Brother Jim Kozak was a legend.  A farm boy, who entered religious life at the height of the ecclesial fervor of the Second Vatican Council, he was a lifelong romantic who, from an early age, dreamed of a world where peace and harmony prevailed.  After spending three very happy and formative years at Dujarie Institute, on the idyllic campus of Our Lady’s university, Br. Jim, unsurprisingly, volunteered to go to West Africa to support the community’s fledgling schools there.  The missionary impulse took hold, and even when he returned to the United States, some thirty years later, he couldn’t help but put himself on the front lines: in the inner city in Chicago, at a boys’ home in Detroit, in classrooms, on the sidelines of high school football games, and just about any messy place that can be imagined.  He was a missionary at heart even in his retirement, taking up residence, for fourteen years, in one of the college dorms down the street from the official retirement home.  He, in fact, died in his room at the college, in the mission field, leaving no doubt about the spirit that animated his entire life.

Brother Jim Kozak was a friend to many.  He could be crusty and cantankerous sometimes—such is the life of an idealist—but he was always sweet and good.  He taught me more about ministry than all of the textbooks, case studies, internships, workshops, and professors that have been a part of my decades-long formal training.  He just had a way of being present to people, plopping down with a cup of coffee in the faculty lounge, sitting faithfully in the bleachers during soccer practice, or shooting the breeze in the rec room on a lazy Sunday afternoon.  KoKo, as I affectionately called him (and which he hated), nevertheless, was unafraid to challenge or provoke those whom he encountered.  He might hurl a playful insult to start a conversation or play devil’s advocate in a debate.  These actions were missionary in nature, the risk of being close to another, and while he might sometimes get burned in those exchanges, he was completely harmless.  Such vulnerability, which is Jesus’ vulnerability, is the foundation of all authetic relationships.

Brother Jim Kozak was a man of prayer.  His missionary endeavors and ministry of presence were rooted in a deeply private communion with the Lord, an awareness of his own goodness, that he was truly and incontrovertibly a child of the living God.  He could be seen sitting alone in the chapel of Columba Hall, spending quiet time before the tabernacle.  He was known for his morning journaling routine and held many people as intentions throughout the day.  We were once leading an overnight retreat together, and our rooms were next to each other.  I could hear him through the thin walls, praying aloud, “True to you, Lord, true to you, just trying to be true to you Lord, true to you, true to you, true to you….”  Such spiritual security allowed him to live faithfully in community, to cultivate a trustworthy rapport with people, and to be effective in his outreach to others without being unconsciously needy or self-serving.

I loved my friend, Jim, am grateful for the witness of his life, and cannot wait to see him again.

Da yie, yanko.

The word “Christian” was used to describe the early followers of Jesus (Acts 11:26).  Apparently, these “little Christs” were replicas of Jesus who were spreading the nascent faith by their acts of charity.  While becoming another Christ is at the heart of discipleship, history has nevertheless revealed that eight billion little Christs coming into contact with one another, without any coordination, can create much tension and confusion.  The good news is that Christ is not only individual but also corporate, that is, catholic, “according to the whole,” a cosmic and transcendent blue print for the way the manifold and constantly evolving parts go together and endure together.  To be a little Christ without this blue print is to be relegated to an ineffectual religious psychodrama that bears no fruit.  To be catholic without the fire of conversion is to be in the club, but without the guts that actually lead to communion.  Let’s therefore ask for the grace to say our prayers privately the night before we sit proudly in the Sunday pew, to stop to help the stranger on our way to our full-time ministry, to loan a sawbuck to the tithe-collector.  In this way, we shall discover the inevitably of Christ in whom there is nothing “little.”  Ave Crux, Spes Unica. 

Sic et Non was one of the most famous texts of the High Middle Ages.  Known for its rigor and critical analysis of important theological and philosophical questions, it became the cornerstone of medieval scholasticism.  Literally translating to “Yes and No,” the work was meant to rescue the rational soul from the lukewarm and lazy inertia of ideology—putting our minds on autopilot at the expense of actually understanding the meaning of things—and invite real-time engagement with ideas and, quite frankly, the risk of thinking.  Sometimes the answer to a question can be Yes and No at one and the same time.  What a mess!  Yet, when, in a humble act of trust, we are willing to stand in the middle of seeming contradictions without trying to force them into neat categories that make us feel like we are in control, the truth emerges: a virgin birth, a Word-made-flesh, a resurrected person, and an infinite sequence of things that don’t seem to go together.  The next time therefore we reach for the Either-Or Playbook—to protect ourselves from the vulnerability of having contact with the truth—let’s choose to insert an “and” instead.  We will rejoice as we discover the constant creativity that holds life together and sic et non our way into eternity.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Rem Tene, Verba Sequentur.  “Hold the matter and the words will follow.”  This ancient axiom, attributed to Cato the Elder, is not only good advice for the struggling grad student who sits museless before a blank computer screen, but for anybody who wants to make meaning in their lives.  Indeed, in our hyperactive and bifurcated 21st century world, where we can hide in a system of rabbit holes without ever having to come up to see the light of day, it’s easy to get distracted from our purpose, to get lost in ourselves, and to lose hope.  One day we’re into the latest fashion, the next day it’s statistics of famous baseball players, then it’s recipes, then real estate, and before we know it, we’re stuck in the mud, flapping in the breeze, a boat without a rudder.  Let’s therefore get in the habit of paying attention to our spiritual feelings throughout the course of the day and simply choose to return to our center when we sense that we are drifting.  Let’s follow Jesus’ lead by holding the matter of our human lives with an open heart.  The words will gradually flow as our stories are effortlessly written by the one who has been holding us all along.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

