have the complexity and wisdom to write a mystical and theological treatise that rivals that of great theological doctors, and only a soul so formed could be both a study in hyper-sensitivity and human resilience.

A saint so pathologically complex can be a soul friend to our own complex souls.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a professor of spirituality at Oblate School of Theology and award-winning author.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Father Anthony D. Andreassi
In this continuing series on the origins of Catholicism in the 50 states, the story now turns to the lower South and the states of Florida, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. What began as a fragile missionary presence with the Spanish and French would only gradually develop into a more established Church.
Catholic roots in Georgia reach back well before the English colonies, to the era of Spanish mission activity along the southeastern coast. 

Nearly two decades before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, Franciscan missionaries left Spain to evangelize and minister to the Indigenous peoples of the region. Living among the Guale along the Georgia coast, they preached the Gospel and celebrated the sacraments, while insisting on Christian norms of marriage in contrast to the practice of polygamy.
  
Their faithfulness brought them into conflict with local leaders, and in September 1597, five friars were killed, in part for upholding Church teaching against polygamy. Recognized now as the Georgia Martyrs, these brave missionaries are set for beatification on October 31 of this year, and their witness stands as the earliest chapter in the Catholic story of Georgia.

The creation of the Diocese of Charleston in 1820, encompassing the Carolinas and Georgia, underscored how limited Catholic life remained in the region. In Georgia, the first parish, Most Holy Trinity in Augusta, had been founded only a decade earlier.

Moving down the coast to Florida, the Catholic story begins earlier than anywhere else in what would become the United States. Spanish expeditions in the first half of the sixteenth century sought to establish colonies, but a lasting presence only came in 1565 with the founding of St. Augustine, the first permanent European settlement in what is now the United States.

There, the mission of Nombre de Dios was established with a secular priest as its first pastor. The missionary impulse quickly expanded, leading to the founding of the first Catholic hospital in 1598 and a Franciscan seminary in 1605. In 1606, Bishop Juan de las Cabezas de Altamirano of Cuba became the first bishop to set foot in territory that would one day be part of the United States.

As was true in most other places in the Americas, missionary life was often difficult in what would become the state of Florida. At times, Mass could not be celebrated for months due to the lack of bread or wine. Yet the work continued.  
A Franciscan missionary who arrived in 1595 labored among the coastal Timucua and produced a grammar and dictionary of their language, aiding the spread of the faith.

Over the centuries, as colonial control shifted, the Church in Florida was administered in various ways, often under bishops in Cuba and elsewhere, until 1870, when the Diocese of St. Augustine was established to encompass the entire state. Today, with its rapid growth in the twentieth century, Florida is home to seven dioceses serving a diverse Catholic population of over 1.9 million.

Moving west along the Gulf Coast, the Catholic story in Alabama began to take shape in the early eighteenth century, when much of the Mississippi Valley, including present-day Alabama, formed part of the French Empire.

The first parish was established in Mobile in 1703, with Father Henri Roulleaux de La Vente, a priest from the Diocese of Bayeux in France, serving as its first pastor after arriving by way of Canada.

In these early years, Mass and other sacraments were celebrated in the chapel of Fort Louis until a parish church was built outside the fortifications in 1708.

For much of the next century and a half, Catholic life remained largely confined to the Gulf Coast, with limited expansion inland. A more stable institutional footing came in 1829 with the establishment of the Diocese (today Archdiocese) of Mobile.

For much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Alabama remained overwhelmingly Protestant, and Catholic growth was slow. Parishes gradually spread inland, with foundations in Tuscaloosa in 1844 and Birmingham in 1872 marking that expansion. In recent decades, however, the rise of the Sun Belt and immigration from outside the United States have strengthened the Church’s presence, and today about 6.8 percent of Alabamians are Catholic.

Just to the west, Mississippi presents a closely related but distinct chapter in the Catholic story of the Gulf South. Catholic beginnings in Mississippi date to 1682, when French explorers descended the river to its mouth and claimed the region for France, accompanied by Father Zenobius Membré, an Augustinian Recollect, who celebrated what is likely the first recorded Mass in what would become the nation’s twentieth state.  

