Reflections

GOOD FRIDAY

Image: Unsplash/Wim van 't Einde

As a child I always wondered what was so “good” about Good Friday given its silent solemnity in Church and at home where I truly had to uncharacteristically “behave”, and because of the sadness of the commemoration itself.

Sometimes, even as adults, we can become stuck in the “gloom” of the day, and it becomes almost impossible to see beyond it. Indeed, this year given the war in Ukraine, violence in so many places locally and globally, the continuing pandemic and its repercussions, the devastating consequences of climate change and its consequences for the poorest of the poor, we may be feeling very stuck, overwhelmed, and frustrated – alone in the darkness! On the other hand, some of us may want to deny “Good Friday” and move directly to the alleluias of Easter morning. Sister Gemma Simmonds says that in this case “we can appear glibly optimistic and superficial in our engagement with the crucifixion of Christ that continues in his desperately suffering people and God’s desecrated creation.”

So, then what is so “good” about Good Friday? Perhaps it is the paradox of light in the darkness, the both/and of cross and resurrection, death and new life echoed in our liturgical celebration of the Easter Triduum and in the natural world with its springtime promise of new shoots emerging from the still cold Earth. Bishop Erik Varden of Trondheim in Norway describes this reality. He writes,

“The path will, in a Christian optic, necessarily go through the cross; but the cross is a passage, the emblem of Christ’s Pasch. It looms large on the horizon but bears the promise of new, endless life and flourishing to be found on the other side.”

Here we find hope in the darkness, promise in the shadows, the very place and condition of our growth and new life. In Christ’s acceptance of his suffering, definitely not chosen but imposed upon him by forces of injustice, we see the goodness of unconditional love. And, as the ancient hymn reminds us, when we “survey the wondrous cross”, we see the One who extravagantly loved to the end and then loves the world into resurrection.

“It is precisely this great love that invites and calls us to love radically”

image: unsplash/Yannick Pulver

It is precisely this great love that in turn invites and calls us to love radically, to the end, to join our own struggles with the suffering of the world; the suffering world that includes not only we humans but the whole of creation. In Romans 8 we read that creation itself cries out for liberation. God’s salvation embraces all the world’s sufferings, cosmic, social, and personal. This Good Friday, let’s seek the goodness of the day, embrace it, and live it by our presence, image of God’s presence, and then as we intone again the great alleluias of Easter may we receive hope and become God’s people of promise in this struggling world.

-Sister Mary Rowell, CSJ

Saint Joseph's Day - March 19

© Michael O’Neill McGrath, OSFS www.bromickeymcgrath.com

Joseph, one who trusted the outrageous freedom summoned by his night dreams; one who lived beyond the cultural norms of his time.

Joseph, whose whole life was grounded in care for others.

With Love on St. Joseph’s Day from all the Sisters of St. Joseph

Artwork: “This version of the Flight into Egypt was inspired by the plight of the refugees fleeing oppression and murder in Northern Iraq because of their religion. Images of parents and little children reminded me of St. Joseph fleeing with his family to Egypt, to escape Herod. Together let’s pray for something beautiful in your own world, wherever you live, to counter hatred and terrorism.”

-Michael O’Neill McGrath, OSFS | © Michael O’Neill McGrath

Fat Tuesday

What is in a name? Mardi Gras (or in English, “Fat Tuesday”) has evolved in New Orleans far from the Christian roots of the French-speaking Acadians.  Expelled from New Brunswick by the British government, many Acadians settled in Louisiana where they maintained practices such as observing Mardi Gras. 

On the Tuesday preceding Lent fat was used up in preparing rich foods that would be prohibited during the forty-day penitential season beginning with Ash Wednesday on the following day. Lent is the forty-day period preceding Easter Sunday; it represents the forty-day fast of Jesus in the desert prior to beginning his public ministry and is observed by many Christian denominations.

Traditional practices include fasting, abstinence from meat, almsgiving, and sacrificing such pleasures as going to movies or consuming alcoholic beverages. In New Orleans, Mardi Gras has become a not-so-Christian event characterized by extravagant parades and celebrations. Mardi Gras is also known as Shrove Tuesday, the day on which Christians would confess and be “shriven” or released from the guilt of sins of the preceding year prior to the forty days of penitence and atonement.

