Wounded Images of Self and God

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“Among all my patients in the second half of life – there has not been one whose problem in the last resort was not finding a religious outlook on life. It is safe to say that every one of them fell ill because he had lost what the living religions of every age have given to their followers, and
none of them have been healed who did not regain his religious outlook.

This of course has nothing to do with a particular creed or membership in a church.”
Carl Jung, “Psychotherapists or the Clergy” (1932)

Psychotherapy can assist persons who wrestle with questions of faith, with wounded images of self and God. Psychotherapy with clients in nursing homes is not the same as pastoral counseling, and must make room for individual religious differences, or a lack of religion.

But in my experience as a psychotherapist, even persons who verbalize an atheist viewpoint still grapple with faith questions as they near death. A person who professes no beliefs might say to me that they still hope to see their loved ones after they die.

A lady in her 90’s asked, “Tom, how will I know if I’m dead?” She thought that if there is nothing, then nothing knows nothing. But if she knew she was dead, then she must have a soul that was knowing.

Another lady, Grace, was 103 years old and living in a Rest Home. She was referred to me for psychotherapy with a question of possible depression.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m depressed or not, I just can no longer do all the things I love. I love to read but my eyes are bad, and my fingers can’t hold a book or turn the page,” she said and held up her fingers, gnarled by arthritis.”I always did needlework; knitting and crocheting, but look, I can’t do that anymore.”

Using her walker to get to the bathroom was a slow and painful excursion for Grace because of her arthritis.

“I do have something I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy,” Grace said. “I have a vision, it’s the same thing over and over, and it’s not a dream – it happens when I’m awake, like this, sitting up in bed.

There is an old man standing in my door, and he is twisted like a tree that has long been out in the wind. He slowly shuffles to the foot of the bed, and in a deep voice that sounds like it’s coming from under the earth, he says, “We have to get together in the midst of this pain and work it out.”

Well, this same thing keeps happening again and again,” Grace explained.

Grace had earlier referred to her history of religious faith, and her current spiritual questions. I inquired further about her beliefs and doubts. She had always been a person of faith, yet now she felt inadequate and unlovable because she could no longer be the active and productive person she was.

We explored what the visionary experience might mean for her if she considered it in light of that cluster of feelings and thoughts. Perhaps, she came to consider, God was mirroring her current pain and asking to be close to her in its midst, and if she might allow that, rather than judging and dismissing her worth, it might be the solution to her troubles. With that understanding she suggested, “I think I’ll be okay now, Tom. I don’t have to think I’m no good just because I’m not like I used to be.”

Larry was 74 years old and had spent the last three years in a nursing home. He was nearing the end of his life and was dreading it. He was born with a birth defect. His father had been alcoholic, and physically and emotionally abusive.

Larry loved and hated his father. During nearly every psychotherapy session he made comments about hating God. He experienced a conflict of love and hate for his father, and he was unconsciously able to partially hold on to the love side of that conflict by projecting the hate side upwards.

“But I did see the light one time, Tom,” he said. Larry had been scuba diving, doing restoration work beneath a large ship, and he became stuck, ran out of oxygen, and knew he was about to die.

“Suddenly there was a beautiful light all around, and I never felt better in all my life, and I was loose, and I came to the top.”

“Did that change any of your thoughts about God?” I asked.

“Aw, no, I still hated God. But, you know, I did see the light two more times.”

Larry went on to describe two additional near-death experiences, with bright light and peaceful feelings, but he was not able to consciously draw comfort from those experiences as he neared the end of life.

Chris was a 64-year-old resident in a nursing facility, and in one therapy session he shared an essay he’d written about mental illness and religious faith.

“In our struggle with schizophrenia, we have much to contend with. The many highs and lows, confusions and crises in the life of a schizophrenic. We try medication, psychiatrists and the like. These things work to a degree, but not something that sustains you or makes you stable. God is good for the mentally ill. The only concern is we have to be careful not to confuse spirituality with our mental illness. Mental illness makes it difficult to believe in God. We are so confused and not sure what to believe anyway with hallucinations and such. God is aware of this, and He knows the plight of the mentally ill.”

Yes, but how might one differentiate mental illness from spirituality?

Certainly, some people with a mental illness do confuse the two. But many individuals experience both a mental illness and a vibrant religious faith, and they can be distinctly different.

What might be characteristics of a wholesome religious outlook versus psychopathological distortions?

Unhelpful and pathological religious elements are characterized by fear, anxiety, avoidance, grandiosity, aggression, subjective idiosyncrasy, irrationality, and hatred. Whereas productive and encouraging spiritual viewpoints include humility, patience, peace, insight, fortitude, and tend to be conventional and doctrinal, as well as rational, and foster love.

In psychotherapy I follow the lead of spiritual symptoms, signals, questions and comments of clients, and help them sort through questions and influences of past experiences, and create space for a life-affirming and personality-broadening religious outlook, based on their individual beliefs, and on our shared existential challenges regarding illness, aging, and death.

 

copyright 2026 Tom Medlar

woman sitting at desk with crafting supplies.

Finding God in The Relentless Act of Scrolling

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We all frequently fall into a familiar trap, and I must admit I find myself caught in it quite often. Some people might even consider it a legitimate activity because it consumes so much of our time each day. I log onto social media with the intention of checking in on my friends and family, only to find myself endlessly scrolling through my feed! Much of what I come across consists of silly, useless videos, often called reels. While some content is trivial, I do enjoy the cooking reels and have tried making some great new dishes, along with a few disastrous ones. I’ve also stumbled upon a few crafting gems and plenty of home remodeling projects that I would love to attempt, even though I likely never will. Nevertheless, I save those videos, hoping to incorporate them into my life someday.

Occasionally, I come across genuine, authentic messages of faith. I have seen a lot of prayer, scripture, and references to God, which leads me to believe that, out there, God has an army of believers glorifying His name and sharing His light and love. Several years ago, I made a promise to use social media solely to glorify God, share the Good News of Jesus, post scripture, and offer uplifting and prayerful thoughts—all with the goal of sharing God with everyone and anyone.

I have remained true to that promise to some extent. Although I have shared a few cooking and remodeling reels that had nothing to do with God. However, if they brought a smile to someone’s face and caused no harm, I believe I’m okay with that!

Recently, I hit the jackpot with a reel that beautifully combined themes of God, faith, and crafting! The title captivated me: “How to Make a Prayer Bible (That Actually Helps You Pray),” and I immediately felt inspired to take action. I love God, I love prayer, and I consider myself a bit of a Bible hoarder (but that’s a conversation for another time). 

In the fifteen-minute video, Diana Kokku guides viewers step-by-step through her process of creating a prayer Bible. She graciously offers a free download that includes instructions, supply links, and 100 scripture verses. I took her straightforward instructions to heart and purchased the exact supplies, highlighters, and page tabs to avoid getting caught up in the endless shopping scroll—yet another trap! I grabbed my prettiest Bible and eagerly awaited the delivery so I could begin my project.

During those hours of waiting, I reviewed the instructions and scripture verses suggested by Diana, and I found myself wanting to highlight nearly all of them. It’s as if Diana captured everything I ever wanted to bring up in prayer. How often do we realize we need to pray for something specific but struggle to find a scripture passage that resonates or feels helpful? The concept of a prayer Bible made sense to me, even though the Bible is already intended for prayer. Somehow, creating a color-coded index with matching highlights adds a feeling of significance. It’s like putting frosting on a cake; it enhances the flavor and makes it more visually appealing.

I settled on 12 categories for prayer. In the top section of the page, I listed personal intentions, including my husband, kids, provision, and my online prayer community. On the side, I organized more generalized topics such as purpose, hope, guidance, peace, healing, God’s love, praise, and trust. After just a few weeks, I was pleased with the results and can confidently say that Diana fulfilled her promises.

I pray more often, using Scripture, and I always know what to pray for. I keep the handy prayer Bible alongside my everyday Bible, and the colored tabs sticking out from the edge seem to call out to me. After you watch the video and feel inspired, I suggest taking some time for prayerful discernment to determine what your index tabs will be. Initially, I jumped into it on my own, but then I realized I needed to invite God into the decision-making process. Once I included God, everything flowed more naturally. Now, when I pray using the selected verses, I feel that I have been guided there by divine inspiration.

If you love crafting, praying, and appreciating beautiful things, stop scrolling. Grab your favorite highlighters and embark on a new journey of prayer because God is waiting for you. I plan to share this activity and concept with clients as I guide them on their faith journeys.

 

©️  2026 Kimberly Novak. All rights reserved.

The Purple Flower and the Art of Letting Go

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The Purple Flower and the Art of Letting Go

“Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” — Matthew 6:33–34

My mother didn’t just read those words. She lived her life practicing them. Today, I’ll share with you my mother’s lifelong surrender to God’s will and what she taught me about waiting and trusting.

One afternoon, sitting with her in the den, I noticed her staring at me. When I started to speak, she laughed and said, “I can’t help looking at your face—it looks like you have a purple flower on your nose.” I checked the mirror for a smudge, found nothing, and came back laughing. “That’s a good title for a poem or something,” I told her. “I’m going to write about that one day.”

I kept that promise. Purple Flower on My Nose is the story of the twenty-six days my sister and I moved back home to care for our mother, Violet, during home hospice—but really, it is the story of a lifetime of holy surrender and what it taught me about trusting God’s will when nothing makes sense.

My mother had a feeding tube for over thirty years. She could drink liquids that moved under gravity, but never could eat food. She traveled to Lourdes in the hope of finding a cure. Instead, she came home saying Jesus had told her the feeding tube was His gift to her. And she accepted it — never grumbling while the rest of us enjoyed our meals, never asking why. In the hospital, near the end, she said simply, “Jesus suffered for me. I can suffer for Him.”

That is what surrender looked like to her: not defeat, not resignation, but friendship with God so deep that even suffering became something to offer back to Him. When anyone admired her faith and positive attitude, she would wave it off: “It’s not me, it’s the Lord in me.”

My own surrender came harder. During those home hospice days, I wrote in my journal through tears: I believe, I trust—I just don’t understand or know, and so I wait. This limbo is a mystery, but Jesus, I do trust in you. I learned that trust is not the absence of questions. It is choosing to wait on God, even when questions remain unanswered.

And here is the surprising truth: surrender did not make those days grim. It made them holy—and even joyful. My mother told us, “You have to laugh even when you are dying,” and we did. Amidst the heavy sorrow of anticipation, my sisters and I laughed with her. In her final days, drinking tea from a dropper, she whispered, “I am so happy.”

Happy. Dying, and happy. That is the fruit of her life spent seeking first the kingdom—and she did so in her child-like, trusting faith.

If you are in your own season of waiting—a diagnosis, a loss, a limbo you didn’t choose—please know that surrender is not giving up. It is going through even when you don’t understand. It is trusting that the One who sees tomorrow loves you enough to sustain and hold you through today.

My mother’s name was Violet. The purple flower she saw on my nose was, I think, her way of leaving herself with me. This is me, writing about it—just as I promised her I would one day.

Copyright 2026 Paula Veloso Babadi

Edited by Gabriella Batel

Picture credit: Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Miles and Milestones

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I’m sitting at a hotel lobby waiting for my Uber, and there’s this boy speaking loudly, saying his name over and over, with some other sounds, and his mother is shushing him. It brought me back to a night in Mexico when I was sitting at a park bench. Kids play late in Mexico, like there is no school the next day. Our children were playing together, and she asked how old my son was. I told her, and she got teary-eyed. She said her son was roughly the same age, but that she thought he was autistic. Quietly, she had been comparing their developmental milestones. What could I say? What word of encouragement could I offer this woman? 

“Don’t worry,” I said, “Your son is going to live a happy life.” I don’t know why I spoke like a prophet. I guess I wanted to speak it into existence, to give her hope and peace of mind for her son’s future. The woman loved her son dearly, I could tell by how patient she was with him, how she let him run freely and bravely on the soccer pitch even with the drop off, and how she rushed to him when he was too close to danger. She let him test his boundaries.

It made me think of a short story I once read with my sixth-grade students, called Raymond’s Run by Toni Cade Bambara. The story starts with a spunky girl from Harlem named Squeaky introducing herself and her main job in the family: taking care of her special needs brother, Raymond. Throughout the story, Squeaky is preparing for a race and has her brother tagging along as she travels through her neighborhood, stretching, doing breathing exercises, and even confronting her challenger, Gretchen, and her friends, who try to tease her brother. On the day of the big race, Squeaky notices how her brother mimics her: “bending down with his fingers on the ground,” getting in place. At first, she wants to yell at him, to correct him, but realizes it would waste too much energy before the race. She takes off and sees Raymond running beside her along the fence, “in his own way,” and thinks that he is a mighty fine runner. At the end, she doesn’t know if she won because of the commotion, but that doesn’t matter anymore; she starts to think of training Raymond. She believes he could carry on the family tradition, since their father is a runner, too. She realizes all her medals and ribbons don’t amount to anything if Raymond could win his own medal. 

Like the mother in the lobby who shushes her child, or Squeaky who first wants to yell at her brother when he sets in place for the run, we can box people into how we think they should behave. Or literally put them in a baby swing to stay put, like Squeaky did to Raymond, so she could run her race. But Raymond got out; the story never says how, and suddenly he is running along the fence, beside her. 

When I step outside to meet the Uber, the boy passes me, now holding his dad’s hand. He is smiling, looking up at the sky. It’s his dad’s love that speaks to me now. I watch him walking alongside his father, and I don’t worry about him or his future because he is loved. 

I guess that is what I was trying to say to that mother in the park. To tell her that her love was bigger than a baby swing and wider than a soccer pitch. That it had the power to travel past miles and milestones to where I am now, pulling me into her story and toward the frustrated mother across the room, running beside me in its own way.  

 

copyright 2026 Janet Tamez

“Exult, let them exult”: The Church in Paschal Celebration

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Just two weeks ago, the Holy Church entered into the joyous season of Easter. The solemn celebration is, every year, ushered in by the three-day liturgical marathon of the Triduum. Those enriching three days are endowed with some of the most beautiful sacred music in the life of the Church – and I am blessed to be part of music ministry in my parish. 

What I found most fascinating this year while listening to the sacred chants embedded into the Easter Vigil was the feeling which the melodies inspire. One would not at first consider the “Exultet” an upbeat song of triumph, nor would the simple tone of the “Regina Caeli” strike anyone as a happy tune. Perhaps we would confuse any secular friend we might invite to the Vigil by the nature of our Church’s solemn celebrating! 

The Church’s hymns speak from a place of mystery and deep joy rather than frivolous partying, which may be more familiar to our culture as a proper form of celebration. The melodies of Easter chants become a bit more complex to match the solemnity of the occasion, but the pace remains slow and meditative to best serve the words being sung. Chant is purposefully almost impossible to trace a constant “beat” throughout as it is meant as an elevation of sacred proclamations. It is as though the singing form of communication from heaven’s eternity has broken into human life when one hears a well-sung chant. The wonderful Easter proclamation of the “Exultet” is nothing like any modern, happy songs – it is a hymn one would expect the angels to deliver to the faithful people.

The key to the Church’s Easter celebration lies, I think, in the reality and prevalence of death. Our parish priest likes to remind his congregation at the Easter Vigil of Theoden’s last charge in The Return of the King, and the Rohirrim’s cry of “Death!” as they ride behind their king. Perhaps just such a battle cry is woven into the Church’s triumph at our Lord’s resurrection. The glory we celebrate as a Church is not simply expressed through the stereotypical Easter sunhats and spring flowers— it is a glory that has cost the victor His very life. We may take comfort in joining Christ’s charge because he is not making promises of comfort and ease, but rather of something beyond the inevitable deaths in this world that we must face. He has been through death; he calls us to follow where he has gone, and promises something far beyond the expectations of human happiness.

I hope, as we continue to enjoy this next half of Easter season, we might immerse our imaginations in solemn joy in order to inspire our writing. One needn’t write a comedy to employ a joyous ending – the greatest tragedies tap into a sense of divine, imperishable joy. As artists, it is almost a duty for us to give readers a glimpse into the eternal joy that triumphs after this earthly life. Creative writing does not enjoy the religious significance which sacred music does, but it might inspire readers in the face of life’s difficulties, and assure them that there is hope, even beyond death itself!

Copyright 2026 Maggie Rosario

Edited By Janet Tamez

PRAYER, THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

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Spring has sprung, and I am thankful winter is a thing of the past.  It’s hard to believe we are still in the early months of 2026, when I consider the many things that have happened in those few short months.  I mourn the loss of two beautiful friends. I can’t imagine going through the grief of losing my friends without a prayerful dialogue with God. I prayed for healing, and I believe God answered that prayer, because they are now resting in the eternal arms of Jesus, completely healed.

Along with the emergence of spring, I’ve been met with a bevy of new responsibilities and the excitement of finishing my latest novel. Through all of the ups and downs, I began to take stock in blessings, the little glimmers of hope gifted to me from our Heavenly Father. One day, as I centered myself in a meaningful moment of prayer, I realized I was overlooking the biggest blessing yet — prayer as a vital gift from God.  Prayer is a gift from God, where I receive it openly with all my weaknesses, gifts, strengths, and worries.  It is a gift, when accepted, to open over and over again, and one I cannot live without. There is absolutely no way I could have completed my second novel without God at my side and the countless hours spent going to Him through prayer for direction and inspiration.  

“Everything, even sweeping, scraping vegetables, weeding a garden, and waiting on the sick could be a prayer, if it were offered to God.”

 ~ St. Martin de Porres

The reality of a commitment to prayer varies with lifestyle and schedule. The one constant among all of us is that God is always ready to give us the gift of prayer.  God will receive our prayers anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.  I find myself falling asleep often as I thank him for my day and the blessings yet to come. I know that God is okay with my drifting off to sleep, because my first prayer in the night is for a peaceful sleep.  God often answers that one first!  The remainder, he can glean from my heart as I slumber in his heavenly embrace.

On the days I struggle to awaken early to “fit God in”, I look to scripture for the motivation I need in my weakness.  I look specifically to the moments when Jesus arose early to pray. Certainly, if Jesus could find time for prayer in his active ministry, I have no excuse.

I am not one to return a gift from a friend; I cherish the sentiment and create a memory of the moment of receiving that very special gift.  God deserves the same treatment when He so graciously gives us the gift of communication with Him through prayer.

Today, I am grateful that God is patient with me and allows me to pray anytime, even if I’m folding laundry; God will participate in that moment with me. All I have to do is let Him in. As I welcome spring and look forward to summer, I embrace the gift of prayer and talk to God about whatever my day may bring. I know God will provide guidance within every up and every down that comes my way.  I invite you to consider how you can make your prayer life as fruitful as your garden. God is waiting and ready to present the very special gift of prayer to you!

 

 

Copyright 2026 Kimberly Novak

Edited by Janet Tamez

When a Frog Interrupts Your Day

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It’s Friday, and time has flown by. I feel a bit disappointed because the stuff I wanted to do during my spring break didn’t happen. This whole week I had off for spring break, from teaching at the university, and I had planned to use the time to have the house to myself, enjoy a nice morning tea, and write. But that is not what happened at all. My mother-in-law came to visit, and since I was the one off from work, I was the one entertaining her while my husband worked. I found myself feeling irritated with the just my luck type of attitude. Just when I could get a good momentum on my novel, I’d have to sit away from it for a week, and then return to work, only to be pulled away again by my normal day-to-day hustle.

Originally, I had plans to visit my son in Mexico, but it turned out that he was actually going to be in the United States for a training camp instead. Well, let’s say I had a taste of my own medicine. When I went to visit my son at training, he was perturbed because he felt my presence had distracted him from his routine. He had to “lock in,” he said. He had his schedule worked out, and none of it had time for banter with mom and the family. We drove two hours to see him each way, and he complained that we affected his performance. He had plans for what to do with his spare time: read the bible, hit the gym, and do more training (whatever he believed would bring him success at the training camp).

I can relate because, as a writer, I felt the same thing with my mother-in-law’s visit. I would rather have been typing away my chapters than taking her shopping at her favorite bargain-priced stores like Burlington, Ross, or Costco. I hate shopping and driving. But I prayed for grace to be hospitable because I remembered once reading that we should treat guests as if they were a visit from Christ.

Because I wanted to lecture my son about hospitality, I began to research where I had learned this from. I didn’t know if it was taken from scripture or from a saint’s biography I had once read. Turns out, it came from Benedictine philosophy that says visitors should be treated as if Christ himself is visiting you.

Then some scriptures popped up supporting the idea of hospitality and holiness. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, it says, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.” And in the Book of Acts, Jesus advises the apostles how to visit a person’s house, how to bless them with peace, and how to go and dust your sandals if you are not received well. 

I wanted to tell my son that a visit from his parents brings blessings, and likewise, I didn’t want to get angry at him for rejecting our visit. I wanted to dust my sandals off and move on. But he’s my son, and I felt like I did wrong, like I raised him wrong, like I should have taught him how to receive visitors. It’s not just mom nagging him about his rudeness; it’s what Jesus taught us about welcoming others.

So, I have prayed for a good attitude while my mother-in-law is around. I pray for the grace to enjoy her presence and see the blessing she brings in her visit.

If you think about the story of Mary and Martha, and how Martha was worried about her chores that she didn’t get to enjoy the visit from Jesus. Jesus had to tell her that Mary was doing the right thing. So, I must do the same. I mustn’t think about how much writing I could have gotten done, but about doing my best to be Christlike and put my Christian hospitality in action.

If I think about stories as a reader, it’s always a lovely surprise when a new character steps into the scene. In mysteries, a visitor often sets the story in motion, like in Sherlock Holmes. They are the ones who knock on the door, present the problem, and voila, Sherlock’s got himself another case. New characters entertain and intrigue readers as they navigate who is who in the mystery. 

I also think of Frog and Toad, a childhood favorite of mine. Toad is often grumpy, and Frog’s visits always bring him out of his mood, showing how their friendship complements each other. Sometimes we need a frog to pull away from our day-to-day routine. In the chapter “Spring,” Frog is actually the one who ushers in the spring. He goads Toad out of his hibernation and rips off the calendar pages so that it is May. If only I could rip the pages off my calendar to usher in an early summer break.

For my four and six-year-old children, my mother-in-law’s visit is a visit from Grandma, which means toys and candy. For my teen daughter, it means shopping and Grandma cleaning her room. For my husband, it means a partner to watch his crime shows with. My mother-in-law’s visit has given me a reality check. It has shown me how I can be just like my teenage son, trying to “lock in” when I write. I don’t ever want to make someone feel rejected or unwelcome, especially after a long travel. 

When we go out shopping, I notice new things too, like a mother peacefully turning a vase around in her hands, looking for a crack, while her toddler snores in his stroller like a baby chick, his head hung forward. I smile to myself; I know that victory. I had forgotten about the small joys and victories of a mom going shopping with a toddler. 

The aisles are filled with Easter baskets and pretty pink tulle, and I start to feel guilty that I haven’t begun filling up the Easter baskets or even started looking for an Easter dress for my daughters. 

My mother-in-law’s words over a cup of coffee offer new insight into my situation. She’s letting me know my lease is up, I should start looking at apartments soon, my transmission sounds bad, I need to get it fixed, and all these things I wouldn’t have paid attention to because I’m preoccupied with my writing projects. I tell her how bothered I am by my son’s behavior. She tells me that athletes are weird creatures; they have unique superstitions. Perhaps she’s right. I remember my English Composition class of freshman football players and their essays. One student wrote about a lucky chain he wore under his uniform, and another about a pair of lucky sneakers he wore on the court. Even if it is superstitions or some distorted perception of things, I’d like my son to know what Jesus says about welcoming others. 

And I need the reminder myself. I, too, can be a grumpy toad when someone interrupts my writing. Sometimes it takes a visit from a Frog (or a mother-in-law) to pull me away from my computer and take a break… a spring break. An invitation to step outside and see “what the world looks like in the spring.” 

copyright 2026 Janet Tamez

“Un poco a riso”: The Joy of Dante’s Purgatorio

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Last spring, in my final semester of my undergraduate studies, I covered the medieval period requirement of my literature program with a study of Dante. The Divine Comedy was a truly fulfilling way to finish out my three-year liberal arts degree. Dante’s incomparable work is a most shining example of literature’s interdisciplinary potential. One cannot study the literature of the Comedy without touching upon history, languages, philosophy, and theology. Dante, and literature in general, can be both a gateway into the other disciplines and a rewarding treasure that is available once the others have been studied in depth. Studying Dante in the semester in which I did, with a wonderfully mixed group of third- and fourth-year students, I was amazed at the beautiful intersection of all disciplines. Students majoring in history, Classical studies, or the theology buffs all brought great insight to the table because Dante has something for everyone.

I digress. Dante’s work is a rich harvesting ground for scholars, but my purpose is to appreciate his relevance for the Lenten pilgrim.

Having thoroughly enjoyed my semester with Dante, but mindful of the enduring value of the Comedy after many readings, I took up the Purgatorio again as a Lenten pilgrimage through holy purification for the soul. There is much to be gleaned from the depictions of sins and their various cures, but a few aspects of the work stood out in particular as fitting meditations in the season of Lent. The physical imagery and structure of the Mountain of Purgatory, with its seven levels – or “cornices” – corresponding to the Seven Deadly Sins, gives a wonderful and memorable visual depiction to help one tackle sin in real life.

First, and this is fitting to this Fourth Sunday of Lent – known as Laetare Sunday – Dante’s depiction of Purgatorio is touched with a deep sense of joy and peace. Be assured, there is much penitential sorrowing and prayers for mercy and forgiveness, but the attitude of the suffering souls is one of resignation to the saving work of purification, and a levity of spirit because they are assured of ultimate bliss in heaven. Near the end of Canto IV, Dante recognizes a soul among those in Ante-Purgatory (a sort of holding space before entering into the cornices of Purgatory proper) and smiles, saying, “no longer need I grieve for you” (Purgatorio IV.123). Dante has found his friend, one whose life had not been the most virtuous, in Purgatory, and this is cause for joy, despite the suffering and purification that still await him.

True, the suffering souls still yearn for heaven’s bliss; they are incomplete without it, but the souls in Purgatory are safe from eternal damnation. They may be sure that their suffering has a definite endpoint, and their deepest longing will ultimately be fulfilled. The souls one encounters in reading the Purgatorio brilliantly contrast with those of the Inferno in their willingness to undergo suffering, singing and praying to God throughout the experience. 

We, of Church Militant, might share the Suffering Souls’ joy in penitence. While our Lenten days can be tedious and painful, we can rejoice to know there is merit in suffering and that we might draw closer to God through the discomfort. We rejoice on Laetare Sunday to know that the end is in sight – that resurrection and redemption are at hand for us, as heaven is at hand for those climbing Mount Purgatorio.

Another aspect of Purgatorio which might serve one well on the Lenten pilgrimage is the use of Marian example as an encouragement against vice. Pride is combatted by the humble “Fiat” of the Annunciation; Sloth is rebuked with the reminder that Mary went in haste to visit her cousin Elizabeth; Lust is chastened with the Virgin’s words “I know not man”, to name a few. Prayer through meditation on our Blessed Mother is a powerful practice for both Purgatorial and Lenten pilgrimage. Of course, as Dante will show, mediation can also take the via negativa route, considering biblical examples of those who espoused vice rather than virtue. Both have a place – both can be beneficial in curing a soul of vice.

A final lesson one might take from Purgatorio and apply to the Lenten pilgrimage is the value of communal prayer, in union with the prayer of the Church, as a cure for human sinfulness. At each cornice of the Purgatorio, and even in the less structured realm of Ante-Purgatory, the souls are found in prayer together. In the specific cornices, the prayers are pointed and aimed towards conversion from the sin addressed in that area. Perhaps Dante’s selection of prayer for each sin could act as a meditative guide for readers fighting the seven sins represented in the purgatorial cornices! But, more importantly, Dante portrays the souls in Purgatory as incorporated into the prayer of the Church – the same prayers as should be familiar to those steeped in Catholic tradition. In our Lenten journey, much as the souls who seek purification after death, we must certainly depend upon the prayers which Holy Mother Church has handed on to us to be prayed in communion with our brothers and sisters.

So, let my encouragement to you at this mid-lent point be to take up Dante’s Purgatorio for yourself and find therein some inspiration for these last weeks of your pilgrimage. And, as writers, let us endeavor to steep ourselves in the wisdom of many disciplines, but most especially in the wisdom of our Faith, for inspiration in our writing.

May we each draw closer to God through our Lenten penitence! And, may the Souls of the Faithful Departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace!

 

Copyright ©️ 2026 Maggie Rosario

Edited By Janet Tamez

The Transcendent Verticality of the Glorious Mysteries

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We can read Scripture and grow in our understanding and our living relationship with its messages, but we will always remain somewhat mystified by it because Scripture contains information and insights that are revealed to us. They are not of our own human creation.

We can become more familiar with Scripture as we deepen our reading of it. We might develop convictions of knowing it, but we are reading about things that will always exceed our understanding or explanation.

The Bible is the story of a search and rescue mission performed by our heavenly Father, after we fell into sin, sickness and death by falling for the deceit of the father of lies. From Genesis to Revelation, we are told of the myriads of ways in which God has communicated Himself to humans and guided us gently back into whole union with Him.

The grand story culminates in the Gospels, when God comes in the human and divine person of Jesus to complete the revelation, to offer a mystical structure, and a living body of knowledge that will endure until He comes once again. The Gospels confront us with situations and events that we seem to understand, and perhaps even take for granted, but that are actually unknowable and unexplainable, in simply human terms, and that must be fortified by reasoning and assented to by faith.

We are quite familiar with the story of Jesus rising up out of His grave, yet we do not know how such a thing is possible – because it is only possible for God. On each page of the four gospels, we encounter supernatural occurrences that we can recount yet cannot explain. On our own, we do not know how to dispel a demon, or walk on water, or calm a storm, or raise someone from the dead.

Praying the Glorious Mysteries of the rosary is a dizzying experience for me. The five Glorious Mysteries are the Resurrection, the Ascension of Jesus, the Descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the Assumption of Mary, and the Coronation of Mary as Queen of Heaven and Earth.

We might be moved by profound love and gratitude simply by reading the list of those mysteries, yet there is not one that belongs to our human experiences. They each are a revelation of powers beyond our abilities or our grasp.

Praying the Glorious Mysteries involves supernatural vertical movements that cause a lurch in my stomach, like riding a rollercoaster. We are taken on upward and downward spiritual passages between realms we hear about and may partially experience, yet do not comprehend. Do we really know what it is like in the netherworld of death? Can we truly understand what actually occurs when Jesus rises up from that unknown place? These are not natural places or powers.

What actually happened when Jesus somehow changed from seen to unseen, from the natural world back to the supernatural reality from whence He came, at His ascension? Certainly, we cannot explain in natural or human terms what it means that the Holy Spirit of God descended in flames and empowered the apostles with new abilities, providing a mystical ecclesiastical body for us all.

We all pass from dust to dust, but not Mary. She alone was lifted bodily from earth to heaven, and was then crowned as Queen over all.

Each Glorious Mystery involves a sublime movement between natural and supernatural realities that bewilder us and elate us with their promises.

Rising up from the world of death to a new and different state of life!

Rising from this secondary created world to the original and eternal reality!

Descending from heaven to earth and bringing a new share in divine realities to all persons!

Raising our singular and universal mother to a bodily place in the blessed realm of Heaven!

Crowning Mary as the queen of angels and persons!

I sway as I prayerfully encounter these transcendently vertical supernatural experiences of the Glorious Mysteries of the rosary that elude our comprehension, yet which have been gifted to us as a living reality, and an open invitation to participate in them, now and forever.

copyright 2026 Tom Medlar

2025 Margaret King Zacharias

Elder is a Verb

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Editor’s note: Technical issues are a nuisance, but in this case it is to our benefit because we revisit Margaret’s September column which disappeared into the ether, along with several other author’s works, due to website issues, now resolved, the latter part of the year.

 

“… It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and

bear fruit that will remain …”  — John 15:16

“Now is the season of the fruiting and the dying.”  — Mary Dingman, SSSF

 

Elder is a Verb

My long-time spiritual director, Sister Mary Dingman (1919-2017), a vowed member of the School Sisters of St. Francis, was the first person from whom I heard the words, “elder is a verb.”

Sister Mary served her order with distinction as novice mistress, postulancy mistress, Catholic high school teacher, provincial coordinator, and formation director in multiple settings, from the Archdiocese of Milwaukee to the Archdiocese of Omaha. (1)

An apocryphal story tells that while she was still a novice herself, Mary refused a demand to sit in the back seat, from her brother’s fellow seminarian who was giving her a ride back to the convent from their rural hometown.

He was afraid of being seen with a female in his automobile. Novice Mary climbed straight into the front passenger seat. She didn’t recognize any difference in moral responsibility among disciples of the Lord, only different roles to fulfill.

Sister Mary was already a recognized religious figure in her own right by the time her older brother, Bishop Maurice Dingman (1914-1992), called her back to their home state of Iowa.  He asked her to support and assist the Jesuit priests who served Emmaus Community prayer house, to extend opportunities for professional spiritual direction beyond the clergy and into the wider Des Moines lay community.

For more than twenty years, Mary Dingman, SSSF served as a spiritual director at Emmaus House, in a historic Victorian two-story home located close the inner city. She prepared daily lunches where everyone was welcomed to the feast in her beautifully set dining room, after liturgy and Eucharist were offered in the home’s cozy living room. Mass was celebrated there for many years by one of the Jesuit or diocesan priests, as simply and profoundly as the earliest Christians celebrated in the catacombs. Later, centering prayer groups and holy day dinners joined the schedule as the Emmaus community grew.

Sister Mary hosted Catholic and Protestant clergymen, vowed religious, and laypersons for private retreats in the small bedrooms upstairs, providing three excellent meals a day along with plenty of quiet time and peace to enjoy the gardens that surrounded her home. She was still driving, by herself, around the state to provide directed retreats at monasteries and convents, into her late eighties.

Sister Mary Dingman fulfilled her commission as an apostle proclaimed by Jesus in the Gospel of John: to bear fruit that would last.

Emmaus House maintains its commitment to Ignatian Spirituality and community fellowship in the Diocese of Des Moines, even to this very day; offering educational conferences, group and private retreats, as well as personal spiritual direction, now from a new home that is better-equipped to utilize modern technology. (2)

What about us?

As the Autumn Equinox arrives this Monday, September 22, where do we find ourselves? Probably most members of the Catholic Writers Guild are attending Mass regularly, and making strong efforts to educate their families in the faith.

We might not want to think too much about our own deaths, but are we still living our faith to its fullest?

According to the United States census, all members of the United States “Baby Boom” population, people who were born between 1946 and 1964, will not reach the current “retirement” age of 65 until 2030 (3).

“Independent living communities” for “senior citizens” have been popping up like mushrooms all over the country for decades, and many have long wait lists as well as hefty fees. Busy families with active young children and teenagers are too often forced to beg, in some places, to find a single bed available in a skilled nursing home with adequate facilities to help them care for aging parents.

How many devout and aging Catholics do we know, who are facing difficult choices for their final years?

The Oxford English Dictionary gives three parts of speech for the word “elder”:  noun, adjective, and verb – which is offered third in order, after the noun and the adjective, because it is the least common usage.

“1. verb trans. With it, to play the elder. rare. …”

“2. verb intrans. Become older, begin to show signs of age. colloq. and poet. …”

“3. verb trans. Make a request to or admonish a person …” (4)

But none of these were what my friend Sister Mary meant, nor how she lived her own life. She spoke with an active verb, and went about “eldering” with her whole self.

Are we thinking too much about the leaves falling and dreading winter? Are we approaching our own “autumns” as fates to “die” rather than to “fruit”?

Many older people in our society are struggling to afford food on limited social security payments. Children in schools often need surrogate grandparents to listen to their reading and tell them stories, when parents may be too busy or too overwhelmed.

Families, parishes, and dioceses offer plentiful opportunities to help with food pantries, assist the ill or handicapped, offer constructive personal attention to children.

Perhaps most important, “Baby Boomers” who have already retired and those who will retire over the next three decades are the last generation on earth who will remember a culture, and a quality of human life, before demands and consequences of administration by computer.

We can leave an imprint of real experiences in direct and human interaction with the generations that will follow us.

The saints in heaven watch over us as we drag ourselves out of bed, perhaps groaning with arthritic pain. They listen to and intercede for our prayers on behalf of our ancestors, neighbors, children, and grandchildren. They see us picking up our glasses, hearing aids, keys, canes, or walkers, putting on our coats and boots, going out to take care of our daily business.

No matter our circumstances, we can move forward into this autumn of 2025 — even as our earthly weather starts progressing towards winter – carrying the fruits of love, hope, and genuine encounters that endure.

 

© 2025 by Margaret King Zacharias

Feature photo: First Color in Iowa – Photo Credit Margaret Zacharias. Published with permission.

Inset photo: Autumn Rainbow to Heaven – Photo Credit Charles Zacharias.  Published with permission.

 

Notes

  1. https://www.barrmemorialchapel.com/obituary/4352175
  2. https://www.theemmaushouse.org/about-us
  3. https://www.census.gov/library/stories/2019/12/by-2030-all-baby-boomers-will-be-age-65-or-older.html
  4. Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, Fifth Edition, Volume I A-M, Oxford University Press, Great Clarendon Street, OX2 6DP, Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc, New York, 2002, p. 801.

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