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Crazy mean people and how not to be one

Yellow laughing emoji with tears streaming from eyes

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. 

Base of garden statue with red, pink, and peach roses arranged around feet
A colorful rose arrangement decorates the base of a garden statue’s feet
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Flowers of Gratitude

Photo by Lucie Nelson on Pexels.com

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.

Loose stemless flowers on jeans lap, POV
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Why meditate on the Suffering and Death of Jesus?

  the Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald.

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.

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Lay down your verbal arms for Lent

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.”

Psalm 19:14

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Lenten listening

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)

* If you don’t know how to Lectio 😉

I have written about it here



















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Prayer and solidarity in a dark church

The church was dark and warm when I came in. I could hear sleepy children stirring in the corners, and see the shapes of people in the pews. I had missed the rosary but adoration would go on until late. The one light shone on the exposed Eucharist on the alter. I sat down in the back, then knelt to pray in the silence.

I noticed cantors were standing in a dimly lit alcove. One of them stood up and read something in Spanish that I thought was from the Gospel of John. I left off studying my Spanish this summer and I’ve already forgotten a lot but it sounded like something from that Gospel. I can’t remember what it was now. Jesus calming the waves? There were prayers. Something about children, loved ones, fear. The reader sounded not only somber but sad. They sang a Mexican hymn about walking with the Lord.

It sounds like any Adoration night in a Catholic Church. However I haven’t yet mentioned that the feeling as I came through the church doors was overwhelming sadness, an oppressive sorrow that was almost crushing. I can’t be sure that was what people there were feeling but if they were it would make sense.

This parish I was visiting is primarily Latino parish. We have had ICE here the last couple of weeks. We are not a big town. We used to be small but I suppose we’re medium now. Local TV has reported on where agents been sited, arrests they have made. Local police have made announcements telling us not to interfere with ICE. The popular news anchor has posted videos of ICE activity people have sent him. Unusually for this conservative bastion of a town, there have been school walk-outs, protests, prayer vigils, almost every day that ICE has been here.

Obviously this situation has caused stress for a lot of people. Nothing like in Minnesota. In fact I have only seen a couple of ICE agents in person, and one abandoned car with the doors open on the road.

I didn’t feel like trying to do any structural mental prayer. My mind was unusually clear and still. Making it do anything felt like introducing unnecessary clutter so I went with just sitting still, being conscious, being present.

As time went by I felt sorrow grow. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was all of us.

More prayers. I heard the phrases, “my heart,” and “your heart” several times. Another song about trusting God, I think. People came in, others left quietly, sleeping children over their shoulders. A boy came around with a box of LED votive lights. Soon there was one at the end of each pew, flickering like candles. The priest walked down the aisle checking on everyone. For me sorrow kept deepening. I began to feel an intense wreath of warmth around my heart.

Silence. More Scripture, more prayers. The trust and love they were expressing reminded me of our family’s attitude when my husband Bob had brain cancer. “Everything will be OK and even if it’s not OK it will be OK,” we used to say. In other words, “This is terrible and we have hope that it can end well. But no matter what has to happen, we will be with you, Lord, and we will always have you.”

They were live streaming the event; probably for anyone too ill to attend or too afraid to come to church or leave the house. I thought that the people in the church were probably not the ones who were especially targets. They were here to pray for everyone else. It would be likely that they are worried about someone they knew, a family member maybe.

I was likely the only white person there. I could have no idea what this community within my community was going through or what it was like to be them right now. This prayer vigil was a vigil for peace. It had been announced as a way to “put everything in God’s hands.” It struck me that the people I was sitting with likely did not have much they could do about the situation. All they had was God.

I felt such gratitude that they were letting me sit with them at the feet of Jesus even though I can’t possibly share what they were going through. I had that sense of astonishment that I was sitting among a persecuted people. Maybe some of them didn’t know what had happened to someone they loved, whether they were being tortured or starved or beaten, whether they were far away in a dangerous country, whether they would ever see that person again. It was one of those moments when I couldn’t believe this is my country.

I looked at the people around me again. “Jesus I know these are your people,” I prayed. “I will do whatever I can, whatever you ask me to do for them. Just make me able.” My eyes filled. “Thank you for letting me be with them tonight.“

After about an hour, which passed quickly, I left.

I talked to my daughter Roise about the sadness I felt. Was I right that there was sadness in the voices of the cantors and readers? Was I projecting a pleading sentiment onto them? Was it my feelings coming out?

Roise suggested that as Catholics we believe that we are the Body of Christ together. Especially in the Eucharist, we are one together, sharing everything. Maybe I was sensing their feelings or maybe I was just part of the Body of Christ feeling its pain. When one part suffers all the others do too.

We thought about it some more. “Imagine how sad Jesus is about all this.”

Neither of us had anything else to say after that.

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The subject tonight is love

My brother, Mark Manning

The subject tonight is Love
And for tomorrow night as well,
As a matter of fact,
I know of no better topic
For us to discuss
Until we all Die!

Hafiz

It’s been my brother Mark’s birthday today. He would have been 56. (1970-2015)
I was thinking about love and letting go. I actually don’t like the phrase “letting go.” To me it sounds like sending someone away, like forgetting them. I hate that.


However somebody pointed out to me this morning that loosening my grip this Christmas on our family traditions, my ability to be more open to doing something new and allowing our Christmas to unfold in the new family we are, was a letting go. The fact that I was OK today on my brother’s birthday though a little sad at times, and that I was OK not doing anything in particular in his honor necessarily, was letting go.

That sounds a little scary for me but it’s alright. I am always afraid if I don’t try hard to remember and keep everything I know about them, I will forget the people I have lost. I really fear that. I don’t want them to be far away from me- like childhood friends whose names I can’t really remember anymore. I don’t want to let them go.

Then I thought about how love is a living thing. Love changes and grows as the people in the relationship do. Love is not static. It isn’t only in the past. Love isn’t diminished by change In fact love deepens as people adjust and sacrifice in the midst of and because of it they grow together and for one another.

The love between my brother and me is a living thing. Death has changed our situation drastically. Love has had to adjust and change and grow with that. But death can’t take away love. And maybe that is what it means to let go; when I don’t need to force anything to feel connected, or struggle to wrest back any little scrap death has left behind when it raided my family and took so many people away. Maybe letting go is to be able to trust that love just is and I can let it be itself.

My dad used to say that my brother probably loved me more than anyone on the planet loved anyone. What if I can trust that he still does? He always loved me just as I was. I loved him like that too.

I love my brother as he is right now, even not quite knowing what that is like to be him right now. When I get there with him I expect to love him even more. Death can’t do anything about that.

.So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13: 13

*My brother Mark Manning at 7 years old.

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Octave peace

I did try to keep up with St. Martha this Advent. After I spilled things, forgot to turn the oven on and knocked over the broom at exactly the wrong moment she gave me a talk about keeping things simple and achievable. “Maybe you should go for a walk.” Everything turned out fine. It was simple and good and it was family. We even have a new baby this year to celebrate Christmas with. Mass was beautiful. Jesus has come to us. In the special grace of Christmas the morning star has risen in our hearts whatever we have been doing or feeling. Now as these continuing days of the Christmas season stretch before us so does the special grace of this season which lasts until Baptism of the Lord. Now that the dishes are done and St. Martha takes a well deserved nap, we can settle down with Jesus next to Martha’s sister Mary at the feet of Jesus who has been waiting. 
Especially during the Octave (the first eight days after Christmas Day) let’s challenge ourselves to spend time alone with Jesus daily. Even just five minutes with him a day when our loving attention is all for him would do us a good and make him happy. It’s what he wants for his birthday. 

So take a few minutes. Set a timer for five.  Sit comfortably with your back relatively straight (so you don’t fall asleep) and quiet your heart. Maybe Baby Jesus is lying on your chest, warm and peaceful. Kiss his little fuzzy head now and then. If you start thinking of other things or worrying or your your mind whizzes off to other planets, say his Name. Just look at him and love him for these few minutes. Look at his little fingers and toes. Contemplate his sweet face as Our Lady did so often. You don’t have to think about anything. Just be there. Just love.  

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Merry Christmas

Mass was beautiful this morning and I got to read the second reading for “Christmas mass during the day.” I loved this reading.

A Reading from the Letter to the Hebrews

In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets; 

in these last days, he spoke to us through a son, whom he made heir of all things and through whom he created the universe,

who is the refulgence of his glory,

the very imprint of his being,

and who sustains all things by his mighty word.

When he had accomplished purification from sins,

he took his seat at the right hand of the Majesty on high,

as far superior to the angels

as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.

For to which of the angels did God ever say:

“You are my Son,

This day I have begotten you.”

Or again:

“I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me”?

And again, when he leads* the first-born into the world, he says:

“Let all the angels of God worship him.”


I love mass at Christmas. Everyone smiles extra, whispering “merry Christmas” to one another. All the incense and poetic antiphons and prayers, the extra beautiful church and Christmas music that catches at the heart, brings us into the moment. The realization that we are all in the manger now – in the physical as well as spiritual presence of Jesus as much as the shepherds and Mary and Joseph that day strikes me. Jesus is fully present in the Eucharist and we can adore and as Mary did, receive.

Outside was an unhoused gray haired man alseep on a bench across the street. And there was Jesus again. Right here. Right now. I had seen him as I looked for s parking spot. I didn’t have any money on me. I didn’t want to disturb his sleep to ask him what else he might need. All I could do was offer my reception of the Eucharist for him and pray for him at mass.

By the grace of Christmas I ask that I will get another chance to help him in some way, and that when he wakes up someone will surprise him by filling a need of his, or giving him a gift he likes or a hug- or invites him over for Christmas dinner. Emanuel ; God is with us in a special way on this Christmas Day.

This evening I am thinking of going over to visit the Holy Family, maybe bring them some of these cookies.

Maybe Mary is still learning to breastfeed Jesus, straw in her hair, blanket over her shoulder. Maybe Joseph is out looking for something for her to eat, or hurrying back. He can’t wait to see them. He is so excited and in awe. He thinks how he will always protect them and how amazing it is that he gets to be with them for the rest of his life and care for them. He can still hardly believe it.

Come and catch him at the door, give him a big hug. Let him lead you to his, to our, greatest Treasure, held in Mary’s arms.

Stay and eat with them.

What do they tell you?

What do you tell them?

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