tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234212648431676552024-03-14T05:04:11.829-04:00From The Friars - CFR Blogwww.franciscanfriars.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger609125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-90082210517502443482019-01-04T12:06:00.004-05:002019-01-04T12:06:56.096-05:00Mistaken Identity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but as a young boy I asked myself an important question: who am I? It appea<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">red, at least to me, like a natural question. After all, I thought, what was the point of living if you didn’t know who you are? In my childlike innocence, I assumed everyone was fascinated by this question and that most people were eager to discover the answer. Needless to say, I was thoroughly confused to realize this was not so.</span></span></div>
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Many people, I learned, lived on the surface of life. They placed their hope in things like social status, athletic ability, physical appearance, etc. to reveal to them who they were. I often heard people say things like, “I am a doctor”, “I am an honor student” or “I am poor,” implying a person’s real identity was something exterior. Ignorant of any other possibilities, it was here that began my own journey of self-discovery.</div>
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Almost my entire childhood was consumed by baseball. Every spare moment was spent, either working on my pitching in my backyard, or at batting practice in some field near my house. After experiencing a tiny amount of success, I witnessed a bizarre set of associations begin to unfold: people were identifying me with baseball. I was the pitcher on this team, who helped win this game, who was turning this team around. Somewhat stunned by such dramatic conclusions, I looked past the irrationality of it all and began to digest every word that was spoken about this mysterious person who everyone was identifying as “me.” I was a good pitcher, athletic and helping my team win games, hence, I was a baseball player.</div>
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As I entered my teenage years, my identity as a baseball player proved insufficient. My feelings, emotions and even my physical appearance was in a constant state of change. Due to these sudden and often times radical changes occurring both within me and without, I became terribly insecure and afraid. It was during this time of turmoil where I encountered the power of music. I would read the lyrics of different songs, particularly rock songs, and felt understood. I could relate to the singer’s pain, confusion and desire for love.</div>
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Within weeks of this new discovery, I was teaching myself how to play guitar. A few months later, much to my surprise, I was playing in a band with three other guys. Before I knew it, we were playing gigs on a regular basis and people had, once again, begun to talk. “I love the lyrics you write,” people would say. “You are a great bass player, how did you get so creative?” Enjoying the way all this sounded I believed them. I was creative, artistic, and a good bass player: hence, I was a musician.</div>
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By the time I entered college, baseball and music had become a distant memory. Not content with the notoriety, minimal though it was, that baseball and music had brought me, I began to explore a new world of intrigue: philosophy. I had no desire for a career, an impressive resume or academic honors when I began college. I was genuinely seeking wisdom, yet as more people discovered that I was a philosophy major, another strange occurrence began to ensue: people began to label me as intelligent, wise and even spiritual. Never considering myself as having any of those qualities I began to wonder if maybe these people saw something about me that I didn’t. Since I enjoyed the way these acclamations felt, I decided they were right. I was intelligent, wise and spiritual, hence, I was a philosopher.</div>
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To say that I was desperate to find out who I was would be an understatement. This question gnawed at me continually, and like many of us, I looked for the answer in all the wrong places. As good as these things are, I never was, nor will be a baseball player, musician or philosopher. Likewise people are never just their careers, social status, or health. Our identity always transcends the categories of this world. “You are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). Put even more simply the apostle says, “your life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3).</div>
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St. Paul’s message is clear. We belong to God. All the many roles and functions we might play in this world cannot add to or alter the identity God has imprinted within us. A wealthy man I met during a parish mission expressed it this way: “I am a Christian, but the role I play in this world is that of a doctor.”<br />Unfortunately, the temptation to find our true identity among the finite things of this world is always present. Often, when children leave home parents can experience an identity crisis since there are no longer any children to care for. After fulfilling such an important role for so many years, it is easy to identify oneself with that role. “I am a parent,” they might say, “what do I do now?” With no children to care for, they are forced to find a deeper answer to the question, “Who am I?”</div>
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Even now as a priest I am tempted to find my identity in the things of God rather than God himself. When I was a novice, a wise old priest used to say to us, “don’t inhale.” He was referring, of course, to any praise and admiration we might receive from preaching or by the witness of our religious life. He was reminding us, not that what was said was not true, but it wasn’t a complete picture. The danger is that by inhaling, i.e. believing what was said about us to be a reflection of our true identity, we would run the risk of attempting to solve the mystery of our identity without all the proper pieces. In essence, this priest was reminding us that the finite things of this world, good though they are, are incomplete and unable to reveal to us who we really are.</div>
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Over the past several years I have done a considerable amount of preaching, spiritual direction and writing where I have experienced being God’s instrument to bring healing, hope, and to awaken people to God’s love. In the midst of such “success” I am tempted to ignore the truth of God’s grace at work, and take, if not all, at least half the credit. “Yes,” a subtle voice says inside of me, “you are a great preacher, spiritual director and writer. This is who you are.” Thankfully, after so many failed attempts to identify myself among the things of this world, I am able to recognize exactly what this is: simply another case of mistaken identity.</div>
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+ Fr Jeremiah, CFR.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-84528343431581246042019-01-01T14:53:00.003-05:002019-01-01T14:53:37.042-05:00A Prophecy for 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-23212779555276979472018-12-19T12:23:00.001-05:002018-12-19T12:23:19.711-05:00The Marian Posture<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBYx-tIeFGfuZMZhmdRINMGSI1fd6dCee_N_yuIVzR_Pzqv8slhhITC-vUpTf3DjF0N35Qxle2FyiNcJrACvlbfZISe6D0n88lEtsiajTPyK_hAMhys2jTQuKwwkZmFUt6xg0ASIbZQM/s1600/Henry_Ossawa_Tanner_-_The_Annunciation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="807" data-original-width="1024" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBYx-tIeFGfuZMZhmdRINMGSI1fd6dCee_N_yuIVzR_Pzqv8slhhITC-vUpTf3DjF0N35Qxle2FyiNcJrACvlbfZISe6D0n88lEtsiajTPyK_hAMhys2jTQuKwwkZmFUt6xg0ASIbZQM/s400/Henry_Ossawa_Tanner_-_The_Annunciation.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 12px; orphans: 2; text-align: start; widows: 2;"><i>*Annunciation by Henry Ossawa Tanner</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> (blog by Fr Jeremiah, CFR)<br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-top: 1em; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Many families, at some point in their history, have experienced a certain amo<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">unt of anxiety due to money. My family, unfortunately, was one of them. When my father was shot in his left shoulder during the Vietnam War, he lost the use of his left arm. Without a college degree and able to use only one arm, the odds of him ever finding a well-paying job were slim.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<br />Throughout most of my childhood, my father usually worked two jobs at a time. The best jobs he could find were as a security guard and janitor. Even though he was grateful for those jobs, both of them only paid him little more than minimum wage. With two young children at home, it was never enough. Money always seemed to disappear before all the bills were paid.</div>
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<br />When I was lying in bed at night I would often hear my mother and him discussing financial matters. “How are we going to pay for food this month, their school clothes, doctor visits, etc?” I would often hear them say. At the time, I was too young to comprehend the seriousness of not having food, clothes for school or not being able to go to the doctor’s. What I do remember though, from those conversations, was the anxiety in their voices. Without realizing it, and certainly against the will of my parents, their anxiety found its way into my heart.</div>
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<br />Thankfully, I always had food, clothes for school, and was able to go to the doctor’s when needed; however, this early childhood experience left a deep mark within me. Rather than embracing life and looking forward to the future, I grew up afraid of life. The anxiety I encountered from growing up in a poor family convinced me that I was ill prepared for life. I felt alone, scared and lost in a world that, at least from my own experience, appeared to conspire against me.</div>
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<br />Whenever I was faced with a challenge, whether it was in school, sports or human relationships, I immediately became anxious. Since I already felt ill-prepared for life, I naturally believed I was incompetent to face all of life’s challenges. This anxiety manifested itself through a series of “what if” questions. “What if I fail this test?” “What if I lose the game?” “What if this person doesn’t like me?” What if…?</div>
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<br />Unfortunately, after my return to the Church, this anxiety did not disappear. Not surprisingly, I brought this attitude with me into religious life. Several weeks before I entered the Franciscans I was again plagued with more questions. “What if I can’t live in New York City?” “What if I am called to be a Benedictine monk and not a Franciscan friar?” “What if I am supposed to get married?” These questions, fueled by my inherent anxiety towards life, pestered me throughout my initial stages of formation.</div>
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<br />It was during this time that I began to look more deeply at the life of Mary. I found, through the various episodes of Mary’s life portrayed in the Gospels, that she, perhaps more than anyone, had the right to be anxious at times. Whether it was at the Annunciation, the flight into Egypt, or the Crucifixion, Mary was never exempt from the trials and uncertainties of life. In fact, her privileged role in salvation history only thrusts her more deeply into them, as Simeon prophesies to her: “a sword will pierce through your own soul also” (Lk 2:35).</div>
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What struck me most by meditating on Mary was how she responded to life. Mary’s response to the angel Gabriel at the Annunciation is essentially the same response she uttered her entire life: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Lk 1:39). Despite the heartache, confusion and sorrow that accompanied Mary’s life, she said yes to everything that God allowed. Intrigued by Mary’s disposition, I focused my prayer on how Mary said yes to God’s mysterious will.</div>
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<br />As I compared my situation to Mary’s, I began to notice a fundamental difference. Due to my tendency towards anxiety, I approached almost every situation by asking “What if…?” “What if I can’t do this? What if these people don’t like me? What if this situation doesn’t work out, etc.?” These questions created more questions, which, incidentally led to greater anxiety, causing me to become paralyzed before much of life. Mary, on the other hand, had an entirely different approach. Even though she may have asked “What if…?” at certain moments in her life, Mary, I believe, moved forward by asking another question: “What is…real?”</div>
