“The Lord of hosts is with us: the God of Jacob is our stronghold.” (Ps 46:4)

Happy Gaudete Sunday! This third Sunday of Advent the Church invites us to rejoice with her as we continue to approach the celebration of God coming among us. The celebration of the Liturgy is a bit more festive, and children everywhere rejoice as we finally get to light the pink candle on the Advent wreath!

As I was reflecting on the beautiful Scriptures for today, I was struck by a simple theme: God is with us. I know that by this time in Advent the phrase has become so familiar that we (or at least I) have a temptation to gloss over it. But I think that would be a mistake. Because as I reflected further, I was also struck by what the Scriptures do not tell us in union with that line: nowhere connected with this promise of the Lord being with us is the promise that all our troubles will be erased, or that difficult situations will be eradicated, or that what we found difficult yesterday will be made easy today. We are simply told, “He is with us.”

Twice in today’s first reading for Mass we are reminded to sing joyfully and fear not, because “the Lord is in your midst.”

He tells us that He has removed the judgment against us…He has taken it upon Himself.

He tells us to not fear misfortune and not to be discouraged. Why? Because He is with us. The misfortunes will still persist, this side of heaven, and yet we are still called to rejoice. Because He is with us.

I know that sometimes I fall victim to thinking that once I really entrust everything to the Lord, and trust Him with all my heart, the external situations, especially the difficult, ones, will change. But Christ never promises that to us – yet He does promise to be with us, and that makes all the difference. Oftentimes it is these very situations – the ones I wish were different or that the Lord would take away – that the Lord uses to keep me close to Him, aware of the earth-shattering reality that He is Emmanuel…God-with-us.

This truth of Him being with us brought me to another place in Scripture where we hear this uttered: a town of Galilee called Nazareth, where we meet a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David. The angel says to Mary, “Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.” In this encounter, Mary is also reminded of the singular presence of God with her, and invited to make a gift of herself to Him in a way that no other human has or will. She is invited to rejoice in the Lord’s presence with her, and to invite Him in to dwell even more intimately within her very womb. As she makes this act of trust and abandonment, she does not know all the answers, or how everything will turn out. She is not promised that all her troubles will go away, that everyone will understand her, and that life will be easy. But she is told to rejoice at the Lord’s presence with her, and as she makes this gift of self to her Lord, He comes to dwell with her…and because of this, He now dwells with each and every one of us.

As we reflect on Christ’s presence with us, we have two options as to how we respond. We can respond in a similar manner to Peter’s initial reaction at the overwhelming presence of Christ’s mercy, and in pride want Him to leave us to do it ourselves: “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” I know that many times this is my response: in my prideful presumption of self-sufficiency, I want to solve my problems myself, and run away from the uncomfortable and humbling experience of having to accept help from the Lord, or from other people. However, as I know from repeated experience, this does not end well. But the Lord is relentless in His love, and promises that He will not go away; He pursues us more passionately than we can ever pursue Him.

As we embark upon this second half of Advent, may our response to Emmanuel, God-with-us, be that of the free, total, faithful, and fruitful response of our Lady, who knew that all she had was gift: “He has looked with favor upon his handmaid’s lowliness…The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is His name.” She knew and rejoiced in her littleness!

Come, Lord Jesus, and be with us in our littleness, in our brokenness, and in those situations that are difficult and less than ideal. Into those very places, come with your strong and healing presence, and may we have the courage to rejoice that you are with us there. May we rest in the truth of your promise that you rejoice over us with gladness, renew us in your love, and sing joyfully over us as a Bridegroom rejoices in His bride.

-Sr. Anna Rose Ciarrone

Like me, you might be overwhelmed at all the hubbub on the Year of Mercy, which begins today. All the plans, documents, suggestions, reflections, actions, initiatives ... and then there's those Spiritual and Corporal Works of Mercy! There's 14 of them!

In her book, One Thousand Gifts,Ann Voskamp sets out on a quest for “the fullest life,” a life of daily gratitude to God. She keeps a journal in which she records memorable and mundane miracles she stumbles upon each day – the way a plate of freshly shredded cheese looks in the sunshine or a brilliant harvest moon hanging over a field.

The natural reaction to beauty, to all the good things in our lives, is gratitude. But as her practice of thanksgiving becomes habitual, Ann begins to wonder – what are all the other moments? The moments that are painful, the times when we feel more keenly that life is loss.

How do we reconcile these two very different experiences of God? Who really is God anyway? How can He truly be good? It seems so often that He takes away what is good—in sickness and death, in separation, poverty and suffering.

How can we possibly continue to give thanks when life hurts?

I love words and their meanings and relationships. You might know this, but the Greek word for thanksgiving, as Ann discovers, is eucharisteo.Whoa. That just added a whole other dimension to this.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus stops to “give thanks” before breaking bread with his disciples and the crowds. He gives eucharisteo.What can the Eucharist teach us about giving thanks to God?

Before the Eucharistic sacrifice is offered in the Mass, the priest prays a simple prayer while lifting up first the bread and then the wine: “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you … the wine we offer you.”

I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with authority figures.

Strange though that may sound coming from someone
vowed to obedience, it’s the truth. I guess there’s part of me that has a really hard time trusting the good will or competence of those in authority. Though I’ve been aware of this for a while, it has become abundantly clear since I began the 19th annotation of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius a few months ago, where one is “on retreat” for several months, going through Ignatius’30 day retreat while remaining in the world.

In the Exercises, you spend a fair bit of time praying about sin – the nature of sin, the sin of the angels, the sin of Adam, and your own sins. As I went through the various meditations, I was stunned to realize that all these sins are profoundly related to one another. This is due to the fact that they are all ultimately rebellions, uprisings against our first beginning and final end, God. I was grieved by the ways I have rebelled against God (and still do so!) in my own life, and felt sorry for my sins in a whole new way, on a deeper level than ever before.

Following this time, the retreatant makes a famous meditation, usually referred to as “The Call of the King”, where you place yourself imaginatively in two scenarios. The first is that of a subject to an earthly king – a good king – who hears the call of his king to join him in bringing all lands into subjection to Christian rule. This king tells his subjects that he will share with them both the hardships of the campaign and its victory and ensuing glory. It is clear as you pray that only a fool or coward (an “unworthy knight”) would refuse to serve under such a king with such a glorious enterprise.

Next, you replace this good king with Jesus Christ, the King of kings. He calls each person to join him in sufferings and trials as he goes about the work of subjecting all things and people to his authority. The upshot of this invitation is similar: who would turn away from such a request? Who could fail to serve such a good king?

I was surprised as I began to pray with this meditation, because it left me cold and fearful. I saw the beauty of Christ and his goodness. I longed to be part of his work, to share his life and sufferings and death. But I was afraid to offer myself to him because I felt I would disappoint him. After all, I had only days before come to a deeper awareness of my sinfulness and untrustworthiness. So I protested when I heard Christ’s call, “Are you sure you want me to be part of your army, Lord? I am not so good, you see. I will probably betray you, disappoint you, and let you down.”

After a week of prayer where I kept coming to this point of the meditation and hitting this wall, I met with my retreat director – who told me to pray with it for another week! I felt, in part, like I had received a jail sentence and was doomed to spend another hour each day for another week feeling awkward and inadequate and embarrassed before the King I loved but could not serve. But as she gave me this assignment, my director said something really important. “Remember to ask the Lord how he sees you in this. What we see and what he sees are often two very different pictures.”

So I returned to the meditation. And I realized that I was uncomfortable with the whole first part of the meditation, focusing on the call of the earthly king. My heart was protesting the whole time, “there is no such king!” Not knowing what to do about this, I continued to the second part, the call of Christ the King. And suddenly, like a clarion call, it was as if Christ stood before me, looked me in the eye, and spoke straight to my heart, “I am the real deal! I am what I appear to be! You can trust me!” So I returned his gaze and asked him, again, if he wanted me to serve him, knowing what I was. Could he use me, the proud? Could he use me, the self-righteous? Could he use me, the lazy? My vices and inadequacies seemed like such an impediment – why would Christ want me?

All-night Adoration

My alarm went off, and I awoke suddenly from my dream. I sleepily turned to look at the alarm on my desk, and the red numbers 12:45 stared back at me.

Yep, it was 12:45…A.M.

My first thought was: “I bet Alex is getting up about now, too.” I stumbled out of my bed, and striving not to wake up the sisters in the rooms next to mine, tiptoed out of my room and through the hallway. Everything was so still.

I quietly opened the door to the dark stairwell and made my way down to the chapel, and as I walked I thought about how my sister Alex and I were both awakened in the middle of the night to respond to a call.

My sister Alex works part-time as an E.M.T, and on Saturdays she pulls a 24-hour shift. She was working on Halloween this year, and she was on call to respond to any emergency that may arise. Working a 24-hour shift means that she can sleep during the night until her team gets a call. As soon as they get a call, they are out the door and into the ambulance in minutes, rushing to the scene. Never sure exactly what to expect, they respond to those who are the most vulnerable, those who are hurting, scared, and possibly dying. Their job, once they stabilize the person, is to rush them to the doctor as quickly as possible. The ambulance speeds through the still night, and the siren pierces through the silence as they rush the person to the hospital. I greatly admire my sister and all of those who work as first responders. I thank God that He has given them the graces necessary to rescue those in emergency situations.

Sr. Agnes Maria with her sister, Alex

On Halloween this year I had a night shift too, although mine was a bit different.

Our community held a prayer service and an all-night vigil on Halloween, praying throughout the night to spiritually combat any evil that may have taken place. We began with praise and worship, interceding through our praises for all of the Lord’s little ones who were hurting. Our praises pierced through the silence of the night as we sang to Jesus. We sang His praises to repair for any curses that may have been uttered against Him. We brought to Him souls who were lost and searching for Him in the wrong places.

Many of us also signed up for an hour to pray in the chapel with Jesus in the Eucharist; we kept watch with Him through the night and prayed until the first ray of sunshine broke through the windows of our chapel. My hour was 1 am. At the sound of my alarm, I awoke to respond to the cries of souls, souls who were spiritually and physically hurting, alone, scared, and possibly dying. I knew that I couldn’t heal them, but I rushed them to the One who could. In prayer, I brought them to Jesus, the Divine Physician, and I placed their broken hearts into His pierced Heart. Just like my sister Alex, I knew that it was not my job to fix these souls. It was my job to rush them as quickly as possible to the One who could.

It was a beautiful experience of spiritual motherhood.

I am not a “natural” Franciscan.

Even the tamest and most domesticated of animals tend to run the other way when they see me coming!

I have always liked “nice things” and during my discernment process, I grappled with the idea of giving up my expensive Italian furniture, smoked salmon and decadent hot chocolate (the kind with the cream, chocolate stick and powdering on top).

So, what was it that attracted me to a specifically Franciscan community, a fact that amused no small number of my family members and friends?

In a nutshell, it was the fact that St. Francis loved the good things in this life on a natural level too! But….and this is a big but, he was willing to sacrifice these on many occasions for the greater good of drawing himself and others closer to Christ. He lived his life preparing his soul and the souls of others for the pinnacle moment of life – the moment of meeting Christ face to face in death.

So what did the taste buds of St. Francis gravitate toward? The “Assisi Compilation 8” states that on his deathbed Francis said in reference to a close friend Lady Jacopa “have her also send some of those sweets which she often (note: often!) made for me when I was in the city, the confection made of almonds, sugar and honey that the Romans call mostacciolo”. Sounds good, no?

Pre-conversion, St. Francis was picky with his food, turning away with a wry face from distasteful morsels. He also dressed handsomely and avoided the malnourished and contagious lepers, sensing that he was even more revolted than others by their odorous sores.

We don’t use hashtags in our daily experience of religious life (unlike many of you, dear readers), but if we did, a lot of our posts these days would probably say #TRANSITION.

It’s just that time of year. In early August, our sisters move to their respective mission houses, our novices make first vows, our postulants become novices, and new postulants come our way. Some sisters have the same assignments they had last year, and others have new, sometimes dramatically new, assignments. We call it #transition.

Another hashtag would be #thegraceforthat. I joked with a sister a few days ago – there’s a grace for that! Wherever the Lord puts us, He gives us the grace to be there – to do that specific thing, to be his light in that specific way. But sometimes it’s hard to see for all the newness. Where is it to be found? Where is the grace?

I am in the midst of #transition too. Sure, I’m still here at the motherhouse, and still working in the heart of the home (a.k.a. the kitchen), but now I have the responsibility of coordinating all of it.

It can be easy to compare. “Last year, I didn’t have to …” “Her assignment is so much more exciting …” It can be easy to be discontent.

But I realized something recently – I don’t have the grace to do anything else right now. I don’t have the grace to serve the poor or to minister to college students, as our mission house sisters do. I don’t have the grace to teach the novices. I definitely don’t have the grace to be the Reverend Mother! =) I am exactly where He wants me – where the grace is. And if I look more closely, I can see it. I can see how He has gifted me and put me right where I can use my gifts for the greater good.

St. Peter writes, "As generous distributors of God's manifold grace, put your gifts at the service of one another, each in the measure he has received" (1 Peter 4:10). The stay-at-home mom who offered to bake and decorate the cakes for our celebrations this summer – she has the grace, the gift, for that. The retired painter who volunteered his time for a couple of weeks to help repaint our dining room and hallways – he has #thegraceforthat. The married couple with children who farm and garden here at our motherhouse property and share the bounty with us – they have #thegraceforthat. And they all put their graces, ultimately God’s gifts, at the service of others. And I can do the same! Why would I want to do anything without His help?

Just because God supplies it doesn’t mean it is easy to share the grace. But it is comforting to know He is ultimately the source. I’m just distributing what He gives.

Where is the grace? It’s right here. I’m already knee-deep in it. I just have to move my feet forward to feel the rush, the wetness, around me. I have to move. When I’m standing still, looking back at where I was, I can’t see the grace I have for today, for tomorrow.

So, in the midst of all the #transition, I know God is the same, and his hands are always open, full of gifts. I want to stay right here – where the grace is.

Sr. Katherine at her First Profession of Vows  in 1990

 25 years ago on this day, the feast of St. Clare, our own "St. Clare" and one of our foundresses, Sr. Katherine Caldwell, gave over her life by pronouncing her first vows to the Lord and this community. We want to give the Lord due honor and thanks on this silver jubilee of her first "yes" for her and the gift of her faithfulness these past 25 years!

I knew her well over 25 years ago when as fellow Californians we had a common interest in following the example of St. Francis in our lives. I was studying at Franciscan University of Steubenville, from which she had just graduated, and I still remember how warm and welcoming she was as she invited me to learn more about the Secular Franciscan Student Fraternity that existed on campus, of which she was a member. Her passion and zeal to follow Christ by the radical witness of St. Francis inspired me to want to join the Secular Franciscan Fraternity and to make a deeper commitment to embrace the spirituality of St. Francis in my own life.

Like St. Francis, who stripped himself of his fine clothing before the Bishop, proclaimed God as his Father and embraced the lifestyle of a poor beggar, Katherine (Katy) Caldwell also chose to be poor in the world’s eyes, to forsake worldly prestige and the honor of titles and graduate degrees, in order to let Christ be her wealth, her value and reward. She was led by the Spirit of God, though it seemed foolish to some, to help found a new religious community that would live a hidden life of prayer, sacrifice, and humble service.

Sr. Katherine with her parents and sister after her profession ceremony in 1990

Though she owned nothing, and felt small and ill-equipped for the task, she trusted God and stepped out of her comfort zone and with great faith and humility, helped to found the Franciscan Sisters, Third Order Regular of Penance of the Sorrowful Mother. During that founding year of 1988, I witnessed the great courage of Sr. Katherine and our community’s founding members who impelled me to want to learn more about the community and their charisms of crucified love, mercy, poverty and contemplation. Sr. Katherine generously paved the way for the rest of us who joined later, laying down her life for the sake of the Gospel by embracing the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Empty handed, she offered her ‘all’ to God, to do with as He wished, just like the boy in the Gospel who offered the disciples of Jesus two fish, together with five loaves, to be miraculously multiplied.

From the earliest years until today, Sr. Katherine has always been deeply serious about the pursuit of holiness, while also fun-loving and joyful, willing to do the humblest of tasks, as well as join in the fun and recreation with all the Sisters who have needed relief and balance amidst the intensity of founding a new religious order. She has been a tender sister and a wise reverend Mother for 10 years. I have often experienced her deep wisdom and gained from watching her bear labor pains no less than a mother bears for her child. These pains are, I believe, a true badge of courage.

Sr. Katherine renewing her vows this past August 1st at a Mass at our Motherhouse

Ever loyal in saying ‘yes’ to God’s will for the past 25 years, Sr. Katherine continues to be an example of passionate zeal for the Kingdom of God. In the name of all of your Sisters, I thank you, dear Sr. Katherine, for your friendship, spiritual motherhood, and constant example of undying courage and zeal.

We love you!
Sr. Mary Rose Bratlien, TOR and all your TOR Sisters

As I think about the week I spent advising 40 Franciscan University students who chose to spend their Spring Break serving others right here in Steubenville, the phrase that keeps ringing in my heart is “Christ meeting Christ.” In their scraping, painting, bleaching, listening, counseling, challenging, feeding, visiting, and being present to others, the students certainly showed this city the face of Christ. But the people of Steubenville also showed us His face: He came hungry to the soup kitchen, was bewildered in a teen mom, was lonely in the elderly, zealous in those who work regularly for the betterment of the city, and weary in the job-hunting. The face of Christ that stands out most vividly to me, however, is Christ as I met him in “John.”

John is a man who I met some months ago through a mutual friend at a farmers’ market. He soon started coming to the weekly Bible Study we have at Samaritan House, and I got to know him well. He was sick the whole time I knew him: he had recently been informed that his cancer had come back and he probably did not have very long to live. But his immense zeal for life made it hard to believe that, and I didn’t often think about how sick he was. In the fall, we began to prepare together for consecration to Jesus through Mary, using Fr. Gaitley’s book “33 Days to Morning Glory” and consecrated together at Mass on December 8, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

After Christmas, John’s health started to decline more quickly, and he called me from the hospital in February. I visited him a few times there, and he rallied well after surgery and went home. Spring Break week was, for me, the perfect opportunity to have some students over to give John some love as well as practical help in cleaning his house up a bit. It was beautiful to see how he flourished in the light of the students’ love as they talked with him, made him lunch, and cleaned his kitchen. I had, in truth, been somewhat worried about John after my visits to him in the hospital, because he seemed so afraid of God, so afraid of death. But the man I left after our second visit during mission was less angry, more peaceful, and a lot happier than the one I had seen just weeks earlier.

Rejoice with me as I celebrate 13 years in the Catholic Church – and thank God, too, for the many “yeses” that have brought you to him in the course of your life.