IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Inside each of us, beyond what we can picture clearly, express in words, or even feel distinctly, we have a dark memory of having once been touched and caressed by hands far gentler than our own. That caress has left a permanent mark, an imprint of a love so tender and deep that its memory becomes a prism through which we see everything else. This imprint lies beyond conscious memory but forms the center of our soul.

This is not an easy concept to explain. Bernard Lonergan, one of the great intellectuals of the past century, tried to explain it philosophically by saying we bear inside us “the brand of the first principles,” namely, the oneness, truth, goodness and beauty which are the attributes of God. That’s accurate, but abstract. Maybe the old myths and legends capture it better when they say that, before birth, each soul is kissed by God, and it then goes through life always in some dark way remembering that kiss and measuring everything it experiences in relation to that original sweetness. To be in touch with your heart is to be in touch with this primordial kiss, with both its preciousness and its meaning.

What exactly is being said here?

Within each of us, at that place where all that is most precious within us lives, there is an inchoate sense of having once been touched, caressed, loved, and valued in a way that is beyond anything we have ever consciously experienced. In fact, all the goodness, love, value, and tenderness we experience in life fall short precisely because we are already in touch with something deeper. When we feel frustrated, angry, betrayed, violated or enraged, it is because our outside experience is antithetical to what we already hold dear inside.

We all have this place, a place in the heart, where we hold all that is most precious and sacred to us. From that place our own kisses issue forth, as do our tears. It is the place that we most guard from others, but the place where we would most want others to come into; the place where we are the most deeply alone and the place of intimacy; the place of innocence and the place where we are violated; the place of our compassion and the place of our rage. In that place we are holy. There we are temples of God, sacred churches of truth and love. There we bear God’s image.

But this needs understanding: the image of God inside of us is not a beautiful icon stamped inside of our soul. No. The image and likeness of God inside us is energy, fire and memory; especially the memory of a touch so tender and loving that its goodness and truth become the prism through which we ultimately see everything. Thus, we recognize goodness and truth outside of us precisely because they resonate with something that is already inside us. Things touch our hearts when they touch us here. Isn’t it because we have already been deeply touched and caressed that we passionately seek a soulmate, that we seek someone to join us in this intimate place?

And, consciously and unconsciously, we measure everything in life by how it touches this place: why do certain experiences touch us so deeply? Why do our hearts burn within us in the presence of any truth, love, goodness or tenderness that is genuine and deep? Is not all deep knowledge simply a waking up to something we already know? Is not all love simply a question of being respected for something we already are? Are not the touch and tenderness that bring ecstasy nothing other than the stirring of deep memory? Are not the ideals that inspire hope only the reminder of words somebody has already spoken to us? Does not our desire for innocence (and innocent means “not wounded”) mirror some primal unwounded place deep within us? And when we feel violated, is it not because someone has irreverently entered the sacred inside us?

When we are in touch with this memory and respect its sensitivities, we are in touch with our souls. At those times, faith, hope and love will spring up in us, joy and tears will both flow through us freely, and we will be deeply affected by the innocence and beauty of children, as pain and gratitude alternately bring us to our knees.

That is what it means to be recollected, centered. To be truly ourselves is to remember, to touch and to feel the memory of God’s original touch in us. That memory fires our energy and provides us with a prism through which to see and understand.

Sadly, today, too often a wounded, calloused, cynical, over sophisticated and overly adult world invite us to forget God’s kiss in the soul, to view this as childish. But, unless we lie to ourselves and harden ourselves against our own ourselves (the most dangerous of all activities), we will always remember, dimly, darkly, unrelentingly, the caress of God.

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

KNEADING FAITH
By Fran Lavelle
Pope Francis has declared 2025 to be a Jubilee Year of Hope. In his February 2022 letter announcing the Jubilee 2025, he stated: “We must fan the flame of hope that has been given us and help everyone to gain new strength and certainty by looking to the future with an open spirit, a trusting heart and far-sighted vision. The forthcoming Jubilee can contribute greatly to restoring a climate of hope and trust as a prelude to the renewal and rebirth that we so urgently desire…”

One can clearly see the need for greater hope in the world, but it also can feel like an overwhelming ask. It is easy to lose hope in our current political climate. It is easy to lose hope in the midst of the divisions within the church. It is easy to lose hope when we see the result of despair in the news every day. To call for hope can seem quite Pollyanna-ish. We clutch pearls, shrug shoulders, and sigh emphatically as if it’s too late to restore hope in anything. But Pope Francis is not operating out of naiveté. Rather he is responding to what he knows to be true, right, and just. “For I know well the plans I have in mind for you – oracle of the Lord – plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

In reflecting on his vision of hope, I have found myself asking how we as the people of God in the Diocese of Jackson reflect hope. I was quickly and swiftly reminded of the Synod on Synodality process in 2021 and the pastoral reimagining process that began in 2023. Both processes put our resolve to the test. They both offered the people of God to reflect on what type of church we want to be. For me, I have been reminded time and again that the institution and the church are not one in the same. The institution is the governing structure. And as with all governing bodies can make mistakes. The church, however, is the Body of Christ. It is all of us. It is, for me, easy to put my faith in us. All of us. Institutions and bureaucracies can fail and disappoint us, but the Body of Christ is compelled by its very nature to work toward a fulfillment of the Gospel. This, friends, gives me great hope.

