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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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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Now, however, we are on the cusp of Lent, and that provides us with yet another opportunity for growth and transformation. The structure of the season is perfect for making a plan and sticking to it. I don’t know about you, but I’m always able to do things in Lent that I just don’t have the willpower to do in “regular” life. The key is, as I’ve mentioned before, not to set yourself up for failure. Find one thing, one habit, one sacrifice that might challenge you; be sure that it’s infused with prayer and spirituality because that’s what will set this journey apart. Fasting without prayer is just a diet, so connect the dots between whatever you’re giving up and the spiritual path you’re on. To make this more holistic, it’s good to add something to your life — a specific prayer practice or maybe an act of service.

I was not so devoted to the meditation practice I recommended here a few weeks ago, so my plan is going to be to recommit to forty days of daily meditation that will include 5 minutes of spiritual reading followed by 10 minutes of silent meditation. (I’ll continue my gratitude journal as I always do and my yoga practice as well, which is spiritual practice for me as much as it is physical practice.) I haven’t yet decided what I’ll give up. So many things to chose from! I have toyed with the idea of giving up coffee, but I think my family is scared by that suggestion, as am I. My coffee cup is always full and at my side. Still… maybe that’s a crutch I can try to do without for a while. I still have to ponder this idea. Not sure I’m that evolved.

Take some time today and tomorrow, as Ash Wednesday approaches, to think about this coming Lenten season. What would make your time in the spiritual desert more fruitful? This is my favorite season in the Church year; there is something so beautiful about a season to strip away the things we don’t need or the things we allow to replace our connection to God and to dive deeper into the prayers and practices that can break us open and lead us forward.

We’ll continue this journey together in the weeks ahead. Share your experiences in the comment section, or shoot me an email. I love to hear from you. And thank you for inspiring me to show up and continue the hard work of becoming who I am meant to be.

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That line has always resonated with me, but never more so than when I sit down to write reflections on Scripture readings, verses that can feel so familiar there seems nothing new to uncover. My latest book of reflections, Not by Bread Alone 2021: Daily Reflections for Lent (Liturgical Press), is my third book of Lenten meditations and prayers, and so the challenge is real — but realer still is the truth that lives within Scripture. Old passages can speak new hope to us at any particular moment of our lives if we are willing to open ourselves up to the work and words of the Spirit. Even the familiarity of Lent itself can turn a season of growth into a rote spiritual exercise if we are not prepared to be surprised by God, sometimes in uncomfortable ways.

Here’s how I explained that challenge in the introduction to my book, which is meant to serve as a guide through the Lenten desert:

“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.”

I’m always fascinated by where the spirit leads: an Old Testament reading sparks a reflection on hiking or on the Fibonacci sequence; a Gospel reading prompts the memory of a failed attempt to grow strawberries; another leads to an observation on the martial art of Aikido and still another on the childhood game of “Truth or Dare.” None of those topics was in the forefront of my mind as I sat down with Scripture, and yet through a series of spiritual twists and turns those seemingly ordinary and odd things became fodder for the Spirit to open my heart a little bit wider.

We all have that kind of creative prayer possibility within our reach. If we quiet ourselves and sit with Scripture, turning a word or a phrase or a scene over and over in our mind, the Spirit will reveal something to us — and about us — as a way to lead us deeper into the heart of God.

Not by Bread Alone 2021: Daily Reflections for Lent is available from Liturgical Press in multiple formats: English, Spanish, large-print, and e-book. For more information, visit www.NotStrictlySpiritual.com or order from https://litpress.org/Products/6424/Not-By-Bread-Alone

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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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Setting up a personal sacred space is not only simple to do; it’s fun and satisfying. You do NOT need an entire room or even a big portion of a room; you just need a small space to call your own. Stake your claim. If you don’t already have a place where you go to pray or journal or be in silence, take a look around your home and see what you can do. Is there a favorite chair near a window or wood-burning stove, a writing table in a quiet corner, a shelf where you keep favorite personal items or candles? Start there.

My sacred space has morphed and migrated around my house of the years. For the longest time, my sacred space was literally two shelves of a bookcase in my basement office, sandwiched between a cat condo and a video game console. I would turn my chair (or sit on the floor) in front of this space when it was time to pray or meditate. The shelves had a cross, an icon, and some favorite items gathered on retreats or given to me by friends. When I would come down to my basement office to write, just seeing that space would make my shoulders relax and my breath deepen. I loved that space.

For a time, I used our sunporch, although that’s a seasonal sacred space since it gets pretty chilly in an unheated room during upstate New York winters. I would go to that space, surrounded by windows on every side, and look out at the beauty of nature and pray the Liturgy of the Hours in the mornings. A cup of coffee on the table beside me, a candle burning on the electric stove and a cathedral of pine trees was all that space needed.