French settlement followed in 1699 at Old Biloxi, where priests ministered to the first European colonists. Missionary work quickly extended to Native peoples, where a chapel was built among the Houma, and Father Jacques Gravier performed what is likely the first recorded baptism in Mississippi.

In 1779, control of the region passed to Spain, and in 1788, a church dedicated to the Holy Savior was built in Natchez, on the site where St. Mary Basilica stands today. Despite this early foundation, Catholic life remained fragile. By the time Pope Gregory XVI established the Diocese of Natchez (today Jackson) in 1837, encompassing the entire state, there was not a single Catholic church or resident priest, and the first bishop named to the see declined the appointment.

Stability came only in 1841, when John Joseph Chanche of Baltimore accepted the role, becoming the first bishop to establish a lasting Catholic presence in Mississippi. 
Like neighboring Alabama, Mississippi has seen significant Catholic growth in recent decades, and today about 110,000 Catholics are served by the Dioceses of Jackson and Biloxi.

The Catholic story of the lower South reflects a long journey from mission to a mature presence. Early efforts by Spanish and French missionaries laid foundations that would only slowly develop into a stable Church. Today’s growing Catholic communities stand as a testament to that enduring, if often overlooked, history.

(Father Anthony D. Andreassi, a priest of the Brooklyn Oratory of St. Philip Neri, holds a doctorate in history from Georgetown University. His research and writing have focused on the American Catholic community. He is on the staff of the Oratory parishes of Assumption and St. Boniface in Brooklyn, New York.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
At breakneck speed, Kenyan runner Sabastian Sawe completed the London Marathon in 1:59:30, becoming the first person to finish the 26-mile trek in under two hours. Closely behind was Ethiopian runner Kejelcha, just 11 seconds later. That is traveling one mile in 4:33, 26 times! Seriously moving, those fellas put a new stamp on the word – traveling.

Birds travel, butterflies travel, glaciers travel and indeed people travel. I have a friend, soon to be 80, who wants us to do Route 66! Why not, you ask? Well, she lives far away and would have to travel a considerable distance before we could even begin. Anyway, Route 66, being a famous road with sites and motels, food and people, has welcomed travelers for years. A secular sort of pilgrimage. A good icon for that might be the original drawing of Winnie-the-Pooh (on sale for $12,000) tracking the Woozles all over the place. (He will be 95 this year. Oh my.)

There are lots of variations in travel, as you well know. For example, being caught in traffic – moving and not moving, i.e., stranded – long lines at the airport or even being stuck in a grocery line behind people with long questions or a new checker.

How many times have you been stuck? Your inner life feels empty, your home life is boring and you are going nowhere. Or, on the other hand, with some excitement, consider graduation, the NFL draft or entering a monastery! All these cause us to go from one place, one kind of life, into another that is only vaguely familiar. We learn the rules of the road – a Green Book of sorts – and begin to be transformed by our new way of life, at least if we stay long enough … or maybe we move on. Perhaps we will travel the road to St. James?

Historically, we know of those who traveled under duress – on the Trail of Tears or the long trek of slavery. People ripped from their former lives and forced into another, miles from home. Think too of the troubles of travel – bandits, wrecks and weather. Our journeys are not all that easy, even when we don’t seem in harm’s way.

When we read, we travel. When we pray, we travel. When we write, create art or music or when we imagine, we travel. What takes you from one place to another? Well, a truck, a cart, a horse or a car moves us forward, but many in our world today are traveling away from war and violence in tiny boats or struggling to walk on foot. If you have ever been near the border, say south of Tucson, you might have noticed something thrown away, hidden in bushes and trees – traveling clothes discarded, especially shoes, often those of small children. One must realize that the only way people are moving toward safety and some sort of economic or social improvement away from violence is by traveling on foot. I can’t even walk to the DG to get a bottle of milk. How far, you ask? Well, maybe 10 blocks or so … ugh.

Traveling is also a favorite advertisement for most new cars and uses the beauty of America on wide-open roads, or a flight to Paris, or that moon shot and back to entice us to move from the comfortable zones where we consider ourselves safe and in place, to explore the universe God has so generously created. In the Hebrew Bible we discover the long trek of the Israelites – 40 years of wandering in the desert, looking for a promised land. A journey that could have been traveled on foot in about 11 days took 40 years. There are plenty of Scriptural references to traveling, but my favorites are the flight into Egypt with the tiny Child, the walk to Emmaus and the care of the Good Shepherd who walks with us, leads us and brings us to safety.

