GUEST COLUMN
By Deacon Wesley Lindsay

There is a saying I have heard all my life, and it still rings true: “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.” My faith journey is a living testament to this truth. When I look back on each misstep, each wrong turn, and every encounter, both good and bad, I can now see that they all prepared me for the calling I answered more than seven years ago. At each of the three levels of my progression – discernment, formation and ordination – God has revealed more and more of Himself and His plan.

When I was much younger, I believed I was ready to understand the “real” message of the Almighty. However, Hebrews 5:12-14 compares followers of God to children who must be fed with milk because they are not yet mature enough for solid food. I thought differently about myself and craved the solid food of spiritual maturity. Be careful what you ask for – you just may get it.

Discernment
God’s hand was moving in my life, even when I had no clue. A friend and Brother Knight encouraged me to apply for the permanent diaconate. There was just one problem: the application process was already closed. However, I decided to test a core Christian tenet: faith. I submitted my application anyway, just to see what would happen. To my surprise, it was accepted despite being late! I was admitted to aspirancy.

The aspirancy period is when prospective candidates begin to learn about the ministry and duties of the permanent deacon. For married men, their wives are encouraged to attend the monthly meetings, usually held on Saturdays. This step is crucial because a wife’s active support and consent are required at each stage of her husband’s progression toward ordination. She must write a letter indicating her support for his journey. If the wife is not fully on board, the permanent diaconate is not in that man’s future.

Formation
After about nine months of aspirancy, my six brother candidates and I had to write a letter to our bishop requesting admission to candidacy. This is when our real formation began. We embarked on a Master’s degree-level religious education program directed by Spring Hill College in Mobile, Alabama. This was our seminary of Christian education. Along the way, we completed practicums specific to our Catholic faith, such as homiletics and the sacraments of baptism and marriage.

A funny thing happened at each of these steps: I began to notice a change not only in myself but in my fellow candidates as well. This is no slight to them – from the start, they were already good, God-fearing men of service! Yet somehow, their goodness was magnified, and they became, in my opinion, even stronger in the faith.

The hardest part of formation, in my experience, was keeping an open mind. I thought I knew the Bible and the ways of the Almighty. Boy, was I mistaken! Isaiah 55:8-9 made this point abundantly clear to me. This is where Spring Hill College truly shined. All our instructors provided the help and support we needed, making the educational experience second to none. Reading a variety of Christian authors and texts was fundamental, and now I have an extensive theological library. Formation also taught me valuable time management skills – we all learned to appreciate the blessing of a 45-minute time gap!

Ordination
July 16, 2022, will forever be one of the happiest days of my life. Almost five years of preparation had led me to that moment. Another chapter had begun, filled with the promise and expectation of serving God and His people.

In the nearly three years since my ordination, my eyes have witnessed so much – some good, some bad. At this stage of my journey, I hold onto the words of the Apostle Paul in Philippians 4:12-13: “I have the strength for everything through Him who empowers me.” Thanks be to God!

For more information on the permanent diaconate visit https://jacksondiocese.org/office-of-the-permanent-diaconate.

(Deacon Wesley Lindsay was ordained in 2022 and serves at the Cathedral of St. Peter in Jackson.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese

I learned from Elizabeth Lesser (The Seeker’s Guide, pg. 397), that “When Bishop Desmond Tutu introduced Nelson Mandela at his inauguration … he described him as a man who had obuntubotho … the essence of a human being. It speaks of humanness, gentleness, putting yourself out for others and being vulnerable, embracing compassion and toughness.” I would add that he was a man of shalom, one for whom things were as they ought to be. This would be our goal, our calling – our obuntubotho.

Lent has stirred us, challenged us, or gone quickly and unremarkably. Dionysius the Areopagite (5-6C CE), though his real identity remains unknown, as do his exact writing dates. He was known for ‘the rapt impotence of the mind before God,’ a spirituality of self-emptying. To discover the essence of the human person is to find this spirit of the Christ, the anointed One, and not to pay so much attention to ourselves. Did you come to know Jesus better this Lent? Did you discover what Jesus has done for you and what you are called to do for others? Are you willing to surrender all and enter the darkness?

Dionysius writes, “Entering the darkness that surpasses understanding, we shall find ourselves brought, not just to brevity of speech, but to perfect silence and unknowing.” And what good is that you ask? Well, in that silence, the fullness of God resides! He goes on, “Emptied of all knowledge, man is joined in the highest part of himself, not with any created thing, nor with himself, nor with another, but with the One who is altogether unknowable, and in knowing nothing, he knows in a manner that surpasses understanding.” Once we have let go of ourselves, entered into prayer and silence, we can move to be of some small service to others.

In the Pirke Avot 5:27 (a collection of rabbinic sayings compiled between 250 and 275 CE), though many sages lived long before and very little is known about them. They seem to “speak in one great sane voice of the necessity of enacting holiness and making prayer real in the service of others, bringing things into harmony.” (Wisdom of the Jewish Sages, Rabbi Rami Shapiro, 1993). Here is an example:
“Ben Hei Hei said: Effort is its own reward.

“We are here to do. And through doing to learn; and through leaning to know; and through knowing to experience wonder; and through wonder to attain wisdom; and through wisdom to find simplicity; and through simplicity to give attention; and through attention to see what needs to be done.”

What have you discovered that needs to be done? Wash, rinse, repeat … deal with your family issues, care for a sick neighbor, tutor a child, give money to a disaster fund or children’s hospital. You have found the one that works for you. Lent helps us find the one best suited to us.

Consider all the ways Jesus was a man of prayer and service! A man of shalom … everything about Him spoke of the deep relationship He had with the Father, so that he might do the work the Father had given Him. That gives us clues as to how we might grow. Even if we can list the seven deadly sins, the beatitudes, and the commandments, they are worthless if we do not want to allow shalom to fill our lives. We grow by prayer and action.

Mother Teresa, the saint of the slums, did not have an easy life. After she had gone back to God, folks opened her diaries and found great darkness and difficulty, and some even complained that she should ‘not be considered a saint.’ Really? No, it was her suffering and surrender that brought her ever deeper into God’s heart so that she might minister to those in distress. She gave us this to help remind us: “Loving as He loves, helping as He helps, giving as He gives, serving as He serves, rescuing as He rescues, being with Him twenty-four hours, touching Him in His distressing disguise.” It is that disguise that we have to pay attention to. Just as we could be ‘entertaining angels.’ we might also be serving Jesus in distress. There is still time to allow Lent to be moments of deep conversion and a new beginning, well on the way to shalom, on the way to obuntubotho.

Joseph Campbell, the philosopher, reminded Elizabeth Lesser that “from sacrifice comes bliss.” She says, “that is a liberating concept if learned from the real-life experience of following one’s heart.”
Blessings.

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

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington

When the subject of prayer comes up, many people immediately think of petition, that is, asking God for a favor. But petition constitutes only one type of what the church calls “raising of one’s mind and heart to God” (CCC 2559); other categories include penitence, praise, thanksgiving, intercession, and silence in the form of meditation and contemplation. The Mass, which is often referred to as “the great prayer of the church,” contains all of these. It is, in essence, one long sustained prayer.

Bishop Robert Barron calls prayer “intimate communion and conversation with God.” I like that definition because it highlights the element of intimacy, which suggests both closeness and privacy. Here’s a story that may or may not be true. In a certain Baptist Church there used to be an old gentleman, a deacon, who was often called upon to pray during the service. But he always prayed so softly that it was difficult for other members of the congregation to hear him. Once, after the service, a young man went up to the deacon and told him, “You need to speak louder when you pray. I couldn’t hear you.” The old gentleman looked at him and said in a gentle voice, “I wasn’t talking to you.” That deacon must have had an intimate personal relationship with the Lord.

Another indispensable aspect of prayer is an attitude of humility. When we address our Creator and Lord, it’s always from a position of dependence. He is God and we are his creation, his creatures. He knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows what’s best for us. So, we should pray, “Thy will be done.” And yet, there are things that we want, and God, the source of all goodness, wants to give us good things, but He wants us to ask for them.

