When my eldest daughter, Maire, was about four years old, my husband and I thought to make the Sunday Gospel more understandable for her, we would start doing little skits with her at home after mass. The most memorable of these was a Sunday when the Gospel story was about Martha and Mary, (Luke 10:38-42).
My husband, Marc, played Jesus, I played Martha, and Maire played Mary. I went to the kitchen and started banging pots and pans around in an angry way. Marc sat down and started talking to Maire, sitting at his feet, about being nice to everyone, and sharing your toys. I came stomping into the room demanding that Jesus tell my sister to help me with the serving. Marc stood up and said soothingly, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and concerned about many things, but Mary has chosen the better part and it won’t be taken from her.”
I’ve never wanted the story to end there and apparently neither did Maire. She said we weren’t finished yet, so we went back to our places. My husband said, “So Mary, we need to love everyone.” My child got up, came into the kitchen, and took my hand. “It’s OK, Martha! We can trade.” She led me back to Marc, and had me sit down. And she went to the kitchen and started rattling dishes and puts and pans.
My husband and I looked at each other with wonder.
I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children
A tour guide chats with passengers on a bus journey.
I had a dream about her. At the time I was just beginning my recovery process from a lot of hellish and very deep trauma. I was a young adult flooded with regrets about the troubled teen I had been and the dark ways I had tried to deal with the pain.
So God granted me a visit from my Confirmation Saint * to bring me healing and perspective.
In my dream I was on a tour bus with a lot of other people. We were about to drive through a Gypsy camp. The tour guide, who looked to me like a Romani herself, had the bus driver stop before we drove in. She gave us a talk about not gawking and telling us to be respectful. She probably said some other things too but I don’t remember.
As we slowly drove through the camp, we looked on silently while our guide talked to us. I noticed a girl sitting under a tree with a broken leg. It was a compound fracture; her shin bone was sticking out. It was hard to watch. It was even harder to watch her try to set her leg by using a crow bar. I gasped and so did others who noticed. The tour guide urged me in particular not to judge the girl. She said I should realize the girl was doing the only thing she knew to do with the only tool she had. This is when I realized the tour guide was St. Mary Magdalen. Suddenly I understood she was trying to tell me not to judge my young self so harshly. I too had been doing the best I could, the only things I knew how to do, with the only tools available to me.
When I woke up I felt I had been touched by Heaven, that my struggle was seen, heard and understood. And I knew I had a friend who got me, who had maybe even been there herself.
To this rich dream I have often returned for strength and inspiration. And I honor our great Saint, Mary Magdalen, today on her feast day. She was a woman of courage who spoke up even when she was dismissed and not believed. She knew what she saw. She knew what to do. She had received deep inner healing from Jesus, and she was the most faithful of disciples, with him until the end, after the end, and the new beginning too. She is our faithful friend, as well. I didn’t even ask her to come to me and help me. But she came to me anyway. She loves us. She is our big sister in Christ.
If you’re wounded, grieving, broken, beset by demons of some kind, she gets you. If you’re ready for healing she will help you get there. If you’re not quite ready she will wait until you are.
May she pray for us all and take us to the heights as we follow the Lord to the end.
From his fullness we have all received; grace flowing upon grace. (John 1:16)
*I had two Confirmation Saints. Both St. Joan of Arc and St. Mary Magdalen 🙂
Why, oh WHY do so many people on social media put “laughing” reactions on posts that show terrible human suffering? Even crying children in war zones, a picture of that baby that was shot in the Walmart parking lot, a child being separated from her family. Why do some cheer on the Ebola that’s spreading in the Congo? Why do so many react defensively about injustice or the suffering of others? For example: “Well they broke the law.” Or, “he should have complied” or saying they want to buy a beer for the ICE agent who killed Renee Goode?
Here are some possibilities:
Group identity becomes stronger than compassion. People often show less empathy for those they perceive as outsiders.
