“We Shall Overcome” is a famous song that just seems to touch the hearts of all people no matter the culture. It has been used in many political contexts, but always in a way that links the heaviness of the world’s demands with the hopefulness implicit in human nature. The song offers a constructive way to deal with the natural tension of living as individuals in society, and thus invites us to celebrate the paradox of a weight that is powerless to crush us when we confront it with our vulnerability. The image of Jesus before Pilate comes to mind: the full force of the Roman Empire juxtaposed with a single man, bound and beaten, who does not say a word (Mt 27:14). One can almost hear “We Shall Overcome” playing in the background, as Pilate, standing in amazement (Mt 27:14), dumbfoundedly asks himself, “What is truth?” (Jn 18:38). The next time, therefore, a colleague takes aim at us, a family member slights us, someone cuts us off in traffic, or we simply feel the pressure mounting with each peek at our phone screen, we can choose to be like Jesus by standing tall and holding the line. With our faces set like flint against stone (Is 50:7), we will in fact be in the constant mode of overcoming any obstacle that prevents us from realizing our deep dignity as children of the living God. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
It is not entirely clear why subatomic particles behave the way they do, but they tend to gravitate toward one another, share space together, and interact in unexpected but profound ways. This so-called “entanglement,” however, collapses when one tries to measure it, perhaps a defense mechanism which helps to preserve the intimacy and dignity of the particular particle relationship. It seems to me that this is the meaning of the resurrected Christ: Jesus is capable of being entangled with all sorts of different people – breakfast on the beach (Jn 21:1-13), breaking bread with two strangers (Lk 24:13-35), passing through a locked door (Jn 20:19-29), a great commision from the mountain top (Mt 28:16-20) – but he escapes containment. In fact, he literally tells Mary Magdalene, “Do not hold on to me!” (Jn 20:17), as if to say that true communion with our heavenly Father and all of creation falls apart the moment it gets captured and becomes a spectacle. Let’s therefore follow Jesus into a world of cosmic entanglement by dying to the fear-based clinginess that keeps our spiritual lives pinned to old and unenlightened laws of physics. Indeed, we shall one day be caught up in the clouds with him (1 Thes 4:17) in a relationship that needs no validation other than the immeasurable dignity we possess together as children of the living God. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Has anyone ever accused you of having a Messiah complex? It might have been intended as a criticism – unnecessary interventions, over-involvement in other people’s affairs, or doing for somebody what they could do for themselves – but the real damning statement would be to say that you lack a Messiah-complex. Indeed, the drama and anguish of a life that cares about other people, however imperfectly, is infinitely better than a lukewarm heart, for the only thing to come out of indifference is death to the human soul. We must therefore learn to be like Jesus, who found appropriate ways to befriend his adversaries (Jn 3:1-21), uplift the oppressed (e.g. Lk 17:11-19), speak truth to the powerful (Jn 18:28-40), and even offer consolation to his persecutors (Lk 23:24). If we join Jesus on that slow and intentional journey to Jerusalem, filled with many prayerful nights of trying to sort things out on the mountaintop, the barnacles will be scraped from our personalities and our otherwise disordered need to interfere, fix and control will give way to some new and life-giving way of being. We will thus become co-redeemers with Christ (Col 1:24), forming together a single Messiah capable of bringing healing to a broken world and renewing the face of the earth. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
“Little things with great love.” This was the spiritual mantra of the Little Flower, adopted by a certain mother of the poorest of the poor, which makes the bold claim that the all is contained in each individual thing. How easy it is to constantly stay at the level of the big picture, mentally moving around concepts about strategic planning, obsessing about how to successfully rebrand our organization, crunching numbers and data to improve our financial footing, all the while forgetting the texture and concreteness of life at an ants-eye level. To do little things with great love is, in some ways, a humble admission that our limited minds could never really figure things out, but that we can get glimpses of the meaning of it all by living creaturely, with our boots on the ground, embracing the simple daily realities offered to us within our modest slice of the big picture. Let’s therefore take a lesson from the disciples who, having sequestered themselves in the literal “upper room,” surrendered their need for perfect understanding and allowed their feet to touch the earth (Acts 2:41-42). In this way, we shall become sacramental, like the Little Flower, spending our days doing little things with great love exactly where we stand, celebrating the beauty and goodness of life in the details. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Have you ever seen the image of Jesus in an icon? He is definitely staring at you, but he also has these inner eyes that are looking somewhere deep. The result is the feeling of being drawn in, invited into something going on inside of him. Jesus’ interior life has something to do with the one whom his heart loves (Song 3:3): a gazing upon his beloved, a constant act of trust, a deep and abiding feeling of peace. Even though the old warning to maintain “custody of the eyes” seems like old-fashioned advice in our modern times, there really is something to being disciplined about where we look. Indeed, if we, through our eyes, are giving ourselves away to the various alluring objects in our surroundings or on our phone screens, we forfeit the inner intimacy that we are actually desperate to find. Let’s therefore have the humility to use our eyelids as natural shields that guard our souls. Let’s get into the habit of sitting quietly in a chair in the morning or evening, with our eyes closed, looking inward, remembering what it is like to be with the beloved. Let’s, like Jesus, become people who learn to love others by simply looking at them (Mk 10:21). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
“The Power of Now” is the title of a trendy book on spirituality that has captured the imagination of a popular audience. It speaks to the average modern person who lives a screen-to-face kind of life and who is thus bombarded with psychological stimuli almost every moment of the day. In this highly addictive situation, all time collapses as one is left with a bowl of images, ideas and emotions that just get pushed around ceaselessly in the mind. What if, however, we shifted the focus from mind to heart? What if we directed our attention to some deep place in the soul? What if we found a still point around which the rest of our lives could be structured? This is the power of “now,” and it is above all else an act of trust in the invisible one who simply is (Ex 3:14, Jn 8:58) and who invites us to be with him (Jn 15:4). Therefore, the next time we catch ourselves obsessing about the future or living in the past, let’s return to the “now.” All it takes is a deep breath, an act of intentionality, or looking down at our feet to recall where we are. In this way, we shall realize that the hour is constantly upon us (Jn 12:22) and discover that a life rooted in the present moment has time for absolutely everything (Ecc 3:1-8). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
