Author: Christine Jordan

Dear Friends,

On behalf of Frs. Pius and Jacob I want to wish you a Merry Christmas!  I want to begin with a little bit of Church history.  Back in the 7^th century there was within the Church a group of people who wanted to get rid of all works of art that decorated Churches.  No more art in our Churches!  They especially wanted to remove all artistic representations of Jesus.  It was idol worship, they said, to have a painting or statue of Jesus grace the altar of a Church, it was idol worship.  This group of people who wanted nothing to do with art in Churches were called iconoclasts. 

And the Church responded emphatically saying “NO” to the iconoclasts.  It is entirely proper to make an artistic representation of Jesus.   His humanity is real.  Jesus is the image of the Father and for the first time in the history of humanity we have an accurate image of God.  And because of his true humanity, He like any other human can be portrayed artistically.  St. John Damascene of that time put it this way, “I am a man and I occupy a body, and I want to deal in a bodily fashion with the things that are Holy, and I want to look at them!”  I want to look at those things which are holy and beautiful.

“I want to look at them!”  Have you ever had an experience of beauty; maybe you met someone with great inner beauty, or listened to a beautiful piece of music or viewed an exquisite work of art or maybe you even had this happen upon viewing a breathtaking scene of nature.  Have you ever had an experience of beauty and in that beauty, were you moved by an awareness of something more; or better yet someone more.  Beauty can move us to go beyond what is taken in by our senses.  Beauty can move us to go beyond what is seen, touched, heard, tasted, or even smelled.     There is more here than what I see, hear, or touch.  Beauty can move us to go beyond and reach out to the One and only Creator of all the beauty that surrounds us.  God uses beauty to reach out to us.  The natural beauty of this church decorated for Christmas is meant to draw our heats, minds, and souls to the supernatural beauty of Heaven. 

St. Jerome of the 4^th century would often meditate on the Child Jesus.  He had a great devotion to the Child Jesus.  And in that devotion, he would contemplate often the birth of Jesus in the stable of Bethlehem.  So great was this devotion that St. Jerome moved to Bethlehem.  He wanted to be close to the birthplace of Jesus.  He wanted to look at and touch the birthplace of Jesus.  He lived in a cave right next to the cave where Jesus was born.  He even received as a gift the manger that Jesus was laid in after he was born. 

St. Jerome would sleep with his head resting in the manger.  He would lay the manger on its side, put his head in, and go to sleep. He meditated often on the rough simple beauty of that manger, and it lifted his heart to heaven. St. Jerome once said, “Nothing can draw me away from the Manger of Jesus.  There is for me no better place on earth.  It’s the very place which God gave to me, His Son from Heaven.”  

One time in a mystical moment of prayer St. Jerome said to the child Jesus, “Oh, Jesus how you tremble!  How hard is your bed for the sake of my salvation!  How shall I ever repay you?” 

And in that mystical moment the Holy Child replies, “From you Jerome, I ask only the song, Glory to God in the Highest!  Let that be enough for you.” 

But St. Jerome is not satisfied he says, “Dear little Jesus, I must give you something.  Let me give you all my wealth.” 

And Jesus the Holy Child replies, “From the beginning the Heavens and the Earth are mine.  I do not need your treasures.  Give them to the poor.  I shall receive that as if you had done it to me.” 

And St. Jerome replies, “Dear little Jesus, this I shall do, and do it gladly, but I must also give you something, something just for you, or I shall die of sorrow.”

And Jesus the Holy Child replies, “Dear Jerome, since you are so generous of heart, I will tell you what you may give to me.  Give me your sins!”

And a puzzled St. Jerome asks, “What will you do with my sins?”

The Child Jesus replies, “I want to take them upon my shoulders.  This shall be my glory, and my glorious deed, as Isaiah once said, that I shall take your sins upon myself and carry them away.” 

At this St. Jerome begins to cry saying, “O, Child, dear, Holy Child, how deeply you have touched my heart!  I thought you wanted something good, but you want everything in me which is bad!  Oh, take what is mine! Give me what is Yours!”

St. Jerome said to the child Jesus, “Take what is mine! Give me what is yours!”  This is the great Christmas exchange.  God became man so that we might become God.  We give to Jesus our humanity and in return He gives us His Divinity.  The entire purpose of the Christian life is not simply to make us better people, but to make us divine, to conform us to a participation the very life of the Blessed Trinity.  We will not be mere spectators in Heaven; we will live within the midst of the love of the Trinity.  God became man that we might become God. 

St. Jerome began his prayer by meditating on the simple rough beauty of a manger.  He looked at the manger and in that experience of beauty he was drawn into the supernatural beauty of a future Heaven that awaited him. 

At that first Christmas 2022 years ago, and every day since, God has been making a proposal to you, He wants you.  Through his son Jesus he is saying to each one of you: “You give me your humanity, I will give you, my divinity.  You give me your time; I will give you eternity.  You give me the bonds that tie you down; I will give you, my omnipotence. You give me your slavery; I will give you, my freedom.  You give me your death; I will give you, my life.  You give me your nothingness; I will give you my all.”

Merry Christmas!

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

St. Maximilian Kolbe was a Polish priest, born near the end of the 19th century. He was a brilliant Franciscan; he had earned two doctorates by the age of 25. He did missionary work in Japan. He used technology in every possible way to spread the gospel. He founded a city in Poland dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary and over 800 monks lived there, many of them drawn by his example of joy and holiness. In 1941 he was arrested by the Nazis and sent to Auschwitz. The Nazis, it’s often forgotten, not only hated the Jewish people, but they also hated Christians. As the prisoners entered this hell on earth they were welcomed with this message: “You have not come to a sanitarium but to a Nazi concentration camp, from which there is no other exit except the crematorium. If there are Jews here, they do not have a right to live more than two weeks. If there are priests, they can live a month; the others, three months.”