Moral justification. “They broke the law” or “He should have complied” can reassure oneself that the world is fair. This is called, “just-world hypothesis.”
Distance. Seeing suffering through a phone screen is different from standing next to a crying child. Some who would comfort an injured person in real life may react callously online.
Performing for an audience. A “😂” reaction is not always actual amusement. Sometimes it’s a tribal signal: The reaction is less about the victim than showing loyalty to one’s “team.”
Dehumanization. History shows that when people are repeatedly described by leaders in media and politics as criminals, invaders, parasites, terrorists, or enemies, others begin to see them as less than fully human. That makes cruelty easier. This has been documented in many contexts, from wars to genocides.
Psychological defense. Some people cope with disturbing news by denying it, minimizing it, or mocking it.
Online disinhibition. People are often meaner behind a screen than they would be face to face. The relative anonymity and lack of immediate consequences reduce normal social restraints.
Echo chambers. If someone’s online community rewards cruel comments with likes and approval, those comments become normalized. What once would have seemed shocking gradually comes to feel ordinary.
Social media can distort our perception. I should remember that in the real world, disasters are still met with strangers donating blood, neighbors bringing meals, volunteers searching through floodwaters, and people quietly caring for one another. In spite of everything, compassion remains beautifully common.
And what is the best way to react to apparently heartless people? How do I have compassion for them?
I should remember that people who have stopped feeling compassion are not necessarily happy people. They may be afraid, angry, overwhelmed, lonely, immersed in media that constantly tells them to fear certain groups, or rewarded by their social circle for cruelty. None of that excuses their horrible comments. But it does mean that the person behind the comment is likely carrying wounds, distortions, or habits that have narrowed their ability to see another person’s humanity.
A prayer from Alcoholics Anonymous about encountering mean people is,
“This person is sick. How can I be of help? God save me from being angry.”
I do think anger is an important emotion. However, anger at random mean people is not good for me and doesn’t help them either.
I am Catholic. I don’t believe in bad people. God intended us to be good, and he made us good in spite of original sin and concupiscence, (the tendency to sin) God loves us all.
God sees everything: the suffering and injustice, as well as those committing it, and those of us who witness with empathy or mockery.
I don’t have the commission to straighten people out. They’re not my kids; they’re God’s kids.
Maybe next time I can imagine two wounded people instead of one: the victim in the story, and the commenter whose heart has become so constricted that they can laugh at suffering. The first deserves justice and mercy, and prayer. The second also needs healing, and prayer though they don’t seem to know it.
I think St. Teresa of Avila would tell me that my task is not to carry every burden in the world by sheer emotional force. As a Carmelite, my part is to stay close to Jesus, and from his sacred heart, receive the love I need to give away. If I try to absorb every tragedy and every cruel comment, it does nothing but damage my heart, which is such a mood sponge, and ruin my day. Prayer is one way of gently wringing it out.
I could, if I bump into mean posts or comments, pray a quick prayer.
“Lord, have mercy on these people who are so deeply harmed,
have mercy on the hard of heart,
and have mercy on me too.”
The best response can also be to close the app, water my persimmon trees, tend my chickens, stock my Little Free Library, pray for immigrants in detention, write a reflection, or encourage my daughter before a gig. Those are not escapes, just a better contribution to the world than freaking out.
Catholic author Leticia Ochoa Admas writes that (in paraphrase,) every act of mercy, every refusal to mock another person, every prayer for someone whose heart has hardened, is a rose laid at the feet of the Virgin Mary. Well I love her so I will let that motivate me.
The world scatters thorns wildly and seemingly without plan or reason. Maybe my job, our job is to keep growing roses anyway.