There are also other kinds of traveling – disease, for example. We go one day from being quite well to having broken bones, a tumor or the flu. Indeed, one of the most pernicious diseases that causes us to travel from well-being into uncertainty is dementia. It is even called a disease of progression and is, no doubt, a difficult trip not only for the traveler, but for friends and family close by.

Finally, a woman named Melissa Lucio has been on death row – a horrid place to travel to – in Texas for 17 years and four years ago was to be executed. However, she received a stay after the trial judge recommended overturning her conviction and death sentence. There is a long travel from cell to death chamber … and indeed from guilty to innocent! However, here is the question: Why is she still there? She is in the hands of the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, and they will decide whether to accept the judge’s recommendation and overturn her wrongful conviction and death sentence. Why has it taken them four years, to date, to reach a favorable decision? Their traveling seems ever so slow …

As you plan your vacation, travel sports event or visit to Granny in Maine, remember our lives are one long walk to Emmaus, one pilgrim adventure after another toward our final place of welcome. We need to pay attention, however, to what St. Gregory the Great had to say about travelers: “Don’t be a foolish traveler, distracted by the pleasant meadows you are passing and forgetting where you are going.”

I had a novice mistress once who frequently said, “Be a constant and joyful companion on the journey.” Here is our opportunity, as we travel together with Jesus, to comfort and console, to be a source of cheer and joy and to be attentive to our odometer as it clocks up the miles.

Happy trails … blessings.

(sister alies therese is a canonical hermit who prays and writes.)

ORDINARY TIMES
By Lucia A. Silecchia
As April exploded into the exuberance of a long-awaited spring, many welcomed her arrival with great joy.

Truly, the glory of Easter, buds bursting from their hiding places, ever brighter evenings and the return of birds and butterflies are all great signs of good things to come. After what was, for much of the country, an extra-cold winter, the coming of spring seems particularly appreciated.
April also heralds the arrival of a new baseball season.

This occasion is neither a liturgical event nor a wonder of nature. It is fanatically observed by some, unnoticed by others, and a mystery to others. With post-season games lengthening the baseball season long into the fall, Opening Day seems to have arrived very quickly for some, while others lament that it has taken so long to arrive.

Yet, when a new season begins – for baseball or, indeed, for any other sport – there is a feeling like no other that also has something to teach about life.

There is a wonderful sense that anything is possible in the months ahead. As the season begins, no team has yet fallen behind. No players have yet been injured. The hope of being a World Series champion seems possible in a way that it does not after the season moves on and standings start to settle.

More importantly, the past does not seem to matter. The errors, missed chances and wasted opportunities of last season are left behind and injuries have had several months to heal. As someone who roots loyally for a team that consistently pulls defeat from the jaws of victory, the ability to put last season behind is a refreshing reset.

Perhaps there is something to be learned about life from America’s favorite pastime.

The willingness to start anew and to let go of the past is a challenge and a blessing that God gives us each day, indeed, each moment of our lives.

Like a baseball team rebounding from a bad year, we all have the chance to look forward to the future and not only to the past. Certainly, there is always much to learn from past mistakes and bad judgement. Certainly, there is much we can do to make tomorrow better than yesterday. But in the constant care of a loving God, we can, like the teams we root for, start anew – not merely once a year, but anytime.

Crowds of fans may not cheer when we succeed. Headlines will not proclaim our victories. Championship rings and celebratory parades will not be ours. Indeed, for many of us, the pasts we leave behind and the new beginnings we forge for the future may be known only to ourselves and to God.

And that is good. For we have a far better hope in a God who promises that “whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.” (2 Cor. 5:17) What better time than this Easter season to celebrate that all is new, that what is old has passed away and that the new has come!

To my favorite team, good luck!

To my sisters and brothers, may you be blessed with many new beginnings every day of your ordinary times.

(Lucia A. Silecchia is Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America’s Columbus School of Law. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)