“Holding life with an open hand” is the most memorable line that I have ever heard in a homily. It awakened something deep in me, the desire to trust, to be vulnerable and to choose a posture of receptivity despite being in a world that is full of dangers. How easy it is indeed to say no, to shut down, to withdraw, to hide, to jockey for position, to manipulate outcomes, in a word, to try to be in control. That’s all fear-based stuff, a clenched fist that becomes sore and does not lead to life. We can, however, practice living with an open hand by literally extending one of our hands outward…gradually releasing it to an open position…then breathing….again….and again….and again….gazing upon the mystery….of a power….that is made perfect….in weakness (cf. 2 Cor 12:9). What if we learned how to navigate the contours of family life, the workplace, political and religious spheres like that? We would probably feel peace in our guts and start believing that existence really is coherent and that ours is simply to cooperate. Let’s therefore go back to the garden and, with our praying Lord (Mt 26:39), overcome that grabbing instinct (Gen 3:6), by making the firm decision for hands and hearts and feet and ears and minds and bodies and souls that are constantly open to the gift of life. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Self-image can be very confusing terrain to navigate. Lodged deeply in our psyches is that principal idea of who we think we are, but who knows how such an image gets planted there in the first place and to what degree it is even truthful. Thus we all experience the need to escape into one addiction or another to cope with the impossible standard of the idol that has been constructed in our minds. What if instead of being slaves to this vicious cycle, however, we became serious about our life of prayer, a place where we might get some breathing room and perspective? What if we worked with another person or a group of people in counseling, recovery or spiritual direction to assess the validity of our self-image? What if we took risks and made daily decisions that challenged the mental concept of ourselves? We, who are “made in the image of God” (Gen 1:28), would begin to again taste the freedom of living as children of God (cf. Rom 8:21), gradually remembering that there is one and only one authentic self-image, Jesus (Col 1:15), who desires to expose all of the posers and take his rightful place on our psychic throne. With order restored to our souls, we shall simply spend our days in that eternal pattern of walking happily and dancing joyfully with the Lord (cf. Gen 3:8, 2 Sam 6:14). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
“Just imagine that everyone in the audience is naked” is the advice given to many first-time public speakers. This may sound odd initially, but there is a real spiritual logic here: the unknown arouses fear in us; fear is a primal emotion; and it is impossible to see clearly or speak effectively when we are ruled by emotions. The nakedness advice is thus an invitation to demand transparency in our lives, not because we want to know everybody’s secrets and business, but because we want to know where we stand with them as a starting point for a real connection and durable relationship. While there are certainly rightful occasions when we, as fragile creatures who are in-process, ought to obscure or hide our deepest self, we are nevertheless relationship-animals and must not be satisfied with a life that falls short of the radical availability and openness modeled by the crucified Christ. Let us therefore get into the daily practice of allowing ourselves to be stripped by the circumstances of our lives (cf. Mt 27:28), of learning to long for the living God from our most vulnerable place (cf. Song 3:1), of presenting our true selves to the Lord (cf. Lk 2:22), and of being known perfectly in return (Ps 139:1). In this way, we shall become constant prophets whose lives proclaim the truth no matter how intimidating the audience may seem (cf. Jn 18:33-40). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
BONUS RECORDING (a poem by Rumi)
In the Zen Buddhist tradition, a person goes on a very focused interior journey, sitting for hours at a time, asking deep existential questions, and striving for authentic self-understanding. While it would be easy to dismiss such a religious practice, from a Christian point of view, as too intellectual or too self-centered, these spiritual seekers just might teach us something about what it means to be a follower of Jesus. How many of us are really concerned about the meaning of life? How many of us are willing to look within ourselves? How many of us actually wrestle with the fact of suffering in the world around us? Perhaps, indeed, we just go through the liturgical and ecclesiastical motions without ever being honest about the way we feel underneath it all. Siddhartha lived hundreds of years before Jesus and did not claim to have any special revelations. How human he was, though, in his unwillingness to accept both pleasure and renunciation as a way of life. Instead, he listened attentively in long periods of meditation and responded to the call to a life of integrity. He thus became enlightened precisely by pairing the profound inner awareness of reality with compassion for and love of others (cf. Mk 12:28-31). If only we had this kind of desire for kenosis (cf. Phil 2:7), we too might be bearers of light (cf. Jn 8:12). Ave Crux, Spes Uncia.
There once was a man who experienced a reawakening of his religious faith. He quit his job and traveled thousands of miles to seek spiritual counsel from a famous rabbi. When he arrived at the rabbi’s apartment, he knocked on the door, and the rabbi answered, asking him, “Who are you?” The man replied, “I am a spiritual seeker who has come to learn about God.” He then looked inside the apartment and noticed how few things this famous rabbi had: a desk, a chair, a bed, a dresser. So the man said, “Where’s all of your stuff?” The rabbi looked at the man’s suitcase and retorted, “Where’s all of your stuff?” The man said, “I’m just passing through.” The rabbi replied, “So am I.” As disciples of Jesus, we have received a very direct vision of the meaning of life, so direct, in fact, that most of our minds cannot bear it. Indeed, instead of living soberly in the transitoriness of this life, as we await the trial of death, we find all sorts of ways to bury our anxieties about existence so that they can hardly be felt. Let us therefore take the words of our Lord to heart, “Do not worry about tomorrow” (Mt 6:34), and in doing so, learn how to relinquish our stuff and partner with the living God, which is nothing less than a rehearsal for eternal life. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