A colorful rose arrangement decorates the base of a garden statue’s feet
Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”
I Thessalonians %:16-18
I was going through a difficult time when I was nineteen. My best friend had just died a couple of months before and I had no spiritual foundation for dealing with that. Not only that but my family was going through a difficult time as well. All of this was made more difficult by the fact that I was not any good at processing emotions or dealing with things in helpful ways. I was trying to change that but I was still learning. I called a mentor of mine crying, not sure what to do about feeling so bad. She said to go for a walk and think of five things I was grateful for. I didn’t understand but I was a mess so I did as she asked. I don’t remember what I was grateful for in the end. I mostly remember that being grateful for the smallest things and keeping them in mind as I walked lifted the dark heavy cloak I felt like I was wearing by at least a few pounds.
In the many years since that time I have learned that gratitude helps not only in dark times, but even in the midst of the very darkest of times. Not only that but it seems to fix a lot of problems. It may be that gratitude helps us to accept what is. Or perhaps the slight change in perspective helps us see with more clarity and makes problems appear smaller than they did when we were freaking out, and solutions seem possible. It is a great help in relationships. Appreciating people is an important glue holding us close to one another. It’s the same with God. When Jesus healed a group of ten lepers, he was shocked that only one came back to thank him(Luke 17:11-19). He appreciates our thanks. Gratitude draws us closer to the Giver.
I haven’t forgotten the bad things that have happened to me in life, at least not the big ones. But I have made a habit of gratitude to the point that, as I recently noticed, when I wake up I usually smile at God as soon as I am conscious. (How long has this been going on?) Generally I’m not elated much. However I am content overall and I have a lot of joy in my life. Sometimes I am really worried about something and sometimes I have anxiety or I get angry or depressed. However the smile is real and at the same time habitual. I am not sure anymore which came first.
I know that when I am feeling out of sorts, uneasy or upset, that one of the best tools in my tool box is to say, “OK what am I grateful for?” Sometimes the things I am grateful for are only things like “Well I’m grateful it’s not worse,” or “I’m grateful for the trees,” or “At least we’re not dead.” Sometimes I laugh at myself that those things are all I can think of. But they are still good things as well as real things. It’s a start.
Fr. Brian Eilers, when I had just confessed having lost my temper with my family, said he wanted me to go out into the main church and take up my rosary. “On each bead thank God for something. Keep going until you have been all the way around the rosary.” I had been upset when I had driven to the church. But by the time I finished my penance I was smiling. I had even thanked God for my family. I’m so pleased to have them, mad or not!
So if you’re upset or in a bad mood today, if you got bad news, or if you watched the news and lost your peace, go for a walk. While you are walking, think of five things you are grateful for. Tell God about these. When you get back, write them down. I’ve advised this to friends having a hard time before. I usually get a good report about how it went. This also helps if you’re angry with someone you love. Think of five things you are grateful for about them. I promise it helps. It can also help when you’re mad at God which at one time or another all of us has been. And when we are happy we should be sure to thank the good God for our joy.
“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”
Meister Ekhart
You might like to try Fr. Brian’s gratitude beads with your rosary.
Maybe you can imagine you are putting flowers at the altar of God in Heaven. After all, he deserves them. And he usually ends up pouring them into your lap. He loves doing that.
St. Teresa of Avila, Doctor of the Church, Carmelite reformer, and great teacher of Prayer, said that what she called the “Prayer of Recollection” was a method of mental prayer the Lord Himself taught her. Here is a video I have made of my brief, guided version of the Prayer of Recollection that you can use to learn it, or for a prayer break during the day. For more on the Prayer of Recollection, try reading my book, Meeting the One who Loves you, the way of prayer of St. Teresa of Avila from Our Sunday Visitor.
It is a pronounced characteristic of our Catholic faith that both personally and as Church we meditate deeply on the suffering of Jesus. Our crucifixes, art and literature are often graphic in their portrayals of his Passion and Death. The Saints emphasize this practice, the rosary we pray, the Church calendar, all return us to our suffering Lord. In the Stations of the Cross we walk with Jesus through his suffering step by step. Why do we do this? To an outsider it might seem ghoulish to dwell on the lurid details of his torn flesh, his bloody sweat, the tears he shed.