In late July of 1941, a prisoner escaped somehow from the camp, or at least went missing and was never found. As punishment the commandant said that ten people from the cellblock out of which the man escaped would be executed by being locked inside a starvation bunker under the ground. The commandant had the prisoners stand at attention most of the day and then finally began walking through the lines picking the condemned. The tenth man he selected began to cry out, “Goodbye, goodbye, my dear wife! Goodbye, my dear children.” At this the unthinkable happened. Kolbe stepped out of the line and walked in front of the SS commandant, who said to him, “What does this Polish pig want?” Kolbe answered, “I am a Polish priest; I want to take his place because he has a wife and children.” And the commandant agreed to let Kolbe take the man’s place, a man who survived Auschwitz and was reunited with his family.

And so Kolbe, who was 47 at the time, was placed with the nine others condemned into the concrete starvation bunker to die. But an odd thing happened in that bunker. Out of it, heard both by the prisoners in the camp and the SS guards, came singing. In the middle of this place, a hell on earth, Kolbe was leading the others in prayer and song. So annoying did this become for the Nazis that after two weeks of this they finally entered the bunker and executed Kolbe by a lethal injection.

Now I bring up St. Maximilian today be-cause he is, I think, a more recent and pow-erful example of St. Paul and of his words to us in the entrance antiphon. St. Paul says to us, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice! Have no anxiety at all.” Now these may not be easy words to hear especially if we’ve lost a job, or we are worrying about the next house payment, or we are about to approach the holidays for the first time after the death of a loved one, or we are helping someone going through chemotherapy and all the hardships entailed with that, or maybe we’re going through that ourselves. Or maybe it’s something else entirely that makes us anxious, this pandemic maybe? We might be tempted to say to St. Paul, “Maybe if you knew the suffering I’m going through, or if you were in a situation like mine, you wouldn’t say words like “Rejoice!” And “Have no anxiety at all.” Come on St. Paul!

But when St. Paul wrote these words of rejoice and have no anxiety, he was sitting in a prison cell. Like Kolbe in that starvation bunker, Paul was confined to an under-ground prison when he wrote this. And just as Kolbe was able, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to sing hymns in Auschwitz, so Paul could say in prison awaiting his own execution, “Rejoice!”

How? Today’s Third Sunday of Advent, known as Gaudete Sunday, is all focused on joy. But Paul and Kolbe and all the saints powerfully remind us that joy isn’t dependent on and doesn’t come from the particular circumstance I find myself in whether that’s being in a concentration camp, prison, out of work, struggling with cancer, or having difficulties in my marriage. And neither Paul nor Kolbe were under the illusion God was going to swoop in and rescue them and “make it all better.” No. Their joy, their real joy, was rooted in what God had already done in their lives and for all the world, and in what He has said will happen when either He returns or I die, whichever comes first.

So, what has He done that causes such joy? There are three things. First, He has “Removed the judgment against us.” Our Lord forgives, we can repent, our past does not define us, our past does not define us when we come to Him in repentance in the sacrament of reconciliation. Second, “He has turned away our enemies. He has destroyed the hellish power of Satan and of death. Death has been conquered and lost its sting. There is now a divine hand to reach out to us in death. Third, He “Is in our midst,” as the prophet Zephaniah puts it. Or, in Paul’s words, “He is near.” He is near in the sense that He is always with us, always offering us the grace we need for whatever situation we’re in. And He is near in the sense that His return is closer than it was yesterday. We’re nearer today to going home than we were last year or five years ago or ten years ago. And these truths that forgiveness is there for the asking, that death’s power has been destroyed, and that God is both with us now, no matter the situation and will bring us home if we stay close is the cause of our joy, that nothing, not anxiety, not distress, not persecution, not the sword, and not even a starvation bunker in Auschwitz, can shake.

As we draw nearer to Christmas, may God help us all better understand what He has done for us. And may our joy draw others to Him.

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

All of us have experienced pessimistic moments.  Sometimes we experience pessimism because no matter what we do we can’t seem to avoid suffering; painful things just keep happening to us and those we love.  Sometimes we experience discouragement because we can’t seem to avoid sin; we just keep falling into the same patterns of greed, lust, impatience, and laziness.  Sometimes we experience cynicism when we look at society and see so much that is wrong, so much injustice, degradation, and violence.  Maybe even sometimes thinking, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” 

Today, as we start the Second week of Advent, God has something to say about this pessimism, discouragement, and cynicism.  He is saying to us: pessimism, discouragement, cynicism will all come knocking at your door, but don’t let them in!  Do not let yourself be afraid, because I am your Lord and Savior.   I have not forgotten you!

This is the message of the Gospel, where we hear St John the Baptist’s voice ring out with hope in the wilderness of pessimism: the Lord is coming!

This is the message of Isaiah, who preaches comfort to God’s sinful people, reminding them that he is like a shepherd who gathers the lambs of his flock (us) in his arms.

This is the message of the Second Reading: even if it seems that God is absent, and has forgotten us, we know that he is simply waiting for the right moment to send in his grace.  St Peter reminds us, that for God, a thousand years are like a day, and a day is like a thousand years; what seems like a long wait for us is just the blink of an eye.  Advent is our yearly reminder that God has not forgotten us, no matter how we may feel.  He has not forgotten us.  In fact, he never stops thinking of us, and he is leading us with great care to our everlasting reward.  This is something we can trust.  Now sometimes we lack trust in God.  It’s what pains him the most, our lack of trust.  In the spiritual life this is something we can pray for.   We can always pray for an increase in trust;  because there’s always room for us to grow in trust.  And we look to Jesus as our example of one who prays with trust. 

The Gospels tell us that Jesus prayed the Psalms as he hung upon the Cross.  St. Matthew and St. Mark record the opening verse

of Psalm 22, “My God My god why have you forsaken me?”  And St. Luke records that Jesus also prayed, “Father into your hands I commend my Spirit” (Luke 23:46).  This was his last statement before he breathed his last.  This too is from a Psalm, Psalm 31.  This is a prayer of trust in God’s protection.  This psalm speaks of the suffering of one striving to be faithful to God and about the confidence with which he entrust himself to God’s protection.  Jesus placed his trust in the Father’s care. 

