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Slaves No Longer: Weekly Message for 03-27-18

Dear Friends in Christ,

In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ there is a scene where Mary awakens at night, having an intuition that something had happened to Jesus, and speaks the words of the Jewish Passover ritual that the father usually says to the youngest son in the family: “Why is this night not like any other night?” In the movie Mary Magdalene responds, “Because once we were slaves, and we are slaves no longer,” and John bursts in to tell them that Jesus has been taken.

The Passover is a foreshadowing of what will take place in the Holy Week, starting on Holy Thursday. As Holy Week flows into the Sacred Paschal Triduum—Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday—something will happen that will make these words our own. It is something that reached us at Baptism, and it reaches us every time we receive a sacrament, every time we nourish ourselves on the Eucharist or reconcile with God and the Church through Confession.

Once we were slaves, and, thanks to what Christ will undergo during the Triduum, we are slaves no longer. The Paschal Mystery reaches beyond the boundaries of a determined place and moment of history. It reaches us through the sacraments. In these days, in which we commemorate the mystery of our Redemption, we place ourselves in contact with that reality. When the Jews celebrated their Passover, they knew that it was commemorating a past liberation, bringing it to their present moment, and promising a future and definitive liberation from the greatest oppression: sin and death.

During the Triduum, in our hearts and in our spirits, we will accompany Our Lord. We will accompany him on Holy Thursday evening to the cenacle, to the garden of Gethsemane, to the court of the Sanhedrin, and to the place of his imprisonment. On Good Friday we will accompany him to Pilate, to Herod, to the scourging, down the Via Dolorosa, and to Calvary. Finally, at the foot of the cross, we will see him off as he goes where someday we will all go: the realm of death, but he goes there to ensure that we will be slaves no longer.

Even if you cannot participate in every liturgy of the Triduum, you can live these days by accompanying him in your heart. We offer many Retreat Guides to help meditate on Our Lord’s mercy and redemption too:

Teacher and Lord (on the Last Supper)

Father of Mercies (on the Parable of the Prodigal Son)

From Sorrow to Joy (on the Sacrament of Confession)

The Widow’s Might

The Trouble with Trust

The Colors of the Cross

May Our Lord liberate you from sin in these sacred days. Father Nikola Derpich, L.C. author, Finding the Plug [email protected]

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St Sylvester I

Dear Lester,

Might I make a suggestion? Before heading out to your traditional New Year’s Eve bash, why not spend a little time with our Lord. He deserves some gratitude for the many blessings he has given you this past year, and you could use some self-examination, talking to him about the good and the bad on your side of the equation.

It pains me to think of how many people celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another, without sparing even a thought for the One who has given us the great gift of our existence, the One who guides and governs history with wisdom and love. It would pain me even more to think that my nieces and nephews had fallen under the same secular spell.

While you’re at it, why not look for a motto for the coming year? Something to focus your energies on, something to give you direction amid the ups and downs and unpredictable “arounds” of the unforeseen future. I have always thought that New Year’s Mottos are better than New Year’s Resolutions. They last longer. And I think today’s saint could give you some good leads.

Sylvester was a native Roman, educated by devout parents who had the assistance of a holy priest named Charitius. Grace found nutritious soil in this environment, and Sylvester grew in wisdom and holiness, until he was ordained a priest by Pope Marcellinus, just before the horrible persecutions of Diocletian. In the aftermath of that persecution, the Emperor Constantine underwent his conversion and legalized Christianity (actually, he ordered free practice of religion, whichever it be, but at heart he wished to put an end to the bloody persecution of Christians). A little over a year later, Pope Melchiades died, and Sylvester was chosen to succeed him. He faced a gargantuan task.

In addition to the construction of the first places of public Christian worship, like the basilicas of St John Lateran and St Peter (constructions which would shape Christian art, architecture, and liturgy for the rest of history, by setting the first precedent in each of those fields), Sylvester had to rein in the burgeoning heresies that threatened to divide the recently liberated Church. He sent delegates to the council in Arles to resolve the Donatist schism and the Quartodeciman heresy, and he also sent delegates to the great Ecumenical Council of Nicea, which condemned the especially insidious Arian heresy. Arius claimed that Christ was not fully divine, and his heresy became a lever used by Patriarchs and Emperors in the East to batter away at Church unity and papal primacy. At Nicea, however, the authentic doctrine was affirmed, and every Sunday, when we proclaim that we believe in Jesus Christ, “God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten not made, ONE IN BEING with the Father…” we are quoting the term coined by St Sylvester. He died after being pope for 21 years.

If you were to ask St Sylvester for a good motto for the New Year, I think I know what he say: “Keep your eyes on Christ.” That’s how he designed the first Christian basilicas, with everyone’s eyes focused on the altar and the apse, where Christ appears most strikingly, and that’s what he asserted at the great Council of Nicea, by contributing and authorizing the magnificent litany of Christ’s privileges, and giving three times as much space to Jesus as to any other article in the Creed.

That’s what I think he’d say. But why not ask him yourself? I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you about it. Happy New Year.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Egwim of Worcester (England)

Dear Gwinn,

Sometimes, my dear niece, you have to know how to admit you were wrong. It’s hard, I know. It means swallowing your pride, giving credit to someone else, exposing your imperfections, but sometimes it’s simply the best thing to do. If you think about it, most human conflicts – whether between family members, communities, or countries – can be traced back to someone’s wounded pride, someone not willing to admit that they were (partially, perhaps) wrong, or mistaken, or at fault. I think you may be in a similar position. If you could find it in yourself to tell the other members of the leadership team that maybe your decision wasn’t the best, maybe you would release the tension and your Chapter could get going again. Today’s saint faced a similar situation.

He was of noble birth, descended from England’s Mercian kings, and early on heard a call to religious life, which he answered generously. Eventually he was appointed bishop of the important, though corrupt, city of Worcester. Filled with zeal for the eternal Kingdom, he swept into the diocese like a tornado, spreading reform in every direction. It seems, however, that his zeal got the best of him, and he was accused of being too harsh with his priests. We don’t know the details of his reform or of the accusations, but we do know his response. In a show of public penance for any wrong his zeal may have incurred, and in order to avoid exacerbating counterproductive conflicts, he undertook a penitential pilgrimage to Rome (a common practice in the Middle Ages).