My best praying happens in line at the grocery store.  A clearly-defined container—anywhere from ninety seconds to a few minutes—provided to me, as a free gift, without the work of trying to figure out how to squeeze some intentional prayer time into the complex, and often stressful, circumstances of the world in which we live.  The stability of that moment in the queue, which could just as easily be the time we spend at a traffic light or on a street corner waiting for the bus, also has a cosmic meaning: life itself, in all of its diversity and intricacy, naturally tends towards prayer, which is to say, these pockets of time are not just inconveniences that will eventually be erased with some new form of technology, but are instead intrinsic to reality, constant and organic invitations that rise and fall in the course of a given day for our own human transcendence.  In this new year, with babies crying and produce being scanned in the background, let’s have Mass between the chapsticks and magazines.  There, we will find Christ, not some far-off deity, or the product of some profound act of piety, but hidden in the stuff, just waiting to be discovered.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Having our cell phones in the front pocket of our trousers is problematic.  When this is the case, our literal right-hand-man is an electronic device.  Out of anxiety or habit or both, we sneak our dominant hands down to that hidden place, not visible to those around us, and make contact with our beloved phone screens.  At first, we experience this as a blessed communion which makes us feel connected and secure, but as time passes, however, the awful weight of attachment sets in as we realize that a perpetual feedback loop of algorithms, which we are helpless in outsmarting, keeps us stuck in ourselves without the possibility of transcendence.  Let’s therefore be practical in the new year.  Let’s move our phones to our back pockets and place a rosary, a prayer card, a religious medal, a cross, a picture of a loved one, or something meaningful in our front pockets.  We will begin to reach down during those anxious moments and develop the quiet habit of prayer which, unlike certain faddy new year’s resolutions, will become the steady diet that saves our souls.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Imagine folding a full sheet of paper in half.  Then again in half, and then again and again and again.  No matter how many times that paper gets halved, there will always be a tiny speck that just gets smaller and smaller.  Now imagine two parallel lines and cut the space between them in half and again and again and so on.  No matter how many times that space is reduced there will always be some gap of separation between the two sides.  And so it is with the spiritual life.  We sin and try to make up for it, but some residue that we cannot shake persists.  We turn away from the Lord then repent, but the seed of separation remains intact, and we live in the tragic state of perpetual adjacency without the possibility of communion.  The good news is that in the same way something came from nothing in the beginning, at creation, something, our sin, will become nothing at the Lord’s coming.  The good news is that on the other side of our existential estrangement is not some deadbeat deity, but our friend who chooses to cross the threshold and come near to us.  The Word, indeed, is becoming flesh and we shall be saved.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The wise men are on their way to meet the baby Jesus during this season of Advent.  These are not religious men.  They do not belong to the class of chosen people, Israel, upon whom the Lord has looked with great favor.  They know nothing of prophecies, sacrificial offerings, laws, and worship, yet they pay attention to what they do know, the things they see and touch and feel through their senses, and, because of their great fidelity to what they do know, they, in fact, are the first ones to meet the new born king.  Before we scold people this holiday season for not being religious enough or for lacking the precise theological language to explain the meaning of Jesus’ birth, we can take a step back and appreciate the beauty and wonder of salvation: how the Lord plots out a journey for each and every one of us, mysteriously draws us to the truth, and invites us to respond in love to the gift of Jesus.  During this Advent season, therefore, let’s contemplate the hearts of these Magi and pray for the courage to undertake our own magical trek across the desert on our way to the truth.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Lou Holtz once famously quipped that “Notre Dame is a place where no explanation is necessary if you’ve been there, but, if you have not, no explanation is possible.”  The campus, indeed, captures the imaginations of visitors and alums alike.  While most universities suffer from concrete sprawl and an architectural identity crisis, Our Lady of the Lake, as she is formally known, has a heart, a basilica and a golden dome, out of which quads and gargoyles and greens and spires unfold endlessly in a coherent and flowing pattern of beauty.  The feeling of hospitality is palpable as the iconic yellow bricks, which were dug from the banks of the lake and molded by the brothers themselves, practically hug passers by, and the dazzling rays that emanate from Our Lady herself, atop the dome, serve as a constant reminder that the founders of the university wanted to build something special for generations of women and men whom they would never meet.  Let’s spend this week examining our own inner campus.  Let’s ask the Lord to give us hearts that are “tender, strong and true.”  Let’s trust the process of beauty that unfolds in us, for others, and “wake up the echoes” the world over in all that we think, say and do.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The work-life balance can be very challenging in our modern world.  Maybe the boss starts sending us out of town for meetings and we just get accustomed to making our evening screentime our family time for the day.  Maybe we finally get that promotion we always wanted only to have to work from home with our boss quite literally in our bedroom, demanding our nonstop availability.  While our instinct might be to draw a hard boundary between personal time and being on the clock, as the third commandment does, Jesus seems to complicate things when he heals on the Sabbath, claiming that his father is “always working” (which is difficult to deny as babies are born and people die each and every day of the week!).  And, by the way, isn’t cooking for our families and mowing the lawn work?  And, haven’t we all developed meaningful and enduring friendships in the workplace?  Let’s accept the fact that we were made on the sixth and final day of creation which puts us somewhere between a constant storm of worldly activity and the stillness of eternal life.  When we get comfortable with ourselves at this level, we will stop projecting our unrest and, with Jesus, spend our eternity working for the salvation of the world.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