The mystics say that Our Lord’s Passion is like a fire of love. The more we draw near to this fire the more we are warmed and transformed by it.
I am a deeply sensitive, and, I hope, compassionate person. I am always uncomfortable with the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary (traditionally prayed on Tuesdays and Fridays. During Lent it is also on Sundays). Meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries, we follow Jesus through his Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, his Scourging at the Pillar, his Crown of Thorns, his Carrying the Cross, his Crucifixion and Death. It’s tough. But I don’t want to leave him alone in his sorrow. I want to share in it as his mother did. I want to comfort and help him. Also we can’t expect to only share the sweetness of the Lord without the bitterness of the cross. Part of love is acceptance. I don’t want to only love part of Jesus I want to love all of him, accept everything. That means following him not only in his joyous times but right into the valley of death as well, and the cruelty he experienced from others.
For me the fact of the betrayal of Judas, Our Lord’s broken heart, his grief, the abuse heaped on him, have helped me accept the sorrows in my own life. Sharing in his pain has made me more able to not look away from the suffering of others but to ‘weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15)
A Methodist minister friend told me he noticed that Catholics don’t see ourselves as witnesses of the events in the life of Jesus. We think of ourselves as taking part in a very present way in our prayer and especially at mass. We are there at the Last Supper at mass. We don’t think we are witnessing something. It’s not a story. We are in it. I like that. Maybe this points to why we submerge ourselves in the torture and cruelty of his death in such detail. We’re helping ourselves be there.
Our Lord’s Passion teaches about love as intense faithfulness and determination, sacrifice, acceptance. It helped me stand by my husband all through his fight with brain cancer. In his darkest and fearful moments I listened to him talk about his feelings of raw desolation, anger, and even shame, of terror, of feeling there was no comfort anywhere. In spite of my love for him, part of me wanted to run and hide from the enormity of what he was expressing.
I had no mitigating words to say. The profound suffering of another person is frightening to be present to. When he eventually asked how I felt about this on a spiritual level, all I had was the fact of Christ’s suffering. At least as we went through this with cancer we had a God with us who didn’t die gracefully in a shower of rose petals but was coldly executed, naked and bleeding like an animal, nailed to a cross, with a cry of spiritual abandonment only just having died on his lips.
My husband nodded gravely. He got it.
1565 Oil on canvas Scuola Grande di San Rocco, Venice
The Christian life is illuminated by the choice of Jesus to take our suffering on himself. It was our sins, our iniquities, yes, but our suffering too, according to Isaiah.
“Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering… by his wounds we are healed” Isaiah 53:4-5
The incomparable light he generated by choosing to undergo his Passion as an offering shines forever. It reminds me in my own darkest times, of his compassion. My tears are his too. St. Teresa of Avila says so great is his compassion that when you visit him in his agony he will forget his own sorrow in looking at you and wanting to comfort you.
As we approach Holy Week let’s avail ourselves of the opportunity to love Jesus through his suffering and death, and to let him love us too.
Meditating on the prayer of St. Francis, I thought that from a Teresian perspective, when we pray that where there is hatred we may sow love – we are already doing it. Our prayer, as we pray it, is sowing love in place of hatred. In a mysteries way God shares his grace with us and through us in our prayer. We become instruments of peace in a mystical way.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.
Right now, in this time of global violence, cruelty and chaos that is in almost every way out of our control, it is a relief to open the heart to God and let his love and grace flow through us to the world, to know that he is doing something and that we can be part of his loving transformation of the people and situations most in need of his kindness. We never know what God will do and where he will send his Spirit, or how he will act on the hearts of the people we pray for. However, we can have total faith that he will respond to our prayers.
I invite you to memorize the Prayer of St. Francis if you haven’t already. Try dedicating your time of silent prayer to sitting with it, going over it as slowly as you can without losing focus. You don’t have to think about it or examine it so much as concentrating on the words, letting each one drop into your heart like a pearl dropped into still water where it drifts slowly to the bottom to rest. Know that God is within you and working with you for your good, and for every creature. You will be sowing love in the world, pardon, light, hope, joy, as an instrument of his peace.
In today’s Gospel, John 4:5-42, Jesus tells the Samaritan woman that the water he will give her will become a fountain welling up within her, giving eternal life. To me that fountain is love, his transforming love. It wells up within us helping us to live out this prayer. It not only transforms us but everyone we splash with it, both in our prayer and in our interactions with people and the things we do during the day. Every day we are given opportunities to seek to understand rather than be understood, to seek to love rather than be loved, to give rather than receive. It becomes a habit, easier and easier the more we submerge ourselves in the water of his love that never runs out.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek To be consoled as to console, To be understood as to understand, To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive, It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.”
We pray like a fountain gushing out and watering the whole world, flowing out and touching everyone. We live our lives in response to this grace given to us. We are transformed in it and so is the whole world.
I would like to invite you to a very practical and frequently unappreciated form of abstinence: that of refraining from words that offend and hurt our neighbor. Let us begin by disarming our language, avoiding harsh words and rash judgement, refraining from slander and speaking ill of those who are not present and cannot defend themselves. Instead, let us strive to measure our words and cultivate kindness and respect in our families, among our friends, at work, on social media, in political debates, in the media and in Christian communities. In this way, words of hatred will give way to words of hope and peace.
Pope Leo XIV, Message for Lent 2026
The Holy Father has, in his serene and gentle way, thrown down a gauntlet with this challenge. This is a very tough form of fasting, especially now in these times of political extremes, immovable opinions, varying understandings of reality and a shocking lack of empathy or compassion. Language is too often used in flagrant attempts to dehumanize those who differ from us In this age of rage, are we contributing to the lack of peace by our words? We long for justice but do we really care about the effect our words have on others or are we just mad? How do we do better? What steps can we take to purify the violence of our speech and still speak truth when necessary?
We need some steps to get there, some tools, a frame work.
Jesus said, “out of the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45, Matthew 12:34) He said our sinful and hateful words begin in our sinful and hateful hearts. Practically speaking, this means we need to master our thoughts. When we master our thoughts, we master our words. Here is my tool box for disarmament, if you will.
On mastering our thoughts, one of the best things one can do is replace them with something else. A dear priest told me once during Confession that every time I had a hateful or judgmental thought about a certain person I was struggling with, I should mentally say, “I renounce that thought in the Name of Jesus Christ.” Guess what? It worked! That person is among my inner circle of friends and has been for many years now. She loves telling people the story.
Some years back I found myself obsessively wrapped in raging thoughts about a betrayal in my life. My rotating anger was no longer helpful. I didn’t need to talk about my feelings. This pre-occupation of mine became a problem with family and friends. Nobody wanted to hear it anymore. I didn’t want to hear it anymore. I wasn’t healing, just stuck. I had to stop.
I remembered that I had tools I knew worked. So I began to mentally repeat the names of Jesus and Mary whenever I had the urge to talk about it or think abut it all again. It worked! I went from thinking about the whole thing at least once every 15 minutes to hardly ever. If we don’t think about something like that, we stop talking about it all the time, as well.
Another thing I was doing at the same time as forming the habit of repeating the holy names, was spending time daily in silent interior prayer. My main way of doing this at that time was memorizing passages of the Bible, prayerfully and silently going over and over them in my mind. This is called Ruminatio, a loving meditative recitation of God’s Word in the heart, from the monastic tradition. It’s a “chewing” on the Word until it becomes sweetness in the heart. Sweetness in the heart is what we need most.
Another thing silent prayer does is slow our minds down and makes our emotions less volatile. We have time to think before we speak rather than just spark into fire whenever we are challenged. The Lord is in us and he calms the destructive storms. (Matthew 8:23–27, Mark 4:35–41, Luke 8:22–25). The waves of our emotions calmed, we are more likely to speak wisely and less hurtfully.