Every night before bed those who pray the breviary pray this same prayer of trust, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!”  “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!”  This is our prayer of trust.  Borrowing our Lord’s own words we can also make this our prayer when things get hard. 

St. Francis Xavier Cabrini lived this prayer.  She is the first Canonized U.S. citizen.  There were many roadblocks and setbacks in her life, a lot of stress, yet Mother Cabrini trusted.   Born in 1850, she was the 13^th child born into a farming family.  She was born 2 months pre-mature, and she was small and weak as a child.   Her health remained fragile for the rest of her life. 

From an early age Frances felt called to religious life particularly that of a missionary.  She wanted to bring the Catholic faith to China.  As a child she would make boats out of paper and fill them with flowers.  The flowers were her missionary priests and sisters.  She would set the boats free into a river, sending her missionaries off to China.  She once fell into the water at the age of 7, almost drowning.  From then on, she was deathly afraid of open water.  Yet throughout her life she crossed the ocean over 2 dozen times.  So, she prayed, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!” 

Frances was educated at a school run by the Daughters of the Sacred Heart.  She graduated with a teaching certificate and received the highest honors.  She wanted to join their order, but they turned her away because of her poor health.  So, she prayed, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!”

Knowing of her credentials a priest asked her to come and teach at an orphanage for girls.  She and the other teachers formed their own religious community.  After a few years of working and praying together they made vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience and they began to wear a habit.  They became The Missionary sisters of the Sacred Heart.  They cared for children in schools and hospitals.  In 5 years, they had 7 homes, a school, and a nursery.  She went to Pope Leo XIII to see if he would allow her to go to China.  It was her lifelong dream. 

But the Pope told her no, you go to the USA instead.  Not to the East but to the West!  So again, she prayed, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!”  On March 31, 1889, Frances arrived in New York City with 6 other sisters.  They were there to serve the growing number of Italian immigrants.  However, the house promised her was not available and the Bishop told her to go back to Italy.  We don’t need you.  So, she prayed, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit!”  She soon found housing and they were able to start running their first orphanage.  Over the years Mother Cabrini was faced with great difficulties and impossibilities.  But she had a deep trust in God’s providence.  And God continually sent her many resources and he worked through her deep prayer life and her natural gifts to bring about much good. 

After 35 years of caring for the poor, Mother Cabrini had founded 67 institutions.  These were orphanages, schools, and hospitals.  She died at the age of 67 in Chicago on December 22, 1917.  Mother Cabrini is a powerful example of trust.  Pope Pius XII said this at her canonization, “In the face of endless cares and anxieties of life, she never let anything turn her aside from striving and aiming to please God and to work for His glory for which nothing, aided by God’s grace, seemed too laborious, or difficult, or beyond human strength.”

One aspect of this season of Advent is to remind us that God has not forgotten us. So, when a cross or a roadblock comes our way and we are tempted to say “My God my God why have you forsaken me?”  Let us remember our Lord and his saint St. Francis Xavier Cabrini and pray with the same trust, “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit.”  “Into your hands Lord I commend my spirit.” 

Peace and all good,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

Happy New Year, the first Sunday of Advent marks the beginning of a new Church year.  This year we’ll be reading from the Gospel of Mark.  Advent is a season that directs the mind and heart to await our Lord’s coming at Christmas but also our Lord’s Second coming at the end of time.  It’s supposed to be a period to heighten our devout and joyful expectation.   Now during this season of Advent we sing one of the most beautiful hymns, “O Come O Come Emmanuel.”  The word Emmanuel means God with us.  The next two lines of this hymn are, “And ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here.”

Centuries ago, travel was very dangerous, especially if you were wealthy.  Criminals preyed upon the rich.  If they could the criminals would capture them and hold them for ransom, usually holding them and hiding them away in a foreign country.  And there they were, in this foreign country, captive, and exiled, and waiting and watching, and hoping, hoping that someone might pay for their release.

“O Come O Come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here.”

We too, like Israel, are in exile; we live in a foreign country, we are on a pilgrimage through a foreign land, because Heaven is our true homeland.  Heaven is the place where we belong.  We were made for it.  And we too are held captive, captive to sin and captive to powers alien to God.  And so, in our captive exile we hope and we wait, and we watch.

“Until the Son of God Appear.”

I have a story.  In Scotland in the 1600s Catholics were persecuted, both priests and laity had to flee the country or go into hiding to avoid imprisonment or even death.  One day a Bishop wanted to explore his diocese to see who was left of his flock, and to see how they were faring.  And so there he was walking from village to village in the mountains, dressed like a poor farmer to escape capture.  It was winter, and as the sun went down, he became lost among the snow-covered hills.  Almost exhausted with wandering, he finally saw a dim light in the distance, and made his way towards it.  It was a poor cottage on the edge of the woods; he knocked on the door.  The family welcomed him, warmed him at their fire, and prepared him some food.  He didn’t see any crucifix or image of Mary in the house, so he concluded they weren’t Catholic.  They were extremely kind and hospitable, and as he ate their delicious food, they conversed politely and pleasantly.  He didn’t bring up the topic of religion.

As the Bishop sat there he noticed that the family seemed sad underneath their good-natured hospitality.  And so he asked about this, and the mother explained that in the back room, on a bed of straw her father lay dying, but he refused to admit it, and so he was not preparing himself well for death.  The visitor offered to speak with him, and he was led to the back room.  Sure enough, the old man lay there, feeble and clearly dying.  The bishop offered words of sympathy, but the old man seemed to regain strength and said, “No sir, I am not yet going to die.  That is impossible.”  The disguised bishop asked why he was so sure, and after hemming and hawing, the old man asked quietly if the visitor was Catholic.

