2025 Margaret King Zacharias

Vigil for Light

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“St. Brendan asked: ‘How can an incorporeal light burn corporeally in a corporeal creature?’

The elder replied: ‘Have you not read of the bush burning at Mount Sinai? Yet that bush was unaffected by the fire.’

They kept vigil the whole night until morning.”

The Voyage of St. Brendan (1)

 

Vigil for Light

 

I have loved sunrise service on Easter Sunday morning since I was a small child. I always imagined myself as Mary of Magdala, grieving yet hopeful, excited by the possibility that I might soon see my friend, Jesus. And, of course, after church, there would be candy.

My appreciation for the nuanced events that led to Mary Magdalene’s first encounter with the risen Lord dawned much later, as I approached midlife, when I was confirmed a Roman Catholic in the Easter Vigil liturgy.

More than thirty years onward now, I have witnessed the paschal fire kindled outside in small, ethnic inner-city parishes, where a lone priest carried the new year’s candle through the church’s single aisle himself, crying out “Christ our Light” in a voice hoarse with a cold, like Moses exiled in the desert.

I have watched the Easter candle enter baroque, golden sanctuaries in processions worthy of Rome, where a chorus of trained clerical voices made the call, and “Thanks be to God” resounded from a host of balconies.

The setting doesn’t matter. For me, awe and wonder continue to well up each year, wherever I may be when we pass the candle flame from hand to hand, and an explosion of light fills the assembly with Alleluia.

This vigil of hope for light in the darkness is as ancient as humankind.

Scripture tells us:

“… The angel of God, who had been leading Israel’s army, now moved and went around behind them. And the column of cloud, moving from in front of them, took up its place behind them, so that it came between the Egyptian army and that of Israel. And when it became dark, the cloud illumined the night…” (2)

 

But full light of the Godhead can be painful to experience.

C.S. Lewis illustrates how difficult it is with vivid imagery, in his novel The Great Divorce, where the residents of Hell move farther and farther away from one another, until they become barely discernable sparks in an infinitely expanding darkness. (3)

Even the pilgrims who manage to tolerate each other long enough to board a bus for Refrigerium in the light of heaven (4), and arrive, cannot bear its intensity for long:

“…I glanced round the bus. Though the windows were closed, and soon muffed, the bus was full of light. It was cruel light. I shrank from the faces and forms by which I was surrounded…One had a feeling that they might fall to pieces at any moment if the light grew much stronger. Then—there was a mirror on the end wall of the bus—I caught sight of my own.

And still the light grew.” (5)

 

Scripture, hagiography, and literature continue to transmit the mysteries of God’s infinite light through allegory and metaphor, to this very day.

But what about science? Aren’t many of our Catholic beliefs, however comforting, contrary to what modern science has demonstrated to be true?

No. Science continues to validate the truth of the Gospels.

Physicist Fr. Robert Spitzer, S. J., Ph.D. has dedicated much of his vocational and professional life to organizing international teams of highly trained doctors, biologists, and physicists, who have designed and implemented experiments with cutting edge technologies to test a variety of questions about articles of our faith.

A detailed and readable account of their rigorous laboratory protocols, and well-documented, peer-reviewed research findings, is found in Dr. Spitzer’s 2024 book, Christ, Science, and Reason: What We Can Know about Jesus, Mary, and Miracles. (6)

The PRH, Particle Radiation Hypothesis, with regards to the Shroud of Turin, deserves brief inclusion here. (7)

Just ten days after my husband, Dr. Charles Zacharias, a pioneer in the field diagnostic radiological imaging, died last September, I heard Dr. Spitzer speak about these quantum energy experiments at a Christ Our Life Conference held in Des Moines, Iowa.

Those multi-layered and repeatable experimental results strongly support a conclusion, that the images on Jesus’ burial cloth could only have been produced by simultaneous nuclear radiation of each of the billions of cells in Christ’s earthly body, all at exactly same millisecond of time.

My Charles knew his medicine, and his physics, and he also knew the kind of question I would first want answered from heaven.

I could almost hear him translating the science for me.

“Honey, it’s an X-Ray of the Resurrection.”

Come. Let us live in the Light. Together.

Happy Easter!

© Copyright 2025 by Margaret King Zacharias

Feature Photo: Connemara Coast to the Cliffs of Moher, Overlooking Galway Bay. Author’s personal photo, published with permission.

Notes:

  1. John J. O’Meara, translator from the Latin, The Voyage of St. Brendan: Journey to the Promised Land, Colin Smythe Limited, Gerrards Cross, Buckinghamshire, GB, 1976, 1978, 1991, p. 32.
  2. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/exodus/14
  3. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce, Macmillan 1946; Touchstone, Simon & Schuster, 1996, pp.10-11.
  4. Ibid., p. 66.
  5. Ibid., p. 26.
  6. Robert Spitzer, S. J., Ph.D, Christ, Science, and Reason: What We can Know about Jesus, Mary, and Miracles, San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 2024.
  7. Ibid., pp. 97-158.