When we are young, we stand in front of a mirror and pump iron, excited to see our bodies take shape one popping muscle at a time.  But gradually, after we grow weary of the societal definition of what our bodies should look like, we discover that exercise is intrinsic to our human lives and does not need to be imposed from the outside.  We thus find ourselves walking to the store, shoveling our neighbor’s driveway, stacking boxes in the basement of a soup kitchen, and taking the stairs at work quite happily, without neurotic impulse.  And so it is with prayer.  When we are novices in the spiritual life, we desperately cling to images of holiness that have been imposed upon us from the outside.  We get in the habit of raising our eyes to heaven in imitation of a face we once saw on a holy card.  We carelessly ramble off a daily rosary because somebody once told us we need to be a prayer warrior who fights the good fight.  As time goes on, however, the piety no longer satisfies, we feel the Lord beckoning us, we surrender our spiritual routines, and, perhaps for the first time, we pray.  Let’s exercise our hearts this week by walking with the Lord and not making it more complicated than that. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Jesus invites us to take the narrow path (Mt 7:13).  He warns that there are alluring alternatives, seemingly wide open trails that will call out to us, promising the good life, but which, in reality, will rob us of our dignity, discard us, and leave us broken on the side of the road (Lk 10:30).  The middle way, rather, is straight and direct.  It is a kind of non-path, the line where heaven and earth, thinking and feeling, spirit and flesh come together.  It is not passable by our own human efforts; we must instead be drawn very carefully, one trusting step at a time, along the way.  The pressure of this path – with nowhere to escape and nothing to clasp onto – is unbearable at first, but we gradually learn that we are being formed and shaped, stripped of our old selves, and Christified, and before we know it, our feet are somehow standing in the gates of Jerusalem (Ps 122:2).  The next time, therefore, we are tempted to lean right or lean left, let’s pause, wait and listen for the Lord to speak into that narrow space between intention and action: “This is the way, walk in it!” (Is 30:21).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Getting sick is some of the best prayer of my life!  Indeed, when we are sick, we do not have the luxury of designing disciplines or undertaking spiritual exercises or practicing mantras.  Rather, we are confronted by the full weight of our creatureliness and, in an instant, we must make an interior choice: depend on the living God or wallow in the psychodrama of our own selves.  This quiet and hidden decision is truly the essence of prayer; the rawness of our humanity desperately presses against some feeling of the transcendent, which is worth more than all of the Hosannas and Hallelujahs that have ever been uttered!  Let’s therefore spend some time this week reflecting on the sickliness of our earthly condition, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears as we are all doing in one way or another.  May such an awareness be motivation for us to get in the habit of being constantly desperate for a health that lasts.  We shall rejoice as our prayer is heard by the one who is constantly sick of seeing us suffer.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

My favorite saint of all time is Joan of Arc.  She was a peasant girl whose visions and locutions were not only signs of psychosis by modern psychological standards, but dangerous pitfalls by the measure of the spiritual masters of her own day.  Nevertheless, beneath whatever compromised psychic structure she had been created with was a pure faith in the living God who loved her to her core and constantly called her into communion.  Thus, despite the awkwardness of publicly testifying that God, in the form of an angel, had insisted that she dress as a man and lead armies into battle, Joan just kept trusting all the way to the point of death.  In the process, she utterly embarrassed the expert theologians, monks and clerics, who were so weighed down by their scholastic edifices that they had become blind to the truth of the living God, and inspired myriads of human beings – including famous skeptics such as Mark Twain and George Bernard Shaw – to pay attention to that deep truth who confers life even beyond understanding.  Let’s therefore spend some time this week with our favorite saint and look forward to that graced moment when we might thank them in person for their friendship and guidance.  We just may discover, in that place, that myriads of souls have been inspired by our own sincere efforts to live authentically.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

If you’ve ever run a race before, you know that it’s a whole lot easier when you can actually see the finish line.  As the announcer exclaims, “And down the stretch they come!”, the jockeys, desperate for victory, crouch low and begin beating their galloping steeds.  In track and field, the home stretch is the moment that the half-miler turns on the boosters.  Even while jogging, when we imagine getting to the parking lot and slaking our thirst, we suddenly become world class sprinters or cheetahs traversing the savanna.  It is the same in the spiritual life, but because the “end” (Jn 19:30) is eternal, infinite and immense, it cannot be grasped by the senses like the checkered flag or represented in our imaginations like the victory tape.  Instead, we must know it by negation; that is, we must allow our minds to grow still and dark, appreciating that the essence of our ultimate goal is not like anything we have ever experienced in this life.  This via negativa becomes the trusting and patient way by which we are gradually drawn — through no effort of our own — not just across some cosmic finish line, but, in fact, into communion with the “end,” himself (Rev 22:13), who has been loving us to victory all along.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“That makes me feel uncomfortable” is the show-stopping phrase of the postmodern era.  To utter these words brings immediate shame to the actor and creates an impenetrable bubble over the accuser.  Who needs the in-breaking of grace or salvation, a word that literally means safety, when we can control the circumstances of our lives to the point of feeling safe all the time?!  Indeed, maximal comfort becomes our highest priority – and isn’t it so with our society? – as we exchange transcendence, mystery and risk for a static cave where we gradually lose touch with reality and wallow in our untouchableness.  The next time, therefore, we are tempted to announce, “That makes me feel uncomfortable” as a cheap fix for our personal existential shortcomings, let’s pause and instead say something like, “That makes me feel afraid,” or “That makes me feel vulnerable.”  Such an honest starting point cannot but pop our own ego-bubbles on the way to becoming greatly strengthened – the literal meaning of “comfort” – in a communion beyond ourselves.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Autumn can be a mysterious time of year.  The crisp air, the vibrant colors, and the long evenings are somehow able to announce change in a way that is attractive and compelling to us human beings.  While the kind of change that takes place during autumn is gradual and intentional, the beauty of the season lies more in her vulnerability.  Indeed, she does not try to hide the fact that she is immersed in death.  With leaves falling, trees withering, darkness descending, and a chill creeping into bone and marrow – a devastating scene! – she shows us, in total transparency, what it is like to like to change, and at some level we rejoice in something that is undeniably and breathtakingly real.  The next time, therefore, we find ourselves in an autumn mood, let’s skip the pumpkin lattes and haunted houses.  Let’s instead channel Sister Autumn’s bold spirit and run headlong into the changes that await us on our life’s journey.  The thin layer of grief that used to trip us up and prevent us from growing will be transformed into gratitude as we, together, fall into the constant and glorious mystery of it all.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

