March Winds and April Showers

“MARCH WINDS AND APRIL SHOWERS” - A REFLECTION FOR EASTER MONDAY

A few mornings ago, as I was walking the grounds of Villa St. Joseph, our Ecology and Spirituality Centre on the shores of Lake Ontario in Cobourg, I realized that despite the persistent cold there was a hint of Spring in the air and in my footsteps too! Suddenly, I was reminded of the predictable words of my mother as Spring approached, “March winds and April showers bring forth sweet May flowers”; a traditional English proverb dating back centuries. The literal sense of the proverb refers to the necessity of the cold winds of March and the rains of April (typical early Spring weather in the U.K. and in Western Canada especially) for the moist conditions in the soil necessary for the growth of the fresh flowers of May.

The phrase is often used to encourage those experiencing temporary hardship of the possibility of better times ahead. It has been expressed in various ways, including music. An example is the song, composed in 1935, by Walter G. Samuels and performed, in typical music hall fashion, by American singer, Ruth Ettings. The song and the various articulations of the proverb imply that growth and transformation can result from a certain dying, struggle and rising cycle – a cycle that points to hope and new life. The whole process as we experience seasonal change and as we celebrate the beautiful hope of Easter reminds us that the Paschal Mystery is writ large in the natural world and has been from the very beginning of God’s creation.

The Paschal Mystery encompasses the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, just celebrated with gratitude and joy in our churches. That mystery is revealed and echoed in nature as a cosmic pattern of life, death and renewal. We are aware of it as we plant Spring seeds with hope for a flowering yet to come. In nature and in faith we can begin to grasp the life and promise that arises in patient waiting for “the gifts of God for the people of God” as the Anglican a book of Alternative Services reminds us. In both faith and in nature we see a revelation of divinity - the divinity of the risen Christ and of the emergent pattern of hope in the natural world. In both we discover an invitation to touch God – to enter fully into the sufferings, joys and beauty of the world. In it all we are called to lifelong transformation.  

The Jesuit priest and paleontologist, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955) put this beautifully when he wrote in his great Hymn of the Universe: “Bathe yourself in the ocean of matter; plunge into it where it is deepest; struggle in its currents and drink of its waters. For it cradled you long ago in your pre-conscious existence, and it is that ocean that will raise you up to God.”

May we be raised up to God and encounter joy, hope and rejoicing in the emerging world of Spring as we continue to celebrate together the great season of promise beginning this Easter Monday!

-Sister Mary Rowell, CSJ

Images: Sabbra Cadabra/Photogitthi/RODOLFO BARRETTO | Unsplash

An Easter Message from the Sisters of St. Joseph in Canada

This Easter, we share a blessing that speaks to renewal, wonder, and the sacred connections that hold us all together—with each other and with the world around us.

On this day

the blessings of heaven.

On this day

the blessings of earth.

On this day

the blessings of sea and of sky.

To open us to life

to ground us in life

to fill us with life

and with wonder.

On those we love this day

and on every human family

the blessings of heaven

the blessings of earth

the blessings of sea and of sky.

- Easter Greetings by John Philip Newell

May you be blessed with wonder this Easter as you greet the Resurrection….and may the blessing of peace be upon our world.

- The Sisters of St. Joseph in Canada -

Image courtesy of Unsplash

As Morning Breaks...

I received an email from a friend in the United States two days ago.

Some days I awake, simply ready for the new day. Other times, like today, I wake up feeling “old” or a certain fatigue. For sure the terrible stuff going on in the country and world are part of it. A sense of how long it will take before the “new” begins to reveal itself. So many conflicting values are still in the way.

Yesterday, early morning, the sky did its ordinary magic colouring the sky in pinks and fuschias.

Today, everything is blanketed in thick fog with no noticeable sign of lifting.

This pattern of sun and sky seems to mirror my friend’s personal human experience. And this alternating experience is common to us all. In fact, we might say that it helps us know we belong to each other. More deeply, we belong to earth.

I am reminded of a hymn that we sing on Holy Saturday, that “hold one’s collective breath” day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday in the Christian tradition. That immobile space between tragedy and hope. The words of the hymn go like this:

As morning breaks

I look to you

I look to you O God, to be my strength this day

As morning breaks.

Perhaps this moment of our experience on the planet also calls us to look to each other to be our strength this day. Perhaps we can also look to sun and sky, to river and ocean to be our strength this day. Perhaps in these discouraging days, we are more surrounded by what might give us strength than we have imagined.

As morning breaks…

-Sister Margo Ritchie, CSJ

IMAGE: Zetong Li/Unsplash

Good Friday: A Different Way of Seeing

Why Do We Call Good Friday “Good”? A Different Way of Seeing?

Every year, the question returns: If Good Friday remembers the suffering and death of Jesus, what exactly makes it “good”?

A quick search offers the traditional answer—Christians believe Jesus’ death was a necessary sacrifice that brought salvation, forgiveness, and reconciliation. It is called “good” because it leads to the hope of Easter.

And yet, for some, that explanation raises a deeper and more uncomfortable question: Does a loving God really require the death of a son?

For me, that idea doesn’t sit easily. A God who gives life, who nurtures and loves unconditionally—would that same God desire suffering and death? It’s hard to reconcile those images.

This question isn’t just theological—it’s deeply human. I think of my own family. When my brother died in a car accident at sixteen, my parents certainly didn’t see any “necessity” in his death. They grieved the loss of a vibrant life, full of promise and goodness. Love does not will loss. Love longs for life.

So perhaps Good Friday invites us to look again—not at a required sacrifice, but at a profound tragedy.

It is the day we remember the death of a man who lived with a bold vision: a world where love, justice, and harmony were possible. Jesus spent his life embodying that vision—healing, forgiving, including, and proclaiming a deep and unwavering love of God. And for living that way, he was rejected.

“He came to his own, and his own did not accept him.” (John 1:11)

Good Friday, then, becomes not a celebration of suffering, but a moment of honest grief. A recognition of what happens when love confronts fear, when truth meets resistance, when goodness is misunderstood.

And yet—even in his dying, Jesus revealed something extraordinary. Not vengeance. Not despair. But forgiveness:

“Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing.”

“Today you will be with me in paradise.”

In these final words, we see the heart of His life’s message. Not that suffering is required—but that love remains possible, even in suffering. That forgiveness can rise, even in the face of violence.

Perhaps that is where the “good” begins to emerge.

Not in the death itself, but in the way He lived—and the way He died. A gentle life ended by violence. A life of love that refused to become hate, even at the end.

Good Friday may not be “good” in the way we often define it. But it is true. It reveals both the worst and the best of humanity. And it leaves us with a calling:

To live as He lived.
To love as He loved.
To become, in our own imperfect ways, embodiments of that same compassion and courage.

Maybe the only “necessity” in Good Friday is this stark contrast—between a life rooted in love and a death marked by violence.

And in that contrast, we are invited to choose again what kind of world we will help create.

-Sister Kathleen Lichti, CSJ

Image: Wim van 't Einde/Unsplash