At the start of his pilgrimage, he explained his motivations, bound his feet with shackles, locked them, and threw the key into the river. This single act of humility probably did more to reform his diocese than all his other measures combined. In fact, the reform did take root, and he became a powerful force for positive change throughout England. He later undertook another pilgrimage to Rome in the company of two English kings, and he founded one of the great medieval Benedictine monasteries, Evesham, in the aftermath of a Marian apparition there. (By the way, you may be interested in finding out how he eventually got out of his shackles. He wore them all the way to Rome, which was most certainly uncomfortable. Once in the Eternal City, he bought a fish in the market, and upon cutting it open he found the key in its belly – a divine confirmation both of the value of the original gesture, and of its successful conclusion.)

We are human, and we tend to get embroiled in conflicts, even when we are sincerely seeking the right thing. Before conflict erupts into division, it is often better to admit some fault, to humble oneself in order to open the way to a fresh start. Didn’t our Lord say “blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God”? He probably knew what he was talking about.

Your loving uncle, Eddy

Eddy

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The Holy Innocents

Dear Ingrid,

Your note moved me deeply. It reminded of that phrase St Paul attributes to Our Lord: “It is more joyful to give than to receive.” Truly, you and your family received much more than you gave to the orphans and young, single mothers you visited after Christmas. Doesn’t it make a difference when you actually MEET the person you’re trying to help? That’s what Christ did by becoming one of us.

But you also bring up a question that deserves answering. You wonder why God allows so much suffering. Those innocent people – especially the children – suffering under the harsh hand of poverty; why does God permit it? We know he is all-powerful, why doesn’t he do something about it?

It’s a question that I almost always find myself asking on today’s Feast, when the whole Church commemorates the Holy Innocents. Of course, you remember who they were. When Jesus was born, wise men came from the east wanting to worship him, to acknowledge him as the promised King of the Jews and give him their allegiance. But when they got to Jerusalem the star they had been following disappeared. They had to ask for directions. Being of noble blood themselves, they had no qualms about approaching the King of Palestine at the time, Herod the Great, and asking him where the newborn King of the Jews could be found. Of course, Herod had no idea that Jesus had been born, and neither did the people of Jerusalem. So everyone was stirred into a frenzy. Herod consulted the experts and divined that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem, so he sent the wise men there, instructing them to let him know when they found the new king, so Herod too could come and do him homage (so he said). The wise men went to Bethlehem, their star reappeared, they found Jesus with Mary, worshipped him (filled with great joy, the Bible tells us), but didn’t tell Herod. They were warned in a dream not to, and so they surreptitiously returned home.

Herod was furious, not only because they had dared to disobey him (that’s painful for a man so proud and so vain), but because the supposed “king” (Jesus) was still at large. That threatened him. He wanted the kingship for himself and his family; messianic figures sent by God to save the Chosen People had no place in his agenda. So, judging from the info the wise men had given him regarding the star’s first appearance, he gauged that Jesus had been born no earlier than two years previously. With that, he sent his henchman to Bethlehem with instructions to search out all baby boys less than two years old and kill them. That, he surmised, would rid the land of the prophetic usurper. His orders were carried out (Jesus was saved, however, because Joseph got some instructions of his own in a dream, and he took Jesus and Mary to safety in Egypt, just as the original Joseph had done with his “holy” family).

And here we are today, celebrating these massacred babies as the Holy Innocents, martyrs, killed for Christ’s sake. The Liturgy even says, “Father, the Holy Innocents offered you praise by the death they suffered for Christ.” Now, how does that work? An evil man (Herod) commits a horrendous deed, and according the Church this resounds to the glory of God. At first glance, it seems hard to believe. But in truth, it’s quite simple. They suffered for Christ; in other words, the evil was directed at Christ, and it fell upon them. Because of this, God will certainly give them a share in his heavenly glory. All evil, ultimately, is directed against Christ – its source is the devil, and the devil is in rebellion against God. Therefore, when any innocents suffer because of the forces of evil (and evil is always, some way or another, at the source of suffering), they too are taking upon themselves blows meant for Christ. And so we entrust them to God’s mercy.

In other words, God’s answer to the question of why he permits the innocent to suffer is Christ. He sent Christ, and Christ, in his own flesh, redeemed suffering, he made it a path to salvation, by taking it upon himself. That’s why saints don’t respond to injustice with violence; they respond with charity, with love – they share their suffering neighbor’s burden, just as Christ shared ours. And just as you did with the people you visited after Christmas.

I know, these “ideas” and “explanations” don’t take the pain away from the suffering, but they do wrap it up in a bigger package, a package full of meaning and destined for heaven. The only way to understand it completely, so the Church teaches us, is to love Christ and our neighbors more intensely. If that’s the case, you’ll be explaining it all much more completely to me in no time.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St John the Evangelist and Apostle

Dear Jean,

My guards have become especially repulsive recently – it requires all my willpower to remain civil when they accost me with their tales of social degradation seeping through the very fibers of what used to be “Christendom”. It’s hard to bear not only because they bait me so obnoxiously, but because, unfortunately, it’s so true. I can’t help thinking of the friends I have had, and the friends of friends, who were the victims of this degradation. I think of them especially at this time of year, the season “to be jolly”, yes indeed, but also the season with the most suicides. Many consider it a conundrum: how can Christmas season inspire the most suicides, isn’t it the “happiest time of the year”? Today’s saint decodes this dilemma.

