She descended into hell – in thirty years, she rose from the dead.

Today was different. You could see it in her eyes.

This was about the fifth of our sessions on the women’s unit at the jail on healing life’s hurts. Julie had spent the last 30 years in and out of jail. Until today, Julie was the joker in the group, making everyone laugh, coming out with the one-liners, no matter how serious the topic.

But not today. 

She walked in, turned her chair so that her back was toward us, and she said she was ready.

Dead silence. 

And then, in a slow, keening wail - she started. “He was two.  His name was Joey. I loved him so much.”

Haltingly, between huge sobs and gulps of breath, she shared that when she came home from work that day, she ran in as always, and hugged and kissed him and told him how much she missed him. She had been to the drycleaners on her way home, so she hung up her newly cleaned jacket, and went to get a cup of coffee. Her younger sister had been babysitting him while she was at work.

It was her sister who came in to the kitchen to tell her – Joey was not breathing.

After racing to his room, the awful realization immediately sunk in – Joey was dead!

He had suffocated on the plastic bag from the drycleaners which Julie had casually thrown on the bed.

In an instant, her life changed.  From that moment on, she said, nothing else mattered. She had killed her own son – she couldn’t get it out of her mind – ever!  The torture was more than she could bear. The only time she could ever forget, even momentarily, was when she was blitzed out on alcohol.

And then she discovered drugs – even better!  It lasted longer.  And so began her 30 year descent – in and out of jail – in and out of reality.  She didn’t care – there was no reason to live anyway.  She had never, ever told a single soul what had happened that day. She never, ever talked about it.

Until today. She cried loud, heaving sobs and all the other inmates cried with her.  They held her in loving, understanding silence. 

Julie was released from jail shortly after that – she has never returned. That was three years ago.  I’m rooting for you, Julie.  Happy Easter

Irene Baker, CSJ

A Reflection for the 4th Sunday of Lent

In the first reading from Joshua, Chapter 5, God tells us that he has “rolled away the disgrace of Egypt”. In the Gospel we hear the story of the Father who welcomed back the son who had disgraced his family and the older brother who resented the Father's love and forgiveness. This section is often mistitled The Prodigal Son, when it is really all about the Father. Also in Paul's letter to the Corinthians, we are reminded that we have been reconciled to God in and through Christ Jesus. Why is it that we can’t seem to really believe it is true when we say “The Word of the Lord”?

In today’s readings we hear about a God who loves us and always wants us to come back and is willing and waiting to take us back. So what does it mean to me that God loves me that much? How am I to live this passionate love in my life? 

Each one of us will have a different answer, but I believe that if I can truly get my head and heart around the fact that God loves me and wants me to love each person I meet, then what do I need to leave behind as the younger son did? What do I have to accept in community, in Church, in life to celebrate with those who “come home”? How can I welcome and accept each person I meet as one who is the Presence of God for me?               

Some of us are called to be prophets to speak God’s Truth. Some of us can do this only in prayer and in how we live each moment in Love and Gratitude. God of Love and Compassion, help me to hear your Word and live it each moment so others may become aware of you through my life. 

Anne Rajotte, CSJ

Transfiguration

Did you know that it is the intense heat of a forest fire that releases the seeds of the pine cone so that new growth can take place?

. . . tall, black tree trunks scarred from fire, delicately outlined with fresh, white snow,

. . . the lush green of the forest floor in the spring following a fire,

. . . the pinkish, purple blossoms of the fireweed plant growing in the spaces left vacant by fire,

These are the images I see as I drive along our highway and roads after two intense summers of forest fires. These are transfiguration moments for me.

As I reflect on the encounters I have had in the past few months, they speak of transfiguration.

. . . from two seven year old children in First Communion class, one sharing her time when she talks with Jesus and the light in her heart as he speaks to her and the other child telling of seeing Jesus, authentic, true, transforming

. . . to the man who asked if I would come with him to a telehealth conference call….holding his anxiety

. . . to the Inuit woman sitting on my living-room floor sharing for the first time her story of pain, trauma and abuse, she being transformed in the telling, me being transformed in the holding of story

. . . to keeping vigil with my dying friend and eventually being able to say “It is okay to go”

In this second week of Lent, Jesus invites us to go up the mountain with him. He had a conversation with Moses and Elijah about his imminent death. Yet, in the intensity of that conversation, new life, glory is proclaimed by the Father.

