“Seeing is believing,” the old saying goes. Yet in today’s first reading and in the Gospel, those who have seen with their own eyes—people hearing the words of the recently converted Paul, as well as disciples who have been at Jesus’ side throughout his ministry—cannot reconcile what they have seen and heard with the larger message. Jesus asks, “Have I been with you for so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?”

He might ask us the same question, if he were to stand before us today. We have spent years, maybe our entire lives, listening to the teachings of Jesus, receiving him in the Eucharist, professing that he and the Father are one. Still, there are probably days when, like the disciples, we approach Jesus with a bit of spiritual amnesia.

It’s not that we haven’t listened; it’s that we have listened with our ears rather than our hearts. The good news is that we do not always have to fully understand in order to receive the graces that flow from God toward a seeker with a sincere heart. “O God teach me to be satisfied with my own helplessness in the spiritual life,” Thomas Merton writes in one of his early journals. “Teach me to be content with Your grace that comes to me in the darkness and that works things I cannot see.”

Today, let us put aside the need to know it all and let us trust in the mystery beyond all knowing.

Mary DeTurris Poust, “Spiritual Amnesia,” from the May 2025 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.

Photo by Anastasiya Badun on Unsplash

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The Lord bless you and keep you!
The Lord let his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you!
The Lord look upon you kindly and give you peace! —Numbers 6:22-27

At first glance, we might wonder why the beautiful words of the Blessing of Aaron are included in the Mass of Mary, Mother of God, celebrated as we enter the new year. Yes, the prayer is gorgeous and familiar, the sentiment comforting and uplifting, but why now? This priestly blessing, given by God to Moses and spoken by Aaron and his descendants, is one of the oldest written pieces of Scripture, discovered in 1979 tucked into a silver amulet in a burial cave near Jerusalem and dating back some 2,600 years. We can understand why this verse would have held so much power for our Hebrew brothers and sisters, but how does it fit into our story today and Mary’s feast?

Jesuit Father Victor Cancino, writing in America magazine, explains, “Jesus, the Son of God and Mary, is an incarnation of the priestly blessing for the world. Whenever anyone calls upon this holy child, God blesses, protects, looks upon with grace and confers kindness and peace. Mary is the fundamental channel of God’s grace in the new covenant. Mary, as the original and exemplary disciple, reminds Christ’s followers to act as channels of blessing to all they encounter.”

There is clearly something about this blessing that speaks to our hearts. We hear the words and know it is meant for us. Next to my front door, I have a small wall hanging of the Immaculate Heart that opens to reveal a space for a hidden message. Rolled up in that heart is this Blessing of Aaron. I consider it my Christian version of the Jewish tradition of hanging a Mezuzah near the front door. This blessing marks us as beloved children of God and disciples on the journey. Today let these words take up residence in your own heart, offering protection and blessing, comfort and hope.

And here is a favorite song that incorporates this beautiful blessing:

Mary DeTurris Poust, “The Blessing of Aaron,” from the January 2025 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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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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As much as we’d like to think of ourselves as Martha in today’s Scripture readings—running to greet the Lord, prescient in her recognition of Jesus as the Messiah, trusting God’s every word—most of us probably have to admit that we are more like those in the first reading who “walk in the stubbornness of their hearts” and refuse to listen.

It’s not that we don’t want to listen to God. We do, with all our heart! But we also want to be in control, thinking we can cling to the tight reins of worry and fear to guide us forward, no matter how severely we get tossed about. “You forgot the God who gave you birth,” we hear in today’s psalm. Guilty as charged.

So how do we go from being unmindful of our Creator to having the courage of Martha? It begins when we release our grip on the reins of our life and surrender control to God.

To be sure, there’s nothing easy about that prospect, and yet we have role models like Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, who show us how to pause, listen, and say “yes, Lord,” even when every instinct tells us to run in the opposite direction. Can we instead face Jesus and as Martha did, say with confidence: “I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you”? Can we let go of our stubbornness of heart and cling to what God has promised?

Mary DeTurris Poust, “Less Worry, More Courage,” from the July 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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At some point or another, most of us have been blamed for something we didn’t do. It doesn’t feel good, and sometimes it can be downright scary. Whenever I read a story of someone released from prison after having served decades for a crime they did not commit, I am astounded by their joy, their gratitude, and I often imagine how I might respond in a similarly horrific situation. I’m not sure I’d be quite so gracious.

To be able to withstand the unthinkable and maintain an unshakable trust in God, as we witness Susanna doing in today’s first reading, requires not blind faith but an abiding faith in the One who rights all wrongs, even when from an earthly standpoint, justice is not done. In our Gospel, we see a variation on the same theme. This time the woman in question appears to be guilty, and the laws of that time required justice of the harshest kind. Instead, Jesus offers mercy, compassion, tenderness.

Both women are spared—the innocent and the guilty. How does that make us feel? Is there a place in our lives where we expect mercy for a wrong we’ve committed, even when we will not offer the same to others? Is there a place where we have been wronged and hope for punishment to be meted out to satisfy our desire for justice? As it turns out, “justice” looks different through the lens of the Gospel. Are we willing to put on the dual lenses of trust and mercy?

From the March 2024 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.