While Francis of Assisi may be best known as the pious-faced saint who adorns the lawns of Catholics and animal lovers the world over, he was a real person who lived an authentic life. Francis grew up the son of a wealthy merchant.  He led a carefree and indulgent lifestyle and eventually joined the local militia in the hopes of gaining worldly glory during this period of fair maidens and courtly love.  Nevertheless, he was captured in his very first battle, spent over a year as a prisoner of war, and returned home shell-shocked.  After a second unsuccessful attempt to become a war hero, the despondent Francis returned home permanently.  Everyone was stunned, as the life of the party moped around town trying to figure out the meaning of his life.  Years, in fact, passed with Francis becoming increasingly absorbed in his soul searching, awkward ascetical practices and lonely vigils.  Then, one day, after everyone had written him off as a lost cause, the miracle happened: he had a vision of Christ, his mission came into focus, and he single-handedly transformed Medieval Europe.  Let’s be patient enough, long enough, like Francis, for the miracle to happen in our own lives.  We too shall be surprised by the story that the Lord wants to write with our broken dreams and restless hearts.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Thérèse of Lisieux entered the convent at the tender age of fifteen and died at the tender age of twenty-four.  If it hadn’t been for her biological sister, Pauline, who was her mother superior and assigned Thérèse, under the vow of obedience, the task of writing out her spiritual story, her legacy would be relegated to a folder in some dusty corner of the archives.  Canonized in 1925, a mere twenty-eight years after her death, however, Thérèse has not only become one of the most popular saints in the history of the Catholic Church, but has been named a Doctor of the Church, and is considered to be a spiritual master the world over.  Her “little way,” which insists that we only ever encounter the Lord authentically in the ordinary circumstances of our daily lives, inspired a certain missionary sister to choose the religious name Teresa before going halfway around the world to serve the poor, and has awakened countless souls to the utter closeness of our salvation.  Let’s slow things down and keep things simple this week.  Let’s pay attention to the details and smile with each new surprise.  Let’s bask in the mystery of our littleness and, with Thérèse, find our way back to Jesus. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica 🌹

It was my junior year of high school, and I was enjoying my newfound freedom as a licensed driver, sitting by myself, in the family station wagon, waiting for the light to change down the street from the schoolhouse.  The buses and cars stacked up, and a man suddenly emerged in the middle of the intersection, pushing and steering his broken-down vehicle by himself, as scores of bystanders looked on.  No one got out to help him.  It seemed like an eternity.  A paralysis came over me.  What would people think?  It would be awkward.  He’s getting there on his own.  Someone else will do it.  He disappeared, and traffic resumed as normal.  Like a certain priest and Levite (Lk 10:31-32), I got scared, then came the rational-lies-ing, and, in an instant, he was gone.  Let’s have the humility this week to acknowledge that we ourselves are driving around in spiritual jalopies, and that when we reach out to others in need, we are really just affirming our shared goodness and humanity.  Here, as we enter into that mystical intersection where this life and the next become one, Christ will rise and remain with us forever (Mt 28:19).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

There’s nothing quite like a good hiking trail.  The way opens up as the tree limbs and tall grass beckon me on.  Especially at the breezy time of day, with the leaves dangling down and the dust kicking up, the path just seems to care for each person who takes a risk on exploration, exclaiming, “This is the way, walk in it!” (Is 30:21).  You can leave the highways to the CEOs and the expressways to the professionals.  The avenues with their fancy signage and the boulevards with their curated flower beds will not satisfy.  My soul longs instead to go somewhere, to be in process, on a journey with a real destination, but not at the expense of the mosquitoes and ants and violets and dandelions who get me there.  These creature friends are begging us to slow things down, to bypass the bypasses and stay off the interstates.  They invite us to pay attention to the way as much as we do to the destination, and in so doing, enjoy the integrated life where our minds and hearts and bodies are all exactly in the same place at the same time.  Let’s go hiking this week and be at peace.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Imagine a bride dressed in white, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her groom’s arm in the other.  He is one step ahead of her, leading her through the darkness, down the path of true love, and she is following him, one step at a time, with great trust.  As the image comes into focus, however, we can see, in shocking detail, that the bride’s neck is, in fact, broken — her head quite literally dangling down — yet her face is full of peace, as her beloved, Christ himself, draws her more deeply into the unknown.  Though macabre, this legendary medieval religious icon brilliantly captures the essence of our salvation.  Jesus knows that our egos must be broken open for his grace to enter.  So, he puts out his hand and invites us into the most awful and terrifying circumstances imaginable.  As we walk with him — our hearts open to the risk of it all — the pressure mounts and gradually crushes all of our ideas about and perceptions of life.  We simply learn to move forward in faith and rejoice.  And while this process of personal transformation can be a real “pain in the neck,” it is truly a small price to pay for eternal life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

It would have been so great to have grown up in the 1960s.  Decades of repression had finally matured to the point of a cultural explosion: artists, musicians, politicians, intellectuals, and religious folks taking risks on new expressions of meaning and transcendence; cross-generational pollination; untapped springs of love and compassion bubbling up to the surface; a glimpse of the infinite horizon; optimism about the human race; openness to possibilities; and despite the nuclear storm cloud, a future full of hope.  The geyser that erupted in those years certainly had the potential to burn the skin, drown out the excitement, and inflict pain, but the collective memory of the 1960s is, instead, one of warmth and dazzling displays of beauty, the still point of the national timeline and the water that slaked an impossible thirst.  Let’s call forth the spirit of the 60s along our daily path.  Let’s make a commitment to an inner revolution.  Let’s lead with authenticity and trust that everything is groovy, has been groovy all along, and will be groovy forever, world without end. Amen.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