Poll na Brone Portal Tomb, c. 4000 B.C. the Burren, County Clare, Ireland
Attribution: Kglavin on en. wikipedia, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Visitation

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 “… Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy …

 

… The Clouds that gather round the setting sun

Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality …”

William Wordsworth

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from

Recollections of Early Childhood (1)

 

Visitation

May is the month our church sets aside each year to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

In 2024, May includes at least five significant liturgical celebrations:

  • Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, Thursday, May 9 (or Sunday, May 12);
  • Optional Memorial of Our Lady of Fatima, Monday, May 13;
  • Solemnity of Pentecost on May 19;
  • Memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church, Monday, May 20;  
  • Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Friday, May 31.

This month opens with the second Glorious Mystery of the Rosary, encompassing two additional Marian holy days as well as another Solemnity, the third Glorious Mystery, and concludes with the second Joyful Mystery — enough to make anyone’s head spin.

Decades ago, when our planet seemed safer and more civilized than it does today, I was blessed with opportunities to visit several Catholic shrines as a pilgrim.

It’s impossible to do justice to the full set of liturgical crescendos this month contains in a brief article for a first Saturday. But I offer a few reflections here about the opening solemnity and the closing feast from my pilgrimages to shrines in the Holy Land.

***

Christian Chapel of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives – Jerusalem, Israel
Fallaner, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

A small Christian monument called the Chapel of the Ascension stands on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, not to be confused with the larger mosque that looms nearby.

This probably does mark the place where Jesus proclaimed his majestic final commission to the apostles, the ‘go out into all the world’ speech we hear in the gospel reading for the Solemnity of the Ascension, Mark 16:15-20. (2)

But even though the chapel contains an ancient footprint in its rock floor that legend describes as made by Our Lord’s right foot when he departed, this holy place on the Mount of Olives may, or may not, be where Jesus actually ascended into heaven.

Some scholars, as well as many local Christians whose families have lived here for generations, believe the Ascension might have occurred elsewhere.

Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter – Tabgha, Israel
Berthold Werner, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia
Commons

 

Another possible location hosts the small Church of the Primacy of Peter, on the northwest banks of the Sea of Galilee, believed to be where Jesus fed his friends one last breakfast of freshly-caught fish, as described in John 21. (3)

That rocky shoreline is also visited by thousands of Christian pilgrims, both Catholic and Protestant. It’s an alternative place where some believe the Ascension might actually have taken place.

View of the Sea of Galilee – from the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter, Tabgha, Israel
someone10x, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

Shore beside the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter – Tabgha, Galilee, Israel.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/emeryjl/, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via
Wikimedia Commons

 

Wherever it occurred, the description of the Ascension in Acts 1:6-12 (4) tells us that the gathered apostles received a visitation from ‘two men dressed in white,’ usually interpreted as angels.

These men appeared ‘suddenly,’ admonishing the disciples to stop looking ‘up at the sky,’ and promising that Jesus would ‘return the same way he departed.’

***

Two distinct Visitation shrines hold importance in the town of Ein Karem, once a small village in the Judean hills, now considered a ‘suburb’ of sprawling modern Jerusalem.

The first is the Church of St. John the Baptist, in downtown contemporary Ein Karem.

Courtyard and Entrance to Church of Saint John the Baptist, Ein Karem, Israel.
Chris06, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

By tradition dating back to Saint Helen, mother of the Byzantine emperor Constantine, and supported by archeological research through layers of Crusader construction, there is evidence to believe that John the Baptist was born in the now-underground cave on this site.

Birth Cave of Saint John the Baptist, Ein Karem, Israel
Pikiwiki Israel, CC BY 2.5 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

A fountain in the courtyard appears to have been the original village water source, probably located on the temple property where Elizabeth’s husband Zacharias was serving as Jewish priest when an angel appeared to him to announce the news of his son. Their primary dwelling is believed to have been here, or very close by.

Higher into the foothills is a site traditionally identified as the family’s summer home, and many scholars believe that this would have been where young Mary went to visit her much older cousin.

A curving, terraced brick pathway with very wide steps winds around the steep mountain trail today, leading up from the main village to the Church of the Visitation.

This shrine is a much larger complex, a former monastery. In contrast to the lower church in Ein Karem, where John the Baptist’s family is highlighted, the Church of the Visitation contains imagery devoted almost exclusively to Mary.

Detail of Front Facade – Church of the Visitation – Ein Karem, Israel. Elizabeth is pictured at
upper left.
Berthold Werner, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia
Commons

 

The exception is a sculpture in strikingly contemporary style, portraying two pregnant women, facing each other.

***

Paradoxically, as liturgical time runs forward in May, divine time seems to spin backward, in earthly terms, to the moment when two unborn infants recognized each other from within their mothers’ wombs.

It was only after a very young woman — who had said “yes” to a divine act with consequences she could not possibly have fully understood — had received affirmation and confirmation from her wiser, more experienced cousin, that she burst into the Magnificat.

Sober sunset clouds will gather. One of these babies will be beheaded. One will die by crucifixion.

But these are the moments when Wordsworth’s “… eye that hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality …” is most deftly invoked by the poet.

Penance, Baptism, Resurrection, and Ascension will change the whole game.

“The ‘clouds of glory’ that these babies ‘trail’ contain Eternity for those who believe.”

May enduring faith, hope, and love guard your hearts this May.

Veni Sancte Spiritus.