Assured that he was, the dying man gave this explanation.  “I also am a Catholic.  From the day of my first Communion until now I have never failed even for a single day to pray to Our Blessed Lady for the grace of not dying without first having a priest at my bedside to hear my confession and give me the Last Sacraments.”  “Now sir, do you think that my heavenly Mother will not hear me?  Impossible! So I am not going to die till some priest comes to visit me.”  Tears rolled down the bishop’s face as he realized that he was God’s faithful answer to this man’s humble and confident prayer.  The old man, in a faithful Advent spirit, hoped and waited, and watched.  And our God was faithful to him and ransomed him from his captivity.  Sending him his longed-for priest to give him the sacraments.

Our God is a faithful God.  He fulfills his promises.  God didn’t abandon the human race after the Original Sin.  He promised to send a Savior, and he fulfilled his promise on the very first Christmas.  And God has also promised that this Savior, Jesus Christ, will come again to bring our earthly exile to its completion, just as he brought his Chosen people out of their exile.  God is faithful, he will keep his promises.  And with his grace we too can be faithful.  Just like that old man in Scotland.

St. Paul from our second reading writes, “He will keep you firm to the end, irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.  God is faithful, and by him you were called to fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.”

And now for the last line of our hymn’s first verse, “Rejoice!  Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.”

Let us be great Saints,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

Flannery O’Connor was a devout Southern Catholic writer living in the heart of the Bible belt.  Even though she died in 1964 at the age of 39 she is still an important voice to American literature.   Her writing in some way or another always reflected her Roman Catholic faith, especially the theme of grace.  She would say, “Grace changes us and change is painful.” 

In 1950 when she was just beginning to blossom into one of the greatest Catholic writers of the twentieth century, she was invited to a fancy dinner party with the prominent author Mary McCarthy.  There were a few other intellectual and literary figures at this dinner table and there was no question that Flannery O’Connor was the junior member of this elite circle of conversation.   In a letter describing the scene O’Connor once wrote, “Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them.”   As the evening drew on, the talk turned to the Eucharist, and Mary McCarthy, who had been raised Catholic but had fallen away from the church, remarked that she thought of the Eucharist as a symbol and implied that it was a “pretty good one.”  She most likely intended this condescending observation as a friendly overture to the Catholic O’Connor.  But O’Connor responded in a shaky voice, “Well, if it’s only a symbol, to hell with it.”  One can only imagine that the elegant dinner party broke up rather soon after that conversational bomb shell was dropped.  In its bluntness, clarity, and directness, Flannery O’Connor’s remark is one of the best statements of the Catholic difference regarding the Eucharist.  For us the Eucharist is the body and blood of Jesus, our King, and any attempt to say otherwise, no matter how cleverly formulated or smartly expressed is insufficient.  The Eucharist is our King.

On this Solemnity of Christ, the King we recognize that our King is not like other rulers, or presidents.  We genuflect to a king who voluntarily resides in a tabernacle as a divine prisoner. Our tabernacle even has a little crown on top of it.  Our king is a humble king who reveals himself to us in the infant child of Bethlehem, in the poor carpenter of Nazareth, in the humble preacher of Galilee, in the crucified one of Calvary, in the tiny host of the tabernacle, and in the least of our brothers and sisters, the poorest of the poor.  Our humble king is also a king who serves and gives himself freely.  And he asks the same of us.    This is how we will be judged.

A kingdom usually takes on the characteristics of its king and we have many examples throughout history, but I want to focus on a few kingdoms the first being 13^th century France under the leadership of King Louis IX.  Louis excelled in prayer and penance and his love for the poor.  While ruling his kingdom he not only sought peace among his people, he also sought their spiritual welfare.  He made sure that they were not only housed and fed but that they were also cared for spiritually, building churches, making sure all people had access to mass and the sacraments.  Before dying he wrote a letter to his son giving advice.  He wrote, “\Thank God always, pray to the Lord devoutly, be kindhearted to the poor and afflicted, be just to your subjects, side with the poor until the truth is known, and be obedient and devout to our mother the Church.”  During King Louis’ time there was peace and a flowering of the church.  He made the Kingdom of God known throughout his land.

The second kingdom is 16^th century England under the leadership of King Henry VIII.  History books say that Henry’s public persona was seen as harsh and egotistical.  It is said that Henry remained Catholic in his beliefs but in the ultimate quest for a son to succeed him, he had to separate his kingdom from the Church, he married six times, dissolved monasteries, destroyed churches, confiscated their land, and executed those who disagreed him (St. Thomas More, St. John Fisher).  During King Henry’s time there was distrust, and the church went into hiding.   He obscured the Kingdom of God throughout his land.

The third kingdom is the kingdom that supersedes all kingdoms and that is the Kingdom of God.   The Church gave us this Solemnity of Christ the King back in 1925.  This was the time of the aftermath of World War I and Europe witnessed a swelling tide of secularism and skepticism about God’s existence.  This trend was accompanied by a rising interest in fascism and communism.  In attempts to stem this dark tide, the Church held up the image of Christ, the true King. A king who is just but also merciful reigning from the throne of a cross.  

The Church feared that a people without the hope of God’s Kingdom would instead place their hope in fascism and communism kingdoms far less just and far less merciful.  Government does not save.

As a people who hope in God’s kingdom it’s our responsibility to make that kingdom evident wherever we go.  We take on the characteristics of our King and show the world that Christ is our king and that we bring his kingdom wherever we go.  So we not only give food and drink to the hungry but we also give them the knowledge of being known, of being someone to someone.  We not only clothe the naked with coats but we also clothe them with dignity and respect seeing that they too are made in the image and likeness of God.    We not only house the homeless but we house them with care.  Do we go out to meet the needy?  Do we know them?  Do we try to find them?  This is how we will be judged. 