The word schizophrenia literally means “a broken mind.” It is classified as a lifelong mental illness that a person must simply learn to endure: the delusions of grandeur, the emotional distance, the feeling of being out-of-touch with reality, the lack of personal relationships, the anxiety about daily living, and the trouble communicating effectively. Yet, if you ever did meet such a person, beyond the pity, you would probably feel, somewhere deep, that this was an honest human being, that this person’s brokenness was the actual nature of things, and that the only thing wrong with this person was her or his inability to hide their suffering. Indeed, while most of us find socially acceptable ways to medicate our pain and addictions to keep ourselves together, the schizophrenic person is a living reminder that life, underneath it all, is truly perilous and that we have a desperate need for both the love of God and neighbor to remain intact (Mk 12:28-31). Let us, therefore, look to Jesus who was himself crushed and broken (Is 53:5), but who nevertheless lived with utter integrity, especially crucified, nestled safely between the arms of his loving Father and carried along by the wings of the Spirit (Ex 19:4). May we have the courage, with our schizophrenic sisters and brothers, to dig deep and learn to walk this same narrow path that leads to life (Mt 7:14, Gal 2:20). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Francis of Assisi appears in gardens and front lawns around the world. Holding a dove in one hand and a bird bath in the other, he is a symbol of good will who enjoys a unique universal appeal. Indeed, people from all sorts of cultural and religious, or non-religious, traditions are attracted to his loving version of humanity. Yet, do we see that beneath the gentle and sentimental exterior, there is the spiritual man, painfully aware of his capacity to sin and unapologetically dependent upon the living God. Francis kept vigil, slept on the ground, fasted, prayed with Scripture, preached, reached out in service to the poor, and respected the authority of the Church. His ability to connect with people and capture the imagination was thus not just some kind of natural charisma, but a firm decision, a constant commitment, to make Christ the center of his life (so much so that he bore the very wounds of Christ in his hands and feet!). You and I would be agents of reconciliation and ambassadors of peace if we too allowed Christ, especially crucified, to be the point of reference for each and every one of our relationships (cf. Eph 2:13-22). We would attract others like Francis if we too imaged the invisible God (Col 1:15) with bold risk-taking and unhesitating generosity. May we become like Christ precisely by becoming like his Francis. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
I have a friend who, when she’s having a rough day, says, “I need to get down from the ladder!” All of us probably know this ladder well – it is that interior capacity to stand above everyone else – in all of our ego-glory – or to go low and live a grounded life. There is no in-between. From the time we are children, indeed, the world sweeps us up to the top of the ladder (cf. Mt 4:8), and insists that it is the natural place to be. The paparazzi blind us with their flashbulbs and the roaring crowds deafen us. We begin to think that this is what life actually is! Nevertheless, a still, small voice continues to whisper to us in what’s left of our hearts (1 Kings 19:12), and we, as my friend indicates, have a decision to make: Will we take that first step of descent? Yes, there is both spiritual paralysis and complacency to deal with, but a single decision in that moment will in fact become the seed that will bring forth a lifetime of authentic human living. Let us, therefore, look to Jesus whose last act on earth was to go down from the ladder of the Cross into the very dirt of the earth (Jn 19:38-42), and let us, here and now, commit to only ever ascending the ladder to invite our sisters and brothers into that same low place (cf. Jn 1:51). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Wall of Love, you allow me to be happy, joyous and free! You are that blessed and good darkness that constantly upholds my inner light (cf. Gen 1:3-5). You are that thick and fruitful brush that guards the way to my inner room (cf. Gen 2:9, Mt 6:6). You are that awful trial – the call to sacrifice my only child – that separates out all that is not the risk of faith (Gen 22:9-19). You are that monument of trust which rises up from the waters and allows safe passage from worldliness into open spaces and new life (cf. Ex 15:19, Ps 119:45). You are the stone tablets which discipline my heart and guide me ever into experiences of grace and truth (cf. Ex 20:20-21, Jn 1:14). You are the bricks around my holy city, as you engineer space in me for a “land flowing with milk and honey” (Ex 3:8). You allow my beloved to “peer through the lattices” and see me as I am (Song 2:9). You are the wings, the shelter, the fortress, the pinions, the buckler, the shield and the refuge (Ps 91) that provide a private place for me to be with “the one whom my heart loves” (Song 3:3). Wall of Love, you are the Cross, my only hope, and through you I shall find life. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Have you ever been overwhelmed by the waves of life? Calm to choppy to nerve-wracking to terrifying to absolutely unbearable, we get swept up by the waters in an instant! Nevertheless, as our human lives unfold, we come to see that we do in fact have choices. Maybe we begin with the macho mindset that instead of being a victim of the big wave we will take it head on. We, of course, get crushed and must go back to the drawing board. Perhaps we then think that we can avoid the waves altogether by diving underneath them and coming out unscathed on the other side, but we realize that the massive energy under a wave will beat us up and pull us dangerously deep underwater. What if, instead of attacking or escaping, we tried to befriend these giant walls of water? What if we learned to dance on their edges and move with them? What if by riding them we could harness their power and do something beautiful with it? May we who beg God, “Save me, for the waters have come up to my neck, and the flood sweeps over me” (Ps 69:1-2), have courage to “put out into the deep” (Lk 5:4) and discover, within those very waves, “streams of living water” (Jn 7:38) that save. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Fertile soil makes for a fruitful soul. When we invest time in prayer, talk with spiritual companions, find creative ways to worship God, and pay attention to that still small voice within, something beautiful happens to our inner earth. Indeed, our soil becomes capable of nourishing life, and when we least expect it, we blossom forth from the inside out (cf. Mk 4:26-27). The fruits we bear allow us to feed others eucharistically, while our roots testify to our deep trust in the living God and the way God chooses to sustain us from within. In this way, we discover that our vocation truly is nothing more than the Greatest Commandment (Mk 12:28-31), where we, with Jesus, spend ourselves cultivating the relationships of this life and the next. Let’s therefore get excited about our spiritual fertility. Let’s make a plan to clear away the brambles, do some weeding, and listen attentively to the needs of our soil. Let’s look forward to that moment when the miracle does in fact happen. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
