Despite my deep and abiding faith, something in me prickled when I tried to convince myself that this could be the real deal. I couldn’t bring myself to go, that is until my most recent — and fifth — visit to the Eternal City. The Holy Stairs were on the itinerary of the pilgrimage I was leading through Italy. When we arrived at the site, I fully intended to stand by and let the other pilgrims proceed, and then my husband, Dennis, volunteered to go first when no one else stepped forward. I immediately joined him, as did our son, Noah.

It is customary to climb the 28 steps on your knees while praying, which is what we did. As the three of us began, all on the same step as we inched our way up, I prayed for all those intentions I had brought with me from people back home and for my family and friends. As we continued, sometimes waiting for those ahead who were having more difficulty navigating the ascent, I began expanding my prayers to include all those who were before and behind me on the stairs, and finally, as my knees started to ache and I felt a twinge in my back, my prayers seemed to encompass the whole world, and there was a feeling of incredible love for all those on the stairs with me. It was for me a version of what Trappist monk Tho­mas Merton described in his “Fourth and Walnut moment,” when he stood on a street corner in Kentucky and saw those around him shining like the sun.

I was deeply moved, not because I suddenly believed without a doubt in the veracity of the claim that the stairs are the stairs, but because none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that we climbed those stairs out of faith, bound together by a common purpose with our interior prayers swirling around the silence.

That night, as our pilgrimage group gathered for dinner, we began talking about our favorite parts of the day, which, as you might expect on a pilgrimage through Italy, was jam-packed with important spiritual sites. I was so happy to hear numerous people say that the Holy Stairs were the highlight. And that is the blessing and beauty of pilgrimage.

We often think we understand the meaning of the word “pilgrimage,” until we find ourselves in the midst of an actual pilgrim journey with things not going exactly as planned, or on a staircase we had no intention of climbing and discover transcendence and transformation where we least expect it. That is often the case when we are willing to embrace the journey before us rather than the image we’ve created in our minds. To be a pilgrim is not to sit in a café and sip espresso, although that’s lovely; it is to walk the path of those who came before us in hopes that as we do so we will be changed.

Author Mark Nepo writes: “To journey without being changed is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and to be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim.”

We do not have to travel far to take up the pilgrim journey. Our very lives can become a pilgrimage, if we can, as St. Catherine of Siena said, recognize that “all the way to heaven is heaven.” God is in our every breath, our every step. All that’s required is our attention and intention.

Mary DeTurris Poust is leading two September retreats in the region: Stillpoint at Pyramid Life Center on Sept. 5-7, and The Journey Is the Goal at Graymoor Retreat Center on Sept. 19-21. For more information, click HERE.

This column originally appeared in the July 24, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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We can take our cues on how to do this from Jesus himself, who retreated in solitude to a quiet place — a desert, a mountain, a garden — when he needed to replenish his spirit and reconnect with his Father. Or we can look to the desert fathers and mothers, who sought out solitude and simplicity in order to better hear the voice of God.

Of course, we’re not likely to get to a desert anytime soon, so what does this look like for those of us living in the modern world? While it’s always good to take time away with God whenever we can, the Lenten desert journey is not about changing physical locations but interior attitudes. We can be surrounded by people in a bustling city or in the tropics lush with greenery and still experience a desert moment. Because we are not on a pilgrimage that requires walking great lengths but one that is perhaps even more difficult, a journey from the head to the heart.

Most of us on the spiritual path are seeking some sort of transformation, but often we want that transformation on our own terms. We ask for signs, but when something comes along that seems too challenging or outside our comfort zone, we think, “No, this is not my transformation moment. I’d like another, please.” Because transformation on God’s terms is almost never easy. But no transformation that is truly life-changing is going to come without a cost to us personally.

We give up chocolate or wine or social media for Lent and sit back and wait for transformation to arrive, but we know in our heart of hearts that it doesn’t work that way. It has to go much deeper than anything we pour into a glass or scroll by on a screen. And a big part of it starts with us simply becoming aware of this reality and opening our hearts in silence to what God puts in front of us, no matter how challenging or discomfiting. We are called to listen with “the ear of our heart” as St. Benedict taught, and to simply sit, as Jesus did, in the presence of the Father, who knows our hearts without us needing to speak a word.

That’s not an easy thing to do — sitting in silence with God. We tend to go to God with a laundry list of requests, apologies and thank-you prayers. But when we put all the asking aside and simply give our full attention to being rather than doing, we allow the Spirit to move into the open space we create.