I began this letter by writing of the Eucharist and how the Eucharist is no mere symbol.  With this belief let us be careful as we approach the Eucharist.  If the elements of bread and wine were only symbols of our desire and our spiritual creativity, they would pose no threat.  But since they are the power and presence of God, they will change the one who consumes them.  When we say “Amen” and receive the Sacred Host we better be prepared to live an eternal life in God’s kingdom and with His grace make that kingdom known to everyone.

Peace and all good,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

St. John of the Cross was born in 1542 in central Spain.  With the death of his father when he was only three years old, his mother and two brothers struggled to survive.  Learning of this an uncle who was a priest took them in and looked after them. John was a very good student and at age 15 was admitted to the university where he pursued theology.  He felt called to the priesthood and planned to become a Carmelite friar but was uneasy with what he perceived as laxity in the order, a year before his ordination, while he was thinking of perhaps leaving the Carmelites and joining the Carthusians, he met St. Teresa of Avila. Teresa and John had a “meeting of the minds,” and Teresa convinced John to work with her for the reform of their order.   While Teresa led the reform of the women Carmelites, John worked in establishing reformed monasteries for men.

As you can imagine Teresa and John met many obstacles in their attempt to reform their order.  “Who are these two goodie goodies to tell us how to live?” The order didn’t appreciate their efforts and resisted them rather vigorously.  At one point John’s own order abducted him from the church where he was serving, they blindfolded him, and took him to one of their monasteries where he was placed in solitary confinement, with little light, no change of clothing, and very poor food.  At regular intervals he was beaten and pressured into denying his efforts to reform the order.  You can see why they needed reform. 

John’s cell measured 6’ x 10’, there was no heat, and there was only one tiny window high up near the ceiling.  Yet in that darkness, cold, and desolation, his love and faith became his fire and light.  In that tiny cell he had nothing left but God and God brought John his greatest joys.  After nine months John escaped by unscrewing the lock on his door and sneaking past the guard.  Taking only the poetry he had written on scraps of paper.  He climbed out a window using a rope made from strips of blankets.  With no idea of where he was, he followed a dog who led him to a nearby town.  He hid in a convent infirmary where he read his poetry to the nuns. 

Eventually John and Teresa were allowed to work freely at reforming the Carmelites John was asked if he harbored any hatred or ill will for those who had kidnapped him and beaten him.  Emphatically he answered saying, “no” also adding, “Where there is no love, put love, and you will draw out love.”  Adding further he said, “When God the Father didn’t find love in the human race, He put love in the human race, in the Incarnation of His son.  Then, He found love; he found love in His son Jesus and in all who had become part of His body.” 

This line, “Where there is no love, put love, and you will draw out love,” speaks of our Gospel today.  Jesus, I think is partial to images taken from the business world.  He uses investment, risk, and return as a model for the spiritual life.  The men who received 5 and 2 talents invested them, they were willing to risk, they put their money (talents) out into the world and in return they saw their money grow.  The man who kept his (money) talent buried saw no such return and is called wicked and lazy.  God is a giver.  He exists in gift form; He is the one who gives.  If we want God’s life in us to grow, we must be conformed to his way of being and that means giving. 

Where there is no love, put love, risk it.

Where there is no hope, put hope, risk it.

Where there is no faith, put faith, risk it.

Where there is no joy, put joy, risk it.

Where there is no life, put life, risk it. 

The men with the five and two talents invested in the world, they risked, and they saw their money double.  The man with one talent clung to it, he was not willing to put it out into the world and as a result it was taken away.  Spiritually speaking he withered.  Divine life (love, hope, faith, joy, peace, etc.) cannot be clung to, it must be given away, it must be risked on the world.  Instead of filling ourselves up with all these good things we empty ourselves as soon as we receive.  And in the measure, we give it away it will grow within us.  If we give a lot, we will receive a lot.  In the very act of sharing our faith, hope, love, joy, peace, etc. we find our own faith, hope, love, joy, and peace increasing and growing stronger. 

Divine life is planted within us at Baptism; it’s supported by Holy Orders and Marriage, its nourished by the Eucharist and strengthened by Reconciliation.  Within us we have this bank of Divine life, a bank to be drawn on, to plant, to invest, to put in places where there is none. St. John of the Cross put his faith, hope, and love into a community where he found very little, but this act of giving/risking gave a return of riches.  The divine life is no private matter, it’s meant to be shared.  Let us be like the first two servants putting love where there is no love, putting divine life where there is no divine life and drawing back a fortune with the Lord saying to us at the end, “Well done my good and faithful servant come share your master’s joy.”

Let us be great Saints,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

From the diary of St. Faustina.

One day, I saw two roads.  One was broad, covered with sand and flowers, full of joy, music and all sorts of pleasures.  People walked along it, dancing and enjoying themselves.  They reached the end without realizing it.  And at the end of the road there was a horrible precipice; that is, the abyss of hell.  The souls fell blindly into it; as they had walked, so they fell.  And their number was so great that it was impossible to count them.  And I saw the other road, or rather, a path, for it was narrow and strewn with thorns and rocks; and the people who walked along it had tears in their eyes, and all kinds of suffering befell them.  Some fell down upon the rocks but stood up immediately and went on.  At the end of the road there was a magnificent garden filled with all sorts of happiness, and all these souls entered there.  At the very first instant they forgot all their sufferings. 

At this time of year, as we near the end of the church calendar we hear often of the four last things: death, judgment, heaven, and hell.  We hear of the two ways over and over.  One way leads to eternal happiness and the other doesn’t.  And the choice is ours; we can either follow the easy broad path, or we can follow the hard and narrow path.

In Matthew’s gospel Jesus speaks of these two ways over 60 times.  Over 60 times he speaks of the eternal consequences of refusing to respond to him with faith, repentance, and faithful friendship.  And today we heard of one of those texts.  According to the Church Fathers those flasks of oil that the wise virgins brought with them represent good works, mercy, joy of a good conscience, and their keeping of holy teaching.  In their faith they performed good works, in their faith they were merciful, in their faith they had the joy of a good conscience, and in their faith, they followed the way of our Lord, that narrow path.  The foolish on the other hand had none of these, no good works, no mercy, no good conscience, and no keeping of holy teaching.   And consequently, were left outside pounding on a locked door. 

