Goodbyes are rarely easy. As a child, I had difficulty in leaving places and people I liked. As an adult, I know the familiar feeling of gratitude swelling in my heart and tears welling up behind my eyes when it comes time to part ways with those I love or to end an experience that has been enriching.
In Horizons, younger sisters reflect on their lives, ministries, spirituality and the future of religious life.
On a visit to the farm, I saw the value of my cousins' lived reality. I believe in their goodness and trust their judgment. Likely, we don't agree on everything, but we are family, and nothing will change that.
During a May Day march with immigrants, workers and allies, I knew the tension between the suffering that often goes along with the work of upholding human dignity and the graces we receive from God in the midst of it all.
I was happy that my students had agreed to go on a retreat focused on social justice and service. But I had not given much thought to the issue of diversity, of who would be on the retreat with them.
The Somali family of 11 arrived to us on a Friday afternoon in early April. We watched in wonder as person after person climbed out of the hefty Catholic Charities van amid grocery bags and beat-up suitcases. Peering into their bright eyes as we welcomed them, I knew that something beautiful and unforgettable was happening.
I was walking a path that thousands have walked for hundreds of years, moving among other religious people who put their fidelity into motion. There, among all those expressions of faith, I realized I wasn’t so sure what faith was.
I have a confession to make. I believe in the positive power of government to promote the common good. Yes, that's right, 100 days into the new administration, amid an ongoing toxic political debate with drastic budget cuts on the horizon that will negatively impact people on the margins who are already struggling, I still believe in we the people.
"All I want is for Easter to come," a friend said to me last week. Bring on the Resurrection. Come on, new life. Yet as the Easter octave rolls on, I wonder to myself where that life is leading.
Good Friday — the day we commemorate the execution of Jesus. This year our commemoration reminds me of a quote from Meister Eckert about Christmas. In essence, Eckert asked what good it is for us that Jesus was born 2,000 years ago if he is not also born in us each day — for the Son of God always needs to be born.
I venture to say Wilson, a migrant from Guatemala, knows the Passion story in his bones. While the rhetoric in our country would condemn him as a criminal, I see that he is Jesus.