Photo by Alex Shute on Unsplash

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Jesus doles out some tough love in today’s Gospel, which echoes the equally tough love offered by the prophet Ezekiel. Don’t get me wrong, Christ the King coming to lead his sheep into the eternal kingdom is both a powerful and comforting message. But then the other shoe drops: Am I a sheep or a goat? Because as it turns out, according to Scripture, the goats are not going to fare so well. We can “baaaaaa” all we want, but at the end of the day if we have not lived up to the challenges God has put before us—caring for those who are hungry and naked and sick, loving God first—we will “go off to eternal punishment.”

Our world these days is too often about being a GOAT (Greatest of All Time), but Jesus turns that idea on its head. We are not called to be the GOAT among family or coworkers or neighbors, flaunting our success and power to the envy of all. No, we are called to be like the lost sheep, pulled back from the perilous edge of a rocky crag by the Master’s voice. Jesus does not ask us to perform feats of strength or earn piles of money or rise to the highest level of our profession to earn his love. He asks us to let go of the need for all of that and turn back to him with all the tenderness and love we can muster, to follow where he leads.

From the November 2023 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2023). Used with permission.

Photo by J. Schiemann on Unsplash

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A friend and I were discussing the problem of letting our faith remain in our heads rather than letting it settle into our hearts and lives. When we remain too much in our heads, grounded in the news of the day rather than the Word of God, for example, our faith can become reduced to a set of beliefs to which we respond with a yea or nay, rather than expanding into a relationship of complete trust built on a practice of prayer.

“But I don’t know how to pray anymore,” my friend said. Today’s second reading reminds us that we are not the first to struggle with this reality: “. . . we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings.”

St. Paul’s description is so vivid. We can imagine the Spirit gently working to redirect our daily efforts to sidestep God’s will. With “inexpressible groanings,” the Spirit quietly accomplishes what Jesus describes in the Gospel: pulling away the weeds that threaten to devour us, nourishing the mustard seed of our faith, adding leaven to the yeast of our prayer.

Even if we do not know how to pray as we ought, the Spirit will come to our aid if we are willing to trust in the movement of God in our lives and get out of our own way.

From the July 2023 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2023). Used with permission.

Photo by Duncan Kidd on Unsplash

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Vengeance takes center stage in today’s readings, just as it often does in our own lives. We might read Jeremiah’s words and feel uncomfortable hearing his in-your-face prayer asking for justice to be brought down on those who mistreat him. But the truth is, we’ve all been Jeremiah at some point. Someone does something to threaten us, and we imagine how sweet it would be not only to be free from the threats but to watch as our enemies get their comeuppance.

Unfortunately, what was once a rarity is becoming the norm. People on all sides seem to have a thirst for vengeance and a willingness to take matters into their own hands. Much like the mob in today’s Gospel, modern-day crowds gather around those considered outsiders and pick up their version of stones. Where are we in this scene? Do we have a rock in hand? Are we in the crowd waiting to watch justice play out? Are we the one who feels threatened? Every one of us has a choice in how we respond. We can choose fear, or we can choose trust.

Do we believe, truly and without hedging, that God is our “rock of refuge,” and we need nothing more? It is only through such deep and abiding trust that we begin to realize we can release ourselves from the snares of the enemy, snares that have no power once we stop giving them oxygen and put everything in God’s hands.

Trust in God, and watch the traps and threats fall away.

From the March 2023 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2023). Used with permission.
Photo by Astrid Schaffner on Unsplash

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It’s hard to look around at our world and not think we have lost all sense of the sacredness of life. From unborn babies who never get to take a first breath, to people fleeing the indiscriminate bombing of their homeland, to students and concertgoers and restaurant deliverymen gunned down in the street, to elderly people abandoned in nursing homes to die a slow and lonely death.

As much as these stories garner the headlines in the media and perhaps in our own hearts and minds, the reality is that when we widen our view, seeking out beauty even amid the horrors, we begin to notice the small and loving actions taking place around us every day. These mundane miracles remind us that, although we cannot change the world on a grand scale, we can change our world day by day through the power of the Gospel that Jesus proclaimed and that we strive to follow.

Always, everywhere, every day, we are challenged to come back to love, even when it would be easier to hate. We are called to live our lives not to the rhythm of the mob (be it on social media or in the street) but to the steady beat of a heart that knows the only way to piece together this broken but beautiful world is through constant love in the face of sorrow and hatred, anger and violence. Our Blessed Mother did just that. From the moment of the Annunciation, she set her life to the beat of the most sacred rhythm. She trusted and loved; loved and trusted.

And so we entrust ourselves and the cause of life to her today, knowing that our sorrowful mother will give us the courage and strength to keep love always before us, even amid heartbreak and injustice. Dorothy Day, who saw how love could spring up amid brokenness and suffering, taught this truth: “The greatest challenge of the day is: how to bring about a revolution of the heart, a revolution which has to start with each one of us?”

This month as we pray for life, let us take a hard-but-tender look at our own hearts and see where God is calling us to an interior revolution that will ripple ever outward to help change our world.

Credits:
Mary DeTurris Poust, “A Prayer for Life,” from the January 2023 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2023). Used with permission.

Photo by Marius Masalar on Unsplash

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