My friend Helen was waiting for me after the meeting.  She handed me a folded up piece of computer paper and explained how the poem she had just composed captured the essence of her current emotional state.  The first line just popped, “Stubbing my toe on reality, IT HURTS!”  After I had finished reading the poem aloud, we smiled at each other, I thanked her, and we departed.  This elderly blind woman humbled me that evening with her unmistakable spirituality.  Instead of being a source of frustration and resentment, her lack of eyesight apparently served as an analogy for her inner life.  During our conversations, she proudly shared how she depended upon a chauffeur and an escort to get to and from meetings as well as a myriad of little helpers at home, at work, and at church.  She had somehow learned to not just tolerate, but, in fact, befriend and rejoice in the darkness, which brought her a deep and contagious peace.  Let’s be gracious like Helen today.  Let’s trust and walk and stub our toes on reality, then have the grace to smile and carry on.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Have you ever been to Amish country?  It’s a marvelous place where buggies with bearded drivers and bonneted passengers coexist on paved roads with SUVs, V6s, and 4x4s.  The Amish community does not reject the world (according to Jn 3:16, God so loved the world, he gave his only Son), but chooses instead to keep things simple and slow things down so as to not miss the point of it all.  This vision of life might be especially attractive to those of us who experience the constant emotional whiplash of a fully blown phone-screen-to-face society that gets increasingly complex with each passing day, but consider the perspective from the front porch of the farmhouse—instant communication, boundless information, up-to-date maps, and weather forecasts in a low-cost, tiny electronic device that fits in your front pocket.  Let’s not waste too much energy trying to figure out who’s right or obsess about converting.  Let’s just meet in the middle, where innovation and tradition coincide.  There we will find Christ, who was both rural rabbi and street preacher, and who just wants us to be integrated people, comfortable with horses and cars, with this life and the next.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Greenhouses can be exotic places.  Beautiful trees and plants from all around the world—even in the middle of winter!—teeming with blossoms, flowers and life.  These “forcing houses,” as they are called across the ocean, are designed to pressure seeds and saplings into maturity.  While conditions that are too hot, too sunny, too humid, or without attentive watering, pruning and fertilizing, can subvert the whole operation, generally, the adversity is good for growth, and literally fruitful.  The next time, therefore, we complain about the conditions of our own lives—too intense, too much pressure, too many responsibilities, etc.—maybe we should pause and consider that the divine gardener only constructs circumstances for our human thriving and ultimate transformation.  If only we would allow our roots to take hold, instead of holding back; if only we would trust the Lord, instead of thinking we know it all; if only we would face the heat, instead of running away, our spiritual seeds would sprout, our hearts would be made open, and we would finally grow up, and into the unique person we have been called to be all along.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica

“When I pray, I pray; and when I eat, I eat!”  This is apparently how 16th century Carmelite mystic Teresa of Avila responded when some sisters found her in the convent kitchen devouring partridge one day.  She was a woman who was keenly aware of but not ashamed of her human desires.  After her interior conversion, around the age of forty, she learned that in order to avoid the extremes of indulgence and renunciation, she simply needed to befriend those desires.  In her famous text, The Interior Castle, she explains that when the various chambers of our souls – memory, intellect, will, etc. – have been cleared of lizards and snakes and any other pests that cause us spiritual confusion, we can relax and proceed progressively, room by room, to our center, where we meet the one who is the wellspring of all desire, the Beloved, in whose love all of our desires make sense and in whom we find peace.  Let’s be Avilitas this day by resisting the temptation to repress.  Let’s take a risk on having desires.  Let’s rejoice when we hear the Lord saying “I love you” through the simple act of enjoying a plate of partridge.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

We should save the deathbed conversion scenes for the movies.  It is highly unlikely that, with tubes protruding from our nostrils, under the influence of a vast array of drugs, and surrounded by a team of medical professionals, we will have the wherewithal to finally and definitively commend our lives to the Lord.  All of this is possible but highly unlikely!  We can instead play the long game by rising from our beds each morning, allowing our knees to touch the ground, and saying with great confidence, “Jesus, I trust in you!”  As the day unfolds we can carve out time, in the bathroom at work, or on a hiking trail on the way back from school, or on the back porch before everyone gets home, to check in with the Lord, and then enjoy some quiet time with a religious icon, a chapter of our favorite gospel, a rosary, or an examen before going to bed.  Such a gradual path of conversion is not only more realistic but is sure to unlock the hidden spiritual juices that fuel our ongoing transformation.  We shall, indeed, spend a lifetime of handing over our spirit to the Lord as everywhere and everything becomes the blessed deathbed of our salvation (Lk 23:46).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to take the slow road.  To pay attention to the details.  To consider the deeper meanings of things.  To get out of the bubble.  To try something new.  To find our center.  To remember the big picture.  To relax.  To enjoy the journey.  To breathe deeply.  To smile.  To be open to the possibilities.  To release the past.  To listen to our desires.  To feel our feelings.  To savor the moment.  To trust the process.  To relinquish control.  To smell the flowers.  To take things one step at a time.  To live one day at a time.  To be patient with others.  To accept the things we cannot change.  To practice gratitude.  To be ourselves.  To laugh.  To cry.  To hope.  To dream.  To pray with a sincere heart.  To say what we mean and mean what we say.  To promote peace in the world.  To give and receive love.  To let grace abound.  To say “thank you.”  To be gentle and kind.  To just keep doing the next right thing.  To play.  To dance.  To quietly rejoice in everyday miracles.  To trust that all shall be well.  To believe that it’s all grace and has been all along.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Good for you!  Good night!  Good job!  We use the word “good” in a variety of ways throughout a given day.  Sometimes it’s just a throw-away word, “I’m doing pretty good,” while other times it’s purely utilitarian, “It’s not good for me!”  The Christian tradition, nevertheless, invites us to a more critical reflection: the Good Samaritan, for instance, takes a detour in order to help the man beaten up on the side of the road; the Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep; the Good News is preached unto martyrdom; Good Friday commemorates the suffering and death that bore our salvation; and, from the beginning, in the garden, knowledge of what is good is only ever paired with the weight of having to reject what is evil. The enduring good of this life is not some thing, a commodity, but rather a sacrificial action.  We must learn to go beyond the comfort of symbolic goods and take a spiritual risk on the one who is goodness itself (Mk 10:18).  In doing so, we shall taste and see the goodness of the Lord (Ps 34:8) and celebrate the fact that everything is actually good and has been so all along (Gen 1:31).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