These days I am blessed to have a room set aside for work, prayer, yoga and meditation. A purple room, no less! I inherited the space from my youngest child when she graduated to her brother’s room. I didn’t plan on it at first, but as I started moving in books and icons and paintings, it became clear to me (and my husband, LOL) that this was becoming Mary’s Room. It had actually been my office before Chiara was born, so it felt like coming home. I have a meditation cushion on the floor in front of a small table that serves as my personal altar space. When I sit on that cushion, I can see out into the trees in the backyard and watch snow falling or branches swaying. I can hear rain pattering against the window or blink against the sun as it starts to sink low in the sky — depending on when I’m in my space.

My space has pinecones gathered on walks around the Abbey of the Genesee (one of my favorite retreat spots), sea shells and rocks from favorite places, an cross forged by a friend’s husband, a lotus candle holder that reminds me that without the mud, there can be no blossom. Rosary beads and mala beads, icons and inspiring images. Make your space your own.

The sky is the limit. In fact, if you are someone who prefers to be outdoors, you can set up an outdoor sacred space, or do your praying while you hike or snowshoe. Just find a place where you feel comfortable not only talking to God, but LISTENING for the still small voice. So often we go to God with a laundry lists of wants and needs and thank-you prayers, but on this journey there needs to be a time when we simply sit and wait and listen. That can be really challenging (something we will talk about more in Week 3.)

When you have a sacred space, you are more likely to go there to pray, to retreat there when you need peace, to seek out the space when you are confused or overwhelmed. It’s like an open door, an around-the-clock invitation to be still.

And wherever your sacred space, even if it’s a comfy chair in the corner of the usually busy living room, let everyone at home know that when you are in that chair early in the morning or late in the evening or whenever you set aside time to pray, you need silence and solitude.

Keep up the good work. Let me know how you’re doing in the comment section. And thank you for being here!

P.S. I’ve been hearing from some of you who are following through on last week’s suggestion to keep a gratitude journal. If you’re finding that practice helpful or have any suggestions or observations to share with the rest of us, leave us a comment on the original post or this one. We’d love to hear from you. .

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In 1990, when I was deep into my practice and working as the part-time manager of the Austin Yoga Center in Texas, I signed up for teacher training, but circumstances made it impossible for me to get very far. Fast forward to two more near-misses with Yoga Teacher Training in 2011 and 2016, and I began to believe it just wasn’t meant to be. But when you’re meant to do something and you want to do something deep in your soul, the universe keeps chasing you until you put all the fears aside and take the leap. That seed of fearlessness was planted last summer. I wanted to get my yoga mojo back and signed up for a discounted new-student offer at nearby Jai Yoga School. Within weeks I was at Jai constantly, taking every kind of yoga class I could fit into my schedule. I didn’t just love the classes; I loved the community, the chanting, the whole package, and I quickly dusted off my old dream, pushing aside worries that 57 was far too old to take up a physically rigorous and mentally challenging program.

What began in January, with an amazing group of yogis learning alongside me, culminated in our graduation on Oct. 11 in a beautiful, socially-distant ceremony that was buzzing with emotion, energy and joy. We had traversed a pandemic-infused YTT program that lasted twice as long as planned due to COVID changes and required us to wear masks and refrain from hugging, much to our chagrin. Through anatomy and philosophy classes, sequencing and practice teaching, we carried on, pushing beyond our comfort zones and letting our guards down. We became a family, and we will remain a family forever because we have peered into each other’s souls, and you can never go back from that. And isn’t that a beautiful, magical, mystic thing.

Since graduation, I’ve been thinking about the yoga teachers who have walked with me on this journey — teaching me, inspiring me, motivating me, loving me. So let me start at the beginning, even if most of those teachers will never read this. Thank you to Sarah Brumgart, the modern dancer and yogi, who first introduced me to yoga and taught me semi-private lessons for the years I lived in Austin in the late 1980s. She was the first person to inspire dreams of being a teacher, and I will be forever grateful. Thank you to Suzy Yoga, who taught me pre-natal yoga when I was pregnant with Chiara and reminded me how much I loved and needed this practice. Thank you to the many teachers who only briefly touched my life but made an impact, such as Larissa Hall Carlson and Father Tom Ryan, C.S.P., both of whom taught me on my one visit to Kripalu, and Lauren Toolin, who encouraged me when I considered YTT in 2011 and 2016 and tried to get me to look beyond my fears.

Thank you to Deanna Beyer, who is not just a teacher but a dear friend who taught those pre-dawn classes at the Bethlehem YMCA that fed my soul and kept me sane. I loved the drive through darkness to those classes that Deanna managed to infuse with a spiritual light even though we were in a gym room next to treadmills and weight machines. When my dreams of YTT were dashed by what was believed to be a hernia, Deanna gave me personal training, helping me bring my yoga down to the most basic level so that I could maintain a simple practice while nursing my condition. She never gave up on me.

Finally, thank you to Meg Horan, my lead teacher at Jai Yoga School, who is not only an amazing yogi and teacher, but a beautiful human inside and out. I was so blessed to find your school and land in your classes and YTT program. Such a tremendous gift! There is nothing I can say that could adequately convey just how grateful I am for all you have given me. Thank you, too, to Dustin, Sabrina, Kristi, Natalie, Allison, Deb, Blair, Mandy, Mareena, and Laurel — all the teachers at Jai who have helped shape my training and my practice over the past 18 months. You are an amazing community.

A huge shout out and thank you to my family — Dennis and the kids, who put up with my long hours away from home and frantic studying and practicing. I could not have done this without you, and I am so grateful, not only for your support, but for your enthusiastic encouragement of all my crazy dreams and schemes. I love you to the moon and back.

Probably one of the common questions I get when I tell people about this journey is whether — or how — it complements my Catholic faith, or even if it’s possible for the two to co-exist in the same spiritual universe without harming one or the other. I am here to tell you that they can more than co-exist; the practice of yoga has made me a better Catholic, a more prayerful and compassionate person, and a more engaged and energized spiritual pilgrim. Years ago, I wrote about this in an essay called Where the Amen Meets the Om. You can read that HERE,

For those who don’t venture over to that essay, here’s the bottom line: My Catholic faith is my bedrock. The message of the Gospel, the teachings of Jesus, are essential to my life, to my very being. But I also know how easy it is for me to get distracted, to skip prayer or find it impossible to settle into prayer. Enter yoga, a practice that slows down my fast-moving body and mind and settles my soul just as it settles my limbs on the mat. When I step onto my mat and stretch and balance or sit cross-legged and breathe deeply, I open up a space where God can enter. And that is why yoga is so vital to my own Catholic spiritual life. And it is why I am so excited about teaching others how to use their practice to deepen their own prayer lives and to move them forward on their spiritual journeys in the most beautiful way.

If you’d like to know how to book a yoga class or retreat, or just want to know more about my yoga journey, visit my page dedicated to this topic HERE.

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These are not your average Scripture reflections. Wherever I am in my spiritual life at the time I’m writing, that’s what you’ll get. Titles such as “A Spiritual Tattoo,” “Grit and Grace,” Code Blue” and “The Space Between.” Think less heady, more real. In other words, I don’t write like a theologian but like the person who sits next to you in the pew.

To top it off, this is a totally affordable option. Only $2 per copy, and if you buy in bulk of 50 copies or more, that price drops to $1 per copy. Just click HERE and place your order. The regular edition is pocket size, so you can carry it with you wherever you go; there is a large-print edition which is larger. (Local friends: I do have copies for purchase if you’re buying small amounts. PM me to let me know how many you want to buy.)

Here’s what two of my favorite Catholic writers had to say about my book of reflections:

If you have ever fallen short of your Lenten resolutions, take this book with you wherever you go this Lent! Whether waiting at a doctor’s office, silently sitting outdoors during your lunch break, or deliberately spending time with Jesus at Adoration, Mary DeTurris Poust’s insightful words in Not by Bread Alone will walk you through each day’s Scripture readings, helping you reflect and meditate on the graces waiting for you during this beautiful season of Lent. Day by day, moment-by-moment, this Lent can, and will, be different. — Maria Ruiz Scaperlanda is an award-winning author, including, The Shepherd Who Didn’t Run: Fr. Stanley Rother, Martyr from Oklahoma and Rosemary Nyirumbe: Sewing Hope in Uganda

And another:

“Some years we approach our Lenten disciplines with a sense of
enthusiasm; we’re ready for the challenge of the desert; we know
we will emerge stronger for our time spent thirsting, climbing, and
stepping forward in faith. In other years, we may look at Lent with
wary eyes, all too familiar with the weight of our faults, and
daunted by the bright empty heat into which we must carry them,
until we find Jesus, to whom they may be surrendered. Whether
you are anticipating Lent as an adventure to be embraced or as a
scorching sojourn made in heat and light, Not by Bread Alone is the
perfectly balanced Lenten companion for your daily contemplation.
Mary DeTurris Poust has a peculiar gift for finding the common
experiences with which we can all identify and rendering them into
profound meditations that are both consoling and instructive—the
perfect assist through a season of wandering and hope.”
— Elizabeth Scalia, author of Strange Gods: Unmasking the Idols
in Everyday Life and Little Sins Mean a Lot

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