 

 

Featured Photo: Panoramic View – Church of the Visitation – Ein Karem, Israel Attribution Tombah, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Notes:

  1. Quoted from https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45536/ode-intimations-of-immortality-from-recollections-of-early-childhood.
  2. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/050924-Ascension.cfm
  3. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/john/21
  4. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/acts/1

Bunnies and Bulbs

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Bunnies and Bulbs

My parish recently hosted a Day of Reflection for parents and catechists. We had a good turnout of a couple hundred folks, with a keynote speaker in the morning and breakout workshops in the afternoon. I led one of the afternoon workshops, and I started off by posting a big picture on the screen of a cute, furry bunny sitting in emerald green grass, surrounded by a bunch of beautifully decorated Easter eggs.

Turning to the audience, I asked, “Why do we see bunnies at Easter?  Turn and talk to each other at your tables for a few minutes.”

There was a hum of conversation as everyone discussed this pretty simple question. When the chatter started to taper off, I asked if anyone wanted to share what they had come up with. A few people raised their hands.

“Bunnies are signs of new life,” one person said.

“Yes, new life,” agreed the next person.

“Bunnies remind us of Jesus’ new life at the resurrection,” another added.

I moved on to the next photo, posting a photo of a beautiful cluster of lilies and daffodils.

“How about this photo?” I asked again. “Why do we see lilies and spring flowers at Easter?”

Once again, I gave everyone an opportunity to chat with their neighbors, before drawing some responses from the group.

“Lilies are signs of new life.”

“They’re like the bunnies. They’re signs of new life.”

And herein lies a problem that I’ve spent a lot of energy trying to address. The answers everyone gave weren’t “wrong;” they are just only halfway there.

Now, to be clear, I found no fault in the people who were there that day. Everyone who attended had been willing to spend their free time, an entire Saturday, up at church in order to hopefully learn a little, grow a bit in their faith and be part of a community.  In many cases, they were also catechists at their parishes, leading the Faith Formation classes and trying to inspire and develop the next generation of Catholics.  I greatly appreciated their generosity of spirit. In fact, I would even say I found their presence there enormously commendable.

The problem that remains, though, is that we no longer know how to speak what Pope St. John Paul II called “our original language,” or read what St. Thérèse of Lisieux referred to as the “Book of Nature.”  What was once as easy and natural as breathing now involves labor and thought. We, the inheritors of original sin, not to mention the Enlightenment, now routinely think in terms of physical and spiritual.  What we can see, touch, hear, taste and smell is in one camp and what we cannot see, touch, hear, taste, or smell, but nevertheless believe in, is in another camp. So, bunnies and chicks and flowers that bloom in spring act as pointers towards new life, because, well, they didn’t exist before and now they do. They are new life. But that’s only such a very small part of their story.

We can call these bits of matter Easter symbols, not just Easter pointers, signs or reminders, because that is what they really are. A symbol not only points to something else, but it also incorporates that something else within itself. It makes present what it points to, in its own way. You probably already knew that.

So, if we revisit the earlier question, “Why do we use bunnies at Easter?” we might answer it by saying something like “Because they show us something true and real about what happened at Jesus’ resurrection. They teach us something deep and profound about this ‘new life.’” What might that be?

Bunnies are attracting. They invite us to come in closer. We want to pick them up and snuggle them, maybe put them in a pocket and carry them around. They breathe softly. We love their little noses and long ears. They are simply delightful, in and of themselves, and if they also happen to be on some beautiful, emerald green grass, under a cornflower blue sky, we suddenly feel that the world itself is full of color and inspiration and possibility; that there just might very well exist a place, somewhere, where bunnies can live without fear of being attacked by something big with sharp teeth. And if that might be the case for bunnies, might it not also be the case for people? The idea that there might be a place or a way where we can live in peace, free from fear, in the midst of creation, is at the very heart of Jesus’ resurrection. Our faith tells us that not only is that possible in the next life, but that Jesus’ physically resurrected (not just reanimated or ghostly) human body, assures us that the beginning of this place has begun here, now, on this earth.

Just like bunnies are delightful, in and of themselves, so, too, is the new life Jesus offers us, because the new life IS Jesus, who is, in and of himself, attracting and inviting.

Closeup of some lovely white Easter lilies.

We can try the same exercise with lilies.  What do they teach us about Jesus’ resurrection?  If we think of the life cycle of a lily, we know that it spends most of its life in a very unimpressive state, as a funny looking ovalish, brownish bulb, stuck down in the earth, out of sight. For most of its life, a bulb doesn’t look like anything is going on at all. But then, suddenly, something happens. It starts to put out feelers and sends out small shoots. Those shoots eventually break through the surface and keep on growing. Finally, each bulb erupts into a truly spectacular flower, a blossom so magnificent that we have to stop and stare at it. We have to drink it in, memorize it and photograph it. Bulbs teach us that just because we can’t see the inner life of grace working doesn’t mean that it is not there. It just hasn’t matured yet. Bulbs remind us of our true end, as persons with resurrected bodies, of blossoming into those fantastic flowers from a simple little brown bulb. Again, not only do we anticipate this in the next life, but we know that some of the saints have moved into this type of state while they were on earth. Jesus’ bursting forth from his tomb, trampling over death, is like the remarkable flower that bursts forth from the tomb of the bulb. Like the flowers from bulbs, the resurrection is not a small, meager, easily overlooked thing. Instead, it is huge and unbelievably magnificent.

