When I was in a difficult stretch a few years back, Joan of Arc became my guide and inspiration. I had the image you see here hanging on the door of my former office (now in my home office). I had a statue of her leading the battle charge on my office table (now in my living room). I have socks with her image on them. I have a t-shirt with her image and her famous statement: “I am not afraid; I was born for this.” And I have begun making my own mixed-media interpretations of her in a series I call Joan of Art. (See two images below)

Let us not forget how Joan was treated during her lifetime — accused of witchcraft, heresy, cross-dressing, and more, and eventually burned at the stake. Now the Church celebrates her as a hero and a saint. No matter how she was treated, no matter how many threats, she never wavered in what she believed was her calling. May Joan of Arc inspire us to live out our purpose on this earth, even when others doubt or challenge us. Even when our own Church doubts or challenges us. Who is God calling you to be? Do that, and do not be afraid.

Joan of Art 1 

Joan of Art 2

Mixed media images by Mary DeTurris Poust (do not reproduce)

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Out in my perennial garden, nestled among the stonecrop and salvias, stands a well-worn clay statue of St. Francis of Assisi made by an artisan in Mexico. The unusual characteristics of the statue make it a conversation piece as well as a spiritual touchstone that helps keep me centered as I dig and weed and plant.

Of course, I’m not alone. Drive down any street and you’re likely to find St. Francis peeking out from both well-manicured lawns and wildflower gardens run amuck. He is just as likely to share a garden with a statue of Buddha as he is to share one with a statue of the Blessed Mother. He is a saint of the people – all people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike. His broad appeal is fascinating, but at the same time it begs the question: Do those of us who plant St. Francis in our gardens really know what the medieval saint was all about?

Today Francis’ concerns are often compartmentalized by well-meaning folks who want to claim him for their own. And who can blame them? He is certainly a challenging but endearing saint for the ages.

Environmentalists tune into Francis’ love for creation, his “Canticle of Brother Sun,” his diligence in protecting trees and even “brother” fire, and find in him a kindred spirit. Animal lovers hear stories of him preaching to birds and taming a wolf and see in Francis the kind of saint who has rightly earned his status as patron of animals. His popularity comes into full view every year at this time, when adults and children alike line up outside churches with everything from goldfish swimming in glass bowls to German shepherds straining at leather leashes just for a chance to get their pets a blessing on Francis’ feast day.

Peace activists, interreligious leaders, social justice organizers — the St. Francis fan club goes on and on. It seems everyone can find a piece of Francis to suit their cause. But, if you put all of those individual causes into the Gospel context that was at the heart of Francis’ rule and spirituality, you come away with a very different picture of our lovable saint, one that is not so easily shaped and molded by the latest trends or causes.

Would those St. Francis lawn statues be as popular if we really stopped to reflect on what they stand for? Francis’ life was one centered on his love of Christ, his commitment to a radical living out of the Gospel, and his “marriage” to the bride he dubbed “Lady Poverty”? The path that St. Francis chose was not an easy one. He was ridiculed and mocked as a madman during his own lifetime for what appeared to be an extreme response to his conversion experience.

He renounced his family’s fortune, fasted for days on end, heard the Lord speak to him from a cross in San Damiano, bore the stigmata. He lived and died for Christ. It would be a disservice to him and all he stood for to try to slip a politically correct mask over the spiritually devout saint who did not do anything halfway.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly weave Francis’ difficult and often uncomfortable lessons into my exceedingly comfortable existence. How do those of us with warm homes and busy jobs and nice clothes make St. Francis into something more than a decoration or a mascot? It’s not easy, but maybe, just maybe, seeing St. Francis from the kitchen window as we wash dishes or raking leaves from around his feet as we clean the yard will call us back to our spiritual center and remind us that what we do here on this earth cannot be separated from what we long for in heaven.

In October 2024, I will be leading a pilgrimage that will include two nights in Assisi. If you’re interested in joining me, watch this website for itinerary and details as they become available. If you’d like to read my post from a pilgrimage to Assisi back in 2014, click HERE.

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When I was in a difficult stretch a few years back, Joan of Arc became my guide and inspiration. I had the image you see here hanging on the door of my former office (now in my home office). I had a statue of her leading the battle charge on my office table (now in my living room). I have socks with her image on them. I have a t-shirt with her image and her famous statement: “I am not afraid; I was born for this.”

Let us not forget how Joan was treated during her lifetime — accused of witchcraft, heresy, cross-dressing, and more, and eventually burned at the stake. Now the Church celebrates her as a hero and a saint. No matter how she was treated, no matter how many threats, she never wavered in what she believed was her calling. May Joan of Arc inspire us to live out our purpose on this earth, even when others doubt or challenge us. Even when our own Church doubts or challenges us. Who is God calling you to be? Do that, and do not be afraid.

The post Be like Joan of Arc. Be who you are called to be. appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

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So if you, like me, can’t find a priest to bless your throat, you just need two white candles, and if you’re able, a small red ribbon to tie them together. Form a cross with the candles, place them (unlit, of course) on the throat of your spouse or child or whoever else is willing to let you do this, and follow these instructions from the Book of Blessings:

1634 A lay minister touches the throat of each person with the crossed candles and, without making the sign of the cross, says the prayer of blessing.

Through the intercession of Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, may God deliver you from every disease of the throat and from every other illness.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Each person responds: Amen.

St. Blaise, pray for us!

The post Feast of St. Blaise: Do-it-yourself throat blessings appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

For me, there’s oh so much comfort in the celebration of angels in recent weeks — archangels in late September, guardian angels in early October. I’m a bit of an angel fan girl, what with my angel icons purchased wherever I spot them and my penchant for talking out loud to my guardian angel at the start of a long drive or flight. I’ve even been known to talk to the guardian angels of my kids, giving them assignments near and far.

When I was a child, the Prayer to My Guardian Angel had a regular spot in my bedtime ritual: prayers for family members, Hail Mary, Our Father, Guardian Angel. Sleep, repeat. “Angel of God, my guardian dear…” The words were like my inhale and exhale as I drifted off to sleep back then. As I grew older — a wise old teen or 20-something — angels seemed cliché, maybe even kitsch. Part of it was that they were suddenly popular, appearing on mugs and posters and key chains. I didn’t want chubby cherubim forced on me by retail America, so I packed my winged friends away for a while until the beautiful German film “Wings of Desire,” directed by Wim Wenders, showed us a different kind of angel, and parenthood gave me reason to call on those friends almost daily.

Mixed in with the angels earlier this month were fan favorites St. Thérèse of Lisieux and St. Francis of Assisi, add in St. Teresa of Avila, St. Isaac Jogues and St. John Paul II, among others, and you’ve got quite a full house, and a companion to suit every mood and need. And then, just when we think we can’t possibly find any greater riches in our spiritual treasure trove, we dive headlong into the Feast of All Saints and the Feast of All Souls, bringing us face to face with mortality and eternity all at once. A joyful celebration tinged with the sorrow of loss and grief, a time of year the ancients marked as the “thin veil,” when those on the other side seem so close it’s almost as if we can hear their spiritual breath.

This closeness and companionship is not limited to a day or a season but is ours for the taking any time we turn to a favorite saint in prayer. These are our spiritual friends and role models, the ones we can look to when we think we can’t take another step, when doubts creep in, when we hit the brick wall of spiritual dryness that was part and parcel of the spiritual journey for so many great saints.

“Pray for me pray that I may have the courage to keep on smiling at Jesus…,” wrote St. Teresa of Calcutta, as recounted in the book “Come Be My Light.” “I want to speak — yet nothing comes — I find no words to express the depths of the darkness.”

Most of us looked at Mother Teresa and saw a woman who seemed to glow with the light of joy found in prayer. And yet, after her death, we learned the reality was very different, very difficult.

As we each battle our own demons here on earth, those who have gone before us remind us that sainthood doesn’t mean an absence of doubt and darkness but a willingness to trust in the midst of it. And if we have trouble trusting just yet, we can always call on our always-close guardian angel to keep us company until we do.

This column originally appeared in the Oct. 19, 2019, issue of Catholic New York.

Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

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I launched this blog on Jan. 24 because it was the Feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists and writers. This is a special day for me, not only because of my blog-iversary but because it’s my professional feast day, having worked in the Catholic press in one form or another for just about 33 years. (How did I get this old?!?)

In my very first blog post, I shared one of my favorite prayers, written by St. Francis de Sales. This one used to hang on the mirror in my bathroom as a daily reminder, and it has made it into at least one of my books, maybe more. I’ve lost track. Here it is again:

Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life;

rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise,

God, whose very own you are,

will lead you safely through all things;

and when you cannot stand it,

God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;

the same everlasting Father who cares for you today

will take care of you then and every day.

He will either shield you from suffering,

or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace,

and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

                                                                        — St. Francis de Sales

 

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So if you, like me, can’t find a priest to bless your throat, you just need two white candles, and if you’re able, a small red ribbon to tie them together. Form a cross with the candles, place them (unlit, of course) on the throat of your spouse or child or whoever else is willing to let you do this, and follow these instructions from the Book of Blessings:

1634 A lay minister touches the throat of each person with the crossed candles and, without making the sign of the cross, says the prayer of blessing.