The fourth-century monk Evagrius Ponticus said, “Do not be troubled if you do not immediately receive from God what you ask Him, for He desires to do something even greater for you while you cling to Him in prayer.” Those words are particularly meaningful to me because of something that happened many years ago during my job- hunting days. A certain job that I wanted and needed badly came open. Upon learning that the position was given to someone else, my spirit sank very low, and I felt like abandoning my job search. However, two or three days later an offer came in for a much better position, one that I could not have accepted had the first one worked out. As a friend of mine once said, “His will is much better than my plan.” Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen really knew what he was talking about when he remarked, “Some day we will thank God not only for what He gave us, but also for that which He refused.” Amen!

And then there’s perseverance. Several years ago, in preparation for retirement, I began asking the Lord to reveal to me a place where I could serve after retiring. This was an ongoing part of my daily prayer for two or three years. In the meantime, I had convinced my mother, who had been living in a nursing home in Madison, to move to a similar facility in my hometown, so I could check on her more frequently. My first few visits were painful because I’ve always felt nervous and uneasy around hospitals, clinics and nursing homes.

And then something marvelous happened. The more I visited the facility the more comfortable I felt being around the sick. Gradually, I began to make friends with many of the nursing home residents. Before long, I was helping them get around the building in their wheelchairs and participate in various group activities. I had become a volunteer! God had answered my prayer, but in a totally unexpected way because a nursing home was way outside of my comfort zone, and it would have been the last location I would have chosen. Nevertheless, He chose that place for me, and now I see the wisdom of His plan. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

The old saying, “prayer changes things,” remains true. But it doesn’t change God; it changes us. We learn to call on Him for help rather than relying solely on ourselves. We learn to shift the worries and cares of this world from ourselves to our Heavenly Father. Instead of agonizing over things we can’t control, we take them to the Lord, confident that He will answer them in His own time and according to His perfect will. As Jesus tells us, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)

What a wonderful gift prayer is! What an amazing privilege we have! Almighty God, our Maker, is calling us to intimate communion with Him. Just the very thought of what this means is awe-inspiring! Why would anyone who hears Him reject the call? Right now, during Lent, we are all being invited to enter into that relationship. We need to make time for prayer. This is not the kind of gift to be put up on the shelf and forgotten. The church has a wealth of prayers to draw upon. The saints are ready to pray for us and with us. And God is waiting for us to have a conversation with Him.

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

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
There is an incident in the Gospels where the disciples of Jesus were unable to cast out a particular demon. When they asked Jesus why, he replied that some demons can only be cast out by prayer. The particular demon he was referring in this instance had rendered a man deaf and mute.

I want to name another demon which seemingly cannot be cast out except by prayer, namely, the demon that forever fractures our personal relationships, families, communities and churches through misunderstanding and division, making it forever difficult to be in life-giving community with each other.
What particular prayer is needed to cast out this demon? The prayer of a shared silence, akin to a Quaker Silence.

What is a Quaker Silence?

A tiny bit of history first: Quakers are a historically Protestant Christian set of denominations whose members refer to each other as Friends but are generally called Quakers because of a famous statement once made by their founder, George Fox (1624-1691). Legend has it that in the face of some authority figures who were trying to intimidate him, Fox held up his Bible and said: This is the word of God, quake before it!

For the Quakers, particularly early on, their common prayer consisted mainly in sitting together in community in silence, waiting for God to speak to them. They would sit together in silence, waiting on God’s power to come and give them something that they could not give themselves, namely, real community with each other beyond the divisions that separated them. Though they sat individually, their prayer was radically communal. They were sitting as one body, waiting together for God to give them a unity they could not give themselves.

Might this be a practice that we, Christians of every denomination, could practice today in the light of the helplessness we feel in the face of division everywhere (in our families, in our churches, and in our countries)? Given that, as Christians, we are at root one community inside the Body of Christ, a single organic body where physical distance does not really separate us, might we begin as a regular prayer practice to sit with each other in a Quaker Silence, one community, sitting in silence, waiting together, waiting for God to come and give us community that we are powerless to give ourselves?