In a recent Magnificat there was a biography about Julia Greeley.  I found it very interesting.  She is one woman who had a large store of oil when our Lord, the Bridegroom, came for her at the end of her life.  Julia Greeley is on the path to canonization.  Right now, she is recognized as a Servant of God.  Julia was born into slavery probably between the years of 1833 and 1848 in Hannibal Missouri.  She lost her right eye at the age of 5 from the whip of a slave master who was beating her mother.  In 1865, just a few months before the end of the Civil War Julia was freed. 

After the war Greeley moved west and became a cook and nanny for Julia Dickerson of St. Louis who would later marry William Gilpin. When President Abraham Lincoln appointed Gilpin as the first territorial Governor of Colorado, the couple moved to Denver and Greeley joined them.

Julia learned the Catholic faith from the Gilpin family.  She was baptized in 1880 at Sacred Heart Church in Denver.   With her newfound faith she became especially devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and the Holy Eucharist.  She went to Mass and received Holy Communion every day.  Julia was a great proponent of the Sacred Heart; she tirelessly walked the city streets distributing felt Heart badges and literature from the Sacred Heart League.  She gave them to Catholics and non-Catholics. If she saw you on the street, she’d talk with you about the Catholic faith.  She also made sure to visit every month all 20 firehouses in Denver.  She talked with the fireman about the four last things (death, judgment, heaven, hell), these men were in a dangerous profession, and she wanted to make sure they were prepared for death.  She never missed an opportunity to witness her Catholic faith. 

Julia became known for her charitable works, she pulled a red wagon through the streets of Denver carrying coal, clothing, and groceries. She made her deliveries after dark so as not to embarrass families ashamed to accept charity.

In 1901, Greeley joined the Secular Franciscans and remained an active member for the rest of her life. In recognition of her dedication to the poor, Greeley has been dubbed “Denver’s Angel of Charity.” On June 7^th, 1918, on the Feast of the Sacred Heart Julia Greely died.  Her funeral was attended by thousands of people.  In January 2014, the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Denver officially opened an investigation for her sainthood.  Julia filled her flask with the oil of good works, mercy, joy of a good conscience, and adhering to holy teaching.  She was very wise. 

What about us? Are we always wise?   Is Christ, his Kingdom, his narrow pathway always our first priority?  Is our lamp full of the oil of faith, which we can’t borrow from anyone else but must develop in the intimacy of prayer and sacrament?  Are we keeping that lamp filled by persevering and growing in our prayer life, the mercy we show to others, our good works, and do we study Christ and the teachings of his Church?  

Now is the time to renew this first priority, to put our lives back on track. That’s what the Church is inviting us to do through today’s liturgy, as the end of the Church year approaches.   And it is the most practical thing we can do, because it has the most important consequences. If we need to refill our lamp, we should start doing so right now, during this Mass, when Christ comes once again to be our food, and to be our light.  

Many of us at this time feel an anxiety about what is happening in our country and maybe even in our Church.  There might be a certain unease about what the future will bring.  Now is the time to make an act of trust in God.  Maybe even many acts of trust.  And pray, add a holy hour before the Blessed Sacrament, pray the rosary, after the Mass the rosary is the greatest spiritual weapon.  Go to daily Mass.  Be that Catholic witness, witness to life, witness to religious freedom.  Be another Julia Greely, an unafraid Catholic witness. 

Our Lord has already conquered sin and death, these are but skirmishes.  We need only fill our lamps with the oils of good works, mercy, a good conscience, and keeping to the Way of our Lord.  Because as our Lord tells us, “We know neither the day nor the hour.” 

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Type Dear Friends,

Archbishop Fulton Sheen once wrote, “As we enter Heaven, we will see them, so many of them, coming toward us and thanking us, we will ask who they are and they will say, “A poor soul you prayed for in Purgatory.”   This is the time of year to think of the deceased.  We do this all year of course, but during the month of November especially.  November is dedicated to the Holy souls in Purgatory.  Are we praying for those who have gone before us?

Purgatory is a transitional state for souls who have, at least implicitly, chosen our Lord, but whose love still needs purifying.  Purgatory is closely associated with Heaven.   Someone once said Purgatory is like Heaven’s bathroom.  Souls in this state might be compared to kids who come inside when called to dinner but haven’t yet washed their hands.  A child in the bathroom might not be at the banquet table but he’s certainly in the house. 

Pope St. John Paul II once explained it in this way, “Those who live in this state of purification after death are not separated from God but are immersed in the love of Christ, His love purifies.  Neither are they separated from the saints in Heaven, who already enjoy the fullness of eternal life, nor from us on earth, who continue our pilgrim journey to the Father’s house.  We all remain united in the Mystical body of Christ.”   We all belong together in one enormous symphony of being. 

As the catechism states, a soul must be free of even the tiniest imperfections before entering Heaven.  Our Lord wants us to enter completely into His joy, to share in His own life forever, and we can’t do so until completely purified.  God’s life, the life of the Trinity, is perfect love.  How could a creature still bearing a trace of sin join in that life?  In the words of St. Augustine, “To think highly of our deceased is charity, but to pray for them is a charity greater, wiser, surer.” 

Praying for them is a charity greater, wiser, and surer.  Building on this, Pope Benedict XVI once wrote that, “No man is an island. Our lives are involved with one another, through innumerable interactions they are linked together. No one lives alone. No one sins alone. No one is saved alone. The lives of others continually spill over into mine: in what I think, say, do and achieve. And conversely, my life spills over into that of others: for better and for worse. So, my prayer for another is not something extraneous to that person, something external, not even after death. In the interconnectedness of Being, my gratitude to the other—my prayer for him—can play a small part in his purification.” Again, we all belong together in one enormous symphony of being.