Here are some helpful considerations from a modern proverb of uncertain origin.
There are three gates your words should pass through before you speak. Ask these questions of yourself:
Is what I want to say true?
Is it necessary?
Is it kind?
If what you want to say doesn’t pass through all three of these three gates, don’t say it!
What to do instead? Go for a fast walk and repeat the Holy Name of Jesus or the Jesus prayer the whole time. Don’t come back until you are calm. (The Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”).
Remember this is not something you are doing alone. God is with you and his grace will aid you. So ask him.
May the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of my heart, be acceptable to you, my God.”
This year for Lent, the Holy Father, Pope Leo, is asking us to “listen.” He says listening to the Word of God will train our ability to listen to the voices God wants us to hear, such as the cries of the poor and the marginalized, the sick and the suffering. I wasn’t sure how that worked but as I have been reflecting on it, the practice of Lectio Divina came to mind. In this prayer we aren’t just reading Scripture texts. we are “listening” with an open heart to any words or phrases that stand out to us as we read. We understand these as God’s words to us personally in that moment. So we prayerfully repeat them in our minds, pondering them in our hearts. Then we respond to what God is saying to us, replying to him. Then we rest in interior silence for a while. Then we go out and act on his Word.
If we learn and pray Lectio Divina regularly, it becomes the way we hear Scripture all the time. When it is read at mass, we will hear God speaking to us, even as we are aware of hearing his Word as community too. We will be attuned to him speaking and we automatically apply it to our lives without hesitation.
The Benedictines talk about “Lectio on Life,” This is being aware of how God is speaking to you in your daily life. He may speak in a song that comes on at the right moment, something you read or that someone says to you, even something you overhear from a stranger when you’re out and about. It can be a life event, even a small one, that stands out to you as symbolic or providential. I used to say, when something like that happened, “If this was a dream, what would it mean?” I said this because in the way we interpret the meaning of a dream, in the same way, could be done with something that really happened as well, drawing out its meaning.
What if we hear or see something happening around us, read about it or it comes to us in prayer, or keeps returning to our thoughts as we go about that day? We can use the same process of Lectio Divina to ponder it in our hearts, ask God what he is saying to us in this event or thing we heard during the day, respond to him about it, and go out and act on it. This could be noticing the young woman at the store putting her groceries back. It gets to you. Just in seeing that through God’s loving and merciful eyes as a person of prayer, you understand the message and you act on it. Ask her what’s going on, listen to her, and do something about her trouble. Maybe you can’t pick up her whole tab but when she tells you she was trying to get after school snacks for her kids before she picks them up, maybe you can at least get today’s snacks. Then thank God for the opportunity to see, hear and serve him. That’s just one quick way this could play out. Being in tune with God helps you notice her. Otherwise perhaps you wouldn’t have.
One of the things I am doing this Lent is staying away from the news during the week. I can always catch up at the end of the week. Like a lot of people I am hyper vigilant lately because of all the violence, chaos, suffering and injustice happening every day. I’m overwhelmed and so is everyone I talk to about it. What I am hoping for with backing off from the constant news is to use that time for silence and prayer. I also get to the point sometimes when my mind of cluttered up with all the things I am seeing, reading and hearing that I think the clutter interferes with real listening.
I want to listen to life and the people around me and allow God to raise the voices to me he wants me to hear. I am probably too overwhelmed to discern them now. I’m hoping God will sort me out during this gracious time of Lent. Going into the desert with Jesus is one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I having to skip or run to keep up with him but still, I am so ready to slow down and focus on him and what he wants to talk about or show me, or even if he just wants to hang out.
May the Lord open the ears of our hearts to hear him.
May the voices now “blurred by comfort” as Pope Leo said, and the faces we don’t see,
come into sharp relief for us
through our prayer, listening, fasting and almsgiving this Holy Lent,
Oh Jesus, “For your voice is sweet, and your face is beautiful.” (Song of Songs 2:14)
Bethany Hang Out 