Practically, how might this be done? Here’s a suggestion: each day set aside a time to sit in silence, alone or ideally with others, for a set period of time (fifteen to twenty minutes) where the intent, unlike in private meditation, is not first of all to nurture your personal intimacy with God, but rather to sit together in community with everyone inside the Body of Christ (and with all sincere persons everywhere) asking God to come and give us communion beyond division.

This could also be a powerful ritual in marriage and in family life. Perhaps one of the most healing therapies inside of a marriage might be for a couple to sit together regularly in a silence, asking God to give them something that they cannot give themselves, namely, an understanding of each other beyond the tensions of everyday life. I remember as a child, praying the rosary together as a family each evening and that ritual having the effect of a Quaker Silence. It calmed the tensions that had built up during the day and left us feeling more peaceful as a family.

I use the term Quaker Silence, but there are various forms of meditation and contemplation which have the same intentionality. For example, the founder of the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate (the religious order I belong to), St. Eugene de Mazenod, left us a prayer practice he called Oraison. This is its intention: as Oblates we are meant to live together in community, but we are a worldwide congregation scattered over sixty countries around the world. How can we be in community with each other across distance?

Through the practice of Oraison. St. Eugene asked us to set aside a half hour each day to sit in a silence that is intended to be a time when we are not just in communion with God but are also intentionally in communion with all Oblates around the world. Akin to a Quaker Silence, it is a prayer wherein each person sits alone, in silence, but in community, asking God to form one community across all distances and differences.

When Jesus says some demons are only cast out by prayer, he means it. And perhaps the demon to which this most particularly refers is the demon of misunderstanding and division. We all know how powerless we are to cast it out. Sitting in a communal silence, asking God to do something for us beyond our powerlessness, can exorcise the demon of misunderstanding and division.

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

LIGHT ONE CANDLE
By Father Ed Dougherty

On March 25, we celebrate the Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, when the Angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she had been chosen by God to be the mother of Christ. It is a day that pierces the Lenten season with joyful anticipation of the birth of Christ. It also reminds us of the deep bond between Mother and Son as we move towards Holy Week, with all the pain and loss it held for them, but also harkening to the joy of Easter, when God’s promise of salvation was fulfilled in Christ’s Resurrection.
There is a scene in the film “The Passion of the Christ” when Mary sees Jesus fall down during His grueling walk to Calvary. This prompts a memory, captured in a flashback, of her running to Jesus when He falls as a child. And seeing Him fall under the weight of the cross, she runs to Him again, falling to her knees beside Him and declaring, “I am here.”

It’s such a beautiful and heartbreaking moment because it recalls a time when these words spoken from Mother to Son would have been enough to assuage the pain of a simple childhood accident. But those words cannot mitigate the pain of the Passion and all that has been heaped upon our Savior’s shoulders. And here, Jesus raises His bloodied face to Mary and says, “See, Mother, I make all things new.”

It’s a line spoken by Christ in Revelation, when He declares, “Behold, I make all things new.” But it is brilliantly transported here to this moment because it so perfectly captures the crux of all that is being accomplished in the Passion. And that childhood scene highlights the nature of the sacrifice because it is the most perfect earthly love between Mary and Jesus and the most perfect life ever lived that is being sacrificed on our behalf.

The Solemnity of the Annunciation reminds us of the beautiful love-filled life of Christ that was so cruelly taken from Him in the Crucifixion. But those words, “Behold, I make all things new,” remind us of all that is accomplished in the pain that beset Mother and Son in the Passion because Mary’s “Yes” to the Annunciation had the intention of mission about it. And the love Jesus and Mary shared from the moment of His conception and throughout His life had the intention of mission about it because they both knew God was calling them to a purpose that required sacrifice.

This perfect love between Mother and Son sheds light on how we should look upon those placed in our lives by God. We know there will always be a struggle when we set out to accomplish great things together, but that struggle should not mitigate the joy of the love we share when we keep our eyes set on the hope of the Resurrection.

So let us greet the Solemnity of the Annunciation with the proper pause it requires during this Lenten season and appreciate all that Mary took upon herself in her “Yes” to God and all that Christ gave up in His “Yes” to suffering for our salvation. It’s a pause that can draw us into the most beautiful contemplation of the nature of the love that existed between Mary and Jesus and point us towards a new and deeper way of loving all those God entrusts to our care.

