Sunday, November 28th is the First Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the new liturgical Church year.  Our Parish theme for Advent 2021 is Waiting with Mary and Joseph.

Staying awake can often be a challenge, especially when we are exhausted. Life’s demands have a way of zapping every last bit of energy out of us. When we are tired it affects us not only physically, but psychologically and spiritually as well. All of our senses are dulled and diminished. We can overlook details, become disinterested, lethargic and apathetic, and detached. Getting sufficient physical rest only helps so much. We need to be rejuvenated, refreshed, and reenergized in other ways. If we are psychologically exhausted, we need to understand what is draining our emotions and taxing our relationships. If we are spiritually tired, we need to find the necessary “shot in the arm” to put us back in touch with God. Unfortunately, exhaustion is seldom limited to just one part of who we are. When we lack energy and zeal it is usually the case that everything suffers. We not only are affected physically, but psychologically and spiritually as well. In short, when we run out of gas the engine stops.

And yet, our Lord’s directive is clear, “Be vigilant at all times.” Even Jesus knew what “the anxieties of daily life” can do to us. One day pours into another and time quickly flies by. Any one of us can take a moment and reflect on how many wonderful, creative opportunities we miss because there is always so much “stuff” to do and so little time to do it. Usually these are missed moments of love, and if we are missing love encounters we are also missing God. Sleepwalking through life, we check the boxes next to our list of “must and have to dos” and justify it all by convincing ourselves that tomorrow is another day and there’ll be more time. It may surprise us, but tomorrow is here, and time is running out. While we may like to believe that we have an “eternity” of time to do all those things that require the focus, energy, and desire we do not currently have, we don’t. We’re on a limited ride and time is short.

Jesus is also clear on another point. “That day [will] catch you by surprise like a trap.” If we are going to be judged on love and so easily justify not having all that much time to do so, then it seems we must shift focus a bit. St. Teresa of Calcutta tells us, “We desire to be able to welcome Jesus at Christmastime, not in a cold manger of our heart, but in a heart full of love and humility, a heart so pure, so immaculate, so warm with love for one another.” Getting to this place doesn’t “just happen.” It requires vigilance and discipline both with a knowledge of what is really of importance and what really needs to be the focus of our energy and time. Pray, starting now and not tomorrow, that we can stay alert, be strengthened in our faith, and prepared for whatever will come. Don’t miss another opportunity to love.

“I have nothing baked; there is only a handful of flour in my jar and a little oil in my jug. Just now I was collecting a couple of sticks, to go in and prepare something for myself and my son; when we have eaten it, we shall die.”

 I have been a freelance reporter for regional and community papers for the past ten years. The majority of my work has been researching and composing human interest pieces, and those assignments have allowed me to witness and learn about the efforts of extraordinary people who are devoted to making their own corner of the world more beautiful, more just, and more loving.

 Many of these pieces, naturally, have focused on individuals of means who use their wealth to help others. But in contrast, I’ve also had the pleasure of writing about very ordinary people — those who really have no wealth to offer at all, or who are actually giving of themselves in spite of a scarcity of resources. Oftentimes the story I write has centered on their volunteer or community fundraising work, but sometimes it simply highlights a single act of sacrifice or kindness.

 The contributions of the wealthy people I have written about are noble, and I was (and am) very happy to highlight them. We should admire and emulate any act of charity or philanthropy. But if I’m being honest, theirs are not the names that linger in my memory. Theirs are not the stories that challenge me to look in the mirror and ask myself: am I giving until it hurts?

 When I wake up at the beginning of a long, demanding day, I usually feel completely unequal to what I know God will be asking of me. I have so little to give, I think. I have so little strength. In these hopeless moments, it is easy to explain away the obligation to give anything at all. Surely God doesn’t expect it of me. Surely He knows it would be too much to ask — too much love, too much patience, too much effort.

 In these moments, I call to mind the gifts I’ve written about that really cost the giver — and I almost never remember the million-dollar donations.

I remember the father who forgave his daughter’s murderer — not because it brought him peace, he told me, but because the murderer himself needed forgiveness. I remember the graphic designer who left the business he helped to found because of his partner’s insistence on taking an abortion clinic as a client. I remember the autistic man whose ministry offers fellowship and counsel to other autistic Catholics, even in the face of his own anxiety. I remember the young deacon with a stutter who found it difficult to preach but did so anyway because the Gospel must be shared, and he had a duty to share it.

And I always, always remember the families of our country’s veterans — the ones who came home and the one who did not.

 Today’s readings remind us that the gifts we offer to God from our poverty are far more precious than those we offer from our abundance. We can be talking about a poverty of money, a poverty of time, a poverty of patience, a poverty of goodwill, or even a poverty of faith. Whatever it is, we think we don’t have enough, so we think we have nothing to give. But how precious are the gifts that really cost us — the ones that we fear we cannot afford.