“Look East!” If the Body of Christ were a bus, this is the bumper sticker you’d see plastered to the back of the bus in bright psychedelic letters. We are, indeed, built for that shift from worldliness to resurrected life, but how easy it is to collapse again and again into old and unhelpful patterns of living. In the early days, candidates for reception into the Church literally stood facing the darkness, shouting their rejection of evil, but then, in an instant and with the help of the community, they made the turn eastward, to the light of a new day. This, of course, is why the resurrection of Jesus is called “East-er.” It is not a new idea in human history – as attested to by a certain allegory about a cave – but our celebration of these mysteries of faith should reveal to us just how urgently and passionately that eastward direction is rushing towards us in this great drama of conversion: a loving Father constantly trying to hold us together, directing us toward a horizon that gives life, assuaging our anxieties, dealing creatively with our wounds, and offering us an enduring and meaningful alternative to the shadowlands. Praise God for the daily work that is our resurrection and for the awesome liturgical reminders along the way. May our hearts, indeed, have some taste of the explosion that emptied the tomb on this hallowed day. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Alcoholics Anonymous is supported by a sound spiritual logic: the culprit is not the alcohol, but the person’s relationship with the alcohol. Indeed, if the problem were alcohol then the solution would simply be to cut ourselves off from it, but that is dualism, a kind of competitive “me vs. them” thinking which is not a recipe for human thriving nor a durable vision for life. When we put the focus on our relationships with people, places and things, however, exciting possibilities open up. We begin to see life in its uniqueness and complexity, where everything is good and fundamentally relatable (cf. Gen 1). Even the alcoholic can appreciate the fact of alcohol, that it has been a gift to people for millennia and invites communion when used responsibly (The Church, in fact, insists on alcoholic wine at every eucharisitic liturgy!). It should not surprise us therefore that Alcoholics Anonymous isn’t just a philosophy but a way of life that is practiced. Members of the fellowship form communities to examine their ways of relating and take concrete steps to ensure healthy and life-giving relationships. The next time we decide to cut another person out of our lives, avoid a place of some past trauma, or distract ourselves from painful memories, let’s join our alcoholic friends by going low, finding that God-place within, and, from that security, demanding creative ways to keep the relationship going. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Is being “a good little boy” really a long-term vision for life? We are trained from a very early age to follow the rules and get the reward, to follow the rules and get the reward, to follow the rules and get the reward….all the way to our coffins! But what’s the point of that?! Jesus invites us at the very least to be risk-takers. He tells the story of a father who has two sons (Lk 15:11-32): The first son is a good little boy who follows all the rules but nevertheless ends up angry and unhappy at the conclusion of the story. The second son recognizes a desire in his heart for something more than the rules and acts on it. And while that desire initially comes out in an unexpected and destructive way, he continues to trust in the “something more” and eventually his desire gets worked out as he becomes a new person. Let’s identify the places in our lives where the rules have just become a socially acceptable way to mask our fears. Let’s be honest about our desire for more and act on it. It is there, in the clumsiness and awkwardness of it all, that we shall find ourselves worthy companions of the sinners, tax-collectors, prostitutes and thieves (Mt 21:31, Lk 23:42) who have also taken a risk on God. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Do we actually need God? This is a provocative question that gets to the heart of our salvation, yet false ideas abound: Do it yourself, Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, You can do anything you put your mind to, etc. What a sad vision for life! Where’s the mystery? The risk of encountering the other? The hope of some new reality? The trust in a power beyond ourselves? The connection that satisfies our longing to be whole? I am reminded of the story of a monk who goes to his abbot to learn about the spiritual life. The abbot leads him out to the monastery lake, and, as they are talking, gradually pushes the monk’s head down into the water until he is totally submerged. The monk, who had been thinking it was some ritual, begins to panic and just when he thinks he is going to drown, the abbot relents. The monk bursts out of the water, gasping for breath and screaming obscenities. The abbot calmly responds, “I’m sorry, but I want you to understand that you will never know God, until you need God like that next breath.” Let’s stop playing God with our clever calculations and power moves, but instead learn the meaning of these words, “Your heavenly Father already knows the things you need, so do not worry about tomorrow” (Mt 6:32,34). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
TRUST GOD. What if this whole project of being human was really about trusting God? What if the feelings, emotions, desires and inevitable confusion in this drama were simply the circumstances for that singular act of trust that makes us whole again? What if we do in fact have a loving parent who art in heaven who is quietly, patiently and constantly creating opportunities for us to trust? What if our births were nothing other than a crash-course in that proverbial leap of faith into reality? What if our deaths were the final movement of this masterpiece where we are afforded the dignity of handing ourselves over in trust? What if everything in-between – infancy, childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, adulthood and our elder years – were the process of working out the knots that prevent us from trusting fully? What if our neuroses, obsessions, complexes and addictions were just misguided efforts to trust? What if God were not some kind of task-master or spiritual police officer but an intimate and humble friend who has been trying to build trust with us all along? What if we got in the habit of closing our eyes, pausing for a moment, taking a deep breath, and paying attention to what was happening within us…and feeling what God was actually like? Would this help us to TRUST GOD? Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
The beautiful complementarity of East and West is a stunning reminder that the cosmos has an essentially paschal character. While the West values order, structure, logic and accuracy, the East is characterized by intuition, feeling, openness and adaptability. Together, they image the glorious dying and rising pattern that has given existence meaning since the beginning of time: the urgent Western need to understand the exact nature of things in the face of diminishing sunlight paired with the deep Eastern hopefulness that the darkness will in fact give way to a new reality. It is no wonder, then, that when Christians were initiated into the early Church they faced West as they denounced a life limited to this world then literally turned East to signify the inner “East-er” they desired in their hearts. Let’s therefore not play the game of pitting East and West against each other, but instead realize the whole symbolism. Let’s awaken to the dimensions of East and West unfolding in our very souls. Let’s look to Christ who lived precisely in the middle of East and West in an eternal “ministry of reconciliation” (2 Cor 5:19). May we indeed become integrated persons grounded in the concreteness of a love that lasts. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
A border is an invisible line that is meant to distinguish one country from another. We all know that these lines are quite arbitrary and usually drawn based on ethnicity, natural terrain or political dominance. While grown men and women bicker, and in fact kill one another, over these borders, Jesus reminds us that there is no abiding kingdom in this world (cf. Jn 18:36) and that all conflicts are a projection of something unresolved within us (cf. Lk 17:21). What if our true ethnic identity were as children of God? What if the only terrain that mattered was the spiritual landscape of souls? What if that unquenchable thirst for power was just a misdirected desire for everlasting life? Indeed, the Cross is the ultimate boundary-marker: God has reached out to the absolute limits of existence, has established the definitive distinction between this life and the next, and to this day invites people to cross over into a place of trust and love. Let’s therefore be relentless in finding that deep interior borderline in ourselves. Let’s challenge one another to make the turn from defending the false self to a life of vulnerability and openness to others. Let’s link arms with each of our sisters and brothers on the way to our radically inclusive homeland. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
I was once riding in the back of a city bus that stopped at a grocery store. An elderly woman exited the bus, but did not go inside. She just stood there, on the curb, weeping. The bus driver, who was just about to pull away from the bus stop, shifted into park, opened the door, exited the bus, then hugged and consoled the woman for about a minute. He eventually returned to the driver’s seat and we pulled away. I overheard someone say that the woman’s husband had just recently died. How often do we turn a blind eye to suffering because it makes us feel uncomfortable? How often do we hesitate to take a risk on authentic ministry because a situation does not fit into our neat understanding of life? How often do we rationalize away an opportunity to genuinely reach out in service to our sisters and brothers? It is precisely that false feeling of safety that will make us spiritual zombies whose rituals and religious words are hollow. Let us therefore have the guts, this coming week, and in the months and years ahead, to actually pull our buses off to the side of the road (Lk 10:34) and meet the Christ whom we have been claiming to seek after all along (cf. Mt. 25:44-45). Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Lord Jesus, you are the eternal Son of God who lives a life, even to this day, of radical trust. Indeed, you spend your days, nights and weekends trusting and trusting and trusting the living God whom you have known and depended upon since the beginning of time. Lead me to that low place. Teach me how to be simple. Help me to walk the path that leads to authenticity, freedom and life. May you be the Word who touches my heart and causes me to keep my own word and say what I mean when interacting with other people. May you be the High Priest who models perfect priesthood for me that I may make my life a continual sacrifice to God on behalf of all of my sisters and brothers. May you be the Eucharist that heals my wounds and makes me capable of nourishing others with my thoughts, words, actions and presence. I love you, and I invite you ever more deeply into my heart that we, together, may take a risk on and experience the intimacy of being Beloved. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Do you remember your first kiss? What power! What fire! The brain seems to store the memory of such a primal connection at a place too deep for words. An equally common human experience, however, is the dissatisfaction we feel when that graced moment comes to an end, the passion fades, and two people return to the hard fact of their separateness (cf. Song 5:5-6). In the Christian life, it seems that we are constantly in search of a kiss that lasts, but do we look to the God who made all things by his cosmic kiss in the beginning (cf. Gen 1:1)? Do we really and truly seek the “kisses of his mouth” (Song 1:2) in our life of prayer? Do we admit that we too have betrayed the Lord (cf. Mt 26:49) by the things we have done with our lips? Indeed, we must learn to make every syllable that rolls off of our tongue, every bite of food, every smile, and every breath we take the kiss that puts us in touch with the infinite. In doing so, we shall become attached to our Beloved in some durable way that takes away our separation anxiety and expands our hearts for love (cf. Ps 119:32). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
SOME KISS by Rumi (Translated by Coleman Barks)
Holy Cross Brother and Priest Civil War Veterans
In 1910, there were eight Brothers living in the Community House (now Columba Hall) who were veterans of the War Between the States. Each had seen his share, and more, of combat: one had fought on both sides of the war and had been held as a prisoner of war; one heard at the onset of a battle, a voice that declared, “You will die today;” another was to become well known as a contributor to the science of apiary studies; another would become the lab assistant to Father John Zahm, CSC in the new (1906) Science Hall. Three others were so self-effacing that little is known about their forty-plus years as Holy Cross Brothers.
Included in the photo of these very proud and stately men are those seated in the first row: Brother Leander (James) McLain, Father William Olmstead (a diocesan priest), Father William Corby, Father Peter Cooney and Brother John Chrysostom (Mark) Will. Standing in the second row are Brother Benedict (Conrad) Mantele, Brother Ignatius (Ignatz) Mayer, General William Hayes, Brother Raphael (James) Maloy, Brother Cosmos (Nicholas) Bath and Brother Eustachius (John) McInerny. An eighth veteran is Brother Agatho (William) Parle, who was living at the time but is not pictured.
Each Brother-warrior brought to Holy Cross gifts, not because of his Civil War service, but in spite of it. For a few, the gifts given by these men to Father Sorin were quite grand; for others quite pedestrian. Regardless, for each of these grand old gentlemen, his photo radiates with a determination in the eyes that provided him with the ability to be a loyal, victorious citizen of this world, and eventually a very worthy citizen of Heaven. Ave Crux Spes Unica!
“I thirst” (Jn 19:30). With these words, Jesus reminds us that our fundamental human vocation in life is to need. Indeed, while we may flirt with neediness and other forms of emotional immaturity, to really and truly need puts us in right relationship with God who created us for connection, ourselves because dependence is our natural existential state, and others who meet us with love in our vulnerability. Even the natural world – like the wine-soaked sponge raised to Jesus’ lips – cooperates! Thus, the next time we ourselves get thirsty, let’s pause and reflect before we reach for that bottle: Where does my thirst come from? What does it mean for me to be thirsty? What will my thirst be like in the next life? Am I aware that others thirst too? We can then offer a simple prayer of gratitude: Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to participate in this vast and glorious system of interdependence. By being created with and for others, you have offered me a taste of your own life. I thirst with you from that eternal cross that stands at the end of time, and I need you. Amen. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
THE NOTRE DAME FIRE DEPARTMENT
STAFFED BY THE BROTHERS AND PRIESTS OF HOLY CROSS
1846 – C1990
This photo was taken in 1902 and it features the Brothers of Holy Cross who staffed the Notre Dame Fire Company from 1846 through c.1990. The last brother to hold the title of fire chief is Brother Borromeo (Thomas) Malley (1913-1994) who directed the department for nearly fifty years.
The brothers’ names are listed to the right: each of them had many more careers than putting out campus fires. Some became legendary among the members of the community.
The first brother on the left, holding the ax, is Brother Peter Claver Hosinski who in 1910 became the founding principal of Holy Trinity High School in Chicago, IL. He would also serve as a Bengal missionary for many years. Several members of his family joined Holy Cross: his sister, Sister Severina, and two of his brothers and an uncle became Holy Cross Priests. Father Ted Hesburgh’s personal secretary for over thirty years was Mrs. Helen Hosinski.
To Hosinski’s left is Brother Bernard Gervais, an incredibly gifted man who held many positions of authority in the congregation. Over a space of many years he created le Matricule, the membership register, listing the names of all of the men who joined the Congregation of Holy Cross – priests and brothers – beginning in 1820 with Abbé Dujarié as number 1. The detailed list ends with number 5,700, Frère Gabriel (Jean-August Rondel). Gervais worked on this list from 1936 through 1941.
The third member is Brother Raymond Ott peeking over Brother Bernard’s shoulder. He worked at the Ave Maria Press and was a canvasser – a salesman – of the Ave Maria for nearly thirty-five years. The Fourth is Brother Walter Remlinger, who also became a Bengal missionary. He contracted a fatal form of malaria and was sent back to Notre Dame where he was celebrated as a very holy brother because of enduring such a “torturous death”.
Brother Maximum Czyzewski is the fifth man who went on to serve as a teacher at Holy Trinity High School for fifty-four years, and he was the fourth principal from 1917-1920. Father James S. Ready, number six, would go on to be appointed in 1918, the vice president of Columbia University in Portland, OR, now the University of Portland.
Brother James, number seven, is the one of the “lost brothers” as there are no documents to be found about his years in Holy Cross. So also, with Brother number nine. Under a magnifying glass his name appears to be Brother Assisi; however, there is no such name in le Matricule. There is a possibility that this is Brother Arsenius Luther, and he would be about the right age of the man pictured.
Number eight, Brother Stanislaus Kurowski, was an elementary teacher, accomplished organist and dramatist who worked at St. Hedwig’s Parish and School in South Bend. And the last, Brother Ernest Heller, number ten, was a teacher and the third Bengal missionary.
Yes, the early brothers and priests were jacks-of-all-trades, and, truly, the masters of most of them. Ave Crux Spes Unica.
If I were giving a commencement address to this year’s graduating class, I would say, “Make your life a solar flare!” It’s so easy to live a lukewarm life, in front of the television, going through the motions, but we human beings are spiritual machines with energy constantly coursing through our veins. When we do not recognize and honor that energy, it comes out in funny ways: for some addiction to pornography, for others alcoholic drinking, for others obsessive thinking, or any other number of neurotic behaviors! A solar flare might initially scare us because of our inability to control where it goes and how long it lasts. Indeed, we might have tried to unleash our inner power in the past only to get burned in the process. Nevertheless, we must go beyond repression and find creative ways to let our little light shine. Maybe we take the risk of looking for a fun part time job, getting that tattoo we’ve always wanted, signing over our long-coveted stocks to a charity, picking up the phone and making amends to someone, or seeing what it’s like to take the bus to work. Our inner solar flare is guaranteed to be beautiful – however it is manifested – so long as it springs forth from “the light of the world” (Jn 8:12) in whom “there is no darkness” (1 Jn 1:5). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
THE VERY REVEREND EDWARD SORIN, C.S.C.
THE CELEBRATION OF HIS GOLDEN JUBILEE OF ORDINATION
September 9, 1888
This memorial photo of invited guests to the Golden Jubilee festivities was taken by A. McDonald of McDonald Studio, South Bend, Indiana. In the September 8, 1888 issue of the Scholastic (48), this “most pleasing memento” was being sold for $1.00.
It is obvious from the prelates pictured with Fr. Sorin, that he was, if not revered by them, at the very least seen as a peer – a priest-founder – who during the previous four decades, successfully founded a university in honor of the Blessed Mother. Sorin relentlessly worked with other Holy Cross priests, brothers and sisters to build upon the space situated on two lakes in northern Indiana, the finest Catholic University in the Country.
Pictured with Sorin in the first row seated from the left are Bishop Gilmour of Cleveland, OH, Archbishop Elder of Cincinnati, OH, Fr. Sorin, Superior General, Cardinal Gibbons, Baltimore, MD, Archbishop Ireland of St. Paul, MN, Bishop Dwenger of Fort Wayne, IN, Bishop Watterson of Columbus, OH and Bishop Phalen of Pittsburgh, PA. Standing from the left are Bishop Ryan of Alton, IL, Bishop Janssens of Belleview, IL, Bishop Keane of Washington, D.C., Bishop Burke of Cheyenne, WY, Bishop Spaulding of Peoria, IL, Bishop Ryan of Buffalo, NY and Bishop Richter of Grand Rapids, MI.
Have you ever gotten in trouble because you “took the part for the whole”? This is the essence of cancer – one cell trying to become the whole organ – and the first sin – our first parents wanting to become God. We can spend years in the delusion that we have just not grasped onto the right college, the right career, the right spouse, the right neighborhood (or the right religion!), but we discover that our human thriving does not really begin until we have made the turn from grasping to integration. Indeed, mature adulthood means that we are spiritually secure and spend our time not in a desperate search for the solution, but rather weaving our commitments, responsibilities, ideas, relationships and desires into that one deep truth that grounds every human heart. This in fact is the pattern of our eternal life! Lord, teach me to discern the difference between your boundless goodness and the many created goods that surround me. Give me the courage to surrender the many things that point to you, but are not you. Lead me to that humble place where I might become “all things to all people” (1 Cor 9:22), and, with your Son, enjoy real connections that withstand the ages. Help me to become conformed to the whole precisely by playing my part well. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Happy Feast of Blessed Basil Moreau!
Ave Crux Spes Unica!
THOMAS CARDINAL TIEN KEN-SIN (1890-1967)
Visits Notre Dame and Brothers’ Provincial Council, c. September, 1954
China’s first Roman Catholic cardinal (installed 1946) made a visit to the University of Notre Dame in 1954. During this visit, he was photographed with the Provincial Council of the United States Province of Brothers and other brothers. Picture with Cardinal Tien from left to right, first row are: Brothers Bonaventure Foley, Ephrem O’Dwyer (Provincial), Gerard Fitz (Superior of Columba Hall), Cardinal Tien, Ernest Ryan and Sabinas Herbert; in the second row are: Brothers Flavius Ellison, Reginald Juszczak, John Chrysostom Ryan and Kenan Judge.
In a letter to Brother Ernest Ryan from Miss Lida (sometimes Lyda) O’Neill, the niece of Brother Columba O’Neill, his younger brother Dennis’ daughter, dated October 3, 1954, she thanks Brother Sabinas Herbert for the two “special badges [Sacred Heart] blessed by Cardinal Tien”. Brother Sabinas was then the director of the Brother Columba Apostolate.
The Midwest Province Archives houses fifteen letters written by Brother Columba’s niece to him, beginning in 1913 and continuing through November 16, 1923 – Brother Columba died on November 20, 1923.
She wrote another fifteen letters between 1923 and 1955 to Father O’Donnell (two letters in 1923 and 1924); Brother Alban Flaherty (one letter in 1926); Brother Ernest Ryan (five letters in 1933 and one in 1948); and Brother Sabinas Herbert (four letters in 1954 and one in 1955).
Brother Ernest was seeking information about Brother Columba’s early life that he might include in his biography These Two Hearts. Brother Sabinas was seeking information about “cures and favors received” through the intercession of Brother Columba to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
Profile of a spiritual person: Little, simple, listening, attentive, responsive, open, trusting, graceful, honest, contemplative, transparent, humble, patient, consistent, authentic, uncomplicated, vulnerable, flexible, sensitive, sincere, gentle, supportive, slow, connected, peaceful, intentional, playful, engaged, integrated, genuine, courageous, risk-taking, mystery-oriented, boundary-conscious, decision-making, process-minded, often-smiling, freely-sharing, discretion-practicing, interior-gazing, solitude-cherishing, forgiveness-seeking, self-aware, self-reflective, self-disciplined, willing to waste time with others, takes things as they come, does not judge, lets go of things that get in the way, holds onto what is important, trustworthy in small matters, cares about the welfare of everyone, respects the dignity of all people, doesn’t take shortcuts, walks with purpose, doesn’t look back, stops to smell the flowers, serves the community, has a job, has a family, has friends, celebrates holidays, gets dressed in the morning, eats well, sleeps well, prays well, laughs, cries, hopes and dreams just like you and me. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
“The University of Notre Dame began late on the bitterly cold afternoon of November 26, 1842, when a 28-year-old French priest, Rev. Edward Sorin, C.S.C., and six Holy Cross brothers, all of them members of the recently established Congregation of Holy Cross, took possession of 524 snow-covered acres that the Bishop of Vincennes had given them in the Indiana mission fields.
A man of lively imagination, Father Sorin named his fledgling school in honor of Our Lady in his native tongue, L’Université de Notre Dame du Lac (The University of Our Lady of the Lake). On January 15, 1844, the University was thus officially chartered by the Indiana legislature” (www.nd.edu).
The six brothers who accompanied Sorin to South Bend were men who brought much-needed skills for the laying down of both literal and metaphoric roots á du Lac. Brother Vincent Pieau (1797-1890) was the elder and would prove to be Sorin’s most loyal colleague for over fifty years. He educated most of the young members of the fledgling congregation to embrace the “voice of Moreau.” Sorin was so in debt to Brother Vincent that he once mused about being buried in the same grave.
Next in age and a man of many talents was Brother Lawrence Manage (1816-1873), an astute business manager and a most able farmer. The third oldest was Brother Francis Xavier Patois (1820-1896), the carpenter, the undertaker and the sacristan.
The final three brothers were very young: Brother Joachim André (1809-1844), Brother Gaitan Monsimer (1826-1860), and Brother Anselm Caillot (1825-1845). Each would contribute through brawn and become the first teachers in a few of the early elementary schools. Brother Anselm who left France when he was just sixteen would drown in front of some of his students at age twenty.
Today, one will look in vain around Our Lady’s University for any recollection of these six brothers’ names. They are the men behind the king–“the six companions.” Yet Rev. Edward Sorin, if alive, would be the first to celebrate them as mes cher frères et mes collaborateurs.
The word sex literally means “having been cut off.” Thus, from the onset of puberty, with the awareness of our biological differences, we search for that perfect person who will make us whole again and satisfy our deepest longing for completeness. We know from life experience, however, that those feelings are short-lived and that our physical and emotional complementarity with another person symbolizes some deeper integrity to which we are called. Indeed, God has created each of us “male and female” (Gen 1:27), and our relationships are therefore healthiest only when they go beyond the neediness of sex and, instead, provide supportive circumstances for each partner to do the work of self-understanding. What we discover is our essential dignity, that we are whole and complete and perfect as we are! Our singular and universal human vocation emerges: to glory in our identity as children of God and to spend ourselves creating circumstances for others to come to this same awareness. What, then, is sex for the integrated person? It is synonymous with the Greatest Commandment: to love and be loved by God, while at the same time partnering with every one of our neighbors so that they too might have life (Mk 12:29-31). Let’s never again succumb to those feelings of being cut off by learning how to have the kind of sex that lasts. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Let’s end transactional relationships in our lives once and for all! What are we robots!? Is there not some deeper meaning to our souls than an intellectual rubric that constantly keeps score and secretly tries to leverage relationships so that we might get what we want? Indeed, let’s make the word “risk” the mantra for this new year: the risk of putting ourselves out there, the risk of loving without counting the cost, the risk of making sacrifices, the risk of serving others without getting anything in return. Risk is the language and logic of God and until we have the courage to step outside of our fear-based tendency to manipulate outcomes and use other people to our advantage, we will never discover our true dignity nor realize our authentic human vocations. May this year be a time when we pause before we give that compliment, apply for that job, assist our neighbor with some task, or buy that new house: Why am I doing this? What is my intention? What does God think about it? In this way, our twisted and ugly interiors shall slowly be realigned as we begin to experience the purity of heart that allows us to remember what God is like (cf. Mt 5:8-9). Let’s make 2022 the year when that age-old transaction game gets interrupted by the bold risk of love. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
The blood, the water, the flesh, the cries, the agony. You might think it is the crucifixion, but it is instead an anonymous woman, giving birth, in a stable, with her husband, in an obscure village. Mary’s passion stretches nine months from the moment she receives the Word in her womb through the high drama of bringing forth the living God into the world. Let us ask ourselves whether we have received that same seed deeply in our our own hearts; whether we have protected that seed and cultivated its growth within us; and whether we shall be courageous enough to suffer through those same glorious labor pains in order to be, like Mary, an instrument of God’s revealing action in the world. In the same way that biology ensures that no two children are the same, the fruits of each of our acts of faith will be unique: some shall be prophets, others teachers, others healers, others helpers, others leaders (cf. 1 Cor 12:28-31). Together, we shall become the Tota Mater, that is, the cosmic woman who spends eternity joyfully fondling the vulnerable God in our laps, sharing our offspring with each other, sanctifying the universe all the while. On this Christmas Day, let’s choose to be like Mary, trusting that she will indeed make us like her Son. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Risk, O glorious risk! You make it possible for me to transcend the narrow confines of my self-containment. Risk, O glorious risk! You provide a path out of my stifling logic and formulas. Risk, O glorious risk! You rescue me from the so-called safety that atrophies my spirit. Risk, O glorious risk! You challenge me. You see through my defenses. You expose my fear. Oh how I desire to encounter the mystery of it all! Oh how I long to be in union with the all! Deliver me, therefore, from the instinct to grab, to take hold of, to clasp onto. Interrupt that moment when the weight of clinging takes over. Spread my arms wide. Open my hands. Make me generous in receptivity. Indeed, you are not something to be mastered, but the master who teaches me something about life. Silence is the language that you speak. Courage is your favorite virtue. Your way is wide open. May we, thus, be partnered together on this journey. May we walk together side by side into the great unknown. May we have life together. Risk, O glorious risk, you enlarge my heart forever. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
“Hurt people hurt people” is a popular phrase in the world of psychology and in recovery circles. It is nature’s law of spiritual inertia: the momentum of our own pain in life naturally carries over into our relationships and behaviors – and we don’t even realize it! It is thus no wonder that oftentimes perpetrators of sexual abuse are themselves the victims of sexual abuse. In many ways such a phenomenon seems counterintuitive, as one would think that a person who has been damaged in a certain way would not want to impose such suffering on others, but the sad logic is that the pain which consumes us simply becomes normative for how we see the world and operate. What breaks this cycle? What frees us from being slaves to our past experiences? What becomes the boundary-marker where our pain reaches an ending point that some new vision of life might arise? It is of course Christ crucified and only Christ crucified. Indeed, we must learn to beg for the intervention of the Word who comes to us in our poverty, enters into our mess, cleans us up, takes our place and invites us to experience the Father’s love first-hand. A new glorious logic emerges, as by his wounds we are healed (Is 53:5), and we, like him, become hurt people who help people find their own way to the Father. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Look down at your feet. There God has led you. Look at your hands. With them serve. This is a trustworthy recipe for the Christian life. In a Church that has all sorts of Kingdom-building architects and worker bees, it can be easy to lose sight of the point. The point is to enter into a trusting relationship with our heavenly Father – allowing our feet to constantly be led to new places (cf. Jn 21:18) – and to draw others into that same love all the while – with our very hands (cf. Lk 10:37). Let’s, therefore, do a real examination of our hearts this evening: What prevents me from following where God is actually leading me? What holds me back from reaching out to others in service? Is it a lack of trust? Is it fear? Am I confused? What must I do to move forward?! We shall come to discover a deep logic in our lives, a pattern that ultimately looks like dancing where we, freed from the bondage of our own stuff, simply enter into an exciting and unceasing partnership with the One Whom Our Hearts Have Loved All Along (cf. Song 3:3). The dancing goes on until everyone is dancing and then, together, we dance for all eternity! What are we waiting for? Let’s get those hands and feet moving. Let’s boogie! Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
What is the significance of both the Jewish religious leadership and Roman soldiers being complicit in the death of Jesus? Perhaps the message is that no “camp” can rescue us from our fallen natures and distorted thinking. Indeed, the Jews spent their days meditating on the revealed word and offering worship in the temple, while the Romans were bastions of order, the rule of law and justice, yet neither were able to see who Jesus was or hear what he was saying. This tragic comedy of errors, however, should not just be relegated to the past. Don’t we identify with our own camps? I’m Catholic, I’m Christian, I’m American, I’m Democrat, I’m Republican. What prevents us from just going with the flow? What prevents us from conforming to the same collective and fuzzy logic of the masses? In the great drama of life, there is only one trustworthy position: to step out beyond political ideas and religious feelings to the Christ-place. Here, in this act of trust, we will discover our true selves, naked and vulnerable before God, but we shall spend our lives rejoicing in the truth. Let us therefore move past the false safety of being someone in the eyes of the world by making that definitive decision, with Jesus, to enter into the deep security of the Father’s love. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
I’m on a boat. In the middle of choppy waters. No land in sight. I look to my feet. Slowly rising waters. How will I survive? Worry, fear, anxiety, helplessness, paralysis, inactivity, silence. I’m on a boat. Perhaps, this describes the experience of being human with our many vulnerabilities and fragilities. Perhaps this is how Jesus felt in the desert, in the garden and on the cross, attacked as he was from every side. Perhaps this is why the Church, in her wisdom, invites us to pray these words as our salvation takes root on Good Friday: “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me” (Ps 69:1-3). We should not be naïve about this journey, however, as, indeed, our boats will sink and we will be submerged. But this is precisely where the Good News begins. Jesus allows his boat, punctured and wounded as it was, to go under (cf. Jn 2:19-22), yet God’s love was more pervasive than the waters, more enduring than the holes and more powerful than the seemingly definitive death he experienced. Ours is simply to permit Jesus to enter into our boats (cf. Lk 5:3) and trust in his resurrection. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
What is being in a relationship with God like? It’s like waking up in the morning, feeling our feet hit the floor, going through our morning routine, remembering what is on the schedule for the day, walking into the kitchen, sitting down to breakfast, putting the dishes in the sink, grabbing our bag, kissing our loved ones goodbye, getting into the car, backing out of the driveway…you get the idea! To be in a relationship with God, as the “ing” ending suggests, is progressive, that is, it keeps on happening. And what is more, to be in a relationship with God means that we allow our lives to move in a direction that we know at that deep level of intuition to be right, but which we are nevertheless unable to conceptualize or fully articulate. Our role in this great drama of human life and faith is simply to cooperate. We take ownership and enter fully into the system of God’s revealing action when we participate in the process, name the gifts, do the footwork, and become radically disposed to the divine direction. This is our salvation, and there are no shortcuts, only a lifetime of fidelity and commitment to our one true Beloved, in the ordinariness of daily life, with the hope of finally being in a healthy relationship that lasts. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!