To many people these days, worship seems like an outdated concept.  As religious beings, however, worship is inescapable.  We human persons are constantly burdened with the awful weight of having to decide what is worth most to us, the root meaning of wor(th)-ship.  If we go the postmodern route of claiming to worship nothing, we are definitely, albeit unconsciously, worshipping ourselves.  If we pridefully acknowledge objects of worship, even religious ones, that are not the eternal ground of being and infinite horizon, the living God, we immediately fall into idolatry.  The good news is that the Lord is patient with us and loves us and quietly draws us along the path of Jesus whose relationship with his heavnely Father was worth more than everything else in his life.  We shall thus learn the art of worshipping well as we gaze with grateful hearts upon the stars of night, as tears stream down our faces in an unexpected and humble moment of reconciliation, and as blood courses through our veins at the sight of an injustice.  In this way, the Lord will emerge as the meaning of everything, and the act of worship will be synonymous with our authentic human living.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

How dumb is our species?  After millennia of evolution, we still take the bait?  We still play the game?  “Might makes right!”  “Nobody gets the best of me!”  “I’m gonna beat you up!”  Even if one person makes the decision to declare war on another, it is our shared humanity that is acting and we are all responsible.  That one solitary person in her or his darkness has been failed by the system, a community of people who have a common origin and a common destiny.  I may wince and offer my opinions and bellyache, but none of that changes the fact that we are all in this together and there is much work to do.  By thinking before speaking, by leaving space between impulse and action, by surrendering our knees to the floor in prayer, by paying attention to the deeper meaning of another person’s behavior, and by erring on the side of good will, our lives will contribute to a web of friendship that will quietly, but surely, capture the imaginations and hearts  of all.  We shall wage peace through history and time and, with all of our sisters and brothers, shine with the bright light of humanity. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

If we are trying to overcome a bad habit, a vice or even an addiction, we should consider adding the word “preference” to our spiritual vocabulary.  Because of our fallen human condition, we tragically, and unknowingly, function out of a fearful orientation that pits us against just about everything we come into contact with; thus, when we want to change our relationship with food, alcohol, sex, another person, or even ourselves, we automatically go into fighting mode.  Such extreme behavior not only reinforces a faulty anthropology, but is existentially unsound and we end up in a circle of confusion which just makes matters worse.  We can try this new line of thinking instead: I like food!  Food miraculously grows from the earth and not only nourishes my body, but meets a psychological need that I have for connection.  Sometimes, when I overeat, however, my other needs, like connection with other people, physical health, and savings in my bank account get compromised.  Just for today, I prefer the greater good of eating in moderation.  Once we have accepted the truth that everything in life is in fact good, our choices will simply become preferences that gradually lead us into the source of all goodness who has been preferring us, with unwavering love, from the very beginning.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The “Onion Story,” embedded within one of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s monster novels, captures the essence of Christian salvation.  An old crone dies and ends up in hell.  Her guardian angel is weeping when he remembers that she had actually done one good deed in her life.  He takes the very onion that she had given to a beggar woman and lowers it down into the pit of fire.  The crone is ecstatic when she sees it, grabs hold, and begins to make the sweet ascent upward.  The other lost souls, however, also see this onion as their ticket to heaven and reach out for her legs.  As the angel pulls the onion, a human chain forms midair, but the crone is incensed – it’s her onion!  She kicks and screams and tries to shake everyone off.  Then finally, right as they arrive at the gates of paradise, she loses her grip, and they all fall back into the fiery pit where “she is still burning to this day.”  It’s not that complicated: When we peel back the layers of our inner onion, we discover that our human lives are only ever shared and that our salvation is eternal communion with others.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

When we tell another person, “I’ll pray for you,” we should really follow through on that promise.  If we say those words, out of habit, or out of cultural pressure, or out of the anxiety of an intense emotional moment, but don’t really mean it, we should stop.  To be spiritually facetious like that not only leaves the other person without the support they need, but it also jeopardizes our whole sense of prayer.  Truly, if such prayer requests just end up in a vast psychological expanse where prayers swim in the same stream as our grocery list, how to long division, our Netflix password, and the date of the next leap year, we somehow have lost the “intention” part of “prayer intention” and have probably missed the point.  Let’s instead carry a rosary, a cross, or a religious medal in our pocket, and quietly reach down and pray for the other person while in the act of accepting their prayer request.  Let’s keep a literal list of names of people we have said we would pray for and review it periodically.  Let’s learn to be conscious of the awesome spiritual responsibility we have for one another.  Let’s pray this week and mean it! 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica. 🙏🏼

Relativism is the constant bane of our human existence.  From our first parents in the garden who made their own desires the definitive point of reference for their lives to the postmodern person who becomes tragically hyper-individualized through an unending sequence of “I feel…” statements, it is practically our default setting to be stuck in ourselves!  And while well-meaning religious people may try to side-step such dead-ends by substituting religious ideas and imagery for the language of the self, they can just as easily get caught up in ecclesiastical relativism, such as obsessing over liturgical traditions or doctrinal expressions or moral concepts, which gets them no closer to the truth.  The fact is that the Lord is the ultimate meaning of our lives.  When our knees are drawn to the floor in prayer, or our hearts are opened in a graced moment of contemplation, or tears stream down our face at the sight of a loved one, or we are moved to minister to a person on the side of the road, we encounter the primordial pattern at the heart of the universe.  In this way, the truth comes to us, and ours is simply to respond in love and learn how to remain in that truth.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

I do my best thinking in the bathtub.  Stationary and vulnerable, the water simply accepts me without judgment and without challenge.  There I sit reading a book, praying the rosary, bathing and being.  The dirt and grime are difficult to ignore.  My creatureliness is inescapable.  This ritual is less about relaxing after a long day and more about the art of being human.  As the half-filled tub, in fact, grows tepid and eventually cold, my toes wrinkle, my limbs shiver, and my teeth chatter; yet it is hard to part from one who is close!  Indeed, my skin keeps insisting on listening to the water: stillness, consistency, presence, gentleness and peace.  This is my evening baptism, and there is much to learn.  When the last drops have gurgled through the drain, it is time to rise and go about my father’s business.  Lord, lead me to my inner bathtub.  Help me to desire something beyond cleanliness and purity.  Take me to that mysterious place of trust that allows my spirit to be buoyed in you. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

God is not our buddy or our uncle or the mascot of our favorite sports team.  God is not thunder or lightning or a tsunami or an earthquake.  God is not a customer service agent, a politician or a salesperson.  God is not liberal or conservative, male or female, religious or secular.  God does not wear a funny white outfit and wave to people from an armored vehicle.  God is not a book of dramatic stories and lists of laws.  God is not a symbol that hangs on church walls to remind people of their sinfulness.  God Is Love, and the more we believe in the God who is love, the less need we will have to define God.  All of our fears will be cast out; we will gladly and easily put out into the deep; we will run the way of the truth.  Our lives indeed will be easy and free, and all of our cares will be forgotten among the lilies.  The time is now.  There is no other way.  We must risk everything.  God Is Love.  

