From the hermitage
By sister alies therese

Lent can be a curious time, full of darkness or foreboding, scary or convicting. Other times we experience the coming of spring, the hopefulness of a world reborn, and of our own selves drawn out and creating anew.

I love the wisdom literature our canon has retained. The Book of Wisdom is clocked back to 100 BCE and though the actual author is unknown, he was likely a member of the Jewish community at Alexandria in Egypt. It is said that he “places his teachings on the lips of the wise king [Solomon] of Hebrew tradition in order to emphasize their value.” (Intro, page 729, Book of Wisdom, NAB, 1970) The author would be considered learned among the sages of post-exilic Judaism.

At the end of the Book of Sirach (132 BCE) we find the call to discover wisdom by prayer, persistent study, instruction, purification from sin, enlightenment and ardent desire. In 51:23-26 the author notes that “wisdom gives herself to those who seek her and for their labor God will reward them at the end.”

We also discover this: “How long will you be deprived of wisdom’s food; how long will you endure such bitter thirst? For she is close to those who seek her, and the one in earnest finds her … let your spirits rejoice in the mercy of God and not be ashamed to give God praise.” (Sirach 51:24, 26, 29)

The author of this book is likely who he says he is, Yeshua ben Eleazar ben Sira. This is one of the longest books in the Bible and ‘contains the most extensive portion of Israelite wisdom literature.’ (NJBC, page 496)

Further back in 300 BCE the Book of Ecclesiastes introduces the notion of the vanity of all things and asks questions about the purpose of life … has it any value?

“Merit does not yield happiness, for it is often tried by suffering. Riches and pleasures do not avail. Existence is monotonous, enjoyment fleeting and vain; darkness quickly follows. Life, then is an enigma beyond human ability to solve.” (Intro, page 711, the Book of Eccl, NAB). Qoheleth (Greek for the Hebrew Ecclesiastes) was a pen name for the author some thought might be Solomon. Again, to give great dignity and authority to the text. Thought to be a native of Jerusalem he studied the law, prophets and writings and became a teacher.

His text is a series of questions and not mandates, for he had studied and also experienced life and found they do not always jive. For example, he notices that the same things seem to happen to the wise and to the foolish, the faithful and the deceived. So, what’s the profit? They both die. Yet he sees something of the timelessness of all things and his poem with which you might be familiar … in chapter 3:1-8 “for everything thing there is a season …” is beautiful. Later in his text he poses this: “no one knows the future … who can tell what will come after?” (9:1-11:6)

I love studying these three books. They address basic human questions about life, death, knowledge, love and wisdom. Other challenges about life … am I just a waste of space? Can I do anything I want? Where do I learn (and how) to live and how to love? How am I deceived? Lent is a perfect time to explore something new, to enhance our relationship with our Creator, and to offer to others our treasure so they might grow as well.

Wisdom literature reads beautifully in so many places, poetic, flowing and drawing one into the graciousness of God’s heart. What does God want for us? I suspect some of Jesus’ formation as a boy and youth came from these invitations in Wisdom. You will be familiar with the little chapter on suffering in Wisdom 3:1-12 as central to our funeral celebration.

In the New Jerome Biblical Commentary, I found this:
“The first half of the book is divided … the Book of Eschatology, dealing with the problems of retribution for good and evil and the immortality Wisdom offers. The second describes Wisdom and her operations in the world and explains how she is to be found … the exhortation to justice, which the rest of the book will reinforce: live a virtuous life, and trust in God because these qualities make possible union with God and with Wisdom.” (page 513, Commentary NJBC)

As Lent progresses discover whether and how you apply the practical deeds of wisdom in your life:
“Her I loved and sought from my youth; she adds to nobility the splendor of companionship with God; even the Lord loved her … if one loves justice the fruits of her works are virtues; for she teaches moderation and prudence, justice and fortitude, and nothing in life is more useful for us than these. So I determined to take her to live with me, knowing she would be my counselor while all was well, and my comfort in care and grief.” (Wisdom 8:2-3, 7, 9)

Easter Blessings.

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)

FOR THE JOURNEY
By Effie Caldarola CNS

The season of Lent begins just as we have watched in horror the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As the world watches evil unleashed upon the forces of democracy in a European country, it seems somehow fitting that Christians move into a penitential season.

Unlikely heroes are emerging. News reports show a white-haired woman in her 60s, nails well-manicured and lacquered, practicing firing a large rifle to help defend her country. The president of Ukraine, a former comedian, told the U.S. when they offered to evacuate him, “I need ammunition, not a ride.”

As I write this, Volodymyr Zelenskyy is still alive and fighting. Pray to God, when you read this, he will still be the president. But we know the Russians have him and his democratic government in their sites.

How does this affect our Lenten journey, and how, perhaps, can our Lenten journey affect the world’s brokenness?
To a Christian, these questions can never be separated. We’ve been called to bring the kingdom of God, never to hide away solely in our own world of religiosity and private devotion.

In the February days leading up to Lent, many of the daily readings were from the Letter of James. Many of the readings struck me as important and bold, and I decided to read more of James.

The letter, only five chapters, is full of practical advice: We should be quick to listen and slow to speak, James says. That in itself would be a worthwhile Lenten endeavor.

He impresses on us that a faith not expressed in good works is no faith at all. And he challenges us to think about class distinctions: James asks us to imagine “if a man with gold rings on his fingers and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and a poor person in shabby clothes comes in.” We might envision our own Sunday Mass congregation.

How are the two treated, James asks. Such a simple question, and yet one that we all should ask ourselves. Who is given the best seat at table, in our society, in our own lives? James’ letter is very hard on the rich.

We make plans for our lives, James says, but much like the Ukrainians who went on about their lives calmly in the days before the invasion, we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. “You,” James writes, “are a puff of smoke that appears briefly and then disappears.”

This may be a somber thought, but each of us goes the way of all flesh, and Lent offers us the opportunity to contemplate what we are doing with this brief but precious time we have been given.

In his famous poem, “As Kingfishers Catch Fire,” the Jesuit priest Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “What I do is me: for that I came.”

Our actions prove who we are, more than any fine statements or boasts, more than our degrees, our accomplishments, our riches.

Who are we? We ask Jesus to help us answer this question during Lent. Why did we come?

I think of President Zelenskyy, a young man in his 40s, a performer in his early life. Now, he has become the focal point of resistance to an evil assault affecting millions of people in his country, and perhaps beyond. This, perhaps, is the moment for which he came.

Meanwhile, Jesus invites us to draw nearer. By deepening our prayer, extending our charity, perhaps to Catholic Relief Services’ humanitarian efforts in Ukraine, and strengthening ourselves with penance, perhaps we can better answer the question Jesus asks: Why did you come?

(Effie Caldarola writes for the Catholic News Service.)

STEWARDSHIP PATHS
By Julia Williams

JACKSON – Can you imagine fasting for 40 days and 40 nights? For many of us, fasting on Ash Wednesday and every Friday during Lent is already a stretch.

Fasting is an act of love – sacrificial love given freely to Our Father. Through sacrifice, we grow closer in our relationship to God, who is the real source of life and nourishment. In Sacred Scripture, the number “40” signifies new life, new growth, a transformation or a change from one great task to another great task. Lent bears a particular relationship to the 40 days Christ spent fasting in the desert before entering his public ministry.

Fasting and Stewardship
Consider leveraging the season of Lent to reform your heart as faithful Stewards of God. What ritual, habit, or practice (tied to fasting) might help you be a better steward of your time and talents while also pointing your heart towards Christ in worship?

Be a Good Steward this Lenten Season
As Christian stewards, we will greet Lent with the best of intentions, but sometimes, we reach Easter disappointed in our own efforts. Jesus reminds us “not to be anxious” with our lives … “each day has enough trouble of its own.” This Lent, simply give thought and prayer to what will most help you draw closer to Jesus. Write your intentions down and review them often. Below are some thoughtful ideas.

• Prayer, fasting and almsgiving are the pillars of Lent. Try to do one thing in each of these categories.
• Keep a prayer journal. Reflect on a passage from scripture, then write down your thoughts and feelings.
• Prepare your home with Lenten reminders. If you have no crucifix in your living areas, place one there.
• Take your family to the Stations of the Cross at least once.
• Receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation and encourage your family to do so.
• Make it a point to participate in the beautiful Triduum liturgies of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and even the Easter Vigil.
• Keep your eyes on Jesus. Coming closer to him through his passion and resurrection is our goal.
Excerpts: International Catholic Stewardship Council, Catholic Stewardship, February 2021, e-Bulletin.

The Office of Stewardship and Development offers a monthly digital newsletter called Stewardship PATHS. This newsletter includes short seasonal articles, prayers and reflections on the weekly Sunday readings each month. Beautiful thought provoking historic artwork is published in each issue to coincides with the monthly themes.
To subscribe to this eNewsletter, scan the QR code below or email stewardship@jacksondiocese.org.

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI

The early years of my adulthood and priesthood were spent teaching theology at Newman Theological College in Edmonton, Canada. I was young, full of energy, loved teaching, and was discovering the joys of ministry. For the most part, these were good years.

However, they weren’t always easy. Restlessness and inner chaos find us all. The demands of ministry, the tensions inside community, the obsessions I’m forever prone to, the not-infrequent departure of cherished friends from the community, and the constant movement of people through my life, occasionally left me in emotional chaos, gasping for oxygen, struggling to sleep, wondering how I was going to still my soul again.

But, I had a little formula to help handle this. Whenever the chaos got bad, I would get into my car and drive four hours to our family farm just across the border in Saskatchewan. My family still lived in the house I’d grown up in and I was able to eat at the same table I’d eaten at as a child, sleep in the same bed I’d slept in as a boy and walk the same ground I’d walked while growing up. Usually, it didn’t take long for home to do its work. I’d only need a meal, or an overnight stay and the chaos and heartache would subside; I’d begin to feel steady again.

Coming home didn’t cure the heartache but it gave the heart the care it needed. Somehow home always worked.

Today, the same kind of emotional chaos and heartache can still unsettle me on occasion and leave me unsure of who I am, of the choices I’ve made in life, and of who and what to trust. However, I cannot drive to my childhood home anymore and need to find the steadying that going home once gave me in new ways. It isn’t always apparent where to find this, even amidst a good community, a still supportive family, loving friends, and a wonderful job. Home can be elusive on a restless night. What one needs to steady the heart isn’t always easy to access. Once you’ve left home, sometimes it’s hard to find your way back there again.

So, what do I do now when I need to go home and retouch my roots to steady myself? Sometimes a trusted friend is the answer; sometimes it’s a call to a family member; sometimes it’s a family that has become family to me, sometimes it’s a place in prayer or in nature, sometimes it’s immersing myself in work, and sometimes I can’t find it at all and have to live with the chaos until, like a bad storm, it blows over.

Through the years, I’ve discovered that a special book can take me home in the same way as driving there once did. Different people find home in different places. One of the books that does this for me, almost without fail, is The Story of a Soul by Therese of Lisieux. Not surprising, it’s the story of a recessive journey, the story of Therese’s own effort at recapturing what her house, home, and family once gave her. But the recessive journey in itself is not what gives this book (which I highly recommend for anyone whose heart is aching in way that unsettles the soul) such a special power. Many autobiographies unsettle more than they settle. This one soothes your soul.

However, remembering alone doesn’t necessarily care for the heart and sometimes our memories of home and childhood carry more pathology and pain than steadying and healing. Not everyone’s home was safe and nurturing. Tragically, one’s initial home can also be the place where our trust and steadiness are irrevocably broken, as is the case often in sexual and other forms of abuse. I was fortunate. My first home gave me trust and faith. For those who were not as lucky, the task is to find a home, a place or a person, that caresses a wounded soul.

What makes for a home that caresses the soul?

Home is where you are safe. It’s also the place where you experience security and trust and where that steadiness enables you to believe in the things of faith. I used to drive four hours for a meal or a night’s sleep in order to find that. Today, I need to make that recessive journey in other ways.

It’s a journey we all need to make in times of chaos and deep restlessness in our lives, namely, to find a place, a space, a friend, a family, a house, a table, a bed, a book, or something that grounds us again in security, trust, stability, and faith.

Of course, there are headaches and heartaches for which there is no cure; but the soul doesn’t need to be cured, only properly cared for. Our task is to go home, to find those people, places, prayers, and books that caress our souls at those times when our world is falling apart.

(Partial rewrite of a column from 2006)

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington
Of all the saints across the Christian centuries one had a special meaning to my father, who by the way, wasn’t even Catholic. That was Polycarp (d. 155 or 156 A.D.), an early church leader whose feast day is celebrated on Feb. 23. What really made an impression on Daddy was the account of the saint’s death.

Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna (now the city of Izmir, located on the western coast of Turkey), was considered a person of great holiness. In his youth, he had been a disciple of St. John the Evangelist. As a mature adult, he took Irenaeus of Lyon as one of his own disciples, became friends with Ignatius of Antioch, and wrote an epistle to the church at Philippi in Macedonia.

Polycarp was an old man when, during the Roman persecutions of Christians, he was arrested and taken to the arena in Smyrna for trial. Three days before the arrest he had a vision in which he saw his pillow engulfed in flames. In this manner it was revealed to him that his fate was to be burned alive. Some friends persuaded him to go into hiding, but a young servant, after being tortured, betrayed his master by revealing the location of the hiding place.

When the saintly bishop refused to deny his faith in Jesus Christ, the governor first threatened to throw him to the wild beasts, but Polycarp remained steadfast; he simply would not recant. Next, they tried to tie him to the stake and burn him, but the flames surrounded him forming a protective wall in such as way that the fire did not touch him. Finally, one of the governor’s henchmen came forward and stabbed him to death. The centurion then gave the order for the body to be burned. Afterwards, the bishop’s fellow believers collected his bones, conserving them as relics. Fortunately, the written narrative of Polycarp’s death has survived; it is the earliest extant document detailing the martyrdom of a Christian.

At some point during his studies for the ministry Daddy must have read a description of these events. For almost 15 years, he and my mother served as Baptist missionaries in the Amazon Basin region of Bolivia. They spent most of those years living along the banks of the Chapare River ministering to the Yuracarés (Yuras), the indigenous peoples of that area. Mama was a registered nurse. She set up a clinic and provided much-needed medical care for the Yuras. Daddy, in addition to his duties as pastor, made various survey trips into some of the most remote jungle regions searching for nomadic tribes who lived far from what we know as civilization. This was dangerous work, but he felt God had called him to go there, so he went. I believe Daddy thought he might be killed like the Protestant missionaries who, after venturing into the jungles of eastern Ecuador, suffered violent deaths at the hands of the Auca tribe. This may explain, at least in part, why he was drawn to Polycarp and the details of his martyrdom.

Shortly after Daddy returned from the mission field he passed away. He has been gone almost 40 years now, but I can still remember how on several occasions he made references in his sermons to the death of Polycarp. I wish I could have a conversation with Daddy right now about this martyr. In fact, I wish I could talk to him about my conversion to Catholicism and a million other things, including the meaning of martyrdom in the world today.

In our time, more so than ever, Christians in far away parts of the globe are being persecuted and killed for their religious beliefs. Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen spoke of a distinction between “wet” and “dry” martyrs. The former, like those in the early centuries of Christianity, shed their blood for the faith; the latter, more typical of our era, have suffered brainwashing and other forms of mental torture at the hands of their Communist or terrorist oppressors. Sheen claims that those in the wet category die only once, while the dry ones die a thousand times.

Here, in this country the persecution hasn’t reached that degree of intensity, and maybe it never will. But those who live according to the teachings of the Gospel will, in some sense, become martyrs, which means “witnesses” in the original Greek. As we go about our lives, we will all have to carry a cross and endure some form of suffering. By taking up that cross daily and bearing it faithfully, we will surely undergo a martyrdom of sorts. Pain, suffering, and sorrow are inevitable in this life. How we react to these trials, be they large or small, is what makes all the difference.

Nobody likes the word “mortification” but that’s what is required. It involves slaying the ego, denying ourselves, giving up something, or perhaps doing something we normally would not be inclined to do, such as taking on an extra burden in order to lighten the load of someone else. Clearly, as St. Josemaría Escrivá says, our attitude should be one of “welcoming generously the opportunities for small, daily sacrifice.” This type of martyrdom confounds the materialists and skeptics of our day because it runs contrary to the spirit of the age, which tells us possessions and prestige are what lead to happiness.

Our sacrifices certainly can’t compare with the sufferings of Polycarp. But we can still be “witnesses” by proclaiming Christ to the culture and by living to serve others rather than ourselves. As Lent approaches, now is the time to start thinking and praying about things we can do, such as performing good works and practicing self denial, to help advance the Kingdom of God.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)