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<br />By asking the question, “What is real?” Mary rooted herself in reality: the reality of God’s Fatherly care. This question reminded Mary, beyond all the twists and turns of life, beyond the darkness and confusion that we all must face at times, that God, as a loving father, is near, trustworthy, and in control. Regardless of what our minds or our hearts might like us to believe, by asking ourselves “What is real?” we are reminded that the trials and struggles we have to face in this life do not have to cripple us. Faith, as Mary demonstrates, is a light that penetrates through our darkness, revealing to us that we are not alone.</div>
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<br />These insights into Mary brought about a radical change in my mind. Instead of being afraid, I attempted to approach life not by asking “what if” to every situation I faced, but, like Mary, reminding myself of what is real: that God is a loving Father whom I can trust. I began to live more in reality as opposed to all the many “what ifs” that don’t exist.</div>
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<br />Anxiety, unfortunately, was as natural to me as the air, and as I first began attempting to let go of it, I felt felt like I was swimming upstream. As I placed my trust more deeply in God’s care, however, a deep peace began to resonate within my soul. Now, many years later, the grip that anxiety once held on me has loosened. Even though I still have to struggle against it at times, Mary reminds me that life flows most gracefully when we imitate her faith and trust in God.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-22905507493855354582018-12-13T15:44:00.004-05:002018-12-22T16:06:05.895-05:00Fr Andrew One Year Anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhZQJU1NboFqc0RgvzsG5cVd071qFIdym1fz-5nH1HJ0uMENz_7rGQaHnVVa-S23wHVW104pfCysfmYO8UE9HUO42_hHiE_CDMDKdpMQCC8QkMoB9jHcylsmMALqwGNcNGwwyyv46fqI/s1600/48169443_2258797981070713_7866014173472227328_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1197" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhZQJU1NboFqc0RgvzsG5cVd071qFIdym1fz-5nH1HJ0uMENz_7rGQaHnVVa-S23wHVW104pfCysfmYO8UE9HUO42_hHiE_CDMDKdpMQCC8QkMoB9jHcylsmMALqwGNcNGwwyyv46fqI/s400/48169443_2258797981070713_7866014173472227328_o.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br /><br />Homily by Fr Luke Fletcher for the one year anniversary of passing for Fr Andrew Apostoli.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thank you for the image by<br /><a href="https://exit.sc/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.michaelcorsini.com">www.michaelcorsini.com</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-74125042271193195762018-12-10T10:57:00.001-05:002018-12-10T10:57:20.992-05:00Seeing Lisa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhq0enLZjJmRDf8-0R7ZkqxVdDsD-UGNwROxAJXDBt7ppCeaGwi5HrcvlAjV7kMRd0pgFP0kBD-D6hqoGPafWIOYIhHsYqmV-LC0WhIfp2Izl-j3WjfIXC24Wag_T3A6yMA3F3WZOREg/s1600/a-man-and-woman-shaking-hands-on-blue-sky-background_bp2w9ic8__F0000.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhq0enLZjJmRDf8-0R7ZkqxVdDsD-UGNwROxAJXDBt7ppCeaGwi5HrcvlAjV7kMRd0pgFP0kBD-D6hqoGPafWIOYIhHsYqmV-LC0WhIfp2Izl-j3WjfIXC24Wag_T3A6yMA3F3WZOREg/s400/a-man-and-woman-shaking-hands-on-blue-sky-background_bp2w9ic8__F0000.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lisa and I met in the seventh grade. Her family had recently moved from Philadelphia into my neighborhood and after talking each morning at the bus stop, we eventually became close friends. As neighbors who were the same age and in the same grade, we found our lives, without any real planning on our part, becoming closely intertwined.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When Lisa’s first boyfriend suddenly broke up with her in 10</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><sup>th</sup></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> grade she was devastated. We skipped school and spent the whole day eating ice cream and playing video games. Despite being a bit upset about Lisa and me skipping school, Lisa’s mother called to thank me for being there for her. When Lisa was hospitalized a few weeks after our graduation from high school with a mysterious illness, I spent almost everyday at the hospital with her family, just being present to her and helping her in any way I could.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I was ordained a priest, Lisa, a non-Christian, was sitting in the front row of the cathedral hours before the ordination began, appearing more excited and enthused than many of my devout friends. Even though she did not understand exactly what was happening, it didn’t matter. She knew that my ordination was a major moment in my life and that was enough of a reason for her to attend. Two years later when my mother died, she drove six hours from Washington, D.C. to attend the funeral and spend time with my family as we grieved.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What is unusual about our friendship is that Lisa and I disagree on almost everything, from politics, to social issues, and even religion. Yet after each conversation, whether it is a friendly one or a heated debate, we always affirm our love for each other. Genuine love, respect, and friendship, we believe, is always deeper than ideology. Thankfully, we have never permitted our convictions to disrespect or harm the other. If either of us would utter a harsh word in the midst of a fiery conversation, both of us, sooner or later, would apologize. Our differences have stretched both of us to become more patient and better listeners. We have both learned, much to our own discomfort, that life is not black and white, and that each person is a work in progress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every person is made <i>“in the image and likeness of God” (Genesis 1.26). </i> This statement, found in the very beginning of the Bible, is a reminder that the human person cannot be reduced to merely worldly categories. Too often we identify people in this world based entirely upon their political persuasions. Even though these aspects about an individual may be relevant, they are never in and of themselves a complete portrait. The human person, thank God, is always more than his views and opinions.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A friend of mine recently told me that his family had to cancel Thanksgiving with his relatives this year, because of what he described as “political differences” among various family members. Both families decided that they couldn’t spend the holidays with each other because of how they voted in the previous election. Unfortunately, this story is a sad commentary on our highly charged political climate. What is tragic about this example is not that people believe different things, but that they have allowed those beliefs to create divisions, even among their own family.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nothing, of course, is as important as our faith. Yet even when we disagree in religious or theological matters it is important that in the midst of those differences we continue to love the other person as God does. Over the years, I have spoken to many people about their religious beliefs. At times, just the mere presence of a Catholic priest can elicit very strong reactions. Most people, regardless of their experience with Catholicism, are generally respectful, even if they disagree with the tenets of the Church. However, a few times I have encountered people who have been extremely disrespectful, either by laughing at me, mocking me, and even spitting on me in public.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In these moments, I have tried, though never perfectly, to follow Jesus’ command <i>“to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt 5:43). </i>Even though there is a part of me that wants to lash back at them, judge them and even mock them in return, I realize that that attitude only creates more division, because I have failed to see the other person in his entirety. Instead, I try as best as I can to listen to them, understand their viewpoint, and pray for them, because despite our differences they, like me, are made in the image and likeness of God. As radical as this approach might appear in our current culture, this is exactly what Jesus did throughout his public ministry.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am not, of course, ignoring the real consequences that ideas have, but a person is not an idea. Often, as the Gospels recounts, Jesus ate with Pharisees, tax collectors, and sinners, three groups that differed widely in thought and action with Jesus. Rather then seeing these people through the particular labels and worldly categories in which others viewed them, Jesus saw each person as having infinite value, and for whom he would give his life. Genuine discipleship requires that we at least try to do the same.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lisa and I continue to live very different lives and believe very different things. Yet still, after twenty-five years of friendship, these differences have not eliminated our love for one another, nor have they lessened our respect for each other. We speak each month on the phone, and see each other about once a year, usually around the holidays, regardless of how either one of us has voted. Despite all the many people who have come and gone in my life, Lisa has remained constant and, I am confident, will remain so my entire life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In many ways, Lisa has been one of the greatest teachers in my life. She has forced me to examine my views more thoroughly and see things from a different perspective. Rather than changing my beliefs, Lisa’s presence and the challenge that she initiates in my life has helped me to love people more deeply. Because of her I try to see people less as the world does, and more from the viewpoint of the Cross.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="http://franciscanfriars.com/donate/" target="_blank">http://franciscanfriars.com/donate/</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-65657284684314300202018-11-30T20:13:00.002-05:002018-11-30T20:13:45.467-05:0040 Days (After)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwz6FLkVmlYytuHdg0MqCoUB4d3yEyhKTDaQb8Z20v09VPWTeZPJ6l1FkNjbODbnhD56CoFDF-4KkBqsTLZXeW2t3cfW-J7umOZScP8iP_U-OupwL21FjaCkVxhKvloEsY0RjtjzBXsHI/s1600/28471570_1558694887511221_7610951300011786240_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwz6FLkVmlYytuHdg0MqCoUB4d3yEyhKTDaQb8Z20v09VPWTeZPJ6l1FkNjbODbnhD56CoFDF-4KkBqsTLZXeW2t3cfW-J7umOZScP8iP_U-OupwL21FjaCkVxhKvloEsY0RjtjzBXsHI/s320/28471570_1558694887511221_7610951300011786240_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/friarsoftherenewal/posts/1558695520844491?__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAWgaOQ3gcGxcNNmYX6hX26PeWgsMVn7evjjal75q_81vu8tbwB9dNscpnGgz1PsyaUCMolQWUD5h9r5O-LOKJYcJOis34phoKH--aPJC4rOKGPEEqBwhHpaMm53HjXrbTcpqAB5zI-GFvJE4qAX4u1yUTkmq3Tut8PBnhEQMIz4FTtcuSkCG9tf8SbuVE0osBfXAw1zmqHc3ZZg1RrcgKwdfIkHqrtch1Adk-RdD0L1jScdRJpDNIvo9m0pLsqnLT-QAj6TG4t0DMcKyidpf5C39Ow0eAphbpus7yB8NWMYdrmRoN7EzfOpTnz3YfG0_HISteV3c1nBtrzmRhONVXKgA&__tn__=K-R" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; widows: 2;">https://www.facebook.com/friarsoftherenewal/posts/1558695520844491</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After forty days of solitude and silence, I was convinced I would leave my hermitage a new man. What exactly I would look like I wasn’t sure, but at the very least I imagined myself a stronger, wiser and more loving person. I pictured myself returning home to my community, eager to serve the other brothers, willing to listen to everyone who sought my attention and no longer getting frustrated and annoyed when things did not go my way. After all, I had just done something I once thought was impossible: I spent forty days alone in a hermitage in the middle of the woods.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On a surface level, my days in hermitage were dreadfully boring. There were no news flashes, text messages or phone calls bombarding me every minute. Whether I was eating, praying or walking, I tried to surrender each moment to God by simply saying, <i>“Here I am” (Genesis 22:1, Exodus, 3:4, 1 Samuel 3:</i>4). Whatever occurred next, whether it was a group of deer running through the woods, a fresh snowfall, or a sensible experience of God’s presence, I was learning a key lesson that solitude teaches: God is always near, but we are far away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Providentially, my retreat coincided with Holy Week and Easter, leaving me an ample amount of nourishment in the Liturgy and the Scriptures. After the beautiful yet somber liturgies of Holy Thursday and Good Friday, I spent almost all of Holy Saturday sitting by a lake, allowing these mysteries to sink more deeply into my heart and mind. As I was preparing to celebrate the Easter Vigil that night, I wanted to send a text message to the entire world reminding them that <i>“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16) </i>or run through the nearest town screaming, <i>“This is how much God loves you.” </i>Fortunately, I didn’t do either, but another important lesson was given to me: life with God is never boring.