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Heat of Midnight Tears” by Mirabai

Ignatius of Loyola is perhaps the greatest religious outlier of the modern era.  He was a valiant soldier who dreamed of worldly glory, but his leg was shattered by a cannonball, a career-ending injury, which, in turn, shattered his heart.  While convalescing in the hospital, he came across the story of another outlier, the brown-clad founder of a group of little brothers a few centuries earlier, whose humble life and missionary zeal captured the wounded warrior’s imagination.  Ignatius thus traded his royal status and privilege for beggar’s garb and literally walked to Jerusalem to lead a hidden life of service and worship in imitation of his spiritual mentor.  Having been turned away by the ecclesiastical authorities there, however, he made the journey back home, where he eventually became a priest and founded what has become the largest male religious community in the world today.  When we hear about Ignatian “spiritual exercises” or Jesuit “discernment,” we should not get too excited about the fancy language or mystical undertones of such practices.  We should instead remember that it was only through failure that Ignatius was able to uncover the truth of his life.  May we be so bold as to also risk failure for the greater glory of God.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Rosaries are a real smash among Catholic people.  They hang from car rear view mirrors, sit neatly in baskets at church entrances, dangle elegantly from religious habits, and you just might see a person praying one!  While most people view the rosary as some antiquated religious hardware, a relic of the past, this pile of beads actually has a profound meaning.  The many diverse moments of our life’s journey, joyful and sorrowful and glorious, are paired with the singular anchor of our human existence, Christ.  When we pray the rosary we begin with the crucified Christ, whose outpouring of love brought us into being; we then embark on a very long pilgrimage for which Christ serves as the constant point of reference; and finally, we return to Christ, who, with open arms, invites us into the pattern of self-giving love which alone sustains eternal life.  Let’s therefore exercise our humanity by holding the rosary in our hands for a brief meditation when we wake up, during our morning commute, on our lunch break at work, and again before we go to bed.  We shall discover the one Christ and his many mysteries within our very souls.  We shall come to pray just by being and rejoice. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

I like the process.  To plan, to think things through, to break up the whole, to articulate goals.  This work is welcomed weight which fills the crevices of my soul with much needed structure, coherence and meaning.  The process is not only an invitation to discipline, but also creativity.  While cooking dinner, for instance, it is precisely between the pinch of salt and the half stick of butter that the thought of honey finds expression in my mind as an interesting complement to the other ingredients.  To be a process person in our current milieu, ruled by the commodification of everything, is truly countercultural.  Products!  What have you done for me lately?!  Fill the void!  Let’s slow things down.  Let’s appreciate the fact that it took Jesus thirty years to even begin his public ministry.  Let’s savor the sweetness of the many parts that become some new thing.  Let’s become attuned to the quiet movements in our hearts and in our lives.  Let’s trust the eternal and flowing process that leads to life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Crucifixions were all the rage in the first century world.  The Romans loved to assert themselves with this relatively cheap and excruciatingly painful form of execution.  They nailed thousands of unruly enemies to trees, walls and wooden crosses.  The victims would linger for a while, gasping for breath, nude and humiliated, then suffocate under the weight of their own bodies.  Desensitized to this barbaric practice, people would just walk past these dying men on their way to work or to the market.  What must have gone through the mind of Jesus as he stared down from the cross?  What would he have felt when the passers-by just treated him like another anonymous criminal?  How deeply he must have believed in his human goodness and his mission!  How deeply he must have trusted his heavenly father that all things, in fact, do work unto good in the end!  Lord Jesus, when life isn’t going my way and my mind is crushed by a thousand naysayers, save me from the thought of despair.  Hold my heart open enough, long enough that it may receive the first rays of dawn.  We shall Easter together and all shall be well. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Francis of Assisi came of age at a time when urban centers and commerce were replacing a longstanding agricultural economy.  It seems that Francis was particularly affected by these changes: not only was he the son of a wealthy merchant, but his father, in fact, treated him like a commodity, calling him Francis, instead of his birth name Giovanni, to please his business associates in France!  Francis spent his early years behind the walls and bank accounts of the family estate but grew disillusioned with a symbolic life that separated him from the pulse of his human existence.  And so, after years of interior turmoil and quiet suffering, he made the decision to follow Jesus.  He quite literally individuated at the center of town one day, stripping stark naked before a curious crowd, then walked into the countryside where he hoped to encounter his true father.  We know the rest of the story – preaching to the birds, rebuilding the church, gathering “little brothers,” etc. – but perhaps it would be helpful to spend this holy week reflecting on the power of a single decision. Perhaps we too are called to take a risk on Jesus. Perhaps now is our time for authenticity. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.   