So, we turn to the implementation phase of the pastoral reimagining process. As it is with any process, one of the biggest concerns at the onset of pastoral reimagining was a fear that the end product would end up filling space on a bookshelf. From the early stages of development we knew this had to be an organic process.

The formal process was completed at Pentecost 2024 with the publication of a pastoral letter from Bishop Kopacz. The letter summarizes the reimagining process and encourages all parishes to begin implementation of what they developed and have refined through the overall pastoral reimagining process.

For that vision to flourish the diocese recognizes the need to:

• Oversee the pastoral planning aspects of pastoral reimagining.
• Provide resources to assist parish leaders in creating and implementing pastoral plans in their family of parishes.
• Serve deanery and parish leaders directly through liaisons and other services.

Further, we recognize that the success of implementation will come down to having someone dedicated to helping parishes succeed at the local level. To that end, I have accepted the responsibility for the implementation phase of pastoral reimagining beginning this month. I will be responsible for the various aspects assisting in developing and implementing pastoral plans at the parish, mission, deanery and diocesan level.

I am ready to get to work assisting our parish leaders bring their pastoral plans to fruition. The church, the Body of Christ, needs us to fulfill the vision of the Gospel. It will not happen overnight, but it can be achieved. Our hope anchored in the Gospel will continue to fuel the reimagining process. It clearly is not over. We have just begun. Let us be inspired by part of Pope Francis’ prayer for the Jubilee of Hope, “… May your grace transform us into tireless cultivators of the seeds of the Gospel. May those seeds transform from within both humanity and the whole cosmos in the sure expectation of a new heaven and a new earth, when, with the powers of Evil vanquished, your glory will shine eternally …”

(Fran Lavelle is the Director of Faith Formation for the Diocese of Jackson.)

CALLED TO HOLINESS
By Jaymie Stuart Wolfe

Whether our hopes for this summer have been fulfilled or not, the season is waning. Most kids have returned to school, and the full force of the fall calendar is poised to kick in. All we can do now is hope that whatever rest and recreation we managed to get will be enough to draw on in the months ahead, enough to motivate us, enough to see us to the winter and through it.

Sometimes, though, one summer can change everything that follows it. That’s what happened to one young French girl in 1424. Sometime during that summer six centuries ago, Joan of Arc heard “voices” for the very first time. The exact date was never recorded. But what happened to Joan set her on a path that would change her life and the history of her country. This is how she described it at her infamous trial, on Feb. 22, 1431: “In my thirteenth year, I had a voice from God to help and guide me. The first time I heard this voice, I was very much afraid. The voice came around noon, in the summer, in my father’s garden. … It seemed to me a worthy voice, and I believe it was sent from God.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about Joan of Arc lately, and not just because I’ve spent close to a year writing two books about her. It’s that Joan has so much to teach us about prayer. And in this papally designated year of prayer, I’m hard-pressed to find a better example. Joan of Arc’s life shows us what it looks like when a Christian missionary disciple makes prayer a first response rather than a last resort.

Joan listened to her heavenly voices – those of St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Margaret of Antioch – for five years before beginning her mission. Over those first five years, Joan learned how to discern the voices that came to her and how to listen. But even more importantly, she learned that the voices she was hearing – and the God who sent them – could be trusted.

To Joan, however, prayer wasn’t just a tool of initial formation; it was an ongoing source of direction and guidance, the wellspring of her purpose and mission. When she left home at the age of 17, Joan was illiterate and untrained – unqualified to command the king’s army and lead men into battle. But she knew better than to trust in her own abilities. Instead, Joan placed all her confidence in God and continually sought his counsel in prayer. And she never stopped listening, not even when she was captured and tried by a panel of corrupt ecclesial judges. Joan prevailed. After her death, France defeated the English. She was vindicated, her greatest enemy posthumously excommunicated. And now she is counted among the most popular saints of all time.

Joan of Arc’s historic mission was inspired and fueled entirely by prayer. Apparently, however, ours are not. In a recent blog post, founder of Catholic Missionary Disciples Marcel LeJeune spoke openly about the role of prayer among today’s Catholic leaders. Prayer, he says, often “takes a back seat to strategy, discussion, plans, etc.” Unlike the first Christians, LeJeune observes, “we may not be facing any extreme kinds of persecution, but we are facing other issues. Our response has been training, classes, best practices, etc. But what about prayer? Why is it done so little? Why have we not prioritized it?” Why indeed!

Six-hundred years is a long time. But if we quiet ourselves down long enough to listen, we can still hear the voices that startled Joan of Arc echo in our own lives and faith communities. Contrary to popular belief, the King of the Universe is not silent. God does not shut up. His call and his invitation are issued in every age. And he is speaking to us. What has changed is our willingness to hear him out.

Our missions and apostolates suffer because we too often pray in a perfunctory way. We do not achieve the victories we long for because we do not take prayer seriously enough to seek God first, to discern and listen to his voice, and then do only what he commands. St. Joan of Arc, pray for us.

(Jaymie Stuart Wolfe is a sinner, Catholic convert, freelance writer and editor, musician, speaker, pet-aholic, wife and mom of eight grown children, loving life in New Orleans.)