St. Leopold Mandic was an Italian Capuchin who died in 1942.  As a young man he had a great desire to travel east to proclaim our Lord and the Gospel.  He wanted to make Jesus known in the East.  But it wasn’t to be.  St. Leopold had very poor health.  He couldn’t see very well, he stuttered when he talked, he had constant abdominal pain, and arthritis that deformed his hands and bent his spine, so that he was no more than 4 ½ feet tall.  He was not a robust man and so his superiors didn’t think he had the stamina needed to go into the missions, and so he spent his life in Padua, Italy hearing confessions for 12 to 15 hours a day.  He was gentle and wise in the life of virtue and people flocked to him.  If you wanted him to hear your confession, you had to wait a long time.  Sometimes other priests would complain that he was too lenient with the people who came to him for confession.  To this he would say, “If the Lord wants to accuse me of showing too much leniency toward sinners, I’ll tell him that it was he who gave me the example, and I haven’t even died for the salvation of souls as he did.” 

For many years, in the back of his mind, St. Leopold persisted in the hope that he might be able to go east into the missions.  But as he got older, he realized it wasn’t going to happen.  He was going to stay put in Padua in his tiny confessional.  So, he changed his attitude.  Since he couldn’t go to the missions in the east every soul, helped in the confessional would be his east.  Every soul before him would be his mission to the east.  “Every soul will be the East for me,” he said.

The direction East has a very special meaning to Catholics.  There is the ancient tradition of facing east when we worship.  At one time all Catholic altars faced east. They were built this way because at the end

of time our Lord will come from the East, we don’t turn our back to him.  And the sun a symbol of Jesus also rises in the East.  In a symbolic way to face east is to face the Lord. 

And so, adding to St. Leopold’s quote we could say, every soul made in the image and likeness of our Lord will be the East for me.  In looking towards a soul, I will look towards the Lord. I will pray for the souls made in His image and likeness.  That will be my mission to the east. 

Every time we face the Lord, every time we face the symbolic east may we remember in prayer the souls of our beloved dead, but most especially may we also remember the souls of those who have no one to pray for them.    We all belong together in one enormous symphony of being.  May our prayer for the dead play a small part in their purification. 

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.

And let perpetual light shine upon them.

May they rest in peace.

May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. 

As we enter Heaven, we will see them, so many of them coming toward us and thanking us, we will ask who they are and they will say, “Poor soul you prayed for in Purgatory.” 

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

There was a man named Camillus and he lived in 16^th century Italy.  He was a big man; they say probably 6 foot 6.  He was obstinate, aggressive, and had a violent temper.  His mom couldn’t control him; in fact, she feared him.  And so, she allowed him to do whatever he wanted.  So, at the age of 16 he left home and hired himself out as a soldier, he did this for a living; always working for the man who could pay him the most.  As a soldier his bad habits got even worse, he even added gambling to his list of vices. 

But even among the soldiers Camillus was too great a disturbance.  His gambling aggravated his violent temper, which led to quarrels, which led to insubordination, which led to him being kicked out.  Kicked out of the army, he began wandering from town to town, using gambling as a means of support.  He was soon destitute, living in rags.  It was at this time he began to reflect on his life, he began to remember what his mom had taught him about the Faith.  He repented, went to confession, the first time in years.

Camillus with a newfound freedom went to find his uncle, a Franciscan brother; and he asked to join the Franciscans.  The uncle received him warmly but wasn’t convinced of his conversion and he was turned away.  Camillus was not ready for religious life.  He went back to gambling and brawling.  Camillus was soon again reduced to rags and no money, and he developed a wound on his leg that just wouldn’t heal.  He was in Rome at the time and went to St. Giacomo Hospital looking for help.  He had no money so they wouldn’t treat him, but they did offer him a job.  Which he gladly took, again Camillus repented and for a time he was the best hospital orderly.  His leg was getting treated, he had a place to sleep, and he had food to eat.  The director of the hospital grew to depend on him.  Things were looking up, until he became bored one day and wound up on the roof gambling and fighting.  Camillus fell from grace and again he was kicked out.  Soon he was reduced to begging for food, sitting outside of churches waiting for handouts.  An old Capuchin brother saw him one day and wondered why such a big young man was sitting there begging.  This old Capuchin offered Camillus a job at the Monastery where they were in the middle of a building project.  This old Capuchin saw that his chronic wound was cared for and that Camillus had plenty to eat.  Camillus again repented and this time he really began to reform his life.  There were more slip ups to follow but he always repented, and he slowly grew in holiness. 

He went on to be ordained and eventually founded the Order of Clerks Regular, Camillians for short.  They worked as health care providers in hospitals and on the battle fields.  Camillus made use of his war experience.  All Camillians wear a large red cross on their cassock; even today they still wear this Red Cross.  It represents charity and service.  It represents Camillus’ great love for God and neighbor. 

To grow in our spiritual life is to grow in trust of our Lord.  Can we always and readily say “Jesus, I trust you!”  It took St. Camillus many years to get to that level of trust.  One spiritual writer put it this way; our spiritual life is like playing poker with the devil.  And we always have the winning hand.  The devil can never beat the hand we’ve been dealt.  And we can trust this.  In our hand we have been given first:  Jesus, who took all our sins upon Himself, taking them up to the cross, crucifying them along with his body, and rising from the dead He conquered sin and death, opening heaven for each of us.  In our hand we have been given second:  the Communion of Saints, all our friends around us and those in Heaven/Purgatory who help us with their constant prayers.  In our hand we have been given third:  the Church founded by Jesus with her Magisterium, her Scripture, and her Tradition all of which guide us on that narrow road to Heaven.  In our hand we have been given fourth:  the seven sacraments, the Eucharist especially, the sacraments are the very life of God Himself, given to us to wash, nourish, heal, and strengthen our souls.  And in our hand, we have been given fifth:  the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the perfect prayer to the Father, a time machine of sorts that allows us to join ourselves to Jesus as He offers Himself to the Father at Calvary.  We can give ourselves totally to the Father along with Jesus. 