Sitting in a restaurant booth, having dinner, peering out the window, I saw an old, tired man.  He was hunched over, slowly pushing a shopping cart, by himself, through the center of town.  There were thirty plastic bags neatly packed, bulging, hanging from the cart, his worldly possessions.  As he trundled past, it became clear to me: this is what an honest human being looks like. How my social status and bank account and degrees have created a protective webbing that prevents me from having to be so transparent!  My shopping cart, indeed, is hidden from the public eye as my vast collection of memories, emotions, resentments and fears sit neatly on well-fortified psychological shelving that apparently we all carry around but do not talk about.  Lord Jesus, during this season of Lent, make me humble like you.  Take me to that low place of honesty where my insides match my outsides.  Teach me to be, with my friend, a trundling prophet who stands beyond the shadows and lives authentically in the light of day. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

What we do with our bodies is the truth.  The mind, indeed, has a way of obscuring the situation of our human lives.  We make up stories that help justify our complacency or our vices or our closed-heartedness, but, while these rational lies might seem like they are buying us time for our big moment, we are really squandering our days until there are none left.  The priests who passed the wounded man on the side of the road probably told themselves, “Tomorrow” or “Next time,” but their bodies told a different story: they faded into the distance while their helpless fellow human being languished in the gutter.  During this season of Lent, let’s focus on the risk of living in a bodily way.  Let’s be so integrated that we test every narrative that is generated by our imaginations with our hands and our feet.  Let’s demand consistency between our ideas and our actions.  Such a union of body and soul cannot help but to be fruitful, as the truth takes root in us and Christ is born into the world.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

With each other

Silently seeking

How to suffer

The children!

The shadows!

The future!

Ourselves!

Step right up

To this ladder

Reach the top

It does matter.

Then, rung by rung,

We make your way

Down to earth

Where we say:

“The Truth!

At Hand!

Eureka!

Praise God!”

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

That damn clock!  

There is an interesting progression of pronouns in the biblical narrative that invites our spiritual growth.  The distance between the Lord and his people early on is clear:  HE created heaven and earth.  HE promised land and descendants.  HE parted the waters.  HE gave the law.  HE established a kingdom.  These expressions become refreshingly personal, however, as the journey unfolds:  YOU are my God.  YOU are my light and my salvation.  YOU give wisdom to the simple.  YOU take no delight in sacrifice.  Finally comes the integration, where the human person and divine life coincide so deeply that they share the singular voice of communion:  I am the way, the truth, and the life.  I am the good shepherd.  I am the gate.  I am the resurrection.  During this Lenten season, let’s pray for the grace to have our hearts and minds transformed so that our personal pronouns may declare the truth and serve as a healing balm to all those whom WE encounter.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The Roman Catholic Church does not save people.  God saves people – hence, the name Jesus literally means God Saves.  The Roman Catholic Church is the living tradition of Jesus on earth.  It thus makes sense that the Church is desperate to maintain the memory and presence of Jesus even if it means rigidity or being misunderstood or conflict.  Such intentionality and commitment allows Jesus to be known in very real ways.  Indeed, the Church’s insistence on priesthood and sacramentality and rubrics and calendars gives us a sense of Jesus and perhaps allows us the dignity of exploring how Jesus, like a well-formed key, fits neatly into our complex human wounds.  Once we know and believe in Jesus at this level, however, the wound will only ever heal from within, in the intimacy and secrecy of a hidden life with the divine.  The Roman Catholic Church is thus necessary in this grand project of salvation, but only because God Saves.  Let’s therefore learn to strike a balance between respect for the legitimate and awesome Jesus tradition of the Church with a willingness to take a real risk of faith, outside the bounds of the safety of institutional life, on the God who Saves.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The Trojan horse is upon us!  In a fully globalized and digitized postmodern society, symbols abound, flitting across our phone screens and through our psychological spaces at top speed.  They are really quite marvelous: the logo of our favorite baseball team, a flashback photo from our social media account, a religious icon, an advertisement for tacos, a laughing emoji, all in rapid succession!  The invisible influence of the symbol gives it a kind of divine mystique – hence the prominent place of symbols in liturgical worship – yet one should be careful about the soldiers who lay hidden within.  Symbols can serve as host for another person’s fears, anxieties, insecurities, and general baggage.  We must therefore be on our guard at all times (1 Pet 5:8).  With Jesus standing watch at the door to our souls (Jn 10:9-11), our intellects, like a two-edged sword (Heb 4:12), have the power to confront and deconstruct any symbol that comes knocking.  We shall not only be kept safe, but we shall be of service to the multitude of these masked enemies by knowing them deeply and gently redirecting them to Jesus who is desperate to keep them safe too.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

There was a clarity in his soul about the meaning of things.  Everything simply meant the Lord.  His eyes opened and the day began, the Lord.  His tunic fit neatly over his shoulders and pressed against his skin, the Lord.  The bread in his hand nourished his body, the Lord.  His lathe steadied long planks of wood, the Lord.  A stranger’s face, the Lord, a morsel at lunch, the Lord, slaking his thirst at the well, the Lord, a cut and a bruise, the Lord, dusty sandals, the Lord, a handful of nails, the Lord, speaking and feeling and breathing and being, the Lord.  In a culture that celebrates interpretation at the expense of the deeper meaning of things, it’s easy to get stuck in a mode of half-hearted truth-seeking.  Let’s instead go all the way to the limit and choose to see the Lord in all that we think, say and do.  We shall become so theocentric, that, like Jesus, we will actually start believing – perhaps for the first time – that we are in fact the Lord’s.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water!  We get angry and frustrated, then, in an instant, “to hell with it!”  But such impulsiveness simply reveals our own intellectual deficiencies.  Are we really that underdeveloped that we cannot mentally separate out the weeds from the wheat (Mt 13:24-30)?  Are we that obtuse that we cannot differentiate sea junk from a great catch of fish (Mt 13:47-50)?  Are we so self-absorbed that we cannot distinguish between a bleating goat and a gentle lamb (Mt 25:31-46)?  The next time we get stuck on line 35d of our income tax form, or are desperately searching for our car keys, or accidentally overhear a friend gossiping about us, let’s experiment with pausing before going into terminator mode.  We will discover that our spiritual blindness has been causing us to exit relationships, abort projects, and, tragically, separate ourselves out from the life that has been given to us.  We will gradually begin to recognize that everything in our lives – our taxes, our vehicles, our friendships, and the rest – are precious, like that baby, and deserve to be seen, known and cared for no matter what.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.