What conversation will Jesus have with you, with me? What transfiguration moments do I recognize each day?

Margaret Ann Beaudette, CSJ

Reflection on Flint Water Crisis

It is not unusual for a group, to want “to do something” after a disaster. We want to help, heal, reduce pain, bring relief, and some balance through song, because our desires are deep and well-intended, loving gestures. At the same time, our intention “to act”, “to do” something, invites me to look deeper, “to wonder”, and ask the question, what might this situation be saying to me personally. What are the energies moving within me? How might such pain, loss, confusion, be also leading me personally to greater transformation?  

We can “do” but can we also allow ourselves “to be”, to feel the monumental pain of mothers with children, to grieve imperfections of our society and civic leaders involved in this horrific situation of toxic lead in the Flint water supply? Does this crises move me towards greater wholeness, oneness with others and self?  We do change and that is the paradox and mystery of pain.

Perhaps there is a challenge here. Can I listen to details of this tragedy without adding more waves of violence, anger and blame into our universe and towards others? Can I/we hold all the confusion and pain lovingly without judgement? There is no doubt in my mind that Divine presence is around us and within us, bursting forth in ways we cannot imagine, holding the pieces and threads of our groans, and us, intimately, in this darkness. Beatrice Bruteau in Holy Thursday Revolution, urges us “to exercise our imaginations to offset pessimism and despair”. In this situation as in so many other environmental disasters, consciousness expands bringing together new relationships and sculpting a new creation. At this moment it may not be clear, but in time, maybe hundreds or thousands of years from now, this water crises may be understood as related primitive roots of a new birthing. 

These are the energies I hold, the connections I make, and the new picture I paint. Seeking stillness. Open to a mindful presence. I like to believe that we as people, personally and collectively are evolving just like the original birthing of the universe and planet earth itself. According to Hildegard of Bingen, “God has arranged everything in the universe according to everything else”. Everything in creation is not perfectly shaped and beautiful, in fact it is as we have experienced before, it is both messy and Mystery.  We are on a journey, still unfolding.

Pat St. Louis, CSJ

Psalms of Lament in the Desert of Our Lives

During this Lenten season, as we reflect on Jesus’ time in the wilderness, we may recall our own times of inner emptiness. How often the Beloved weeps with compassion over those who are in deep sorrow and pain. God is ever ready to lighten our heavy hearts and to ease our burdens.

As I fondly remember my brother, John, on the anniversary of his sudden death, I present to you a psalm-prayer that I composed to help me put into words the anguish of my own grief. Over time, I have experienced that God has yet again raised us up and has not let our fears overwhelm us. 

Out of the depths of my being I cry aloud to You!

God, in your compassion, hear my sorrowful lament!

Let your heart be moved by your attentive listening to the voice of my anguished supplications.

To You I pour out my soul!

Our family knows of your steadfast love and faithful presence, Gracious One!

In the storms of our lives, You have been our refuge from one generation to the next.

We, your children, have found shelter and strength in your nurturing embrace.

For You alone are able to put our fears to rest, and transform them into peace.

As I ponder the mystery of life and death, I remember your Word: “Whatever the measure of our days; our life passes as a blinking of an eye! For the gift of life fades too soon away, yet how precious we are in your sight!”

John’s life among us was a cherished treasure from You. John is yours! His spirit has now been set free to soar as he is welcomed by You into new, unending life! Comforter of the widow and orphan, console John’s young wife and their children. Encircle them with your healing Light and enfold them in Your Love.

Indwelling God, we cried for help and You revealed your abiding presence to us. We will forever offer You songs of praise and thanksgiving!

You may find it helpful to compose a psalm-prayer for yourself to express your own experience(s). Use your own method or check out the this PDF “How to Write A Psalm”

Kathy O'Keefe, CSJ