(For a free copy of The Christophers’ Lift Up Your Hearts, e-mail: mail@christophers.org)

WALKING WITH MIGRANTS
By Bishop Nicholas DiMarzio
In the more than 30 articles I have written in the last three years, I have spoken from the perspective of a person with a Ph.D. in social work, concentrating on the study of migration. My doctoral dissertation dealt with research on undocumented migration as experienced in the 1970s.

Today, however, I speak more as a moral theologian focused on Catholic social teaching, whose fundamental principle is the dignity of the human person. More than 30 years ago, the Catholic bishops of the United States published a succinct description of Catholic social teaching on migration. First, every nation has a right to defend its borders. Secondly, at the same time, every nation has an obligation to take migrants when necessary to promote the international common good.

While it may seem challenging, a nation must engage moral principles to help define its social policies, as moral tenets have helped determine how, as humans, we relate to one another.
With over 50 years of experience, first as a parish priest, then as a social worker in Catholic Charities in the Archdiocese of Newark, followed by six years at the U.S. bishops’ conference as the director of the Migration and Refugee Program, and founder of the Catholic Legal Immigration Network, Inc. (CLINIC), the largest legal support organization in the country, I have witnessed firsthand the importance of such ethical considerations.

Now, after 27 years as a bishop, I can say that I have never seen such a deplorable and unnecessary experience in human suffering that has been caused by a dysfunctional political system.

Mass deportations are unnecessary. Of course, convicted criminals who are a threat to our communities should be deported, but not without due process. The dignity of every human being, however, must be respected, especially the dignity of the worker. Our nation is not without fault because we have used undocumented labor to fill the gaps in our labor market for at least the last 50 years.

Undocumented workers work in construction, service industries, agriculture and almost every other area where U.S. workers do not want that work even when they are available. These workers are sometimes exploited. While they pay taxes and contribute to the Social Security system, they are unable to qualify for Social Security or many federal social service programs.

It is certainly a call to the conscience of our nation that we must challenge ourselves to see how we treat the aliens among us, as the Old Testament reminds us. Various efforts have been made to rectify the situation, such as the Immigration Reform and Control Act – the legalization program of 1986. However, since that legislation was not comprehensive, it merely facilitated continued undocumented migration. Undocumented migration is a benefit for some sectors of the labor market and businesses but to the detriment of the migrants, who work in substandard conditions for below-market wages.

The current political impasse has brought us to a point where we are unable to effectively negotiate issues related to U.S. immigration history. It is as bad as it can get, almost as bad as the racist curb on migration in 1924, which has been hailed as the necessary pause keeping undesirable migrants from coming to the country.

Lucky were those whose ancestors came before that date, like mine. Before 1924, almost all healthy and able-bodied immigrants could immigrate to the United States if they had either a relative or friend as a sponsor, who would guarantee that they would not become a public charge.

The end is not in sight. What made America great was migration, and without it, we may never achieve greatness again.

There are other solutions to the inherent problems which migration causes. Our intelligence and resources as a nation could certainly solve almost every one of them. The constant humanitarian gestures of our nation have made us great: When we took refugees, when we accepted asylum-seekers, and when we gave temporary protected status to people fleeing persecution and adverse conditions in their home countries.

All of these humane gestures have given us the greatness that we can call our own. Greatness is not synonymous with wealth. Moral leadership among nations creates true greatness.

Anglican Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde recently demonstrated moral courage by confronting President Trump with truth just after Inauguration Day. Our Holy Father, Pope Francis, in a letter to the U.S. bishops, commends the efforts of many bishops and others to confront this crisis. The most prophetic remark in his letter was, “What is built on the basis of force, and not on the truth about the equal dignity of every human being, begins badly and will end badly.”

“Fortress America” is not a country headed for greatness if it loses its moral conscience. No nation can ever survive and deserve a place among the family of nations without respecting basic human dignity. Hopefully, we will reverse course and learn this lesson before it is too late.

(Bishop Nicholas DiMarzio is the retired bishop of the Diocese of Brooklyn, New York. He writes the column “Walking With Migrants” for The Tablet and OSV News.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
There are times when our world unravels. Who hasn’t had the feeling? “I’m falling apart! This is beyond me! My heart is broken! I feel betrayed by everything! Nothing makes sense anymore! Life is upside down!”

Jesus had a cosmic image for this. In the Gospels, he talks about how the world as we experience it will someday end: “The sun will be darkened, the moon will not give forth its light, stars will fall from heaven, and the powers of heaven will be shaken.” When Jesus says this, he is not talking as much about cosmic cataclysms as of cataclysms of the heart. Sometimes our inner world is shaken, turned upside down; it gets dark in the middle of the day, there’s an earthquake in the heart; we experience the end of the world as we’ve known it.

However, in this upheaval, Jesus assures us that one thing remains sure: God’s promise of fidelity. That doesn’t get turned upside down and in our disillusionment we are given a chance to see what really is of substance, permanent and worthy of our lives. Thus, ideally at least, when our trusted world is turned upside down, we are given the chance to grow, to become less selfish and to see reality more clearly.

Christian mystics call this “a dark night of the soul” and they express it as if God were actively turning our world upside down and deliberately causing all the heartache to purge and cleanse us.

The great Spanish mystic John of the Cross puts it this way: God gives us seasons of fervor and then takes them away. In our seasons of fervor, God gives us consolation, pleasure, and security inside our relationships, our prayer and our work (sometimes with considerable passion and intensity). This is a gift from God and is meant to be enjoyed. But John tells us, at a certain point, God takes away the pleasure and consolation and we experience a certain dark night in that where we once felt fire, passion, consolation and security, we will now feel dryness, boredom, disillusion and insecurity. For John of the Cross, all honeymoons eventually end.

Why? Why would God do this? Why can’t a honeymoon last forever?

Because eventually, though not initially, it blocks us from seeing straight. Initially all those wonderful feelings we feel when we first fall in love, when we first begin to pray deeply, and when we first begin to find our legs in the world. These are part of God’s plan and God’s way of drawing us forward. The passion and consolation we feel help lead us out of ourselves, beyond fear and selfishness. But, eventually, the good feelings themselves become a problem because we can get hung up on them rather than on what’s behind them.

Honeymoons are wonderful; but, on a honeymoon, too often we are more in love with being in love and all the wonderful energy this creates than we are in love with the person behind all those feelings. The same is true for faith and prayer. When we first begin to pray seriously, we are often more in love with the experience of praying and what it’s doing for us than we are in love with God. On any honeymoon, no matter how intense and pure the feelings seem, those feelings are still partly about ourselves rather than purely about the person we think we love. Sadly, that is why many a warm, passionate honeymoon eventually turns into a cold, passionless relationship.

Until we are purified, and we are purified precisely through dark nights of disillusionment, we are too much still seeking ourselves in love and in everything else. Therese of Lisieux used to warn: “Be careful not to seek yourself in love, you’ll end up with a broken heart that way!” We’d have fewer heartaches if we understood that. Also, before we are purified by disillusionment, most of the tears we shed, no matter how real the pain or loss, often say more about us than they say about the person or situation we are supposedly mourning.

In all this, there’s both bad news and good news: The bad news is that most everything we sense as precious will someday be taken from us. Everything gets crucified, including every feeling of warmth and security we have. But the good news is that it will all be given back again, more deeply, more purely, and even more passionately than before.

What dark nights of the soul, cataclysms of the heart, do is to take away everything that feels like solid earth so that we end up in a free-fall, unable to grab on to anything that once supported us. But, in falling, we get closer to bedrock, to God, to reality, to truth, to love, to each other, beyond illusions, beyond selfishness and beyond self-interested love that can masquerade as altruism.

Clarity in eyesight comes after disillusionment, purity of heart comes after heartbreak and real love comes after the honeymoon has passed.