 How precious was the “small cupful” of the widow’s water, and the “bit of bread” she offered Elijah. How precious were the two small coins the widow gave at the temple. How precious was the last drop of blood that fell from the side of Christ as he hung from the cross. These were the gifts that meant everything.

Colleen Jurkiewicz Dorman

Last week we rejoiced with 11 of our children who made their First Holy Communion, which was followed by the crowning of Mary. This week we are celebrating and honoring all Mother’s. Mother’s Day is a perfect moment to thank our mothers for giving us life. As St. Pope John Paul II so beautifully pointed out, part of the genius of woman is the indispensable role she plays in showing all of humanity the tremendous value of every human person. Our mothers have this role in a distinguished way. They give us life.  But a mother’s role doesn’t stop there. We know they are meant to feed us, to love us, to raise us, to pass on the faith and lead us to Jesus, to teach us by their actions and words that we are so important that God died to save us and make us his friend. How desperately our world needs mothers and their witness to human life.   What a task! What an amazing person a mother is! 

So to mothers everywhere, we say: “Thank you, God Bless you, May your lives be filled with happiness today and every day.” And let us offer a special prayer for our mothers who have gone ahead of us that God will bring them into the joy of his kingdom.

 Blessings on all Mother’s,

Fr. Socorro

Mother’s Day Blessing

A Prayer for Mothers and All Women

Heavenly Father,
from the beginning you have chosen to entrust
the human person to mothers in a special way.
We thank and praise you for the gift of mothers;
for their tenderness, care, and compassion,
for their intuition and encouragement,
for commitment and sacrifice.
Bless all mothers and those who stand in for mothers this day.
Keep, strengthen, and refresh them
in your loving care.
May they be blessed by our open-hearted love and gratitude. Amen.

In this last year we’ve all been reminded of our mortality countless times as we’ve watched the COVID-19 pandemic sweep over the world. But as part of the Body of Christ, there is a hope that awaits our mortal bodies, and to see it, we need look no further than this Sunday’s readings!

 “The author of life you put to death, but God raised him from the dead; of this we are witnesses!” The promise of Christ proclaimed by Peter is not only good news for us in the present moment — the redemption from sin — but good news for us for eternity, too. As Catholics, our theology of the end is very specific. While our bodies and souls separate at death, we do not continue on as glowing, disembodied spirits for all of time. The resurrection of Christ foretells our own destiny — the resurrection of the body.

The Apostles lived in a world where, to paraphrase Thomas Hobbes, life was often “nasty, brutish, and short.” Among the powerful and privileged, the highest priority was bringing glory to the family name and producing enough strong offspring to continue the line. The rich could hire alchemists and magicians in the quest for immortality and eternal youth. Without modern medicine, any injury could be potentially life threatening and every illness suspected to take a severe turn for the worse. When Jesus hung upon the Cross that Good Friday, even the most hopeful among them had no reason to suspect that — once he was taken down — there would be any more to the story.

It comes as no surprise, then, that Jesus emphasizes what he does when he appears to the Apostles. “‘Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see … they gave him a piece of baked fish; he took it and ate it in front of them.” Jesus’ return is no ghostly apparition. He has not emerged from the tomb as a luminous being, pure spirit shed of its earthly shell. Jesus is still Jesus. He is still fully God and fully man. When Jesus conquers death, he does so as a human being in his very flesh and blood. Not only that, but he is a human being who still bears the scars of inflicted violence.

In the face of suffering, the thought of sloughing off our mortal coil may feel all too promising. Yet, by his resurrection, Jesus reinforces our bodiliness. He doesn’t negate it. Jesus redeems us through the offering of his life and the gift of his body. Through his example, we see that our bodies have moral potential. We act out our sin or sanctity, our vice or virtue, through our bodies. In the second reading, John speaks of just that. “He is expiation for our sins … the way we may be sure that we know him is to keep his commandments.” In other words, while the grace of God is living and effective in our life, our choices matter. And we enact those choices in and through our bodies. Our hands extend an offering to the poor. Our feet operate the gas pedal in our car to move us to church on Sunday. Our brains process the decision to obey God or to deny Him.

 Our bodies matter. Life matters! Christianity is not a denial of the material world but a participation in its sanctification. This Third Sunday of Easter, be aware of the choices you make in and through your body. How do you reveal your love to your friends? What decisions do you make about the food and drink you consume and offer to others? To whom do you offer them? When you look at your own wounds — physical and emotional — how do they affect the way you see the world and interact with those around you? Remember, we worship a resurrected God. We are disciples of a resurrected Savior. “Of this we are witnesses.” Will we choose a life for all the world to see?

 Anna Carter

Spring Cleaning and Planting

Getting tired of being indoors?   Come join fellow parishioners while we spruce up and plant flowers in the church and school garden beds. So bring your yard tools and join us, Sat. May 15^rd,  9 am-12 pm. Doughnuts, drinks and safe distance fellowship provided. If you have any questions, contact Eileen MacDonell, 313-592-0481.Thank for your help ahead of time.