As we begin the second half of Lent, can we put aside our big spiritual plans for just a few minutes each day and simply be with God in the silence of souls, where no words or actions are necessary? When we make the commitment to journey into the cave of the heart, we find deep within us a peace untouched by the chaos of the world around us, a peace that will sustain us through Lent and beyond.

This column originally appeared in the March 26, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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As I prepare for an upcoming trip, I’m torn between catching a flight or hopping in the car for a five-hour drive. They’ll take about the same time once you factor in airport time, so I’ve got two good choices. Mary did not have that luxury.

In today’s Gospel, we hear that Mary “set out in haste” to visit and support her cousin Elizabeth, who is herself far into an unlikely pregnancy. That word “haste” almost makes it seem as though this was a quick jaunt, maybe just a few hours by donkey.

Alas, there was nothing quick or easy about what Mary chose to do. It was a dangerous trip, across one hundred miles of rough terrain. She went anyway, trusting that all would be well, and that this visitation was necessary, not just for the physical support it would provide but for the spiritual strength it would foster between the two women and the unborn sons who would go on to change the world.

When Mary arrives, Elizabeth says: “Blessed are you who believe that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.” How often does God speak to us, but we are too afraid to follow the call? It is easier for us to stay firmly rooted in the comfort of the familiar rather than risk a journey into the unknown.

Today we look to Mary and Elizabeth and pray that we, too, will be willing to go in haste to wherever God is leading us.

Mary DeTurris Poust, “Called Into the Unknown,” from the December 2024 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.
Photo by Mary DeTurris Poust

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The road to Calvary over these 40 days will be marked by confusion and concern, sadness, and, yes, even moments of joy; not the passing happiness we think of when we hear that word but deep-seated internal joy, the kind that lives in our heart when we put our trust in Jesus. The stories that mark the path from here until Easter are powerful and familiar, sometimes so familiar they fail to move us, or, more accurately, we fail to be moved. We’ve heard it all before. There’s nothing new here. But God makes all things new, and the Scriptures are alive with the Spirit, who blows through the ancient texts to make a word, a phrase, a scene jump out at the exact moment we need it, if only we’d settle down and listen, as St. Benedict taught, with the “ear of our heart.”

We need reminders, someone or something to point out what we’re missing. Lent is that reminder, affording us the time and space to go deeper, to sit with stories and let them speak to us as if for the first time. What is calling you to transformation? What speaks to your heart?

On that Sunday morning in church years ago, an old man sat in the pew in front of the precocious little boy. Hunched with age, he was held up on one side by a younger man, his son, perhaps. The older man was dressed in a beautiful suit, his Sunday best. He stood for every prayer, even though he struggled to make even the slightest move, and his son patiently helped him up and down. It was a beautiful moment, this juxtaposition of young and old, boundless curiosity and fading youth, but with faith and grace swirling around both, around all. Taking in the scene that morning, I was moved by the reality of so many people from so many places with so many stories, all hungry for one thing: an encounter with the Divine. The same could be said of our Lenten journey.

We walk this journey together, even if we think we are walking alone. Faith and grace binds us to each other and to our God, and that is the stuff of which pure joy is made. Begin down the path today, and, if you get sidetracked, dust yourself off and begin again, knowing that you have companions, seen and unseen, lifting you up, a Communion of Saints, in which we all get to stake our claim. Stop, look, listen. Joy is hiding in plain sight, even on the road to Calvary, even on the cross, because joy is not fleeting, joy is not a feeling, joy is the knowledge that we have been saved by Jesus Christ, who invites us to join him on The Way today, every day.

This column appeared in the Feb. 15, 2024, issue of The Evangelist.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

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Cost: $15. Register via Venmo (@Mary-DeTurrisPoust) or Paypal (marypoust@gmail.com). Please be sure to include your name, email address, and the word “Lent” with your payment. A link will be sent after payment has been received. If you are unable to use those methods, email me at the address in the sidebar for further instructions. (This event is scheduled for Eastern time.)

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I figured this year I’d be ahead of the game. It was early in the season. How bad could it be? Bad. I spent three hours sitting in the dirt one Saturday morning with a spade and a bucket making very slow progress. Inch by inch, hour by hour, I cleared small patches by hand to make sure I didn’t pull out the rare native trillium or the glistening green leaves of vinca ground cover along with the invasive weeds.