All of the symbols we use throughout Easter, as well as through the year, point to a deeper meaning especially when they are connected to a liturgical season. This, ultimately, is what Scripture is proclaiming when it says “The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the works of his hands. Day unto day pours forth speech, night unto night whispers knowledge,” (Psalm 19:2-3) all without speech, words or voices.

So let me ask you the same question: What do bunnies, eggs, chicks and lilies teach you about the new life we celebrate at Easter? And more importantly, how will the new life of the resurrection burst forth in your own life, here, now, in this season of Easter 2024?

 

©Copyright 2024 by Sarah Pedrozo

Images from iStock

 

 

A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

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A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

Even though it is now a few weeks since the official end of the Christmas season (with the exception of those who close out Christmas with the celebration of Candlemas), I still have one ornament up. This particular ornament, called “Snowy Woods,” is always the last one to be packed away, and every year it makes the short journey from the Christmas tree downstairs to the family prayer space, upstairs. It hangs in silence until the end of the month, inviting reflection, contemplation, and most importantly, it asks a single question as we begin the liturgical cycle again: Which path will we choose to follow this year?

The ornament is quite simple and is made of glass, surrounded by a metal frame. A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood. Every time I look at it, Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken,” springs to mind.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (1915)

(1) Two roads diverged in a yellow woods

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

(2) To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

(3) And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black,

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

(4) I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

This “Snowy Woods” ornament is a snapshot of the meaning the poem is getting at – how our choices affect our lives. In the ornament, the adult deer is looking back, pausing in mid-step. Has he heard a noise that caused fear? Or is he just taking a breather before continuing the way? Is the fawn following or leading? It all has to do with perspective.

 A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood. 

When the ornament is held with the adult deer facing you, it seems as if the deer is looking back, over his shoulder. The shadowy fawn in the background appears to be watching and waiting for the adult deer to make a decision. But turn the ornament around and the positions are reversed. The adult is no longer looking over his shoulder but is gazing into the shadowy world at the small fawn. His steps and his gaze are very much focused on the small deer. The fawn, on the other hand, is looking out, away towards something outside of our vision. Both positions are telling. The fawn waits for the adult deer to make his decision, to take the path “less traveled by,” even though the path that the deer will take is set out by the fawn. The paradox of Christianity.

The adult deer is a perfect example of a Christian. He is solid. He is not shadowy or vague, but entirely painted in. His hooves are firmly rooted on the ground, even being entirely covered by the heavy snow. He is part of the physical, visible world we all live in. He is concerned with the daily struggles of life, poised to flee or fight, while wrestling with the heavy snowfall, the daily crosses of his world. While he is engaged, he is being watched by a small, shadowy figure, a guiding spirit who assists and guides his steps. This spirit might be an angel or even a figure of Jesus himself, always just out of sight, but somehow his presence is felt. The fawn, not the adult, knows the way through the snowy woods. It’s eyes are on something else, something higher and distant, away out of time and space. Unlike the solid white adult deer, the fawn is almost transparent, pointing to a spiritual, unseen aspect.

The two deer in this ornament are in a profound relationship, despite the fact that they are on two different levels. They remind us that no matter what path is chosen, the traveler will not remain in the crossroads. A choice, consciously or not, is always made. St. Catherine of Siena talks about this in her book Dialogue. She writes that “as long as you are pilgrims in this life you are capable of growing and should grow. Those who are not growing are by that very fact going backward.”

Each year, this simple little ornament strikes a chord with me. After all the decorations are done and we are looking forward, preparing to set out again, it beckons and asks, “What path will you follow this year? And will you walk it with Me?”

Photos courtesy of Sarah Pedrozo.

*This ornament was designed by Hallmark artist Robert Hurlburt and is part of the Elegant Ornaments Collection, a group of ornaments often based on archived Hallmark greeting cards.

 

A Beacon of Hope

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A Beacon of Hope

 

“And I say to thee: That thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

Matthew 16:18 (Douay-Rheims 1899 American Edition Imprimatur)

The idyllic seaside town of Lahaina on the island of Maui disappeared on August 8, 2023. 

An early morning brush fire, believed extinguished, suddenly erupted into a towering inferno that evening.

Fueled by hurricane winds, the wildfire roared down tinderbox slopes of the West Maui Mountains at more than a mile a minute (1), consuming eons of human history, dislocating thousands of people, and incinerating hundreds of human lives.

When the smoke cleared and helicopters were able to fly over the devastated site where Lahaina once stood, a lone white church spire still rose above the blackened rubble. Maria Lanakila Catholic Church stood alone, the only surviving structure for many blocks, and appeared undamaged.

Maria Lanakila means Our Lady of Victory in the Hawaiian language. It’s one of Most Reverend Larry Silva’s “cathedral churches” in the Diocese of Honolulu, which encompasses all of the islands of Hawaii (2).

Late in the evening on August 12, Bishop Silva flew to Maui. He toured the ruins on August 13, and celebrated a mass for the victims at Sacred Heart Chapel in Kapalua, about nine miles north of Lahaina (3).