With these cards we always have the winning hand.  We can trust this.  The devil’s hand is always a loser.  The problem is the devil is a liar, he’s the master of lies, he’s very good at it. He knows us well and he bluffs, and we sometimes believe him.  We believe his lies and we fold.  We put down our winning hand without even showing it (or trying it). 

He might tempt us to believe that we are worthless and it’s no use trying.  It’s a lie!

He might tempt us to believe it’s useless to continue going to confession, when we confess the same sins over and over.  It’s a lie!

He might tempt us to believe God has forgotten us and that we are on our own.  It’s a lie!

He might tempt us to believe that if we’re nice it doesn’t matter what we do, everyone goes to heaven anyway.   It’s a lie!

He might tempt us to believe that because we don’t “feel” anything happening at Mass that we should stop coming, or go elsewhere, God understands.  It’s a lie!

St. Camillus was canonized in the 18^th c. he went from being an aggressive fighter and gambler to singing the praises of God in Heaven forever, loving God with all his heart, soul, and mind.  He stopped believing the lies, realizing what a treasure he held within his hands (Jesus, Church, Communion of Saints, Mass, The Eucharist).  He was loved with an extraordinary and exuberant love, and with time he learned to trust that Divine love.  And with time and patience he grew to love our Lord with all his heart, his soul, and his mind. 

We too are loved with an extraordinary and exuberant love and the same awaits each of us and that should fill us with great hope. 

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

Not long ago I had the privilege of attending Mass at a Franciscan Monastery, the Saint Clare Monastery.  This monastery had a beautiful and relatively new chapel, and across from my pew was a stained glass window with the words, “He who is like God.”  It was a window with the image of St. Michael the Archangel and Michael means one who is like God.  But before seeing the Archangel all I saw were the words and I took it as a question, “Who is like God?”  Answer:  you and I are like God, and we find this answer in the Bible.  In Genesis (1:27) it’s written, “So God created man in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”  You and I are made in the image of God.

In today’s Gospel we hear about images, the first one being the image of Caesar on the Roman coin.  The Pharisees and the Herodians are trying to be clever.  They want to trap Jesus by trying to corner him into a catch-22.  These two groups the Pharisees and the Herodians are neither friends nor allies of each other.  They despise each other.  The Pharisees are religious patriots, bitterly opposed to Roman rule, whereas the Herodians are content to work together with the Gentile powers that be.  This present uneasy alliance is made solely for the purpose of bringing down the Messiah. They want to entrap him and get him out of the way.  They think their question, “Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”   has only a “yes” or “no” answer.  If Jesus answers, “yes, pay the tax” the zealous Jews would run from him, and they had come to regard him as the Messiah.  Jesus would no longer have a following.  If Jesus answers, “no, don’t pay the tax” the Jewish priests of the temple could have the Roman soldiers arrest him for trying to overthrow the government.  With either response the Pharisees and Herodians think they can discredit Jesus and be rid of him.  Jesus would cease to have any influence. 

However, Jesus is wise to them and doesn’t answer their question with a simple “yes” or “no.”  He confounds and frustrates them when he holds up the coin and asks, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?” They must answer that Caesar’s image is on the coin.  Jesus then says something that has been quoted a million times throughout the centuries, “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”  Paying taxes, giving back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, brings us roads, a school system, police and fire departments, a society of law and order and everything a good government should provide.  As Christians we have a duty to be good citizens and to fight for and promote a good government based on our faith. 

The second part of the quote is a little more difficult, Jesus was looking at the crowd, made up of men and women, when he said, “Repay to God what belongs to God.”  The coin has the image of Caesar so giving it back to Caesar is easy, but where do we find the image of God?  And this brings us back to the stained-glass window I saw in the St. Clare Monastery with its question, “Who is like God?”  We are like God.  We’re made in His image and like the coin that goes back to Caesar; we’re to go back to God because we’re made for God.   We give ourselves to Him, by spending our life getting to know Him, by loving Him, and by serving Him.  And at the end of our life, we hope to finally join Him in Heaven. 

Here on earth, there are two dimensions of going to God.  First, there is the worship of God where we strive to give ourselves to Him totally with our whole heart, soul, and mind.   At the beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist at the offertory the priest says, “Pray, my brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.”  We’ll say it this way to remind us that the priest stands in the person of Christ.  When the priest says “my sacrifice” he is saying it as Christ.  Everyone in the assembly also participates in that sacrifice because of our baptism we are all a member of the mystical body of Christ. We join our sacrifice to His sacrifice.  So, we bring our gifts, both our material and spiritual.  We bring what we have and what we are, and we acknowledge that it all comes from God, and it all belongs to God.  So, we give it back, we bring Him our lives, our sorrows, our joys, our sufferings, everything we are and offer them in union with the sacrifice of Christ.  We give ourselves to Him totally.

The second dimension of going to God is the giving of ourselves to God through the service to others.  Because others are also made in the image of God, and we serve God by serving them.  All of us are expected to give ourselves to our neighbor, even the one who seems unlovable.  Maybe, all we can do is pray for them but whatever we do for our neighbor, good or bad, we are giving to God. 

As images of God, we have the opportunity to build God’s kingdom, because we can bring God’s kingdom into all the places we enter; the Church, the home, the workplace, the school, and even the town square with its voting booth.  Building God’s kingdom, giving ourselves to God, can’t be kept within the privacy our home, it must be everywhere. Don’t make faith a private matter. 

The 16^th of October is the feast day of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque and I want to end with a quote of hers:

God gave me to understand that one cannot better show one’s love for him than by loving ones’ neighbor for love of him; and that I must work for the salvation of others, forgetting my own interest in order to espouse those of my neighbor, both in my prayers and in all the good I might be able to do by the mercy of God.

Peace and all good,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley