This makes me think... about what to say the day after Easter, and every day after that...

Evangelization is the Church's effort to proclaim to everyone that God loves them, that he has given himself for them in Christ Jesus, and that he invites them to an unending life of happiness. Once this Gospel has been accepted as the "good news," it demands to be shared.

--Blessed John Paul II, 1998, ad limina address to the US Bishops "Called to the New Evangelization", Springtime of Evangelization

The Jesus Moment... my latest at Patheos...

I want to wish you all a very happy Holy Week! Tonight starts the vigil that leads us into the Triduum.  Over at Patheos, I offer my latest column. Here's the front end...

I collect refrigerator magnets that capture some of my favorite moments. You’ll find many familiar faces under clear plastic frames, loved ones from far and near. The rest of the door is littered with keepsakes from favorite travel destinations. One magnet, quoting Italian author and poet, Cesare Pavese, explains them all: “We do not remember days. We remember moments.” 

The power of memory is at once a terrible and tremendous gift. I have learned that the more I recall, with gratitude and thanksgiving, the things that bring me freedom and joy, the more I am drawn to remember them when terrible things strike. Such memories bind and hold me together, anchors against strong tides. Leaning into difficult moments, I sift the value of their import, against what I hold true. 

I recently came out of the confessional after a tender, grace-filled moment with Jesus in the sacrament of Reconciliation, having released a deep emotional wound. Minutes later in the pew, after my prayers of release and relief, I sought to linger in the peaceful presence of God. 

I opened my bible to the fifth chapter of John. The words on the sacred page seemed as if they were written just for me. The text described Jesus’ instantaneous healing of a paralyzed man whose affliction disabled him for 38 years.  This, after I had just experienced something lifted from my heart that had crippled me for about the same length of time. Those verses were a second gift from Jesus, a bonus to the graces of the sacrament, given to me, no doubt, so I wouldn’t miss the point. The formerly paralyzed man didn’t keep his news to himself. And so, here I am, in imitation. 

Jesus could not have been any more real to me than if he walked into the chapel and sat down next to me. I will hold onto that for some time to come and cherish it as I, too, learn how to walk with stronger legs after Jesus. 

That moment in the chapel was just the most recent in a series of Jesus moments in my life. I could never have constructed it, or imagined it on my own. It was totally orchestrated by him. Like a lover’s spontaneous kiss that renders you speechless, it begs only to be received. 

There's more, here.

This makes me think... about how well I'm using Twitter... oh, and so much more, really.

This makes me think... being thankful all my days...

Thank you, Lord


My Father, you have carried me through
     wanderings
     and loved me through my rebelliousness.


I praise you.


You have given me untold riches:
     friends to love,
     beauty to enjoy,
     quiet spaces.


I praise you for life on this planet,
     for trust between people,
     and the unimaginable gift of the gospel.


Keep me thankful all my days,
that, against all the odds,
I may never lose sight 
of hope and delight.

---Angela Ashwin, A Little Book of Healing Prayers.

I'm over at Patheos today... the word is Ordinary Time -- but it's anything but!

From today's column, A Word in Season, a look beyond the ordinary:

The beauty and the richness of Ordinary Time, as seen in the perennial green vestments and décor, gently remind us that all life is now infused with grace. Like the evergreen amidst the winter snow, the life of faith is alive inside of us. Ordinary Time is steeped in the knowledge and the witness that we are not alone. That God is still with us. That this is good, but it is not all that will be. 

Ordinary Time brings with it a kind of daily hope, not only of "the more" to come in the afterlife, but of "the more" of God's Word and Presence that inhabits the everyday.  

The cry of John the Baptist in this Sunday's Gospel is the same reminder that we hear following the consecration at every Mass: 

        Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away this sin of the world! (Jn. 1:29) 

The extraordinary God comes to us under the ordinary auspices of bread and wine, by the power of his Word. The bread of heaven and the cup of salvation are now part of our ordinary circumstances. And though we may have witnessed this time and time again, it is anything but ordinary.

Read it all.