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The sign of God’s continued pursuit of us in our sin is our stricken conscience. This is a gift from Him, and as with all gifts, we are meant to return them to Him. The psalms tell us that God will not reject a contrite heart, and we can trust that this is because He gave it to us, just as he sent His Son “while we were yet sinners”. 

It’s a common saying around St. Isidore’s that in the church, the reward for good work is always more work. If you agree to help move chairs or set up for Mass, for example, there’s a real chance you may end up being asked to do that job next week as well. This seems to be a function of being as large and as much of an “all hands” type of endeavor as the Church: We rely on those able to serve being generous with those gifts.

Pray without seasoning. This idea has been cooking (pun intended) in my mind for a while, but prayer is such a personal thing, that I hesitate to write much about it. However, I realized that is precisely why I want to share these thoughts with you. Prayer is a unique experience for everyone and it does not follow a one-size-fits-all mold. We should have the freedom to pray in the ways that we are most aware of God and of His movements.

I heard a story once about a group of mischievous boys. They would go into a nearby confessional and invent ridiculous sins to tell the priest, wasting his time. The tired priest eventually told one of the boys to go to the Corpus Christi and tell Jesus something along the lines of “You died for me, and I don’t care!” The boy stood before the Corpus Christi and shamelessly said, “You died for me, and I don’t care!” At first, he could keep a smirk on his face. The second time he said it, however, something began to pierce his heart. The third time he said it, he began weeping and left the church. 

The words of the risen Christ to Mary Magdalene echo through the centuries into my own heart. Mary’s faith was strong and her friendship with Jesus was fierce. She had learned, over years of companionship with Jesus and His disciples, how to be in deep friendship with the Lord. I’m guessing they shared inside jokes and that she knew how to make Him belly laugh. She could probably recognize His footsteps and tell when He was feeling tired. Mary knew the living Christ, and she knew Him well. She was one of the few to stand at the foot of the cross in His last hours. Even to the end, Mary was prepared to give of her deepest self to the Lord.

Catholic author and psychologist Walker Percy was interested mostly in exploring the minds of a group of which he was a member: people he described as “ex-suicides”. This group, he said, had looked at life, realized the difficulty and pain which it could hold, accepted the possibility of leaving it, and had chosen not to. He explained that there was a certain freedom these individuals now enjoyed, because, unlike the vast majority of their peers, they had chosen to be alive. Any sorrow, trial, or suffering life could throw at them was something they had reckoned with and chosen, because they decided it was better to be alive.

“I’m sorry” is potentially the hardest phrase in the English language to say. No one wants to admit that they are wrong, made a mistake, or hurt another person. Friendships end because of an unwillingness to admit a wrong and say sorry. 

However, there is another phrase that rivals this one for most difficult to utter: “I forgive you.” Rather than saying “I forgive you,” we often default to “it’s okay,” and that, my friends, is not okay. 

One thing I have been working on recently is eliminating “it’s okay” from my vocabulary and integrating “I forgive you” in. My relationships are changing dramatically. Allow me to explain.

As I approach graduation from Kansas State, I am confronted daily with the ways I have changed since arriving here my freshman year. I remember being excited, nervous, and unsure of where exactly I would find a sense of belonging. Quickly, within the first week of my time at Kansas State, I realized I would find solace in a church on Denison. That church became a place where, even though I didn’t know a soul there most days, I felt comfortable. It was as if God kept drawing me near to Him in St. Isidore’s because He knew I would make friends there and come to share my love for that place with friends of my own that had yet to visit.

On the first day of Lent this year, I got the chance to accept a dream job. The next day, my friend surprised me with my favorite muffins for breakfast. Weeks of sudden spring weather have filled my hours with sunshine after some brutal winter days. A few weeks into this Lenten season, and it hasn’t looked much like the dry desert I expected. 

I am known to have the worst memory, and to be honest, I don’t exactly remember who my confirmation saint is. So, a couple of years ago, I decided to adopt St. Teresa of Avila. I heard of her story and I was so impressed with how real she was. She was a person who I can relate a lot to, and somehow, she still achieved sainthood. 

In her teenage years, she became invested in worldly matters. She cared about what she wore and the jewelry she had. She was naturally a people person, so she would gossip and loved the attention it brought to her. She said, “In everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the conversation alive --- listened to the stories of their affections and childish follies, good for nothing.” 

Thinking about the future made me super excited as a kid. I wanted to be a scientist, and then a paleontologist, until I wanted to be a movie director and… That zeal eventually ran out as I grew up. I learned about how every career I wanted was competitive and uncertain. I instead longed for something more abstract and basic - a life of meaning, purpose, adventure, and honor. I wanted a simpler and humbler way of life, one where I could grow in my relationship with God and help others. And, here I am discerning the priesthood now!

I walked up the makeshift stairway to the new JPII loft at Saint Isidore’s the other day, and I was greeted by several sets of smiling eyes going the opposite way. As I opened the door to laughter and banter, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the surprising reality: there is still life happening here. Somehow, between sheetrock walls and makeshift stairs, friendships are being made, spiritual hunger is being fed, and hearts are being cared for.