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

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese

I have a habit of trying to learn new words every few days. I am not always successful, but here are two I learned on an art app: polloglyphs and pareidolia. The first means hidden images and the second is seeing patterns in randomness. Though they were used to describe an ongoing argument amongst art critics about Jackson Pollock’s work and whether he had things hidden beneath his famous drips, I think they are words that will ‘preach!’

Into Lent, we are confronted with the pain and reality of the Passion of Jesus and our passion. Perhaps we can look for hidden images and some patterns of randomness in suffering, ours and the world.
A few weeks ago, in our readings at Mass, we explored Sirach, a book not found in non-Catholic Bibles and not included in the Hebrew Bible either after the first century. It has always been considered divinely inspired and canonical by Catholics. I have always found it soothing and reassuring. It was written somewhere between 200-175 BCE in Hebrew by Jesus, son of Eleazar, son of Sirach, primarily to present moral teaching to catechumens and the faithful.

The opening strophe, “All wisdom comes from the Lord and with God remains forever,” (1:1) suggests there are things to uncover. “True wisdom is God’s external revelation of Himself. Throughout the book, Sirach describes in great detail just what wisdom is: sometimes it is divine, sometimes a synonym for God’s law; sometimes it is human. But the author makes clear that even human wisdom, properly understood, comes from God.” (footnote, 1:1, NAB)

The revelation of God permeates all things … nature that surrounds us, the universe and the myriad of artistic galaxies, the faces of children, the workers and entertainers, and even ourselves have many hidden images, woven daily as we journey, as we cast off the false self. One of the ways our false self is put away and our transformed true selves emerge is through friendship. Sirach has a bit to say about that. Consider chapter 6.

For Lent you may have given up chocolate, TV, beer, or scanning your phone every three seconds, … consider giving in, giving more, giving, and in that giving, changing … establishing a new friendship! You might discover hidden images; possibly experience pareidolia, those patterns in the randomness of the human condition. Friendship can begin in many ways. Look about when you attend church or a ballgame or an art class. Consider the folks there. Who would I like to get to know? Who would I choose to become friends with? What are your criteria? What are you willing to risk?

That’s one way. But what if you first prayed and asked God to put a new person in your path? What if you asked God to open your heart to folks who are not like you? Oh my. Where would I meet such a person, you wonder, when the church I go to is all the same, as is my grocery store, school or golf course. Where can I meet someone of another faith, ethnic background or age? Where can I learn something new or be challenged in my well-organized heart?

The art argument I mentioned implied that Pollock painted things under his drips, and that if you stared long enough, you would see them. If you paid enough attention, you would see the randomness hidden beneath. If we go with that, how about what happens when we meet a new person … a person so unlike us in gender, color, education or marital status? What wisdom do we need to explore a new relationship?

One difficulty is perhaps that we already have an imagination or thoughts about ‘those kind of people’ … and now when we meet x or y we find those ideas challenged. Those very ideas cause us to review how open or closed our hearts are. Sirach reminded us that all wisdom comes from God. Wisdom is needed in friendship; how do we move in this new way? How do we eat new food, appreciate different clothing, or listen to political or religious differences, and gain wisdom, our growth goal? How do we learn to love?

Perhaps you read Judy Blume’s books? In “Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret,” she writes, “I like long hair, tuna fish, the smell of rain and things that are pink. I hate pimples, baked potatoes, when my mother’s mad, and religious holidays.” This may be her wisdom as an eight- or nine-year-old, but will she stay stuck to those notions or be able to go beyond them and discover what is hidden within?

Lent offers so many opportunities to shed false selves and to allow our true-Godly self to emerge. We can splash around or sit in a puddle and need a time out, or we can be reminded that others and their wisdom and generosity can help us grow. We can indeed learn to love in a whole new way. In John 15:15ff Jesus makes this clear: “This is My command: Love one another the way I have loved you. … put your life on the line for your friends. You are My friends because I’ve let you in on everything I’ve heard from the Father. You didn’t choose Me; I chose you and put you in the world to bear fruit.” (Peterson, “The Message”) So, choose.

BLESSINGS.

(Sister alies therese is a vowed Catholic solitary who lives an eremitical life. Her days are formed around prayer, art and writing. She is author of six books of spiritual fiction and is a weekly columnist.)