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Perhaps my most cherished moments of retreat were the hours I was able to spend in silent prayer. Each day I would spend, on average, three hours in this contemplative posture before God, not speaking to him in words or even using my mind to reflect on him, but just resting in his presence. Occasionally, when I experienced a brief pause from the thinking, analyzing and worrying that my mind is usually occupied with, there was a profound stillness waiting for me on the other side.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This stillness of course was not just the result of a quieted mind, but an encounter with a presence whose warmth and gentleness no words or thoughts could contain. If I was ever experiencing any loneliness or fear, these precious hours of prayer had a mysterious way of reminding me that I was not crazy for wanting to make this retreat, as some believed, but that God had led me here. Hence, another important lesson was given to me: prayer reveals to us, not our desire for God, but God’s desire for us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Despite the abundant grace that was poured upon me during this time of retreat, I, for the most part, am still the same person. I remain, at times, selfish, stubborn and lazy. Even though I have experienced God’s love on such an intimate level, I am still tempted to look elsewhere for consolation, whether through worldly means, human praise or even spiritual applause. While spending hours in silence and prayer brought deep peace and joy to my soul, it did not remove the wounds, hurts and pains that have accumulated in my heart during the course of my life. Regardless of my wants, solitude did not eliminate my humanity and my need for redemption. Oddly enough, it only affirmed its necessity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Unconsciously, I had hoped this retreat would get rid of all this human stuff, so that I could move on to more “spiritual” things. Hence, I was caught off guard, when after the retreat was over I felt, not saintly or angelic, but utterly human. As I was driving home a part of me was tempted to view this retreat as a disappointment, since this retreat had appeared to produce no immediate changes within me. I had forgotten, rather quickly, another spiritual lesson this retreat revealed to me: God’s grace at work in a soul is often imperceptible to our human senses. Therefore, we must always be slow in judging and evaluating God’s work in others and ourselves.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> It would be wrong, of course, to claim that after forty days of solitude and silence nothing has changed. Transformation has occurred, just not the way I expected it. I have noticed, since I left the hermitage, that my heart has become more open, less afraid, and more willing to engage the uncomfortable moments of life I once used to flee from. I am able, thanks to the deepening encounter with God’s love I experienced in solitude, to accept more readily the poverty of my own humanity, which, in turn, helps me to accept more easily the poverty of others. Finally, I am becoming more aware of God’s presence, not only in the more “spiritual” moments of my life, but in the ordinary, mundane and trivial moments of life in which we all find ourselves.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If someone would have told me forty days ago that this would be the fruit of my time in hermitage, most likely, I would not have been impressed. These fruits, I would have thought, appear so minor compared to the change I believed I needed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I was walking to my car on the last day of the retreat, I did not feel like a spiritual giant, but more like a spiritual beginner. Instead of feeling holy and spiritually rejuvenated, I felt weak and vulnerable. Ironically, this weakness and vulnerability didn’t leave me sad or afraid. Rather, this realization contained a degree of purity and freshness to them, the way a home appears after it has been thoroughly cleaned. Perhaps during these forty days of retreat, God’s desire was not necessarily to build a new house, but merely to clean the one he had already built. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span>+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-39626069185516882152018-11-19T12:15:00.001-05:002018-11-19T12:15:12.777-05:00Outcasts the Movie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaFlI1KClpj-JV07wUNcr6leTavAhYyXDKekeUrIvyjTG9uei5XqwXhD8Xq96fJ7s-5WqWDvThJYOID-9di-itaDmkjKlSgTG6C5VobkuejKeOMEDsT0DMtlloVgdbnjS607akNG_yYQ/s1600/NOV2017+BASE+POSTER+IMAGE+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1125" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaFlI1KClpj-JV07wUNcr6leTavAhYyXDKekeUrIvyjTG9uei5XqwXhD8Xq96fJ7s-5WqWDvThJYOID-9di-itaDmkjKlSgTG6C5VobkuejKeOMEDsT0DMtlloVgdbnjS607akNG_yYQ/s400/NOV2017+BASE+POSTER+IMAGE+2.png" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">LIMITED RELEASE RENTAL!</span></div>
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<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="async" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fvimeo.com%2Fondemand%2Foutcasts%2F292824727%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2gGnwLe3WziG7kupk2yz4BnWJc_I9Tqw2MQf-rZvXc8mek6GuLtBEAC2s&h=AT0OYw6jRCl741pcpYiUjPTK3nA70HpBruOs_Q82mbYfyiHDgqpm9iY4qATJF7pvnaPIoPKnPaw6e--jkYa-nBuB42R-HIddP3m9h_rYam1E-OAcdjktPIeZCTJWISW914Wrcbdx5JCOySTqj69N9EXO7uYYnPEwhsuoKZXsGG6NwJ59vZDgtYSNskEzc8H6p0FcITczjqFaB9A2crUG0GJgSt9YqVbef8rjDczf642kYyGigQAf1iJmVCZR5Fy1HZPR7HIkpltYW5I-HuIZEf2FsbLm4anZnBwGSgHLiHnNZrZFoj64UyRu9WmWemkPE_GAA7PsqwGZkRWmWhXlZhcnIGmuRidUB2PJILD_M1fYjxovtwHJ_C8ODHkluE1IdmVsn9m4JuNjViqw2QQJc8XDBxAovbvOCybOJknF1FABSueWaVHOoucDmhPXiqvXLAXlp310iv_J2T-_0H2jfvG9j3x54t2WiuaC4VZBsflqllwwjPQCLSTKMlppvcl7p85NucRqtvbCEe4fTfAYmK4Bcmt1YLczYh2dTjJ7lgghBbgSCyGx1C4GIg4KB06FLrxDDHMlidpyrTX7CpVLiIs52YNs35LoXpDteIwzROavNEpSHwvKl9WyPWOuvKKAHLB9iG7pDW98tpPaR5VXBiEydlkJY4AdVFcUvhFrdnHOi-xGwDrN4VPeSKI" href="https://vimeo.com/ondemand/outcasts/292824727?fbclid=IwAR2gGnwLe3WziG7kupk2yz4BnWJc_I9Tqw2MQf-rZvXc8mek6GuLtBEAC2s" rel="noopener nofollow" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">https://vimeo.com/ondemand/outcasts/292824727</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For over ten years the legendary filmmakers at Grassroots Films followed the friars and fi<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">lmed our work with the poor in England, Ireland, Central America, and New York. Now, for the first time, their award winning documentary, OUTCASTS, is available for a limited time On Demand. Click the link to rent and stream the film.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">WARNING. Grassroots Films desired to bring to their audience an unsanitized encounter with the real effects of evil and injustice in the world. Due to the graphic nature of the film, it is NOT SUITABLE for children and may be too extreme for some adults as well. Please be prudent in choosing to watch this film.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-61181975689497993902018-11-13T12:56:00.002-05:002018-11-13T12:56:27.134-05:00Authenticity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6POl1Z4EgwDPg6YgEpiZdVpEjvUopYatLamUum_43lqd30LW271jazdA2-aUj5ZFVDKsPNQCC1y5L3kafGdaSx9oon91hW0Nvo2Mp0uCNsCFUH1yZjIDt6t9GK3m3wgbN0_TiS0DwpRg/s1600/All-Saints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6POl1Z4EgwDPg6YgEpiZdVpEjvUopYatLamUum_43lqd30LW271jazdA2-aUj5ZFVDKsPNQCC1y5L3kafGdaSx9oon91hW0Nvo2Mp0uCNsCFUH1yZjIDt6t9GK3m3wgbN0_TiS0DwpRg/s640/All-Saints.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Over the years, I have spoken to many people about their relationship with God. Everyone, on some level, desires to kn<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ow the secret of holiness, even if they don’t use those words. If they are young, they often imagine that holiness involves some magnificent feat of strength or courage, perhaps engaging in disciplined asceticism or undergoing some form of persecution. If they are older, they think that holiness involves hours of undistracted prayer, followed by self-sacrifice devoid of anger or resentment. If the person is a priest or a religious, their standard of holiness is often measured by fidelity to their vocation. If one is faithful to their vows and fulfilling perfectly the rules and norms of their vocation, then holiness is a natural consequence.</span></span></div>
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<br />After each person has defended his view with sound reasoning, orthodox theology and examples from the lives of the saints, I feel the need to interject.<br />“Everything you said is true,” I reply, “but you are missing an important point. If you really want to be holy all of the things you mentioned can be helpful, but…they must be authentic. Most importantly, you must be authentic.”</div>
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A mixture of surprise and confusion usually begins to appear on their face as they stare at the ground for a few moments.</div>
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<br />“What does authenticity have to do with holiness?” they ask sincerely.</div>
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“Everything!” I almost shout back at them.</div>
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<br />Asceticism, deep prayer and fidelity to one’s vocation are all necessary means to holiness, yet before these aspects of our spiritual life begin, they must be born from an authentic place. Authenticity means, first and foremost, being the person God has created you to be. In order for that to happen, we must always return to the foundational question: who am I before God? In other words, we must consider things like our personality, cultural background, and talents as we attempt to respond to Jesus’ call to discipleship. The reason for this is simple. It is through our own humanity, never somebody else’s, that we will encounter God and be able to respond to him appropriately.</div>
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<br />For example, Jesus recommends “prayer and fasting” (Mk 9:29) as a necessary component of our spiritual lives. However, the prayer and fasting of a 20 -year-old is going to look very different from that of a 70-year-old. Likewise, the prayer and fasting of someone who is sick will look different than that of one who is healthy. Which person is praying and faster better? The one who is responding most fully to the grace God is giving him. In other words, the one who is most authentic.</div>
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<br />The best examples of authentic holiness can be found, unsurprisingly, in the lives of the saints. Despite the many differences of age, culture, social status, etc. we find in the lives of the saints one common thread: each one of them became the person God intended him to be. St. John Bosco educated and cared for the youth, while St. Benedict become a hermit, and then become the founder of monastic life. St. Teresa of Calcutta served the poorest of the poor in India, while St. Theresa of Lisieux lived a hidden life of silence, solitude and penance in a Carmelite monastery. Because they were authentic, God’s light was able to shine uniquely through each one of them, revealing to the world in greater color the brightness of God’s glory.</div>
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Imitating the saints does not mean adopting their way of speaking, thinking or even praying. Nor does it mean going back in history to the time period in which they lived in the hopes of walking in the same footsteps of the saint we admire. Imitating the saints is something much more profound. It means being inspired and enlivened in the way a particular saint has lived his life and using those qualities in our own life to follow Jesus more closely.</div>
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When I first discovered St. Francis as a teenager I knew he was the saint for me. Like him, I was restless and eager to experience more from life, yet it wasn’t until my eyes were opened to the beauty of the Gospel that I realized that Jesus was the more I was desiring. Never doing anything in half-measures, I, like St. Francis, threw myself into prayer, work with the poor, preaching and anything else that could further my relationship with Christ. Like St. Francis I wanted to live a deeply contemplative life, yet I also wanted to live and work among the poor. When I discovered the Franciscan way of life a sense of relief overwhelmed me, because I realized that what I desired and felt attracted to already existed. I didn’t have to create something new.</div>
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What attracted me to St. Francis was the spirit in which he responded to the Gospel. But I also know that I am not St. Francis, and I cannot and should not imitate all aspects of his personality and temperament. What the Church and the world needs from Franciscans is not another St. Francis, but men and women who, following the path of St. Francis, respond to the promptings of the Holy Spirit in their own humanity.</div>
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The ultimate question each one of us needs to ask is, “What does Jesus Christ look like in me?” Obviously, the answer to that question is going to look different in each person. Whether you are a doctor, a sales clerk, or a student is, in many respects, irrelevant. Being authentic means becoming the person God is calling you to be, not what he called someone else to be. God already has a Francis, a Benedict, and a Teresa. Now he’s waiting for you.</div>
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+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-77761696093532778402018-11-04T16:10:00.002-05:002018-11-04T16:10:44.467-05:00Surprised By Grace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE03itSk3b3m77sE1PZdvzMxACLflMqMtawj2uBbcnVuYAqYpojipC_GRIv_Sy169VgnO7yOokbkyiCySUM8ky6Ep_Zj6tom_QqJHufnx1NpM4a1tZFUllb_yr106FWZoe7aUrqx0LrE/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-04+at+4.03.31+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="1600" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE03itSk3b3m77sE1PZdvzMxACLflMqMtawj2uBbcnVuYAqYpojipC_GRIv_Sy169VgnO7yOokbkyiCySUM8ky6Ep_Zj6tom_QqJHufnx1NpM4a1tZFUllb_yr106FWZoe7aUrqx0LrE/s400/Screen+Shot+2018-11-04+at+4.03.31+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As soon as the phone rang my heart began to race. Something told me this would not be a regular phone call. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Hello,” I said, hesitantly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Father,” a woman began to speak, “this is a miracle. My cousin wants to see a priest,” she exclaimed. “I have been praying for this day for years. Can you visit him?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Ok,” I said, somewhat cautiously. “What kind of visit is he looking for? Does he want to go to confession, is he sick, or does he just want to speak with a priest?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’m not exactly sure,” she said. “But this is a miracle.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well then, I would be happy to visit him,” I said, “Where does your cousin live?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well,” she said, followed by a brief pause, “he is in prison.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As a priest, I thought, I have seen and heard it all. After hearing thousands of confessions and spending many hours in spiritual direction with people, I find it difficult to be shocked or surprised by what anyone says or does. I had recently told a friend, that for me, as a priest, there are no more surprises. Yet after I hung up the phone with this woman, I began to realize that perhaps I was wrong. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is not uncommon of course for a priest to visit people in prison. However, in my years as a priest, prison had been one of the places I have never been sent before. Perhaps like most people, I had an image in my mind, not only what prison was like, but what the prisoners themselves were like. Unfortunately, I imagined prison to be a place filled with hardened criminals who had no concern for people. I supposed that the majority of the people in prison had little if any faith in God and most, I believed, were not interested in the spiritual life. There was a part of me, I am ashamed to admit, that was wondering if I was wasting my time by making this visit. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I arrived at the prison, I stood outside of my car and stared in wonder at what looked like a giant fortress. After spending almost thirty minutes trying to find the entrance, I entered the visitor’s section only to spend another thirty minutes going through security. Finally, I was allowed to enter a large room, which looked like a dining hall, where several other inmates were visiting with their own guests. At each corner of the room stood several armed guards, surveying the room and checking to see if each visitor was wearing the proper pass that allowed him into the designated area. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I sat down at the table assigned to me by the guard and waited. After a long wait, the man I was asked to visit appeared and sat down at my table. He was not anything like I expected. Rather than shaking my hand, he immediately hugged me and expressed how grateful he was that I would take the time to visit him. As he began to speak, I was shocked at his demeanor. Instead of being angry, rude and tough like I expected, he was quiet, calm and polite. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Father,” he said, with a tear beginning to form in his eye, “in prison I met Jesus Christ.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He paused, while waiting for me to respond. “I wasn’t expecting that to be your opening line,” I said, while smiling at him. We both laughed so hard that we caught the attention of the guards who looked at us with suspicion. After regaining our composure he spent the next few moments sharing with me how he ended up in prison and all that had occurred to him during his time there. As he finished, he looked down at the ground for a few seconds and appeared lost in deep thought. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Father, I have accepted God’s mercy and I believe in his love for me despite the terrible things I have done. I am hungry Father and I want to know more. How do I pray? Can you teach me about the Bible? Why are the Sacraments important? I looked at him in amazement. Immediately I thought of Jesus’ words to the centurion, <i>“Not even in Israel have I found such faith” (Mt 8:19). </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I spent the next hour attempting to answer his questions. As I spoke he stared at me in awe, as if his life made sense for the first time. Occasionally, a tear rolled down his face, forcing me to fight back my own. Suddenly I realized that the man before me was not the person I had imagined him to be. Yes, he had done some horrible things and he deserved to be in prison. But now he was different. The power of God’s mercy had transformed this man into someone new, someone his friends, and especially those whom he hurt, probably would not recognize. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I drove home that afternoon, I reflected on my conversation with this man and thought to myself, “This is what redemption looks like.” Redemption, after all, is not something we can do. Despite our good intentions and best efforts we always remain in need of a Savior. St. Paul reminds us, <i>“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…</i>but <i>“they are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24). </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That man I met in prison is proof that redemption is possible. For years he had followed his own way, without any regard for a higher law. Rather than bring him the freedom he desired, his selfishness imprisoned him. Ironically, it was there, amid such darkness and pain, that the light of God’s mercy opened his eyes, removed his chains, and set him free.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Monticello, NY</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We need your help!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://franciscanfriars.com/donate/" target="_blank">http://franciscanfriars.com/donate/</a></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-57711283893985553662018-10-22T11:39:00.000-04:002018-10-22T11:39:00.330-04:00A Different Journey <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHO0Xutb-E0INSa3jIkoR9HuMrd6UK-kdkW9BUdMST3HUXW0_tRidV57unuDRCIkHRA_g5Ox-kd04I2Pl-LsPrKP0aKKL4npHpUQVlmn3vmIqpoFwoa2ElZRSq1gyc-wuQsxAb5u-ux4I/s1600/color.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHO0Xutb-E0INSa3jIkoR9HuMrd6UK-kdkW9BUdMST3HUXW0_tRidV57unuDRCIkHRA_g5Ox-kd04I2Pl-LsPrKP0aKKL4npHpUQVlmn3vmIqpoFwoa2ElZRSq1gyc-wuQsxAb5u-ux4I/s640/color.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />I awoke each morning to the sound of nature. Birds were singing in unison throughout the valley, while squirrels, scurrying through leaves and sticks, chased each other up and down trees. Each morning, elk would visit the river located about five hundred feet from our campsite, while eagles glided overhead. <br /><br /> I was surrounded as far as I could see by enormous snow-capped mountains. Trees, rivers and giant boulders filled the countryside. There was not a trace of civilization anywhere. At times I had to pinch myself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. It was, without a doubt, the most spectacular scenery I had ever witnessed. <br /><br />We began each day promptly at 7am. The day’s activities included mountain biking, hiking, fishing, rafting, and swimming. If we were lucky, and our guide had the proper equipment, he we would take us rock climbing for a few hours in the late afternoon. Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, we returned to our camp exhausted, only to find a feast prepared over an open fire waiting for us. <br /><br /> A few months earlier, some friends of mine, realizing I needed a break from the city, graciously paid for me to spend a week with them on vacation in Colorado. “It would be rejuvenating,” my friend Mike said, “and refreshing. Besides, I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to spend a week of vacation.” He was right. It was the perfect scenario in the perfect location and yet I was miserable. <br /><br /> Even though I love spending time outdoors and spent many hours mountain biking and swimming, there was something different about this adventure. The difference, I discovered, was me. As a teenager, I would go hiking and camping in the woods because I was naturally attracted to the quiet beauty of nature. Yet on a deeper level, I went to the woods in search of its source. Nature, for me, was a sign pointing beyond itself. Rather than stop at the sign, my entire being yearned for that Reality to which the sign was pointing. If I followed the sign frequently, I reasoned, I would eventually go beyond it. <br /><br /> Once I consciously made the decision to follow Jesus and returned wholeheartedly to the Church, my focus shifted from a purely exterior journey to the discovery of an interior one. Even though I still visited beautiful sites and had fun with friends, I began to spend more time alone in my room, a church, or some other quiet place where I could read, pray and spend time in silence. Suddenly, without going anywhere, I was traveling to much deeper places than I ever thought imaginable. <br /><br /> When I began this vacation in Colorado I had been a Franciscan for twelve years and a priest for three. I was accustomed to several hours of prayer and silence each day. My friends, who had only good intentions, believed I would have more fun if I did more activities. Hence, I had no time, and ironically no space, for prayer. Every morning I celebrated Mass and had about ten minutes of prayer afterwards before the events of the day began. <br /><br /> By late morning, after already hiking and swimming for several hours, all I desired was a few moments of stillness. My heart and my mind were touched deeply by the wonder that surrounded me, yet it wasn’t enough. In order to truly appreciate and experience the beauty of this place, I had to move beyond its signs to its source. Without this deeper contact, the joy that was available in this moment became threatened. Unfortunately, there was no time. The next event was waiting for us. <br /><br /> As evening arrived, even though I was surrounded by friends who loved me, a deep feeling of loneliness overwhelmed me. At camp, my friends sang songs, told jokes and recounted childhood memories. I appreciated their presence and enjoyed listening to them, yet I felt a deep void in our group. Without prayer in my day, I felt alienated, not only from other people, but also from the beauty that surrounded me. Each one of my friends was a devout Christian, yet nobody appeared interested in making space for prayer. Was something wrong with me, I asked myself? Here I am in this beautiful place on a free vacation and I am not happy. Was I not grateful? Was I being selfish? Was I being too religious? <br /><br /> Despite my best efforts to alter my mood, I was unsuccessful. As the days progressed, my sadness only increased. The more activities we did, the worse I felt. On our last morning in Colorado one of my friends suggested we do another long hike before going to the airport. “Please,” I sighed, “I’ve had enough. Can we just go to the airport?” <br /><br /> My friends were shocked by my abrupt response. “Is everything ok?” <br /><br /> “Yes…, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and don’t want to miss my flight,” I said. <br /><br /> As I boarded the plane to fly home, I felt confused and frustrated. Providentially, I had the entire row on the plane to myself. Finally, I thought, space simply to be alone with God. I stared out the window and began to speak to God from the depths of my heart. As I began my evening prayer I felt a deep peace within my soul. “Only in God is my soul at rest” (Psalms 62:1). How often had I prayed those words, yet now they began to hold a deeper meaning for me. <br /><br /> I spent the rest of the flight in silence, reading Scripture, speaking to God and just listening. While we were beginning our descent into Newark airport, I felt a wave of consolation overwhelm me. I wasn’t being ungrateful, I realized, or selfish. I just desired a different journey, one that would take me deeper, to a place beyond this world, where my soul could find the space it needed and the rest it desired. <div>
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+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-53630006307302501892018-10-17T21:17:00.003-04:002018-10-21T20:12:51.740-04:00NEW MUSIC Poco a Poco<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="dbajk" data-offset-key="ddkf2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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Struggler music video: <a href="https://youtu.be/Xdm4MqvhMJs">https://youtu.be/Xdm4MqvhMJs</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brother Isaiah, of the CFRs, has been gifted with an amazing voice and talent. For the past year, he and his brother friars have been working on (and praying with) a musical album they are hoping will bring Catholics closer to God, and help support their mission serving the poor. </span></td></tr>
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Music written to help Catholics pray</span></h1>
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<tr><td class="m_5141597418044230957mcnTextContent" style="color: #00233c; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 18px 9px;" valign="top"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Franciscan Friars spend hours each day in meditative prayer. They have drawn from the quiet depths of their daily prayer to write these songs which they hope will help Catholics maintain a prayerful state as they go through their lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are many ways to listen to the music. It can be purchased and listened to on iTunes, Spotify, Google Play, and Amazon. (Links below)</span><br />
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u%3D2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68%26id%3D880c9d4dab%26e%3D1afd41d26a&source=gmail&ust=1539908610555000&usg=AFQjCNEhmVTrRXSAHd0Crz022zI_u8i0rA" href="https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68&id=880c9d4dab&e=1afd41d26a" style="color: #00afbe;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen on iTunes</span></a><br />
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u%3D2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68%26id%3Da7e6eebd6f%26e%3D1afd41d26a&source=gmail&ust=1539908610555000&usg=AFQjCNHongJmD2FhU1gDboZvETUHuqgVJQ" href="https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68&id=a7e6eebd6f&e=1afd41d26a" style="color: #00afbe;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen on Spotify</span></a><br />
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u%3D2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68%26id%3D14189ee8e8%26e%3D1afd41d26a&source=gmail&ust=1539908610555000&usg=AFQjCNH0h_6CFM5wzKnHLotoomS2TMKdcw" href="https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68&id=14189ee8e8&e=1afd41d26a" style="color: #00afbe;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen on Google Play</span></a><br />
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u%3D2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68%26id%3D7ca8f07d34%26e%3D1afd41d26a&source=gmail&ust=1539908610555000&usg=AFQjCNHeWZP3lR78ogMD5LGId_YdOW8rFg" href="https://ascensionpress.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=2438f5b8906cc79e7c55f3c68&id=7ca8f07d34&e=1afd41d26a" style="color: #00afbe;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen on Amazon</span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="ddkf2-0-0" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">CD & </span>merchandise:</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-16304733213876246322018-10-08T11:10:00.001-04:002018-10-08T11:17:14.962-04:00Beyond Death<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="2l2ur" data-offset-key="1rkh6-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; white-space: pre-wrap; widows: 2;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWlytgesxsaEnqV0qj91WFaDIJldOcwB0Ar7Sj7kKwLjH1SyqWp-GLmElnSMGCpvNcOH8sZTJyzVhRM8SXdQMHpmjYSGCEA8AxV863UTO4mLf1yREQ2l2s90N9G2Fa9MrTNAa9AQy3tw/s1600/fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWlytgesxsaEnqV0qj91WFaDIJldOcwB0Ar7Sj7kKwLjH1SyqWp-GLmElnSMGCpvNcOH8sZTJyzVhRM8SXdQMHpmjYSGCEA8AxV863UTO4mLf1yREQ2l2s90N9G2Fa9MrTNAa9AQy3tw/s400/fall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3nthi-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I have lived almost my entire life in the Northeast. Every year a sublime mystery occurs. The leaves begin to sing. Up until now they have been quiet, simply blending in and clothing the trees in their simple attire. But now, in mid October, they are approaching the encore. For the next few weeks these woods will become a glorious spectacle of bright red and orange, yellow and brown. People will take pictures, hiking trails will fill up and artists will attempt to paint this majestic scene while it lasts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The season of fall provides us with a mirror in which we can contemplate something much deeper than the changing of seasons, namely the mystery of death. Throughout our lives we will experience many deaths. These deaths will be as unique as each person. For some they could come as an illness, a financial problem or the end of a relationship. It could be the death of a friend or parent, a dream that was shattered, or trying to move through a period of depression or loneliness. For others it could be an unappreciative boss or a prayer that God seems to be ignoring. Death, at least according to the rhythm of nature, is not an end but is always a necessary means to something greater. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When my mother first became depressed life as I knew it had ended. A few months earlier, my grandmother passed away, and my mother never recovered. Almost immediately my family recognized a change in my mother. She had lost her joy and her enthusiasm for life. Instead of engaging the family in conversation I would often see her gazing out the window, bypassing our conversation and my need for affirmation. Most of all, my mother, who was always strong and confident in all of life’s details, had now become shattered and torn, unable to stand before the life she once loved. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before this occurred I was a happy, confident and enthusiastic 17 year old who, almost overnight, became sad, insecure and self-conscious. It was as if an earthquake had struck my family and now I was forced to find my way among the rubble without a guide. After the dust had begun to settle, I no longer recognized my family, my home or myself. My life, at least the way I knew it, had died and I was unable to see beyond the grave. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ironically, it was this death that eventually led me to a recovery of faith. Since a vital figure in the foundation of my life had been uprooted, I was driven to seek another one, one that when “the rain fell and floods came and the winds blew and beat upon that house…it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock” (Matthew 7:25).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Encountering the fragility of life at such an intimate level, led me to pray in a way I never had before. Instead of just murmuring prayers I had learned as a child, I began to pray from the very depths of my pain and confusion. Sometimes I yelled at God, asking why he allowed this to happen. Sometimes I cried, begging God for help and strength, while other times I tried bargaining with God, promising to do something for him if he would heal my mother. Despite my persistent efforts to force God to act, her depression only got worse. God appeared, if not deaf, than at the very least, not interested in helping me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the weeks and months passed, I began to notice a strange phenomenon occurring. I was beginning to experience a mysterious strength inside of me, one that enabled me to stand face to face with this suffering, instead of running from it as I usually did. In the midst of this heartache, instead of feeling alone and abandoned by God, I began to feel a presence accompanying me on this journey, consoling me and embracing my entire being. Instead of continually asking why, I began now to consider how I could help my mom and be with her in her suffering. Finally, after a long and dark winter, the first signs of spring were beginning to blossom in my soul. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In many ways, I am reminded not only of this event, but also of the many “deaths” I have had to undergo in life each season of fall. Despite how difficult some of those “deaths” were, after each one I experienced in the depths of my soul a resurrection to something more profound than I could have ever imagined. If someone would have told me years ago that God would use my mother’s depression to bring about a deeper conversion in me I would have considered that person a fool. Yet now, many years later, I still remain in awe as I ponder the mystery of God’s ways. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">These beautiful leaves that surround me right now are in their glory, but they too must die only to be reborn once again with the passing of time. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps what scares us most about death in general is that we can’t see beyond it. What will life look like if I lose my job? If I have cancer? If I can’t have the career I want? The truth is we don’t know. But as nature, and God himself have revealed, there is something much greater beyond what we can see and understand, if only we can trust in its rhythm and allow it to take us beyond ourselves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">+ Fr Jeremiah, CFR</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-30541115714143969912018-09-26T17:22:00.004-04:002018-09-26T17:22:58.508-04:00Why Jesus Wants Us Poor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4xgmb8JWqBLBbP4PeDJb9OpXqR63Q5Tcx7EEdVF-YTZ-sjXrgk_0l5epBd26IMlVYmIhe4MBPeAa3Y03ifRNaG8tCZ0atay6xMw21lnN7QioFS458vYcdBEV7daWM75TJrJ3zomym6k/s1600/lourdes003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4xgmb8JWqBLBbP4PeDJb9OpXqR63Q5Tcx7EEdVF-YTZ-sjXrgk_0l5epBd26IMlVYmIhe4MBPeAa3Y03ifRNaG8tCZ0atay6xMw21lnN7QioFS458vYcdBEV7daWM75TJrJ3zomym6k/s400/lourdes003.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Homily at the Lourdes Grotto by Fr. Luke Fletcher, CFR.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Saints Francis, Therese and Bernadette all knew the spiritual secret of littleness and humility. Listen to learn more!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/why-jesus-wants-us-poor" target="_blank">https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/why-jesus-wants-us-poor</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;">SUBSCRIBE TO THE FROM THE FRIARS PODCAST:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;">iTunes (Apple devices)</span><br />
<a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fitunes.apple.com%2Fus%2Fpodcast%2Ffrom-the-friars%2Fid1100357971&t=ZmNjYzlhOWY4YWVmNjBmODViN2Q1MjRkMzYzOTQyZDIxYWNhZWM3NCxSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/from-the-friars/id1100357971</a><span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;" /></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;">Google Play (Android)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;">Stitcher</span><br />
<a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.stitcher.com%2Fpodcast%2Ffrom-the-friars&t=NjhjOTc0YWU5NzA1YTU4MGZiOTdjZjA5YzI4YzdhYTVkNmM2NmQ5MixSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/from-the-friars</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;"></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-31957413147323626592018-09-20T13:31:00.001-04:002018-09-20T13:31:15.309-04:00CFR Sisters Update<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal are happy to announce that Sr. Clare Matthiass is the Sisters’ new Community Servant (Superior General) as of September 12, 2018, Feast of the Holy Name of Mary. She is now known as Mother Clare. The Community is tremendously grateful to Mother Lucille Cutrone for 23 years of dedicated leadership as Community Servant in the important first stages of the Community. Mother Lucille will continue to remain a member of the Sisters’ Community Council. Won’t you please keep the CFR Sisters in your kind prayers during this time of transition.</span><div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">After Mother Clare's renewal of vows, all the professed sisters kneel and renew their vows to Mother Clare.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mother Lucille receives Fr. Andrew's chalice from Fr. John Paul. Fr. Andrew left this chalice to the Sisters in his will, and it was presented to them on this special occasion.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">As part of the ceremony, Mother Clare renews her vows in the hands of Mother Lucille.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-44918459596683532912018-09-17T20:55:00.001-04:002018-09-17T20:55:11.378-04:00Bringing It To Completion<div id="contentsContainer" style="-webkit-box-flex: 1; padding-left: 90pt; padding-right: 90pt;">
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Several weeks ago I received some of the happiest news of my life: a publishing company contacted me and informed me of their interest in publishing a series of reflections I sent them three months earlier. I was so shocked, I said, somewhat embarrassingly to the editor on the phone, “Are you serious…, really publish it…as a book?’ </div>
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Laughing, he said, “Yes I am serious, a real book. We really like what you sent us.” </div>
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He began to speak about some of the details of publishing, mentioning words like contracts, royalties, and deadlines. As soon as he began speaking, I was swept away by a euphoric feeling of joy and gratitude. “Maybe I wasn’t wasting my time writing these reflections,” I said to myself. “I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you Lord.” </div>
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“There is only one problem,” he said.</div>
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Immediately, my daydream came to a screeching halt. </div>
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“Your manuscript is currently at 20,00 words. We need it to be at 35,000-40,000 words before we can publish it. So, keep writing. We will set a deadline for six months.”</div>
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There was a long pause.</div>
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“Father,” he said, “are you there?</div>
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“Yes,” I said, hesitantly and feeling like I was just punched in the stomach, “I am here.” </div>
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“Good. Now, another editor will email you the contract in a few days. Please read through it and sign it so we can begin the process. In the meantime, keep writing. I look forward to seeing how this project progresses.”</div>
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“Um, thank you. Me too.” </div>
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I hung up the phone and began to experience a dramatic shift in my emotions. My joy and gratitude quickly turned into anxiety and fear. </div>
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“How am I going to write 20,000 words in six months?” I said to myself. “I am a priest with other responsibilities. I have homilies and retreats to prepare, spiritual direction appointments to attend to, responsibilities from my own religious community to fulfill, etc. I am not a full-time writer. I can’t do this. Why did I ever start writing this book in the first place? I should have known that I don’t have time for this.” </div>
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Whenever I am given a task, regardless of its nature, there is a subtle voice that whispers inside of me, “You can’t do this.” This voice has followed me for as long as I can remember. After my “reversion” to Catholicism at age 18, a voice kept whispering to me, “You are going to lose all of your friends. Everybody is going to laugh at you when they see you praying and going to church. You will never be able to withstand it. You care too much what people think.” When I was discerning joining the Franciscans a voice kept telling me, “You can’t live in New York City. You’re from the country. It will be too much for you.” A few years ago, when I began to spend extended periods of time in hermitage, a voice kept saying, “Who do you think you are spending all this time in solitude? Look how weak and insecure you are, you will go crazy. You can’t do it.” </div>
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St. Ignatius of Loyola believes that each person must contend with three voices in their life: the voice of God, the voice of the devil and the voice of one’s own humanity/psychology. Each voice, like each person, has a distinctive character to it. The voice of God, generally, is uplifting, encouraging, and loving, lifting one’s heart and mind to higher things, while the voice of the devil is filled with discouragement, negativity and sadness, leaving a soul entirely earthbound in its pursuits, pleasures and vision. The voice of one’s own humanity is not always so clear. Perhaps it can be a mixture of both, depending on one’s own history and life decisions. Regardless of which voice is speaking, St. Paul’s reminder to the Ephesians is an appropriate one: “For we are not contending against flesh and blood” (Ephesians 6:12). Hence, reality contains many other powers or forces that are always present, even though we don’t often perceive them. </div>
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The real question is not, how will I finish this book, but which voices will I listen to? I will finish this book the way I have accomplished everything in my life: with God’s grace. If God wills something for us, his grace is never lacking. Every time the voice of discouragement has appeared in my life it has always proven to be false. I returned to the Church despite what my friends thought. I spent many wonderful years living in New York City as a Franciscan, and despite my weaknesses and insecurity I have spent a significant amount of time in hermitage alone with God, and remain (at least somewhat!) mentally stable. </div>
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What God asks of us at times can seem impossible. How can I forgive that person who hurt me? How can I face life with this disease, embarrassment, or failure that is always before me? Instead of feeling strong and confident before God’s will we often feel inadequate and incompetent. Abraham asks God, “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old?” (Genesis 17:17) The prophet Amos, hoping to escape his vocation laments, “I was no prophet, nor have I belonged to a company of prophets; I was a shepherd and a dresser of sycamores” (Amos 7:14). Zechariah asks the angel Gabriel, “How am I to know this? I am an old man; my wife too is advanced in age?” (Luke 1:18) In all of these examples, however, these instances are not the last chapter.</div>
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This voice that has been telling me “You can’t do this,” cannot be the voice of God. Whether it is the voice of the devil, or my own humanity, or a mixture of both, the conclusion is evident: I must refuse to listen to that voice and persevere in this writing, while relying completely on God’s grace for inspiration and strength. </div>
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The same is true for each one of us. Wherever God’s will has us at this moment, we move forward not by asking why or how, but by sifting through the voices until we arrive at the voice of our Father, who loves us, encourages us and strengthens us for the journey ahead. “I am sure of this much: that he who has begun the good work in you will carry it through to completion, right up to the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6).</div>
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+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-80989086285309055322018-09-06T14:18:00.000-04:002018-09-06T14:18:25.588-04:00Letter to the Nuncio<div style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 18px; text-align: right; vertical-align: baseline;">
For Immediate Release </div>
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September 5, 2018</div>
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Contact: Fr. Angelus Montgomery, CFR: (212) 234-2203</div>
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<br style="margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;" />FRANCISCAN FRIARS OF THE RENEWAL STATEMENT REGARDING ONGOING CRISIS IN THE CHURCH</div>
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“Send forth your Light and your Truth” (Ps 43:3)</div>
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Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ, </div>
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Given the grave nature of the situation in the Church today, the Community of Franciscans of the Renewal has written and is making public a letter written to the Apostolic Nuncio to the United States. The letter was sent on the memorial of Saint Teresa of Calcutta (September 5, 2018) as the Friars join their voices to the growing number of Bishops, priests, and lay faithful who are asking for a full investigation into the specific allegations made by the former Nuncio to the United States, Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò. The full truth is the first step in bringing justice and healing to the victims of abuse and restoring moral integrity to our Church.</div>
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<a href="http://franciscanfriars.com/wp-content/uploads/September.2018.CFR_.letter.to_.US_.Nuncio.pdf" style="color: #858585; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Letter to His Excellency Christophe Pierre (click here)</a></div>
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Leading up to the feast of St. Michael the Archangel on September 29, the Friars of the Renewal are taking a time of prayer and fasting, beseeching the Lord to bring about a new grace of renewal in the Church at this time in history. Join us in praying for all victims of abuse, our Holy Father Pope Francis and all Bishops, priests, and lay faithful.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-31394882989350791852018-09-03T12:00:00.000-04:002018-09-03T12:00:29.810-04:00Martha’s Gift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As a child, I would often go for long walks in the woods behind my house to be alone with God. There in those solitary woods, the presence of God was as natural to me as the air. The trees, the animals, and the lakes were a reflection of a reality much greater than this world. What fascinated me was not the forest per se, but the creator of such magnificent scenes. Though I did not utter many prayers in those woods, I went there to simply be with God, which, I would learn much later, is the real essence of prayer.</div>
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After dinner, when I was no longer able to roam about outside, I felt compelled to try and articulate what I encountered in those solitary moments with nature. Curiously, the attempt to write about my own experience was almost as exciting and beautiful as the experience itself. Writing, for me, was a process of discovery. Even though I had felt something, heard something or seen something, it wasn’t until I wrote about it that I came to a clearer understanding of how near God was to me.</div>
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Both writing and prayer have consumed a significant amount of time and energy in my life. When prayer is consoling me and writing is nourishing me I feel alive and eager to share my joy with everyone around me. Yet when prayer is dry and I am suffering from writer’s block I often feel frustrated and want to isolate myself from the rest of the world. At various periods in my life I have vowed to quit one of these activities, so as to focus exclusively on the other, only to find myself a few days later plunging more deeply into both of them than I had before.</div>
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On the surface, writing and prayer can appear to be two different activities. However, I am discovering a surprising symmetry between them. Writing, I have come to realize, is my Martha, while prayer is my Mary. In the Gospel of Luke there is a famous episode where Jesus enters the home of Martha and Mary. Mary sits at his feet and listens to him while Martha is busy serving and taking care of the practical needs of her guest. Frustrated by her sister’s apparent laziness, Martha complains to Jesus and asks him to support her. Jesus responds, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her” (Luke 10:41-42).</div>
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We can often view the activity of our life, whether it is our job, family, or social responsibilities, as a distraction from the “better part” that Mary chose. What we often fail to recognize is that our activity often prepares the way, both for ourselves and others, for this silent receptivity that Mary exemplifies. Without Martha’s activity Mary wouldn’t be free to sit at Jesus’ feet. Mary herself was not free from daily responsibilities. It was only by fulfilling them that she was able to receive Jesus with such reverent attention.</div>
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I am beginning to understand my relationship with writing and prayer in a similar fashion. I have often wondered what purpose my writing serves as a Franciscan priest and have been tempted to quit writing because of my inability to see how it relates to my vocation. I have entertained the notion that writing is a distraction, preventing me from deeper intimacy with God, and that if I just quit writing I would be holier because I could devote more time to prayer, meditation and preaching. Within the past few months I have discovered that writing is not only an expression of my love for Jesus, but that without it, I could not sit quietly at his feet and listen. In other words, without Martha I cannot be Mary.</div>
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There is a misconception among certain people that those who live in monasteries, convents or friaries sit around and just pray all day. My own sister often tells her friends, “I’m not really sure what my brother does all day!” Despite the fact that religious have times reserved for prayer, meditation and spiritual exercises, when we are not engaged in those pursuits we live a normal human life, a life filled with activity. Even though God loves us and cares for us, he does not cook our food, clean our homes, or answer our doorbell.</div>
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It would be a mistake to assume that this activity is a distraction in my relationship with God. On the contrary, it is the activity of the day that opens my heart and creates in me a longing for God. As I sit in prayer in the morning with the duties and the responsibilities of the day staring in front of me, I become aware of my need for God’s grace before I approach these tasks. When nighttime arrives, with the activity of the day behind me, my heart and mind are more disposed towards quiet contemplation, as I ponder the many ways I encountered God that day.</div>
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Perhaps Martha’s fault was not her activity, but her inability to see how her activity was meant to be a bridge to something greater. The activity of our life, whether it is writing, or anything else, is never an end in itself. What Mary has to teach us, and what I am learning through writing, is that our work here in this life is never complete. If it were, we would never experience the deep peace that comes from simply resting at the feet of Jesus.</div>
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+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-88060639709003812142018-08-22T18:48:00.001-04:002018-08-22T18:48:10.222-04:00In the Silence, the Heart First Knows Itself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> Our friend Tim—one boy on his lap and another at his side—joins us for Holy hour. Behind me his sons click their tongues. They smack their lips. The sound is sharp in the tall rectangular space of our friary chapel. It fascinates them. Wonder teems in their little minds at the big echoes’ ricochet. Tim shushes them with one of his dad sized hands so that the chapel is suddenly soundless. Like the sight of an anthill, like the oaring motion of the darter hawk's wings, to the boys, the silence is a puzzling wonder. The older boy, Timmy, scoots out of it with a breathy whisper: <i>Dad. Dad, why is it so quiet?</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Is it so quiet? I think to myself. The sounds of Nepperhan Avenue—that constant lurch and growl of traffic, that large dragon's belly always crouched outside the friary, always stalking our prayers—always always there, patient as rat trap—none of this was noise. Nor was the interior scrimmage against sleep; nor the battery of anxieties; nor the inchoate shouts of the self; nor that montage reel of anything interesting, incriminating or inciting enough to distract from the One upon whom we all gazed—no, none of this was noise to the boys. The men in the chapel were all silence: shut mouths, unmoving lips, stroked beards. The tall space was so loudly hushed that whatever the clamor within or without didn't count to them for noise at all. Dad answers the question: <i>It’s quiet because they’re praying,</i> <i>Timmy</i>.<i> </i>The loud whisper back: <i>I don’t hear them praying</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> I wonder at what moment a child becomes aware of his heart. And how does he learn to sit within his heart the way these men sit in the chapel silently worshipping God? For every heart can be like a chapel where the living God lives, where without, there lurks a beast loudly patient. When does the boy become aware of the world inside him and how?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> I was supine lengthwise along the painted slats of a wooden bench. It could be Goshen, Virginia. It could be Pelican Lake, Minnesota. It may have well been anywhere. Everywhere the sky is domed at night and the fixed stars boast of their white light quietly. They are small, and I, a teenager, already hacking away through the brush of life, am so so obviously (uncomfortably) smaller. For twenty minutes they tasked us to sit alone in silence. Twenty seamless minutes—no phones, no friends, no forfeits—at the end of which a bell would sound signaling a return to our cabins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>How is it that you feel heard on a bench thinking? Is it by some residual pagan impulse that we talk to starshine? Is it a deception of physics that because sound waves travel outward, we, lonely men, assume they travel toward someone? I blocked the lamplight with the palm of my hand and the starlight flexed. I said words. I didn't know I was praying. Prayer was something different than this, afterall. It was formulaic, ostentatious. I heard the shifting of my weight, trout surfacing like laughter in the water, a mosquito’s hum at the lobe of my ear. I saw and (imagined?) I felt the blunt beats of moth wings. I got bored. Scattered across the camp hundreds of teenagers sat stranded in unusual silence. Twenty minutes is a long time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was pitched to us campers as part challenge, part invitation. For days we had heard different talks about Christ. “Jesus is more than just a pal.” (Cue the then popular imagine of buddy Jesus) “Jesus is like the star in the child's shape sorter.” (The preacher actually has one between his hands.) “We try the yellow square or the plastic yellow circle.” (He literally tries the yellow square and the plastic yellow circle.) “But in your heart is the star shaped hole and only the star fits.” (He’s right. It slides in—clink, clink—on the inside of the ball. He’s somehow earned our attention. He keeps it with stories of celebrity suicides and NFL stars catching their super bowl rings in the light on the bus ride home with that digging question on their lips: “now what?”) “If you put your love into something that will always love you back, something that will last forever, you won’t be let down.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">These are the ideas brushing up against our ears all week. This night was the dramatic cliffhanger: “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” we were made to know. And, “the wages of sin is death.” That was the bare bones of it, and that's how it felt—like the preacher's words were bones ground into dust, and we were made to drink them. Then they marched us off into the darkness and asked us to think and to pray. Apparently, I had mismanaged my love. I had chosen sin rather than Jesus and that choice earned me death, and I was powerless over the consequences. I couldn’t remember having experienced that dilemma. How could I have chosen against a man I thought so little about? It didn't occur to me then that the question was the answer to itself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was silent for twenty minutes in Virginia (or Minnesotta). I considered the talks. I spoke aloud. I addressed someone—God made more sense than anyone else. Still, as far as I was concerned, I wasn't really praying—and, as far as I was concerned, He didn't really answer either. Of course, He <i>did</i> answer. It was so soft and imperceptible an answer that I hadn’t even noticed it. No words. No miracles. Something unexplainable and unfelt happened. It would take time and reflection to recognize it. That first presence, though—the very first presence—I came to know that night was not His. It was my own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The wood slats running the length of me. Lapping lakewater. Stars far too urgent for their size and distance. In the silence, O Lord, these things shouted beautifully, and I heard them. But those things that were me—the push of my lungs and crack of my knuckles, my own humorous, my own pensive, my own vain or searching thoughts—these also shouted, and, although alone, I knew that they were heard by another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In the silence the heart first knows itself. It then reaches for the next nearest heart which is always yours. Prayer—before it is a work of articulation—is a blind and mute longing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> Therefore, in the back of our chapel at St. Leopold Friary, Tim may have answered his son: <i>You don’t hear them, Timmy, because prayer doesn’t always take words.</i></span></div>
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<br /><br />+ Br. Joseph Michael Fino, CFR<br />Yonkers, NY<br />We need your help! <a href="http://franciscanfriars.com/donate/" target="_blank">donate</a><div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-12060614496578947642018-08-20T19:55:00.002-04:002018-08-20T19:55:26.154-04:00Less Means More<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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St Bernard and the call to leave everything to follow Jesus. Podcast by Fr. Pio Maria, CFR. Listen to learn more!</div>
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<a href="https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/less-means-more">https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/less-means-more</a></div>
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<iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/488325651&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.850000381469727px;">Stitcher</span><br />
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-81586973935789896202018-08-02T09:34:00.003-04:002018-08-02T09:34:52.434-04:00Our Lady of the Angels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />Blessed feast of Our Lady of the Angels (Aug 2) the "<i>Portiuncula-Little Portion</i>" chapel rebuilt by St Francis. This poor little chapel is the mother church for all Franciscans!<br /><br /><br />Info on the special indulgence today:<br /><a href="https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/friar-lauds-indulgence-as-a-way-to-connect-with-st-francis" target="_blank">https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/friar-lauds-indulgence-as-a-way-to-connect-with-st-francis</a><br /><br /><br /><br />Official liturgical texts:<br /><a href="http://franciscanfriars.com/august-2-our-lady-of-the-angels/">http://franciscanfriars.com/august-2-our-lady-of-the-angels/</a></span><div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-63212390165442579762018-07-30T17:29:00.000-04:002018-07-30T17:29:10.540-04:00The Rest of the Story - Bl Solanus Casey<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Prayed for all of you at his tomb this morning (more pics below)</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br />Today is the first official feast day for Blessed Solanus Casey. I prayed for all of you at his tomb in Detroit this morning. He has some really great advice for all of us, not to be missed! Podcast by Fr. Luke Fletcher, CFR.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/the-rest-of-the-story">https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/the-rest-of-the-story</a></span><span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">SUBSCRIBE TO THE FROM THE FRIARS PODCAST:</span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">iHeart Radio</span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.iheart.com%2Fpodcast%2Ffrom-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality-28612606%2F&t=ODg3MGUwNDE1ZDdlZTllZmNkMTUzMjEzNTM2OTAwNjZhZTcwMTg5NSxSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">https://www.iheart.com/podcast/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality-28612606/</a><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">iTunes</span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fitunes.apple.com%2Fus%2Fpodcast%2Ffrom-the-friars%2Fid1100357971&t=ZmNjYzlhOWY4YWVmNjBmODViN2Q1MjRkMzYzOTQyZDIxYWNhZWM3NCxSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-stretch: inherit; 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font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">https://play.google.com/music/listen#/ps/I7u2fjhkolw2aa235eto5siywza</a><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Stitcher</span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.stitcher.com%2Fpodcast%2Ffrom-the-friars&t=NjhjOTc0YWU5NzA1YTU4MGZiOTdjZjA5YzI4YzdhYTVkNmM2NmQ5MixSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/from-the-friars</a><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Player FM</span><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-variant-ligatures: normal; outline: none 0px;" /><a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fplayer.fm%2Fseries%2Ffrom-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality&t=YjgzNzkyYTZhZWQyZmNjZWZiNmQ4ZjcwZGZlYzEwZDgxNGE4OTlmMCxSemRLS090bg%3D%3D&b=t%3AidyIvS5sdNF79PqBCzSnMw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ffromthefriars.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175764145377%2Fstillness-an-icon-of-god-podcast-by-fr&m=1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(68, 68, 68, 0) 50%, rgba(68, 68, 68, 0.247059) 0px); background-position: 0px 1.15em; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; background-size: 1em 2px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #771200; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.15em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">https://player.fm/series/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #333333;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-4451815613799545692018-07-23T17:22:00.001-04:002018-07-23T17:22:14.406-04:00Listening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The only way I can have a conversation with my nephews, ages 18 and 12, is if I take away their phones. Even when I do that, eye contact is kept to a minimum and their bodies appear unable to relax without a piece of technology in their hand. Unfortunately, this is becoming true for many adults as well. In our age of smart phones, tablets, and social media, it seems that we spend more time listening to devices than to another person.</div>
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When I was in school studying spiritual direction, my teachers continually emphasized that spiritual direction is primarily a ministry of listening. After the lectures each morning, we were given the opportunity to practice our listening. Each student was paired up with another student. One was given the role of the director and the other was the directee. The directee was asked to share the contents of their prayer from the previous 24 hours, while the director was told merely to listen. The only time the director was allowed to talk is when he would summarize, in a concise manner, the content of what the directee was sharing. The reason for this was simply to make sure the director really heard, i.e., was listening, to what the directee was actually saying.</div>
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As I listened to all of my directees, who varied in age, occupation and vocation, I immediately realized a problem. I was only half listening, while my other half was problem solving. I wanted to give my directees advice, quote something from a saint, or impress them with my knowledge of the Bible and spirituality. If it was a younger person, I wanted to tell them my experience and what happened to me when I was their age. If someone began to cry, I wanted to console them and tell them it was going to be alright. What I really wanted, I realize now, was for them to stop telling their story and for me to start telling mine. </div>
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<br />Listening to another person, I learned, means to receive the other person as they are, in their joy and sorrow, happiness and pain, with their strengths and weaknesses, without turning their life into a problem that needs to be solved by me.</div>
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It means, essentially, to accept the mystery of the other person, and to allow that person to remain a mystery, without reducing them to our human categories, labels and stereotypes, which, unfortunately, we often resort to.</div>
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<br />A few years ago I made an eight-day directed retreat with a priest who had a reputation for being a gifted spiritual director. After we met on the first evening, we had decided that I would pray four hours a day and meet with him each evening to discuss the contents of my prayer. On the second evening I met him in his room and he asked, “How was your prayer today?” I started sharing with him how my prayer was going and I would pause at times because I thought he would want to interject a correction, offer some words of wisdom or give me some advice. He was completely silent. At the end our time he said, “Ok, see you tomorrow.”</div>
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Even though he didn’t say anything, I knew that I was sincerely listened to. I did not feel judged, labeled, or analyzed. I did feel, however, accepted, in a way I may never have before. As my retreat continued, our meetings followed the same format. “How was your prayer today?” he would ask, and then I would start talking. Since I wasn’t expecting him to interrupt me anymore, I was given the freedom to explore all that God was doing inside my soul. Without projecting his own experience of God or life on me, I was enabled the freedom to discover my own. Needless to say, a whole new world was unearthed inside of me and through this spiritual director’s listening presence, the mystery of God’s ways and His healing became a tangible reality that I continue to marvel at many years later.</div>
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I have come to believe that not only is spiritual direction primarily a ministry of listening, but that life is primarily a ministry of listening. Whether it is prayer, marriage, or friendship, listening to another person—God, a spouse or a friend— becomes an opportunity for grace. Of course there are moments in life when listening may not be enough. A correction, a disagreement or perhaps a command needs to happen. What I have learned, surprisingly, is that even when those difficult moments come along, if I have genuinely listened to the other person, the reception of that correction or command is at least considered more thoughtfully.</div>
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The person who is being listened to acquires the freedom and the space to struggle with his life without immediately feeling judged or analyzed. The listener has the opportunity to participate in God’s patient and unconditional love. The challenge for both of them is learning how to do this in a world filled with noise and distraction. The guide for both of them is the One who always listens to us.</div>
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+ Fr. Jeremiah, CFR</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-35193038897187602412018-07-17T18:52:00.001-04:002018-07-17T18:52:34.043-04:00Being a Christian is Risky<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 15px;">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> I am glad you’re okay, honey; but I am also glad you took the risk</i>. It’s a good word for a man to hear from his mother. It had been some fifteen years since I wiggled-on a water ski.At the first go, I tumbled hard. The water was as flat as a window pane—cloudy and grey like the evening sky through it. The day had spent itself throwing rain at Lake Hopatcong keeping the boats lassoed to the pilings and the boaters lounging in their slippers. The last raindrops fell late in the afternoon rippling a calm into the water. Nobody seemed to notice but us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I popped up straightaway at the second effort. Skidding left over the wake, I worked my ski wide, if timidly, through the slick untroubled slate. The speedboat sped me fast into my youth—Buckeye Lake, Arbutus Lake—every lake supported the ski with such unassuming grace. So many clean skies. So many oblong circles. So many spills. It was a game of equilibrium; it was a game of speed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I tried, vainly (in both senses of the word),to kick up a rooster tail as I cut back toward the middle, tripped on the wake, and cut headfirst into the grey water. I botched the third try; took one more brief spin and, in kindness to my tremulous quadriceps, let the handled fly. It went skipping behind the smalling boat as I sunk easily—exhausted—into the soft and spacious hold of lake. It was quiet in the water, in that grey world, floating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> It wasn’t until I was back in the boat and the tanks were filling for the wakeboarders that our friend noticed blood at the back of my head. I was cut. In one of my tussles with gravity, the ski had bit me. Seven staples later and I was back at the house with a cut of steak on the tines of a fork and several spears of asparagus waiting on the white plate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Thus, mom’s remark: “I’m glad you’re okay, honey; but I am also glad you took the risk.” There is a lot to be said for taking a risk. For one, on a natural level, it helps us find the narrow road of courage between the wider routes of foolhardiness or cowardice.One has to live the spectrum to know where he stands within it—what a certain situation calls for and what it doesn’t. A second (and related) reason is spiritual. To put it frankly, being a Christian is risky: the body will suffer; the ego, certainly, will suffer; the soul too suffers violence as it pulls away from its sinful inclinations. For the servant is not greater than the Master, and the Master was crucified. And that’s the other thing—somehow, a risk inspires trust—once we stand on the other side of what we thought would be (or even what, in fact, turned out to be) a harrowing experience, there is Christ. Even if we’re bruised or cut or <i>worse</i>, there is Christ with his own bruises, cuts or <i>better</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My skiing accident is no great example of some noble and courageous risk. However, one <i>does</i> learn. There is something just and free in flying across the stillness of a lake on one skidding plank of wood. Something calls forth a <i>whoop</i> from the lungs. And as I made that cut toward the middle, I was seized by the more-than-this-world in this world. And, as it happened, that is when this world cut me. We need not take every risk, but if we fail to take any, we <i>risk</i> living trapped within the confines of our mortality, and that, I think, is a risk <i>not</i> worth taking.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">+ Br. Joseph Michael Fino, CFR</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Yonkers, NY</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-10549813541458330282018-07-10T23:15:00.003-04:002018-07-10T23:15:37.365-04:00Stillness - An Icon of God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Podcast by Fr. Jeremiah, CFR. Stillness is a disposition of reverent attention on God. In our hectic, faced paced and competitive world practicing stillness before God reminds us not only who we are but that God is paying attention to every detail of our lives. Listen to learn more!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02992067018091429061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2623421264843167655.post-60018743326432410572018-07-06T13:25:00.000-04:002018-07-06T13:25:00.067-04:00Being Yourself Before God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdjMcMwO76f7q3L1FwMS3EGdCqqdEuD1CWXJJipFaBayXyv87pXxTVkX-lnZr8WX4EHPteWPx7i-wTncCO2Coyj4J5kTOw7qFpwcorbay5U0s5US3DDFWWJxZlhNA1aMtHm2WRvv4wOg/s1600/frjeremiah06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdjMcMwO76f7q3L1FwMS3EGdCqqdEuD1CWXJJipFaBayXyv87pXxTVkX-lnZr8WX4EHPteWPx7i-wTncCO2Coyj4J5kTOw7qFpwcorbay5U0s5US3DDFWWJxZlhNA1aMtHm2WRvv4wOg/s320/frjeremiah06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><br />Podcast by Fr. Jeremiah, CFR. We don't have to be perfect to encounter God's love. We just have to be who we are. Transformation occurs in God's presence and nowhere else. Listen to learn more!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/being-yourself-before-god" target="_blank"> https://soundcloud.com/franciscan-friars/being-yourself-before-god</a></span>
<span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #333333; font-family: "interstate" , "lucida grande" , "lucida sans unicode" , "lucida sans" , "garuda" , "verdana" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #333333; font-family: "interstate" , "lucida grande" , "lucida sans unicode" , "lucida sans" , "garuda" , "verdana" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/467891496&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">SUBSCRIBE TO THE FROM THE FRIARS PODCAST:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">iHeart Radio<br /><a href="https://www.iheart.com/podcast/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality-28612606/" style="color: #771200; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://www.iheart.com/podcast/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality-28612606/</a><br /><br />iTunes<br /><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/from-the-friars/id1100357971" style="color: #771200; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/from-the-friars/id1100357971</a><br /><br /><br />Google Play<br /><a href="https://play.google.com/music/listen#/ps/I7u2fjhkolw2aa235eto5siywza" style="color: #771200; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://play.google.com/music/listen#/ps/I7u2fjhkolw2aa235eto5siywza</a><br /><br /><br />Stitcher<br /><a href="http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/from-the-friars" style="color: #771200; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/from-the-friars</a><br /><br /><br />Player FM<br /><a href="https://player.fm/series/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality" style="color: #771200; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://player.fm/series/from-the-friars-catholic-christian-spirituality</a></span></div>
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