Through the intercession of Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, may God deliver you from every disease of the throat and from every other illness.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Each person responds: Amen.

The post I’ve got white candles and I’m not afraid to use them appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

St. Francis de Sales is one of my all-time favorites, and today is his feast day, so I thought I would share the two quotes from my retreat talk on brokenness because St. Francis has a lot to say about accepting our brokenness and learning to be who we are meant to be without a whole lot of angst and misery over what we’re not.

“Do not wish to be anything but what you are, and try to be that perfectly.”

Easier said than done, right? But, still, great advice, and if we saw it on scrolling by on Facebook or Pinterest from some New Age guru or, say, Oprah, we’d probably think: YES! But somehow coming from a 17th century Catholic bishop, we give it less credence, or don’t pay any attention to it at all. What can he have to say that could possibly mean anything to me? A lot, as it turns out.

Here’s my other favorite:

“Our perfection consists of struggling against our imperfection. Think of the time before you were born. Where was your soul then? The world existed, but it saw nothing of you.

“God pulled you out of that void and made you who you are out of his own goodness.

“Think of the possibilities God has placed in you.”

So, today, on the Feast of St. Francis de Sales, reflect on these two pieces of timeless wisdom and consider what possibilities God has placed in you.

Oh, today also happens to be the SEVENTH anniversary of this blog. How did that happen?!? I kicked off Not Strictly Spiritual on the Feast of St. Francis de Sales since he is the patron saint of writers. Yet another reason I love St. Francis. Click HERE to read my very first blog post, which happens to include my favorite prayer by St. Francis de Sales.

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When I became pregnant with my youngest, I immediately honed in on the name “Chiara.” At the time, I will admit, it had nothing to do with the most famous Chiara, St. Clare of Assisi, or, as they say in Italy, Santa Chiara di Assisi, whose feast day is today.

No, my fascination with this beautiful name started in college, when I was on a trip to China and spent three weeks traveling with a young woman named Chiara, who was part of our university group. The name struck me as the most beautiful name I’d ever heard, but that may have had something to do with my being named Mary. As they sing in the old-time classic, “there is something there that sounds so square.” Chiara (the name, not the person) was about as opposite of “square” as I could imagine.

For more than twenty years, the name Chiara lingered in the back of my brain. I never really considered it when I was pregnant with Noah and Olivia. Not sure why not. But when I became pregnant just about six 10 years ago, this name was my clear favorite. I loved the sound of it. I loved the fact that it reflected my Italian heritage. (Although we did at one point consider its Gaelic cousin, “Ciara,” which also means Clare but is pronounced KEER-ah, as opposed to key-AR-ah.)

So Chiara Elizabeth was born on July 21, and her Italian name seems perfectly suited to her. Of all my children, she is the one that will settle down with a stuffed artichoke and pull the leaves through her little white teeth as if she’s been doing it for a lifetime in Massa Lubrense, hometown of her great-grandpa. She will go to a deli and request provolone and dried Italian sausage for lunch when the others are getting standard turkey sandwiches. She will scarf down fried calmari and pesto with sausage any chance she gets. (Note that she’s rolling out pizza dough in the photo above.) So the name was definitely a good call.

Surprisingly enough, however, this name has led me further along my own spiritual journey. Knowing my daughter shared a name with St. Clare of Assisi made me want to explore this holy woman in more depth. I’d always been a fan of Francis, her spiritual mentor and friend, but Clare was a spiritual footnote for me.

As my own Chiara has grown over the past five nine years, so has my love of Santa Chiara. Her courage, her faith, her strength were remarkable, especially in light of the fact that she did what she did as a woman in medieval times. Next month, when I finally get to Italy, I’m hoping to find a way to get to Assisi for one day, so I can walk in the footsteps of Francis and Clare. And then some day I’ll take Chiara back to do the same. *(I didn’t get there in 2010, but, God willing, I will be there this October when my pilgrimage group spends two days in Assisi.)

Today, when I opened my “Word of God Everyday” daily email, it included a quote from St. Clare: “Look into that mirror daily, always study your face in it, so that within and without you may adorn yourself with all manner of virtue.”

I liked the quote, which was connected to an Old Testament verse about the Son being a reflection of God’s glory. But something about the quote from Clare didn’t sit right with me as it was. It was incomplete and could be confusing to those of us in the modern world. It almost sounded as though Clare were suggesting that we look into an actual mirror and study our own faces. So I searched for it and found the full quote from a letter she wrote to Blessed Agnes of Prague:

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