John, along with Andrew, was the first of the future Apostles to follow Christ. (You can read about their first encounter in Chapter 1 of his Gospel – the most spiritual and intriguing of the four.) He was a fiery fellow, passionate. So much so that Jesus nicknamed him and his brother “the Sons of Thunder” (you can see the Lord smiling as he pronounced the ironic epithet). He was the only Apostle to recover from the shameful abandonment of Jesus in Gethsemane and stand courageously beneath the cross on Calvary. He sat next to the Lord at the Last Supper, where he leaned close to the Lord’s heart in intimate conversation. He was the youngest of the Apostles, and lived a full seventy years (so it seems) after our Lord’s Resurrection. He became St Peter’s closest companion at the beginning of their labors to spread the Kingdom, spent much of his time in Jerusalem and Palestine, and eventually relocated to Asia Minor (Turkey) where he continued building up the Church and combating heresies (this was when he composed his Gospel). There he was arrested and taken to Rome around the year 95, in the second general persecution. Upholding the faith, he was condemned to execution in a cauldron of boiling oil, but it did him no harm at all. The persecutors attributed the miracle to sorcery, and the Emperor exiled him to the island of Patmos, where he wrote the last chapter of the New Testament: the Book of Revelation or The Apocalypse. There is little agreement about when and where he wrote his three Epistles, also contained in the New Testament.

Unanimous agreement, however, is expressed about the central message of his canonical writings, and it is that message, in my opinion, which solves our riddle. It can be summed up in two little verses from his first Epistle: “Love consists in this: it is not we who loved God, but God loved us and sent his Son to expiate our sins. My dear friends, if God loved us so much, we too should love one another.” (1 John 4:10-11) It also rings out with special eloquence in an even more famous verse from his Gospel: “For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” (John 3:16)

With that message we can crack our conundrum. At Christmas time, the general atmosphere powerfully (though implicitly) reminds us about the real meaning of life: to love and be loved. That is what we were created for, and that is what is at the heart of exchanging gifts, which is a way of symbolizing and exercising our love for others, and receiving their love for us. This brings joy, because when we do what we were created to do (love and be loved) life suddenly “clicks”. Unfortunately, today’s world has tried to redefine the meaning of life, putting pleasure in the place of love. And of course, that doesn’t work; it leaves the human heart forlorn, vitiated, barren, and it also propagates a host of social ills – divorce, abuse, infidelity, addictions, consumerism… Those people who are especially sensitive, and who have been especially damaged by this state of affairs, when Christmas confronts them with images and whiffs of what their life ought to be, are often driven to despair. And that explains why the Season to be Jolly, is also the season where suicide hotlines need to pay a lot of overtime.

Which gives me an idea. If I can GIVE something to my guards, maybe that will begin to break through their shell, and open them up to Christ’s love. But what can I give them? I have nothing. Wait, I do have – well, I have to go. Write soon.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Stephen

Dear Steve,

I have always thought that the coincidence of your birthday and your patron saint’s day both occurring today is more than mere coincidence. If it weren’t the day after Christmas, maybe it would be mere coincidence, but since it isn’t, it can’t be. Here’s what I mean.

Yesterday we celebrated the entrance of our King into our exile; today, St Stephen’s day, we celebrate the exit of the first Christian soldier from this exile and his entrance into the King’s eternal palace. Now there’s a heckuva lot of wisdom in the Church’s arranging things like that. The whole reason that Christ became a man was to lead us to heaven. So we have these celebrations back-to-back, like back-to-back homeruns: the Savior bursts asunder the darkness of sin, and a sinner bursts into the brightness of Glory. Now, your having been born on St Stephen’s day, and your having received the Christian name of Stephen must be a part of this finely orchestrated plan. In my humble and avuncular opinion (which is rarely erroneous), it means that God is calling you to be, like Stephen, a mighty witness (that’s the literal meaning of the word “martyr”) of Christ and his Kingdom.

You remember Stephen’s story, I am sure. It is found right in the book of Acts, Chapter 7. He was that courageous deacon falsely accused by jealous leaders of the Jewish congregations in Jerusalem and brought before the Sanhedrin (the governing court of the Jewish people). He gave a fiery and brilliant defense of the true faith, and witnessed boldly with word, with his bearing, and, tragically but gloriously, with his very life, for his enemies were so enraged that they executed him as a blasphemer, hurling stones at him until he died. During the execution, a young member of the Jewish elite, Saul (the future St Paul), stood by guarding the cloaks of the murderers. He didn’t join in throwing stones, but he watched and participated nonetheless, and so he heard Stephen beg forgiveness for the executioners with his dying breath.

Stephen’s example of fidelity to Christ and charity to his neighbors staid with the young Saul, as is shown by the way he refers to the event in his letters, and contributed greatly to his conversion. And I just have this intuition that your path is going to be similar. I don’t know if God will ask you for the sacrifice of bloody martyrdom, but I do know that he is going to ask you for courageous testimony, and that if you respond generously, your life is going to win over many and powerful people to the cause of Christ. Don’t ask me why I am so certain of this, just trust me – and decide now that whatever God asks you in the future, near or far, you will give it to him, for the sake of his Kingdom and for the glory of his Name, as well as for your own happiness and fulfillment.

Your devoted uncle,

Eddy

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The Birth of Our Lord

Dear Laura,

The mere thought of you this morning warms my heart. (And that’s a good thing, considering the current state of my cell – it’s hardly a tropical delight in here these days, though it may be hot and humid outside for all I know – I can’t remember the last time I saw real daylight.) I can picture you and your brothers and sisters and your boisterous and loving parents gathered around the Christmas tree, exchanging gifts and laughing and singing carols. Probably your dad started the traditional Christmas fire in the fireplace; probably a fresh snow decorates the trees and bushes in the backyard; probably the smell of baking Christmas cookies is driving Rover wild… It makes me smile to know that some people still remember how to celebrate Christmas.

Yes, that’s what I said: by your simple familial joys are you celebrating Christmas correctly. I know that it has become vogue among serious Catholics to belittle the usual associations that non-believers have with the holiday – family gathering and fun and good food… But here in my solitary splendor (I’m being sarcastic, of course – there is no splendor in my solitariness) I can tell you that such belittling is understandable, but reprehensible. It’s understandable because these healthy characteristics of a secularized Christmas, uprooted from their true soil (faith in the Incarnation of our Savior, the Second Person of the Most Holy Trinity, i.e. God), too often tag along with many unhealthy characteristics. Therefore, Christians ought to beware of enervating reductionism.