About two hours into the project, when I considered quitting, I remembered that the vision of a peaceful meditation garden was nice, but the greater goal was to allow the journey to become the meditation. Sure, it will be wonderful to one day sit on a meditation bench surrounded by carefully placed stepping stones and intentionally planted flowers, but the real lessons of the meditation garden—as in so many aspects of life—are learned along the way, in the weeds, so to speak.

Weeding, like raking leaves or shoveling snow, is one of those exercises in futility. You do it knowing you’ll need to do it again, probably sooner rather than later. The repetitive motion and beauty of the natural world suspend you in time in a way. You are there, working, but you are also everywhere—talking silently to God, letting your mind wander where it will, mentally working out problems you haven’t been able to solve, breathing deep and listening hard for the still small voice that is rustling nearby.

From my seat right now, I can see my progress on the garden and the work that remains. There is satisfaction in the accomplishment, but, more than that, there is excitement over the possibilities. I’m no longer hung up on the Instagram-worthy final product but joyful over what I might discover along the way, whether that’s the mundane miracle of a small toad hopping away from the shadow of my hand and surprising me for a brief moment, or a deep sense of God’s presence, reassuring me that, as St. Julian of Norwich said, “All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

When we think about Scripture, it is often on the journey that the great spiritual lessons occur—drawing water from a well, on a trek up a mountain, on a boat waiting to pull up a net full of fish, on the road to Emmaus. Our faith story is full of Aha! moments that occurred amid the ordinary tasks of everyday life. When we rush through those tasks to get to a goal, we risk missing the lesson, drowning out the voice of the Spirit, trampling over God right there in our midst.

Back when I wrote my book Everyday Divine, I did so not only to share methods of praying in the busyness of our days but to learn for myself how to pray without ceasing through the seeming “drudgery” of life. But the drudgery is precisely where God lives—in the laundry we fold, in the lawns we mow, in the vegetables we chop, in the weeds we pull.

What task or project has you wishing you could leapfrog over it to get to the end result? Can you take a deep breath and make the journey the goal? Can you create a meditation garden right where you are today, even if you never set foot outside?

This column originally appeared in the June 2, 2021, issue of Catholic New York.

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You can get this book in the standard pocket-sized version for only $1.99. If you buy 50 or more — for, say, a parish, a group, or a really big family — the price drops to 99 cents a copy. What a deal! It’s perfect for carrying in a purse or a pocket. Easy to take with you so you don’t miss a day. You can also get a large-print version for only $5.95, which is really nice if you prefer to keep this in your personal prayer space or on a nightstand and like a book with a little more heft. You can get the e-book for only 99 cents, if digital is more your speed. And you can get any of those variations in Spanish. Something for everyone. (Order soon so there are no issues with potential shipping delays, as has been common during COVID.)

This is my fifth book of seasonal Scripture reflections for Liturgical Press. I want to thank all those who have journeyed through past Advent, Lent and Easter seasons with me. I hear from so many of you, and I am so grateful for your emails, letters, comments, and observations.

If you go to the Liturgical Press website, you can get a taste of what’s inside this year’s book. They have the introduction and the first two reflections posted HERE.

Here’s an excerpt from the introduction:

“It’s easy to think, as we begin yet another Lenten journey, that we know the drill. We’ve been here before; we know what’s coming. But the truth is that Scripture is a living thing, always new. I know this firsthand because every time I sit down to write a Lenten reflection about a Scripture passage I’ve heard or read too many times to count, something jumps out at me and makes me say, ‘How did I not notice that before?’ We hear every Scripture reading differently depending on where we are on our life journey, our spiritual journey, or maybe just what side of the bed we woke up on that day. God meets us where we are, and, if we’re paying attention, we can hear God, see God, recognize God in unlikely places, in stories we think we know. When we take time to listen for the still small voice, a scene, a sentence, a word calls out to us as if surrounded by blinking neon lights along a dark
highway, and we are found, even if only for a few minutes…

“…To be honest, there were many days when I sat down with a set of Scripture readings and could not imagine what I might have to say that could be helpful to you. But, after sitting with the Scriptures, reading and rereading, taking them for a walk, sharing a cup of coffee with them as the sun rose outside my window, something always found its way off the page and into my heart, like a delicate shoot pushing through the cold, hard earth of winter into the warmth and light of spring.”

If you begin this journey with me on Ash Wednesday, which falls on February 17, we will be awaiting the delicate green shoots of spring by the time we wrap up on Easter Sunday, April 4. For some — like my family and friends in my old stomping grounds in Austin, Texas — spring will be pushing toward summer at that point. For those of us in the northeast, snow could still be on the ground. Regardless of geographic location, however, we will all have traversed the desert of Lent and Holy Week to emerge into the lush landscape of Easter and resurrection. I would be so grateful if you’d let me walk with you.

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It was a SUPER stressful week, especially the weekend. To be completely honest with you, I’m in a terrible place right now, mentally and spiritually. Things have not gone as planned. Famous last words. So why does that still catch me by surprise and throw me off course? That’s the million-dollar question for me. And I’ll tell you right now, when things don’t go well and when things get stressful, I turn up the heat on myself. I pull out my worst “tape,” push my internal “play” button and let it rip. It’s not pretty or healthy, and it certainly doesn’t take me where I want or need to go, but it’s comfortable and familiar, the road most travelled, and so I take it. Even when I know I’ll regret it later, even when I know it’s likely to lead me to other unhealthy decisions — like eating the wrong food or staying up too late or skipping prayer time. This is why I’m head cheerleader for the tribe, because I have endless experience with this struggle. I’ll tell you this, however: Although I often feel history repeating itself in my life, the time I’ve spent working on my habits, journaling, and becoming more mindful have made me more aware. Even when I’m not following the Cravings “rules,” I’m well aware of where things have gone off track and how I might pull it back. The trick is getting from awareness to action.

This week, as we delve into chapter 3, we’re going to be focusing a lot on those tapes we tend to play, the words we say in our head, or maybe even out loud as we stand before the mirror. I always say that if I loved my neighbor as myself, it would be very bad news for my neighbor! I say things to myself, about myself that I would never say to or about anyone I cared about, or even about a total stranger. Why do we do that? Why is that comfortable? And how can we begin to backtrack to the place where those thoughts were created so we can dig them up, toss them out once and for all, and replace them with something that will lift us up rather than tear us down?

In chapter 3, I talk about the two sides of this, the fact that sometimes I am ever-so-grateful for my physical health, my material comfort, and the many blessings I have had over the course of a very privileged lifetime, one not without traumatic and devastating losses and crises, to be sure, but overwhelmingly blessed. And then there is the shadow side, the times when I look at myself, not just physically but on every level, and see nothing, absolute failure, zero, worthlessness. Unfortunately, I spend an inordinate amount of time on the shadow side, where my faults and flaws are magnified as in a fun house mirror and any potential reminders of anything good are drowned out by the drumbeat of self-loathing. It’s not pleasant, that’s for sure, but since I was a little girl, it’s been home for me, the place with which I am most familiar, the persona that feels most comfortable: failure, reject, misfit, lost soul. And that’s where I am today.  I say all of this in hopes that anyone else out there in this tribe (or lurking anonymously around the fringes) who has ever felt like this will feel less alone. We all have shadow sides; some of us just mask them better or are more adept at shifting the perspective from half-empty to half-full. What is your perspective today? Are you being unnecessarily hard on yourself for one reason or another? Are you working through the exercises and feeling positive progress? I hope it’s the latter, but don’t be dismayed if it’s not.

From chapter 3:

“It comes down to reprogramming ourselves, in a sense. We have to find a way to erase the negative tape that’s on continuous loop in our heads and replace it with something more positive, more realistic, more truthful. If we don’t change the mantra of self-loathing, our feelings of inadequacy will continue to lead us deeper into bad diet plans, dangerous eating disorders, and a warped perspective that colors not just our eating habits but every aspect of our lives.”

So how do we do that? If I wrote the book on it and still struggle with it, can we ever really change the tape? Yes. But it takes daily work. If you started jogging and worked up to a 5K run and then stopped your training, do you think you’d be able to do that same 5K three years later with no renewed training? Not likely, or, if you did, you’d probably be hobbling along by the end. This is about incremental but daily, constant awareness and transformation. I’ll give you a critical starting point: gratitude. Counting our blessings daily — even the little things that seem silly but make us happy — makes a difference in our perspective on life. When we don’t actively give thanks for the good in our lives, we tend to train our eyes on the bad.

More from chapter 3:

“Our focus on the seeming lack in our lives seeps into our relationships at home and at work, our commitment to our community and our larger world, and our devotion to our prayer lives and journeys toward God. It’s hard to move forward if we are glued to an image or a number. We imagine we’ll take the next step once we reach a certain weight or size, but we keep getting stuck, or at the other end, moving the goal posts. The result is a constant unhappiness and unrest that prevents us from becoming who we are called to be: disciples willing to trust, risk, grow, and love.”

So, gratitude…Have you ever used a gratitude journal? If not, give it a try. Each day write down three things you were grateful for that day. It can be something monumental, like getting a new job, but it can also be something simple and sweet, like having your cat sit on your lap as you relax before a roaring fire or the smell of coffee brewing on a quiet weekend morning. If you’d like to read more about gratitude, click HERE for a feature story I wrote on this topic for OSV Newsweekly a while back.

Also, if you’re not on social media, click HERE for a post I shared during the week about allowing yourself to thoroughly enjoy one of your “forbidden foods,” eating with attention and intention.

And HERE is one of my previous Life Lines columns on discovering our true self, in case that’s something you’d like to explore further.

The song I’d like to give you for this week has no video to go along with it yet, but I’ll post it just the same: Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken by P!NK, one of my all-time favorite artists.

https://youtu.be/rW7mBs8_9SU

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From Chapter 8:

“When we live life in balance — bringing prayer, moderation, and mindfulness into our cooking, our eating, and other aspects of our busy lives — we discover what the monastics and other holy men and women have long known: Whether we are feasting or fasting or somewhere in between, food should have a sacred role in our lives. It can be something we sacrifice, something we savor, something we share, and through it all we can remain fulfilled because we are grounded in God, the only One who can satisfy our hungry hearts.”

Feasting and fasting… The start of Lent is just one week away. How can we take what we’ve learned on this Cravings journey and bring it into the forty days of Lent? Can we pick one aspect of this journey and work at it more intensely during the Lenten season? Maybe there’s something that has nothing to do with food that we now realize gets in the way of our happiness. Begin there. Our sacrifices during Lent don’t have to be food fasts. We can give up gossip or social media, too much TV or too much unnecessary work. Or maybe it’s food, plain and simple. You don’t necessarily have to cut out a certain food; you can add in more mindfulness or perhaps cook more simply. But whatever we choose, we have to weave prayer through it and give it a real spiritual intention. Remember, fasting without prayer is just a diet. The principles we’ve practiced these past few weeks were good preparation for what’s to come.

I plan to keep coming back here throughout Lent to check in, so if these blogs posts have helped in any way, please come back and touch base during Lent. I will admit that I worry that maybe I’ve let the tribe down. Maybe I wasn’t present enough. If so, I apologize. If there’s anything I did not provide during this journey in terms of support or feedback, please comment here or email me privately so we can talk about it further. I’m toying with the idea of a summer retreat weekend in the lower Adirondack Mountains based on our Cravings Tribe. I’ll keep you posted if that looks like it’s going to become a possibility.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for being part of our Cravings Tribe. I hope it helped in some small way. See you back here as we get ready for the next leg of the journey: Lent.

Our musical inspiration for the week: Touch the Sky by Hillsong UNITED:

“My heart beating, my soul breathing
I found my life when I laid it down
Upward falling, spirit soaring
I touch the sky when my knees hit the ground”

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So, here, courtesy of Rome Reports, is the text of the pope’s message today.

A thought to ponder as you read: Have you missed Jesus on your own Road to Emmaus? I’m pretty sure I have, at least a dozen times.

From Pope Francis:

The joy of Easter is born of our faith in Christ’s Resurrection and his continuing presence in the Church and in our world. With the Resurrection, all has been made new and fresh hope has been poured out upon our world. The question which the angel asked the women on the morning of the resurrection is directed to us as well: “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” (Lk 24:5).

The Gospel shows us three examples of a life changing encounter with the Risen Lord and invites us to a similar encounter. Like Thomas, we need to grasp the reality of Christ’s rising to new life. Like Mary Magdalene, we need to hear Jesus’ voice calling our name. And like the travelers on the road to Emmaus, we need to find renewed joy and hope by recognizing that the Lord is ever at our side.

These disciples sought the living among the dead, yet Jesus led them, by different paths, to faith in him and the power of his resurrection. Today he challenges each of us to seek him, the Living One, and to leave behind everything that holds us back from encountering him and sharing in the rebirth, the freedom and the hope which he alone can give.

(The photo above is a dirt road on the property surrounding the Abbey of the Genesee in western New York. Miles of empty road weaving through corn fields when the season is right. Beautiful for contemplating our life journey and our Road to Emmaus. Get thee to Genesee, if ever you have the chance.)

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