“[Bishop Silva] …reported that the pastor, Father Kuriakose Nadooparambil, a priest of the Missionaries of Faith congregation, ‘was allowed to go in (to the church) with a police escort, and he reported that not even the flowers in the church were wilted or singed. There was only a covering of ash on the pews.'” (4)

Church officials acknowledge that there may be hidden structural damage that remains unknown until a full engineering inspection can take place. (5)

Bishop Silva also told Hawaii Catholic Herald that “‘One of my friends, who often serves as my liturgical master of ceremonies when I am on Maui, told me that his uncle, uncle’s wife, their daughter and their grandson all were burned to death in their car, while they were trying to escape. My friend and his wife opened their home to other relatives who lost their home and suspects they will be living there for a couple of years.'”(6).

I also have close friendships in West Maui, nurtured through almost ten years of participation in the Maui Writers Foundation, and many family time-share vacations less than four miles from Lahaina.

I spent the first forty-eight hours frantically trying to reach my granddaughter’s hula teacher. She was dancing a starring role at Old Lahaina Luau late into the night, when we saw her last a few months ago. She got up early each morning to gather plumeria blossoms, and patiently teach a five-year-old girl authentic Hawaiian culture.

I finally received a text that with a new infant growing in her womb, she had managed to escape with her parents, her husband and her adolescent daughter. “It just happened so fast,” she said. They had traveled back roads to reach refuge with cousins on the south side of the island. They had lost everything they owned.

My husband and I worried for weeks about a couple who are also long-time friends. Their names kept appearing on ever-shorter lists of those “unaccounted for.” Their names were still there just two days ago and I was losing hope, when I received an email from them recounting how they had lost their business and had learned that their insurance will not cover any of their damages. But at least they’re still alive.

This morning, as I began to write this post, I received news that my treasured concierge, who had connected me with so many wonderful Lahaina people for almost 20 years, had been found by her brother, deceased in their Lahaina childhood home.

Their cousins, who also survived, had stopped by in the midst of the fire to hurry her along. She just wanted to run back into the house one more time, and said she’d be right behind them (7).

Where is Maria Lanakila in all of this? Who is Our Lady of Victory?

This was the sixteenth honorary title bestowed on Mary by a supreme pontiff or an ecumenical council. Declared by Pope Saint Pius V to commemorate the allied Christian victory over Ottoman Turks at Lepanto on October 7, 1571, the title reflects the success of a massive rosary prayer campaign (8).

Pope Gregory XIII changed the name of the October 7 liturgical celebration to Feast of the Holy Rosary in 1573 (9). That is the Marian mass we continue to celebrate, four-hundred-and-fifty years later.

We can offer our rosaries in days ahead to help the people of Lahaina.

Maria Lanakila, Our Lady of Victory, pray for us. Please succor the suffering souls of the victims, and comfort the sorrowful survivors of the Lahaina fires. May they all find hope, and strength for the future, through your motherly care.

Amen.

©Copyright 2023 by Margaret King Zacharias

Featured Image: Joel Bradshaw, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Inset image: Howcheng, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Notes:
  1. Official “gale force” windspeed of 67 mph at the time of Lahaina fire is documented here: https://www.nbcnews.com/science/science-news/drought-wind-mauis-wildfires-turned-historic-tragedy-rcna99196# and here: https://www.reuters.com/graphics/HAWAII-WILDFIRES/DRIVERS/gdvzwwgwrpw/
  2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_parishes_of_the_Roman_Catholic_Diocese_of_Honolulu
  3. https://thedialog.org/national-news/maria-lanakila-catholic-church-survives-maui-wildfire-not-even-the-flowers-in-the-church-were-wilted-or-singed/ quoting Hawaii Catholic Herald
  4. https://www.thebostonpilot.com/article.php?ID=195341 and https://thedialog.org/national-news/maria-lanakila-catholic-church-survives-maui-wildfire-not-even-the-flowers-in-the-church-were-wilted-or-singed/ quoting Hawaii Catholic Herald
  5. https://www.staradvertiser.com/2023/08/11/hawaii-news/maria-lanakila-still-stands-but-waiola-church-is-gone/
  6. https://thedialog.org/national-news/maria-lanakila-catholic-church-survives-maui-wildfire-not-even-the-flowers-in-the-church-were-wilted-or-singed/ quoting Hawaii Catholic Herald
  7. https://www.staradvertiser.com/2023/08/25/hawaii-news/latest-lahaina-fire-victims-on-official-list-include-boy-7/am
  8. https://www.canticanova.com/articles/ot/artba1.htm
  9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Our_Lady_of_the_Rosary

A Writer’s Vision

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A Writer’s Vision

I watch a robin nestled upon the branch of my backyard tree singing. As it flies away, I feel wonderment. Perhaps the robin is seeking a better view or its next meal. The breeze picks up ever so lightly and I am transported to the wings of a butterfly.

Most would not give a second thought to these events. As a writer, it is these simple, everyday moments that spur my creativity.

There were times in my writing journey when I turned a simple lawn weed into a complete book chapter. Most would view the yellow dandelion as an irritant and nuisance. In contrast, I saw it as something friendly and a great jumping-off point in my story. Many things feed my creativity, especially in nature. However, over the years, I have learned that my imagination goes into overdrive when I add God to the mix.

Every summer for the past four years, I have attended a retreat focused on painting. It is important to note that I have no talent in that realm, yet that particular retreat has been a favorite of mine. I was a bit intimidated, to say the least, when I first attended, but God quickly showed me why He had sent me there.

Something happens in my brain when I focus on things with a crafty nature. I believe God uses this medium to draw things out of me for His greater purpose. Over the years, the masterpieces I have created in this retreat have looked fabulous in my eyes but not so much to anyone else. I see the exhibits through the eyes of the Spirit, who fed me during each brush stroke.

I’ve learned a lot and have had many inspirations through this faith-based activity. Mostly, I have been able to break through barriers that may have kept me from doing something to which God has called me. Using the skills taught during this retreat, I have brought a creative depth to my writing. I drew inspiration from a mushroom while walking the dog that turned into a colorful, giant umbrella for a snail and caterpillar in my book, Bella’s Beautiful Miracle: A Caterpillar’s Journey.

Due to other events this summer, I was forced to miss the art retreat, and I thirsted for a flicker of creativity. This topic arose in a recent conversation, and I quickly realized why I longed for such a spark. As a writer, I see the beauty and majesty in everyday things that most people take for granted. In the hustle and bustle of the summer and planned and unplanned life activities, I had not allowed myself to bathe in God’s beauty in this way.

It is not only the art retreat that fuels creativity. The combination of nature and faith life are significant components. To rejuvenate my creative side, I ventured outside with my laptop and noticed the little robin in minutes. As I looked upon the little bird, all I had to do was place my hands on the keyboard, close my eyes, and allow the Spirit to lead.

By basking in God’s glory of nature, colors, and the physical action of creating, I become fed creatively and spiritually. This summer, I ask you to consider in what ways your spirituality provides your creativity or vice versa. Then, spend time prayerfully considering how God wants you to work that into your lifestyle.

Don’t miss out on your opportunity to shine in ways you may have felt fearful about. I love that I have no talent as a painter, yet I can participate in that action and create something beautiful in another medium. Art, as a spiritual gift or just for fun, is a lovely way to express God’s light and love! Step out of your comfort zone and go for it!

Copyright 2023 Kimberly Novak
Images Copyright Canva

Our Lady of a Thousand Names

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Our Lady of a Thousand Names

Mary is our mother, and May is her special month. But who is Mary, really?

Mary of Nazareth was officially declared “Theotokos,” mother of God, at the Council of Ephesus in 431 A.D. This Greek-language title is still used in the Eastern Orthodox churches today. (1)

By the sixteenth century, popular devotion to the mother of Jesus in the Western church had multiplied into many titles. The traditional Litany of Loreto, approved by Pope Sixtus V in 1587, calls her mother, virgin, mirror, vessel, rose, tower, ark, house, gate, star, and queen. These vivid images are repeated, as diverse domains are placed into her care through one of only six litanies formally approved by the magisterium for public recitation. (2)

Those many queenships do not even to begin to exhaust her multitude of names.

All around the planet, there are shrines dedicated to Mary, often titled “Our Lady of …” with place names that have experienced church-approved apparitions and miracles, or with spiritual qualities like “peace, mercy, good hope.”

In their book, Marian Shrines of the United States: A Pilgrim’s Travel Guide, Theresa Santa Czarnopys and Thomas M. Santa, C.Ss.R. highlight more than fifty shrines dedicated to the Blessed Mother in the United States alone. (3)

With her parents, uncle, aunt, and husband Joseph, Mary was a historical human person. She is still remembered in Nazareth by contemporary villagers, whose ancestors have lived there continuously for thousands of years.

I heard one person say, sharing stories passed down in his family for generations, “We’re not sure it’s Joseph’s workshop, exactly. But all the carpenters worked right in this area, they always have, and so it probably looked a lot like this one.”

Those words were offered as a personal testimony when my group of pilgrims viewed an ancient builder’s studio in Nazareth that Israeli archeologists have managed to excavate with painstaking care. A similar tale was told about the ancient well where young Mary went to draw water.

Our faith considers the rosary a worthy meditation on the mysteries of Jesus’ human life; and also, about Mary’s life as his mother. Writings by a plethora of Saints who are formally recognized by the Roman Catholic Church often name the mother of Jesus as their guardian, guide, and friend.

At Our Lady of Lourdes, I was able to view a sign with Mary’s original words when she identified herself to St. Bernadette. By the letters engraved on that bronze plaque, she spoke in the local Pyrenees Mountain dialect, a combination of Spanish and French, probably the only language that Bernadette would have known. In 1858, when asked for her name, Mary said, “Yo soy Immaculata Conception.” “I am the Immaculate Conception.”

I was told, by an official guide there, that the poor young girl had no idea what those fancy words meant. But she memorized them. Only her parish priest, who had recently received the provincial distribution of papal bull Ineffabilis Deus from Pope Pius IX in Rome (4), was able to recognize the meaning of that particular message from Mary.

As Our Lady of Altötting, Germany Mary is said to have guided Joseph Ratzinger from birth to the papacy, through a childhood and young adulthood spent under the horrors of Germany’s Third Reich. His devotion to her has become legendary. Even now, when she temporarily resides in the parish church of St. Michael’s (pictured below) nearby while her ancient chapel is being restored, she carries in her scepter a custom-made sapphire ring. This ring was a gift to Fr. Ratzinger from his brother and sister, when he was appointed to be Archbishop of Munich. In 2006, after he was elected Pope Benedict XVI, Joseph returned to Altötting to give Mary his ring. (5)

 

Pope Benedict XVI had a great devotion to Our Lady of Altotting. It is said that she guided him throughout his life.

At the shrine of Our Lady of Knock in Ireland (pictured in banner), the shrine guide gave us this explanation about nineteenth century Marian apparitions there. (6)

“People always ask, ‘But what did Mary say?’ When we answer, ‘She was silent,’ everyone wonders how it could be, that Mary came among the garrulous Irish and didn’t say a word?

“Wherever she appears, Mary always asks for two things. She tells people to fast, and to pray. She didn’t ask us to fast because she knew we were already starving. She came with St. Joseph at her right, St. John on her left, with the angels and the Lamb on the altar, to show us that she had heard the constant prayers of her faithful Irish children.

“Everyone had lost so many members of their families to death from the Great Hunger, and then from the necessary emigration. The land had been decimated.

“We believe that Mary came just to hold us in her love, and to reassure us that there was a future. She came to bring us hope. She didn’t need to say anything. We all understood.”

© Copyright 2023 by Margaret King Zacharias, Ph.D.

Notes:

  1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theotokos
  2. https://www.ourcatholicprayers.com/litany-of-the-blessed-virgin-mary.html#:~:text=The%20Litany%20of%20The%20Blessed%20Virgin%20Mary%2C%20also%20known%20as,1587%20by%20Pope%20Sixtus%20V.
  3. Liguori Publications, Liguori, Missouri, 1998.
  4. https://www.papalencyclicals.net/pius09/p9ineff.htm
  5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shrine_of_Our_Lady_of_Altötting
  6. https://www.knockshrine.ie/history/

Photo credits:

Featured photo: Our Lady of Knock Interior Chapel Sculptures Attributions

Page URL: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Apparition_Chapel_with_Stained_Window.jpg

File URL: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/Apparition_Chapel_with_Stained_Window.jpg

Attributions: KnockShrine, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Inset Photo: Image of Our Lady of Altotting

Page URL: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gnadenbild,_Gnadenkapelle_Alt%C3%B6tting.jpeg

File URL: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ed/Gnadenbild%2C_Gnadenkapelle_Alt%C3%B6tting.jpeg

Attribution: Finner: Siddhartha Finner, Dipl.Ing.-Architektur, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Licensure: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

 

The Poetry and Praise of Nature

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The Poetry and Praise of Nature

Here we are in the middle of Eastertide. One of the things I have always loved about the Easter season is that it seems as though all of nature is celebrating the Resurrection of Christ along with us.  In my part of the world, Central Texas, this is the time for our annual display of wildflowers, a riot of colors that starts with deep blue bluebonnets, paired with light pink evening primroses that eventually fade into red, yellow and brown sunflowers as the weeks progress and the temperature warms up.

I was on a morning walk last week and stopped to take a photo of a patch of wildflowers. I was happy to see that there were others who were also pleased to see the wildflowers. Darting in and out of the blooms were butterflies and bees, and overhead birds were busy building nests while squirrels waved their bushy tails at me, peering from behind branches, daring me to notice them. The scene reminded me of a passage from one of my favorite children’s books, The Alligator and his Uncle Tooth, by Geoffrey Hayes.  This book tells the tale of a small alligator, named Corduroy, who loved to wander through the hills surrounding his home. He especially loved to meander through the pine forest, always “standing strong and silent through every season. When the trees were hung with snow or covered by fog or moved by wind, Corduroy watched them, and it was like seeing poetry.”

Later in the story Corduroy goes to live with his Auntie Hick, who runs a small stationery shop in a village by the seaside. The little alligator is overwhelmed at his first glimpse of the mighty sea.

“The sea roared as it swept onto the beach, sending up showers of salty mist that tingled Corduroy’s nose. He breathed in the ocean smell. How untamed it was! How alive!

“As he sat there watching it, the sea foam rolling on the waves looked like delicate clouds; and the clouds in the sky looked like flower blossoms; and the sky moved like a song. ‘Poetry!’ thought Corduroy.”

Ah, poetry. That literary form with the ability to teach, communicate and elevate through images and a minimum of syllables, to strip away the familiar and help us see it once again with fresh, new eyes. As I stood in the wildflower patch that morning, watching all the pollinators busy at their work, I felt as though I were watching a living embodiment of poetry, just like Corduroy.

Feeling the warm sun, knowing winter was finally slipping away for another year, I felt the promise of Easter joy rising again; the newness, the light, the victory, the hope. I thought “Someone should write something.” Then I thought “I bet someone already has.”

Upon returning home I opened my Bible and went to the Psalms, that book of precious poetry. Sure enough, I found Psalm 8:

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth.

You have set your glory above the heavens.

Out of the mouths of babes and infants

You have founded a bulwark because of your foes,

To silence the enemy and the avenger.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

The moon and the stars that you have established;

What are human beings that you are mindful of them,

Mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them a little lower than God,

And crowned them with glory and honor.

You have given them dominion over the works of your hands;

You have put all things under their feet,

All sheep and oxen

And also the beasts of the field,

The birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,

Whatever passes along the paths of the sea.

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth!

(NRSV Bible, Psalm 8)

 It is such a tremendous truth that all of nature worships God, just by doing what it was created to do. From the orange winged monarch butterfly to the mighty oak tree to the towering, silent mountains, all of creation offers its praise. May you, too, find yourself amid ample opportunities of living praise – and poetry – this Easter season!

© Copyright 2023 by Sarah Pedrozo

Featured photo Eastertide Wildflower Field © Copyright 2023 by Sarah Pedrozo

May I Have This Dance?

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May I Have This Dance?

I recently spent the day waiting for a family member undergoing a medical procedure. As we hunkered down in the lobby, a gentleman played the piano, filling the open atrium with melodies. We enjoyed reminiscing on some songs from the past, and I noticed how those conversations put our worried minds at ease. A hospital employee arrived at our table asking if we liked the piano music and if we would dance.

How lovely it was to see her go from table to table, bringing smiles to worried families looking for anything to occupy their minds while they waited. I never saw anyone accept the dance offer in the hours we spent in that space. However, moods were lifted, achieving the ultimate goal. I thought how wonderful it was for the hospital to provide this type of service and how nice of the employee to present it so joyfully. Little niceties like this are heaven-sent moments where God joins us in the dance.

Over the last several years, music therapy has become a staple in healthcare, and I am a big fan. Not long ago, I spent time with my uncle, who had suffered a stroke. Uncle Boo, I called him, had been a wedding singer for many years, and music meant the world to him.  When the nurses on his floor learned of his passion, they quickly ordered music therapy at his bedside. I was blessed to have been visiting him on a day when the therapist arrived. The stroke left his voice weak, but that did not slow him down.

Singing his favorite songs with the therapist brought tears, laughter, and an unforgettable smile to his face. The connection the therapist made with my uncle was like watching two old friends dancing cheek-to-cheek. Setting aside my emotions, I managed to record a voice memo on my phone as my uncle softly sang the lyrics, “All my lovin’, I will send to you,” and “Don’t you look back.” I relish the gift God gave me that day—an opportunity to play the recordings back, close my eyes, and dance.  Reflecting on that memory today, I realize how blessed I was to have chosen that particular moment to pop in for a visit, not to mention that this was God filling His dance card.

In both instances, music was a gift presented by God through a person who was trained and highly qualified, not to mention motivated to share their gift. That does not mean that only trained professionals can present gifts of this sort. For instance, before we were married, my husband asked me to dance in the middle of a candle store. It ultimately led to a dance with the same song on our wedding day—when God filled his and my dance cards. 

It makes me wonder how many other events, not only in my life but for everyone, are times when God asks us to dance. More obvious moments might be when the trees sway in a soft breeze inviting us to swing side to side as we watch the leaves dance. Or, perhaps, the joy on a child’s face as they ride on the playground. 

I can go on and on with different scenarios, and I’m sure there are many you can think of, also. God is with us in all things, big, small, medium, and large, especially in the twinkling of a dance. Embrace these joy-filled moments of glee and savor them with prayers of gratitude, a note in your journal, or sharing with a friend. My prayer for you, the reader, is that you tune into the little niceties as gifts from God. Consider them precious moments when God shows up with His dance card.  Like a little girl with her daddy, learning to dance, except this time, God is leading the steps. 

Copyright 2023 Kimberly Novak
Images Copyright Canva

Thickets

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Thickets are the middle stage of nature’s marvelous development of a forest. From a clear and open space, seeds of grasses, weeds and wildflowers take root and create a meadow that soon fosters shrubs and small trees. Eventually, through a process of change that means the dying of some to make room for new growth, a forest is born. Miriam Webster defines thicket as “a dense growth of shrubbery or small trees” and “something resembling a thicket in density or impenetrability.” Sometimes, the heavy overgrowth of daily life can close us in, encroach on our spirit. Along that path there have been thickets, veils, barriers of all kinds. We see thickets with our eyes. But we feel the shrouded thickness of unseen veils with our hearts. Relationships can sometimes challenge us with an invisible thicket that blocks a clear path if we let it. I wrote the poem, “Thickets” when I was much younger and didn’t have the benefit of countless spiritual retreats and parish Bible studies.

Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  (Philippians 4:6-7, NRSVCE)

I’ve come from the carefree meadow of my youth and am winding my way through life’s thickets which led me to the words of Isaiah –

Thou dost keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusts in thee.  (Isaiah 26:3, NRSVCE)

The tangled journey is all part of a grand design, and with God, nothing is impenetrable or impossible when He resides in the “thick of it” – not even the unseen veils covering wounded people. In the loving care of our Creator, we can walk through anything. I choose to walk through the thickets with Him by my side.

…And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20, NRSVCE)

 

Thickets

(Thoughts on Renoir’s “On the Terrace”)

There is a curtain green-thick and tangled
that hides us from the blue of other sides.
.
There is a veil –fine, frail, colorless –
that keeps me from her pale-white touch.
.
I clasp a brown-warm basket and cast my gaze
into the empty space,
while she, unseeing
looks away to weary reds and yellows.
.
The green-thick and tangled curtain
that hides us from the blue of other sides
is easier to pass through
than the veil between us.

Except for the Lord.

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

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