But it’s also reprehensible, because even if family unity and generosity and fellowship is just the fruit (and not the essence) of the Christmas mystery (by becoming a man, God revealed his desire to reunite the sundered family of mankind and adopt us into his own eternal family, the Trinity, so our families should be more family-like – as they often become at this time of year – because of it), it’s still a good thing, and ought to be praised and enjoyed as such. But it shouldn’t stop there. Your family should extend the Christmas spirit to other families as well, and to individuals who need a family. I know you know that, and I am sure you are all doing something about it.

Well, I can’t say I don’t miss you. I can’t say I wouldn’t like to be sitting by the fire with you playing scrabble. I would. I would indeed. But Jesus, Mary and Joseph had a rather lonely Christmas the first time around, and I doubt the cave in Bethlehem was the coziest of corners. So how can I complain? In fact, if I may share a secret with you, I believe that these years of imprisonment have made me a much jollier soul altogether. The proof is right in front of me: I think of the baby Jesus, and I smile, and nothing can steal the joy that wells up deep in the core of my heart – not the loneliness, not the solitude, not the seemingly hopeless situation I find myself in, not the uncertainty of the future, not the lack of friends and loved ones… I certainly doubt that I would have been able to experience the Joy of Christ in the midst of such circumstances before. Now, however, it is enough to have Him in my heart, to know that he loved me enough to make the long trip from Heaven to Mary’s womb to the Manger, just to be with me.

Do relish a few of your mother’s superb jam-drop cookies on my behalf. And be assured of my prayers for a merry, merry Christmas.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Charbel Makhlouf

Dear Charlene,

I always miss you the most this time of year. Here in my cubicle I do my best to recall the spirit of the season, but I have no decorations except those that adorn my heart. I find it comforting to picture you and your family going to Midnight Mass, all twelve of you walking down the snow-covered street to the corner parish, taking your places in the pews, and kneeling reverently as you turn your eyes to Our Lord. I pray the Mass in my heart, and unite myself to the celebrations that are happening through the world. Then I walk with all of you back to your house and smile and sing with you as you drink your hot eggnog and sit around the fire until the sun comes up… Those were some of my favorite Christmases, and I know that even though I am far away from you, I can still be with you in spirit. This is one of the beauties of our Church: we are all linked, connected, and guided by one Mother, Holy Mother Church. That reminds me of today’s saint.

He was the simplest of men. He grew up in a mountain village in Lebanon. When he told his family that he wished to become a monk, they ignored him – they had already been arranging a nice marriage for him. But he insisted. And they kept ignoring him. Finally, he simply left. He was 23 and he departed for the monastery of Our Lady of Myfoug of the Lebanese Marionite order. He was a model novice and student, noted for his delicate and serene obedience. He longed for the pinnacle of monastic life: he wanted to be a hermit. But the hermitage attached to his monastery only had room for three hermits at a time, and it was full. He kept asking permission nevertheless, and only when his lamp was seen to remain lit for several hours even though it had no oil in it did his superiors grant his request (they figured God was inspiring him).

For the next 23 years he lived in peace and austerity in the hermitage. He structured his day around Mass, which he celebrated at noon, spending the morning in preparation and the afternoon in thanksgiving. He prayed, did penance, and lived in obscure normality. Eight days before he died, he was celebrating Mass when, right at the moment of the Elevation of the Host and the Chalice, he was struck with a paralytic stroke. He survived until Christmas Eve, when our Lord called him home.

Then things got interesting. For the 45 days after his death, a bright, supernatural glow radiated from his tomb. It attracted a lot of attention. So the abbot asked permission to exhume his body, which was found to be totally incorrupt, soft and flexible (as if he were sleeping), and exuding a kind of perspiration mixed with blood, even though, as was tradition in the monastery, he was buried with no coffin. After the exhumation, his body was cleaned, reclothed and relocated to a wooden coffin in the chapel of the monastery. It let off a lovely aroma.

For the next 67 years, the body stayed in that miraculous state, and countless miracles were attributed to his intercession. Only after his beatification in 1965 did the body begin to decompose, and by 1976 only his skeleton remained. It’s as if God used dramatic miracles to draw attention to the holiness of this saint until the Church gave its official recognition of his sanctity; then, from that point on, the Church’s recognition sufficed, and the supernatural phenomena diminished.

It’s just one more indication that our Church is God’s Church, it’s his voice and his hands and his love extended through time. If we want to stay close to God, all we have to do is stay close to the Church. So remember me when you go to midnight Mass, and I’ll remember you.

Your devoted Uncle,

Eddy

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The Ten Martyrs of Crete

Dear Tim,

Maybe you just need a good dose of courage, or a really cold shower. I can give you neither, though I can remind you of something that may help free you from your current spiritual chains. Every sin, my young nephew, is a species of idolatry, of seeking your meaning and fulfillment in someone or something that cannot provide it. By doing so, you turn that someone or something into an idol; you give it divine status, because you are treating it, consciously or not, like God.

Now, idolatry has its advantages, like immediate (though fleeting) pleasures and comforts (the former being more relevant to your current predicament). And that is why it is always a temptation. The only thing I can do for you now, since you have fallen into a particularly seductive and ensnaring idolatry, is pray that God will shake you up a little bit – you could help him by repenting and making your way to confession before Christmas. Wait, that’s not all I can do; I guess I can also remind you of today’s saints, who exhibited the kind of courage you need in their own resistance to idolatry.

The Imperial persecution of Christians under Decius was especially severe on the Island of Crete, where the proconsul had a vehement antipathy towards Christians (their behavior and beliefs bothered his conscience). On December 23, ten brave Christian men were brought to trial for their faith. Upon entering the court they were ordered to sacrifice to Jupiter. They refused. They were ordered to do so again. They refused, explaining the reasons with a simple yet striking eloquence. The proconsul, his henchmen, and the pagan mob flew into a seething rage, and the Christians were taken to be tortured. All the ingenuity of pagan cruelty was put at the service of their wrath, and the saints suffered excruciating torments. They were whipped with leaden whips that broke and dislocated their bones; they were stretched on the rack and ripped with iron nails until pieces of their flesh littered the ground below; and they were pierced with broken glass, sharp reeds, and pointed sticks. The whole while they were exhorted by the crowd to save themselves by worshiping Jupiter, and they responded, “We are Christians; if a thousand deaths were prepared for us we would receive them with joy.” The tortures were intensified, and their meekness increased, until the proconsul had to admit defeat. He ordered them executed by the sword.

I would encourage you to reflect on the testimony they gave during the trial, applying it to your own situation, and learning from these elder brothers in the faith what sin really is – idolatry. After they refused to sacrifice to idols, the proconsul responded: “You shall know the power of the great gods. Neither do you show respect to this illustrious assembly, which adores the great Jupiter, Juno, Rhea, and the rest.” And the future martyrs answered, “Mention not Jupiter, O president: nor his mother Rhea. We are no strangers to his pedigree, or to the history of his life and actions. We can show you his grave: he was a native of this island, the tyrant of his country, and a man abandoned to every kind of lust, even with his own sex: with these crimes he defiled himself every hour, and made use of spells and enchantments to debauch others. Those who look upon him as a god, must look upon it as a divine thing to imitate his lust and intemperance.”

The pleasures and comforts of this world, especially when unreasonably indulged in, cannot bring you the happiness you seek. I trust you catch my drift.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Frances Xavier Cabrini

Dear Fran,

You are falling prey to one of the devil’s oldest tactics, my dear niece, and it is quite unworthy of you. Luckily, you have an uncle who knows the devil quite well and can expose his dirty tricks. “Holding back” your efforts to do more for Christ is never prudent. Christians don’t have to conserve their energy; actually, you can ONLY maximize your potential (intellectual, athletic, artistic, interpersonal…) if you are directing your whole self to loving Christ. Any other direction may have some nice vistas along the way, but they all terminate in dead ends. Period. Put all your eggs in Christ’s basket; hold nothing back from him; his plan is better; he will teach you true balance. And if you don’t believe me, believe today’s amazing saint.

Mother Cabrini didn’t start out too well. She was born into a devout but poor Catholic family in northern Italy (the last of 13 children). She was so weak an infant that her parents had her baptized the same day she was born, because they were afraid she was about to die. From an early age her love for Christ filled her with yearning to pour out her life doing missionary work. She tried to enter two religious orders to make her dream come true, but she was twice rejected – her health seemed too precarious. So she spent her early years working in an orphanage for girls. Eventually, the bishop had to close the orphanage, and when he did he called her into his office. He told her, “Francesca, you always wanted to be a missionary. But I know of no such order for women. Why not start one yourself?” The suggestion was definitely other-worldly: the future saint was quiet, retiring, and sickly; the anticlerical influences in Italy were closing down religious works and suppressing entire orders – the idea must have come from God. And Frances replied, “I will look for a house.” It was the first of 67 institutions that this little Italian lady would found before her death in 1917, at 67 years of age. She started orphanages, hospitals, sick houses and poor houses both in Italy and all across the United States (as well as in Central and South America), where Pope Leo XIII sent her in order to care for the thousands of Italian immigrants who poured into North America at the start of the twentieth century. In spite of a mortal fear of water (she had almost died in a water accident as a young girl) and bouts of severe sea-sickness, she crossed the Atlantic 25 times, tirelessly recruiting sisters to help her win souls back to Christ.

Her motto was simple, but when you think of how much this woman accomplished, you see how true it is. I suggest that you make it your own, so that the devil doesn’t trick you into keeping your many talents locked up in a closet somewhere. Here it is: “I can do all things, IN HIM!” Another phrase she wrote down in her notebook can also be instructive; it shows the kind of confidence and lavishness that should characterize a true Christian’s prayer: “O Jesus, I love You very much… Give me a heart as big as the universe.” If you can keep these two wise sayings in mind (maybe write them on a card and keep it at your desk), I am sure you will find your way out of the labyrinth of fear and uncertainty that has been holding you back. And that will rejoice the heart of your loving Lord.

Your devoted uncle,

Eddy

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St Peter Canisius

Dear Candy,

You put up a good façade, but I can still detect the disappointment and frustration (uncles can read between the lines). If the Advent retreat you spent so much time organizing and planning was “rather sparsely attended”, as you put it, your feelings of disappointment are understandable. We all want our events to be successful. But there’s something deeper going on here, and I think you should reflect on it.

It’s about an old phrase called “purity of intention.” It refers the motivation behind all we do for Christ and the Church. The upshot is simple: if we are truly working for his glory, and not for recognition or personal achievement or to prove how great we are, then “failures” take on a whole new light. Knowing that God is pleased simply because we are doing our best relieves the pressure that comes from our egoism, and even when things don’t go smashingly well, we trust that God will make good of them. It’s all about putting God in the center, not self. And it’s a lesson that today’s saint learned better than most.

He has been called the second Apostle of Germany (St Boniface was the first, you’ll remember). He grew up in Holland, and showed intellectual prowess at a young age. He also discerned a vocation to the priesthood at a young age, and joined the budding Jesuit order when he was barely 20. As soon as he was ordained, he was sent as a theological consultant to the Council of Trent. Then to Rome to spend some time working at the side of St Ignatius of Loyola, and then began his long career as a founder of schools and colleges, first in Sicily, and then – for most of his lifetime – in what was then Germany and the Austrian Empire. Dozens of colleges and universities trace their origins to his work, and whole cities (e.g. Freiberg, Vienna, Ingolstadt) owe their continuing presence of Catholicism to his indefatigable preaching and instruction in the aftermath of the Protestant rebellion. For a time, he served as Jesuit Provincial for the entire region. It is estimated that he covered 6000 miles on foot and horseback during just two of those years as Provincial. Even when his health began to fail him, he continued his evangelizing efforts by adding to his already impressive roster of instructional and doctrinal books (his three Catechisms were reprinted two hundred times and translated into 15 languages during his own lifetime). In short, this great apostle filled every waking hour with fervent activity and tranquil love, winning countless souls for the Kingdom of Christ.

But the source of his zeal was not himself. And here is where I think you have some material for reflection and prayer. Listen to how he explains the origin of his apostolate, referring to an experience he had in prayer before going to Germany, and then try to follow in his footsteps:

“It was as if you opened to me the heart in your most sacred body. I seemed to see it directly before my eyes. You told me to drink from this fountain, inviting me, that is, to draw the waters of my salvation from your wellsprings, my Savior. I was most eager that streams of faith, hope, and love should flow into me from that source. I was thirsting for poverty, chastity, obedience. I asked to be made wholly clean by you, to be clothed by you, to be made resplendent by you.

“So, after daring to approach your most loving heart, and to plunge my thirst into it, I received a promise from you of a garment made of three parts: these were to cover my soul in its nakedness, and to belong especially to my religious profession. They were peace, love, and perseverance. Protected by this garment of salvation, I was confident that I would lack nothing but all would succeed and give you glory.”

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Rufus and St Zosimus

Dear Ralph,

Home for the holidays, eh? Are you happy, or depressed? I seem to remember that you tend to get a little melancholic this time of year. (And I must confess that I share your tendency, especially here in my cubicle/prison. So morose do I feel this time of year that I have taken to making tinsel out of the wires I removed from an old electrical cord. Pitiful, I know.) Well, it will probably be a more intense sentiment of melancholy than you remember, since this year you are adding to the holiday spirit the change of environment; your first college Christmas break will be full of surprises. May I take the liberty to offer a friendly warning? You have made much progress, personally and spiritually (not to mention intellectually) at college this fall. You have successfully left behind the bad influences that plagued you all through high school. Those influences will clamor for a return to power; be ready to resist. Take a lesson from today’s saints.

Rufus and Zosimus were early apostles. They accompanied the great St Ignatius of Antioch on his prisoner’s journey to Rome, where they joined him for martyrdom in the Coliseum – all three were mangled by wild beasts to the degenerate delight of the Roman mobs. Much more than that we don’t really know. Early Christian writings seem to imply that they spread the faith in Asia Minor, the same mission field Ignatius traversed, and that they did a good job at it. They were held up as examples for the early Christian communities even before their martyrdom. Afterwards, they were rightly venerated and emulated as authentic heroes of the faith. Here’s what another pillar of the early Church, St Polycarp of Smyrna (disciple of St John the Evangelist) wrote of them: “They have not run in vain, but in faith and righteousness; and they are gone to the place that was due to them from the Lord, with whom they also suffered. For they loved not the present world, but Him who died, and was raised again by God for us.”

How were they able to reach such heights of sanctity? They hung out with the right people – like Ignatius and Polycarp. It’s an old truism that doesn’t always taste good in this epoch so intent on the misunderstood value of “tolerance”, but truism it is: evil friends work evil influence, and fair friends bring fair weather. I trust you will be able to connect the dots here – it’s all about who you’ll be spending time with on your well-earned Christmas vacation.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Josep Manyanet y Vives

Dear Vivian,

I can’t help thinking that your “obsession”, as you call it, is something more. Technically speaking, “obsessions” are bad things. Someone who is obsessed with golf, for instance, pours an unreasonable amount of time and money and attention into golf – playing it, reading about it, watching it, thinking about, etc… The operative term, however, is “unreasonable.” That means not-in-accordance-with-reason. Reason tells us that most people have other duties and responsibilities in life: honoring God, supporting a family, developing one’s talents, serving the Church. An obsession with golf, except for a professional golfer who isn’t married, would interfere with those other duties and responsibilities, putting the person’s life out of balance, and maybe even endangering their soul. Golf becomes their idol.

Your “obsession” is different. It seems much more reasonable. You want to educate poor children in the Third World. You think about them all the time, you raise money for schools, you go there as a volunteer in the summer, you recruit other volunteers… Could it be, my fervent young niece, that God has placed this “obsession” on your heart and wants you to build his Kingdom by following through with it? He does that sometimes, you know. Take today’s saint, for instance.

Josep was a normal kid. Born into a normal Spanish family. Went to normal school, wanted to be a priest, entered the seminary, got ordained, was assigned to work as his bishop’s assistant… All normal, on the outside, just like you. But through the years an “obsession” grew within him. His whole spiritual life was centered on a deep devotion to the Holy Family – to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He considered the Nazareth chapter in our Lord’s life to be much more significant than others thought. And so he asked permission from his bishop to start a religious congregation devoted to assimilating, living out, and spreading a spirituality based on the virtues and values revealed by the Holy Family: humility, simplicity, silence, service, prayer, hard work, generosity, poverty… He ended up founding two religious communities dedicated to that idea, one for men and one for women, and he spent his life tirelessly caring for the growth and spread of those communities, writing, preaching, and traveling in order to fan the flames that the Holy Spirit had ignited. He even initiated the construction of the famous (and gorgeous) Basilica of the Holy Family in Barcelona, designed by the renowned architect Antonio Gaudi (it’s still not finished, by the way, but it is already an architectural and artistic marvel, embodying in stone the ideals of the Holy Family).

I think it’s more than a coincidence that God inspired this man with such a vision at the start of the “modern” era, when the institution of the family was on the verge of coming under an attack more severe than any since ancient Roman times. Could it be that your “obsession” is also inspired by the Holy Spirit? There are ways to tell. We can keep writing back and forth about it, but it would be easier if you were to talk about it with a wise and trustworthy spiritual director. In the meantime, count on my prayers.

Your devoted uncle,

Eddy

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St Ado

Dear Adelaide,

Bored? You’re BORED?!?! OK. If you say it, I can’t doubt it. You wouldn’t be lying about something like that. But in all honesty I can certainly not suppress my shock. There must be something deeper going on here. I smell the sulfuric smoke of the devil wafting through your vacation. From this distance, I can’t tell much, but if I had to bet I would say you have fallen into routine in your prayer life. Same old prayers, just going through the motion, no life, no verve, no passion. Right? Well, now’s the perfect time to break out of the routine. Make some kind of pilgrimage; help the kids in your parish get ready for the Christmas liturgies; direct a Christmas play… DO SOMETHING! Don’t just sit there making yourself a target for temptation. Maybe it would be enough to adopt the secret of today’s saint.

He had a remarkable life. Born to one of the most illustrious Frankish families of his epoch, his devout and prudent parents were determined that he should receive an exemplary education not only in academics but also in Christian living. Accordingly, they put him under the tutelage of the holy Abbot Sigulph and his comrades in the famous and respectable abbey of Ferrières, not far from home. Ado responded marvelously to the life of study, work, and prayer, and developed his extraordinary natural talents to the highest degree. The ideal of Christ and the Kingdom filled him with such vigor that he himself decided to forgo the incomparably promising career his family ties guaranteed him, along with the many comforts and pleasures it was sure to afford, and took the monastic habit. Soon after, things got tough.

He was sent as professor to the monastery of Prom, where he fulfilled his duties with verve and efficacy. Although his young students were devoted and grateful, however, he inspired envy among some of his peers. And when the abbot died, they instigated a campaign of slander that ended in Ado’s being expelled from the monastery. Parrying despair and confusion, he took a pilgrimage to Rome (not a bad idea at all), where he visited the tombs of the Apostles. He went on to Ravenna, where he published a revised version of the Roman Martyrology. He also wrote more detailed biographies of saints, and even a chronicle of world history – in short, he didn’t waste his free time. Eventually he was invited to take over a parish in the diocese of Vienne. Once again his zeal, humility, and pastoral charity won him admiration, and eventually he was appointed Archbishop of that See, where for fifteen years he worked an almost miraculous reform of faith and morals among his clergy and lay faithful alike.

His secret? Doing what you’re doing at this very moment: he never stopped nourishing his faith on the examples of holiness found in the lives of the saints. Reading their anecdotes, writings, and biographies was his favorite and unchanging pastime. He would get ideas from them and apply them to his own situation, and thus he kept his spiritual life fresh. I am sure that if you do the same (and don’t just settle for my emails, but read one or two full-fledged biographies every year – start with St Theresa of Avila’s autobiography; you have always reminded me of her), you won’t fall into routine again.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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St Virginia Centurione Bracelli

Dear Gina,

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you are in such a rush to plan out the rest of your life. It’s a temptation; I’m sure of it. Excessive worry about your future drains attention and energy that you could more fruitfully apply to your current duties and opportunities, and the devil loves that. You need to stay focused on one thing: God’s will. Certainly, once you become a junior or senior, God’s will will include prudent exploration of post-college options, but even then you ought not to get obsessed with it. You can’t plan out every turn your path of life will take, and you shouldn’t; life is an adventure, all you need to do is stay on the right path. I think you should take today’s saint as your patron for the year; she learned this lesson well.

From a noble family in northern Italy, her desires to enter the convent were foiled by her father’s insistence on a diplomatic marriage. The marriage only lasted three years, however. Her husband was a compulsive gambler and frequenter of houses of ill repute, and he treated her and his two daughters without the slightest respect. Nevertheless, when his dissolute living caught up with him and he lay on his deathbed, his faithful wife nursed him and led him back into friendship with God, so that his soul, it seems, was saved.

So Virginia was already a widow and a mother of two when she was only 20 years old (same as you, isn’t it?). She determined to follow the desire of her heart: to serve Christ in his poor. So she made a vow of perpetual chastity (much to her father’s chagrin) and dedicated herself to educating and providing for her children while at the same time welcoming the poor and the orphans near her Genoa residence. By the time her own biological children were happily married she had earned a reputation as a true guardian and spiritual mother of the poor and needy, and when war broke out in northern Italy, with its consequences of refugees, orphans, poverty, and plague, her small efforts to care for the needy blossomed into a full-fledged religious Institute of charitable and educational enterprises. It became so effective that it received a civil charter, and she wrote up a rule of life and a plan of action that put local nobility and government appointed overseers in charge of its many works. This enabled her to step down from administrative duties and wear herself out as one religious sister among the others, serving her fellow servants as energetically as she served the poor.

Unfortunately, as her maternal heart expanded and the Institute took on more and more activities, the noble women who ran it became squeamish, afraid that associating with the poor and the outcasts would tarnish their high-society reputations. Virginia was therefore forced to take the reins once again. Her efforts never waned, and towards the end of her life the Lord granted her deep consolation in prayer that included visions and interior locutions. By the time of her death at 64, the entire province had benefited spiritually and materially from this noble widow’s divine generosity.

She wouldn’t have planned it like that, but she followed God’s indications at each juncture, and along the way she always ruled herself by his commandments and according to Christ’s example. If you do the same, you will not only rediscover your peace of mind, but you will have the kind of impact on the world that you have always dreamed of having – the kind that lasts forever.

Your devoted uncle,

Eddy

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St Lucy

Dear Cy,

I am going to have to be blunt. I hate to do this, but if I don’t, who will? You are behaving like a Cretan. And if you don’t know what that means, insert the foulest expletive you can think of. In spite of the barbarous (though fleeting and degrading) satisfaction that your unchastity is procuring, I think you know in your heart that I am right. Your sexuality was not given to you in order to wrap you up in yourself; it wasn’t given to you so that you could devour your fellow human beings (women are human beings, in case you had forgotten, just like you; every one of them is someone’s daughter, sister, mother…) as if they were delicacies laid out on a buffet. Your current behavior is, in short, repulsive, self-degrading, a threat to your future, and heartlessly destructive of the lady in question. And don’t retort that you are only doing what everyone else does. That’s a lie! Show me one saint who so grossly let himself be enslaved to his passion.

In fact, it may help you break out of your benighted stupor to consider the brilliant testimony of today’s saint, whose name means “light.” She was from Sicily, a wealthy, aristocratic family. Her father died when she was only a girl, and her mother betrothed her to a young man of worthy estate. But she had become a Christian, and was so in love with her Lord that she promised to marry no one but him. (Now that’s a good use of one’s sexuality – offering it faithfully to a lifelong spousal love) For three years she successfully delayed the wedding. It was no easy task, because she was exceedingly beautiful, and her betrothed was being pressured to consummate the affair quickly. Seeing her case begin to weaken, she and her mother went to pray at the tomb of St Agatha for a miraculous cure to her mother’s sickness (a strange hemorrhaging disease, just like the one in the Gospels). The cure came about, her mother was converted to Christianity, Lucy explained her desire of selling all her goods to give alms to the poor and staying forever married only to Christ, and her mother consented.

Furious, the frustrated suitor (Paschasius was his name) turned Lucy in to the authorities as a Christian. (It was illegal to be a Christian then; Christians were considered state enemies, because they refused to worship state gods, but women were seldom called to make public worship – thus Paschasius’ report…) Lucy was brought before the magistrate, where she unabashedly professed her faith. She was condemned to a life of forced prostitution (thus the magistrate would profit from her physical beauty – I hope this stirs your conscience a little bit!). But when the guards went to remove her thence, they found her fixed to the spot. They even engaged a yoke of oxen to pull her away, all to no avail. They lit a fire around her to burn her alive, but the flames went out. They tortured her in various cruel and creative ways (even gouging out her eyes), but she neither yielded to their wishes nor renounced her faith. Finally she was pierced with a dagger in her neck, and died from the wound in prison.

Such is how a true Christian values sexual fidelity, chastity and purity. I trust the example has stirred up the remorse you should have long since felt for your recent behavior patterns. Now all that remains is for you to go to confession, confident in our Lord’s mercy, and speak to a trustworthy priest about reforming your life. It will take some time to recover from your dissipation, but if you wait any longer, you may never recover at all, much to your (and your future family’s) chagrin.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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Our Lady of Guadalupe

Dear Louis,

Your sadness saddens me. Fortunately, that only shows what a sentimental fellow I am; it has nothing to do with the actual gravity of your latest missive. In fact, I would say that you are blessed to receive a rejection letter so early on in your job search; you have already experienced the worst, and have survived. If your first rejection experience had been delayed much longer, I daresay it could have induced a veritable catastrophe.

Nevertheless, you are downhearted, dejected, discouraged. You won’t let those real (and painful) emotions lead you to do anything rash, I am sure (your faith is too mature for that). But what will you do with them? The question matters, because how you answer it will set a precedent. Though you hadn’t experienced rejection and failure before, you will certainly do so again, so the way you react to this first one will create a pattern. Today’s feast can help make sure that pattern is a good one.

It all started back in 1531, in the newly colonized territory of Mexico, on a hill (called Tepeyac) near Mexico City. The Christian missionaries who had accompanied the conquistadores had been having a difficult time evangelizing the native Aztecs, and their efforts were hardly bolstered by the scandalous example of many Europeans. But on this day in 1531 our Lord himself was going to change the momentum a bit. He permitted his mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary, to appear to a Mexican man as he made his way to Mass (his name was Juan Diego, now St Juan Diego, and he hadn’t even yet been baptized). She actually appeared to him more than once, and asked him to go to the bishop to request that a church be built where she had appeared, to honor the Mother of the One True God. The bishop, of course, doubted the poor Mexican’s sincerity (if not his sanity), and asked for a sign. So on December 12th Our Lady had St Juan Diego gather some roses from the rocky hilltop. He knew it was neither the season nor the place for roses, but he obeyed. He found some beautiful specimens right where she had indicated, picked them, gathered them in his tilma (a coarse poncho), and brought them back to Our Lady. She arranged them for him, and had him take them to the bishop, making him promise not to stop along the way or show them to anyone else.

Juan did as she wished, and when he opened his tilma for the bishop, everyone in the room fell to their knees, for they beheld the now famous image of Our Lady of Guadalupe: a fifteen-year-old Mexican girl, pregnant (indicated by the black bands around her wrists) standing on the moon, eclipsing the sun (held to be the greatest of Aztec gods), hands clasped in prayer (thus she herself was not to be considered divine), crowned and robed with stars, and stepping forward. St Juan attested that this was an image of the Lady who had appeared to him. The bishop consented to her request.

Almost immediately the image became a rallying point for Mexicans. It served as a highly effective catechesis all by itself, and in its wake millions of residents of the New World were brought into the Catholic fold, at the same time as thousands of souls were breaking away from the Church back in the Old World in the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation. To this day scientists can’t explain how the pigments were applied to the course cloth, nor can they explain how the cloth has survived intact for five hundred years. But the steady flood of pilgrims to the Shrine on Tepeyac hill is uninterested in scientific proofs. In fact, this most-visited shrine in the Christian world draws the faithful, many of whom make the last mile of the trek on their knees, because in Mary they find the heavenly Mother that they, as God’s children, need, the same one who spoke so gently to St Juan Diego when she first appeared, saying, ““Hear me and understand well, my little son, that nothing should frighten or grieve you. Let not your heart be disturbed. Do not fear… Am I not here, who is your Mother? Are you not under my protection? Am I not your health? Are you not happily within my fold? What else do you wish? Do not grieve nor be disturbed by anything.”

Mary is no distant ideal, no abstract model of virtue. She is a real woman, the Mother of our Lord, the Queen Mother of Heaven and earth, and as such, she is your mother, your protectress, your benefactress. And it is not a sign of weakness to need one, but a sign of wisdom. In moments of emotional turbulence, where do good children go but to their mother’s compassionate and comforting embrace? You are a child of the Eternal Kingdom; should you do any less? I think not, and I know our Lord agrees, because he said, “Unless you turn and become like children, you shall not enter in the Kingdom of Heaven” (Matthew 18:3). And then, speaking to his beloved disciple about Mary, he said, “Behold your mother” (John 19:27). Put two and two together, be humble, and life’s storms will never be able to throw you off course.

Your loving uncle,

Eddy

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