In a recent conversation with friends, stories of family practices on the day preceding Lent were exchanged. A pancake supper in my family meant that my mother stood at the stove cooking and serving pancakes smothered in butter and maple syrup. My seven siblings and I would press forks through the cooked dough in search of the tokens that supposedly predicted our future: A button indicated permanent bachelorhood; a dime foretold future wealth, and a ring signified marriage.  Another person described her ravenous brothers requiring their mother to toil endlessly producing the delicacies, which she despised, quickly enough to keep up with their demands and fill their hollow legs. A woman originally from England served her version of pancakes (thin crepes topped with lemon juice and icing sugar) to Canadians who snubbed them as inferior. A person from an Italian family had to develop the art of making thin crepes with a meat filling. Another member of the group informed us that she attends a pancake supper fundraiser at a church.

Do you have ways in which you mark the annual event of Mardi Gras, Pancake Tuesday, or Shrove Tuesday?

-Sister Pat McKeon, csj

CHILBLAINS on my SOUL

Two years into this pandemic, surely all of us have those moments when all is not well with our soul. Due to a Covid outbreak, I once again find myself cloistered in a room. Though on this frosty Friday outdoors it feels like -20°C, it is cozy in my room and yet there are chilblains on my soul. Chilblains, you may ask. On your soul, you may ask. Yes, there is a chill in my soul.

My room faces the steep incline of a hill, so I do not have ‘a room with a view.’  What I do have on this bitterly cold morning, are dainty frost flowers on my windowpane. Do you notice the perfectly shaped heart in the bottom right-hand quarter? That icy heart caused me to pause and ponder. I asked myself whether the icy finger of the pandemic has painted chilblains on my heart and soul.

This pondering brought to mind Henri Nouwen’s reminder that, “Each day holds a surprise [or more!!!]. But only if we expect it can we see, hear, or feel it when it comes to us...whether it comes to us as sorrow, or as joy. It will open a new place in our hearts”. This first day of being newly cloistered, certainly came as a surprise, laden with sorrow. I really should have seen it coming. The most recent Omicron ‘mantra’ warned us that it is not a matter of ‘if’ we will have an outbreak but ‘when’ we will have an outbreak.

Obviously, I did not listen nor really prepare myself for this déjà vu experience of once again being cloistered in a hermitage. When seen through the rear-view mirror of experience, hindsight provides insight into what we missed. So, now I am cloistered once again. If, according to Thomas Merton, “Every breath we draw is a gift of God’s love; every moment of existence a grace,” how, despite covid fatigue, do we embrace each moment of this strange Covid existence as a graced moment? Much has been written about the pandemic offering us time to take stock, to evaluate our lifestyles, to make healthier choices for our planet.

Can I view this time of isolation as gift, as a time to appeal to the better angels of my nature? Here and now, cloistered in my hermitage, can I choose wisely to use this opportunity to offer my chilblained soul hospitality, a nurturing space conducive for change to take place within me? If I do, might these turn out to be graced moments, opening up a window to my soul to peer inside with new eyes? Might I discover what St. Bernard of Clairvaux calls, “the real behind the real”? In the stillness of my hermitage, my soul might give voice to the real reason, why all is not well with my soul. I have a sense it may whisper that by my attitude to this elusive viral enemy I am putting myself in the way of grace. Have I given this pandemic, this moronic Omicron, the power to inflict chilblains on my soul? As you and I stumble forward in this pandemic, what ongoing change of attitude will assure that we will eventually embrace the newly evolving normal with grace and confidence? Yes, these have been soul-destroying times. Undoubtedly, we all need to confront the challenges we face. However, let us also remember the joys of life and the hope that can fill our lives and that we can bring to others, even while nestled in isolation.

“You listen with only one purpose: to help the person empty their hearts”
— Thich Nhat Hanh

The well-known Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh died recently. Among his many qualities, he was known for being an extraordinarily good listener. He believed that deep listening helps relieve the suffering of another person for, “You listen with only one purpose: to help the person empty their hearts.”  I believe, we also need to listen deeply to the whispers of our own soul so as to empty our heart. There may well be chilblains on my soul. Maybe, on yours, too. But let us trust in God, who created and lives in our soul. God is not ‘out there.’ “God is in all, through all, and with all” (1 Corinthians 15:28). With God’s help healing can occur so we can joyfully acclaim, “It is well with my soul.” Even during this pandemic.

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps