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Paralyzed

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We are all paralyzed. Not necessarily in the physical sense but mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

 Paralyzed by fear. By tragedy. By anxiety. By overthinking. By addiction. By sin. By Satan. On purpose or by accident, we are paralyzed. And sometimes we are even paralyzed by hope. By joy. By faith. By love.

 Today’s Gospel offers hope for all of us: the healing of the paralytic. Three different aspects of this passage stick out to me.

 One, Jesus was starting to attract so much attention that throngs of people came to hear Him preach, even the religious authorities and scholars who criticized Him. The paralytic couldn’t even get close to Jesus if he tried. Without the help of his friends who opened up the roof and lowered him down to the Lord, the paralytic would not have been healed and forgiven.

 Strong relationships are essential to living the Christian life. Between our families, friends, colleagues, etc., our relationships can either bring us closer to God or tear us away from Him. But relationships run both ways. We ourselves need to be good family members, friends, colleagues, etc. in order to bring others to Jesus through our words, our actions and, most importantly, our love.

 When we are paralyzed, we cannot approach Jesus on our own so we must rely on others to help bring us to Him. Trusting others is hard, especially with the deepest and darkest parts of our lives, those things that paralyze us, but coming to Jesus is always worth it in the end.

 Two, Jesus first forgives the sins of the paralytic. As a result of their faith (the paralytic and his friends), Jesus says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” Jesus has the power to forgive sins, not just heal which He had been previously doing (see Mark 1:21-45).

 The scribes who were sitting among the crowd, scholars of the Mosaic law who studied Scripture, they knew that no human had the power to forgive sins and so they questioned Jesus’ words in their hearts. They were unaware of His full humanity and divinity. But Jesus knew exactly what they were thinking which led him to…

 Three, Jesus poses a question of “which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, pick up your mat and walk’?” After which, He tells the paralytic to do exactly that. Jesus does the harder thing of healing the paralytic to prove that He can do the easier thing of forgiving sins.

 Forgiveness is the cure for paralysis. When we are so paralyzed by fear and sin, we have the opportunity to receive God’s great mercy and forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. All we need to do is approach Him, sometimes with the help of others.

 I invite you to name your fears, what is paralyzing you and keeping you from God, and take it to the Lord in Confession. Bask in His love and grace. And when we are paralyzed again, may we remember that freeing feeling we have when we step out of the confessional and use that power and strength to begin the healing process again.

Erin is a Parma Heights, Ohio, native and a 2016 graduate of Franciscan University of Steubenville. She uses her communication arts degree in a couple of different ways: first, as an Athletic Communications Assistant at Baldwin Wallace University and, secondly, as a youth minister at her home parish of Holy Family Church. Although both of her jobs are on complete opposite spectrums, she truly enjoys being able to span the realm of communications. You can follow her on multiple Twitter accounts – @erinmadden2016 (personal), @bwathletics (work) and @HFVision (youth ministry).

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Following the Rules

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I am the firstborn of my parents. My mom knew just what she wanted her daughter to be like. I started dance classes when I was three in the hopes that I would become graceful and elegant. I did all of the “right” things and I was raised very conscious of the importance of my being a role model to my siblings for what to do and what not to do. I am a born and raised rule follower.

So it is difficult when I encounter someone like the leper in today’s Gospel, who, after receiving God’s mercy, receives a direct command from Jesus and then does the complete opposite. Jesus shows pity and touches the man, heals him and gives him very clear instructions, “See that you tell no one anything, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed.” But what happens? “The man went away and began to publicize the whole matter.” What!?! Didn’t you hear what Jesus told you? How could you not follow this one simple rule?

To top it off, no more is said about the man’s apparent disobedience. Mark continues on to Chapter 2 and the healing of the paralytic. The commentaries I consulted had nothing to say about this portion of the story but it is the part of the story that my well-trained eldest child brain can’t let go.

And when I am really honest with myself, some of my problem is that I am jealous. Not of the obvious things like the direct miracle of his healing, but because the man was so excited he just couldn’t stop talking about Jesus. He may not have followed instructions, but he sure followed the leader. I want that.

I have been so fortunate to not have had any major health issues in my 57 years. I have had the usual bumps and bruises (Sorry, Mom, despite your best efforts, I am neither graceful nor elegant!), bugs and bothers, but nothing that has disrupted the long term trajectory of my life. Yet, there are countless small healings and blessings that have graced my path through life. Times when things could have gone bad and didn’t. Yet, I don’t focus on those things. I fuss when things don’t go the way I think they should, when my way is not The Way. Sometimes I get so busy following the rules, that I neglect to follow my leader. There are times when I need to let go of what I think should be and just revel in the fact that God’s got this. His healing and his blessings come in his time. He has his eye on me. “Even all the hairs on your head are counted. So do not be afraid…” (Matthew 10:30-31)

“He spread the report abroad so that it was impossible for Jesus to enter a town openly. He remained outside in deserted places, and people kept coming to him from everywhere.”

Dear Jesus, Lead me so that my life is such a reflection of you, your healing and joy that when I meet others, they too want to find come and find you.

If you catch Sheryl sitting still, you are most likely to find her nose stuck in a book. It may be studying with her husband, Tom as he goes through Diaconate Formation, trying to stay one step ahead of her 5th and 6th-grade students at St Rose of Lima Catholic School or preparing for the teens she serves as Director of Youth Evangelization and Outreach in her parish collaborative. You can reach her through her through www.youthministrynacc.com.

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Memento Mori

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It’s one of those thoughts that occur to you when it’s three o’clock in the morning and it feels like you’re the only person in the world who’s awake and everything that is moderately upsetting during the day turns into something Really Scary. You know those nights.

And you know those thoughts, too: you think about death.

It’s been said that death has replaced sex as the taboo subject of our era. Certainly, it feels that way, even within our own community of faith: our Church’s mission is to bring life and love to the world, and talking about death seems inappropriate somehow, even grotesque. The irony, of course, is that what we’re trying to avoid thinking about—dying—is the one human event guaranteed to happen to every one of us.

Today’s first reading addresses death, and our fear of it, with directness: “Since the children share in blood and flesh, Jesus likewise shared in them, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the Devil, and free those who through fear of death have been subject to slavery all their life.”

It’s an intense image: being subject to slavery out of fear of death. Yet death’s hold on us is exactly that—we’re enslaved to fear: the fear of pain, the fear of nothingness, the fear of the unknown. The thought that fifty or a hundred years from now, our name will be forgotten, our life will be unremembered. The knowledge that in the transition moments of death we will be alone, that whatever we’ve accomplished or accumulated during our lives will become meaningless. Those terrible three-o’clock-in-the-morning thoughts.

I’d pretty much call that enslaved, wouldn’t you? Yet it also tells us we’re ignoring the most important part of today’s reading: that Christ has already freed us from that slavery. If we persist in our fear, then the onus is on us—it’s a choice we’ve made. Jesus frees from the fear of death by destroying evil and assuring us we have eternal life beyond death.

So—how do we bridge the gap between our faith and our fear?

One first step might be to put life (and therefore death) in perspective. There’s a story about a young man traveling through the mountains in search of wisdom, and he visits the hut of a famous learned monk. He is disappointed by its austerity. “But where are your books?” he asks. The monk counters, “Where are yours?” The traveler shakes his head. “I don’t have them; I’m just passing through,” he says. “Ah,” responds the monk. “And so am I.”

We are all travelers. Travelers might enjoy the journey, but no matter what adventures happen along the way, the experience takes place with the certainty of eventually arriving at a destination. We can—and should!—enjoy our lives, but keep the perspective that there’s somewhere else we’re going.

The perspective alone isn’t enough: it’s time to start thinking about death, and not at three o’clock in the morning. The wisdom of keeping death always at the forefront of our thoughts has been pointed out by non-Christians: Buddhist Geshe Kelsang writes that “preparing for death is one of the kindest and wisest things we can do both for ourself (sic.) and others,” while the ancient practice of reflection on mortality goes back to Socrates, who said that the proper practice of philosophy is “about nothing else but dying and being dead.” If those who do not have our certainty of eternal life can focus on death so positively, then how much more should we be able to!

The practice in the Roman empire of memento mori—”remember your death”—passed into Christianity and became especially prevalent in the middle ages, when plague and lack of sanitation kept death uppermost in people’s minds. Stories of banquets where skulls were used as mugs might be apocryphal, but the concept of memento mori inspired a whole genre of art and literature that was hugely popular throughout medieval Europe and practically exploded into the Victorian era. And it’s even coming back into usage today.

Christ died to deliver us from fear of death: making the journey from fear to hope is intrinsic to our call as Christians, and it’s a great deal easier if we stop giving death such an influential place in our psyches. It is; that is all. Thinking about it, planning our lives to include it, even following the custom of keeping an imitation skull as a constant reminder—all that strips death of its power and reminds us that, like the traveler, we are only passing through.

Jeannette de Beauvoir is a writer and editor with the digital department of Pauline Books & Media, working on projects as disparate as newsletters, book clubs, ebooks, and retreats that support the apostolate of the Daughters of St. Paul at http://www.pauline.org.

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Amazed and Astonished by the Power of Christ

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Two events happen in today’s Gospel: Jesus astonishes the people of Capernaum with his Sabbath teaching, and then Jesus amazes the people by casting out a demon.

It was customary in a synagogue to invite others to read the Scriptures and comment on them; leaders would welcome a young, promising voice, and Jesus took many opportunities to express the Truth in this way (Take note that in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus never again enters a synagogue after he is rejected in the synagogue at Nazareth in Chapter 6!). What is astonishing is not the fact that Jesus is teaching but that, unlike the scribes, his teaching does not simply repeat traditional and accepted opinions of other rabbinical leaders. It is “new teaching with authority” – Jesus speaks on his own personal authority, a fact which will soon turn the scribes against him.

We do not know what passage Jesus read, or how he commented on it. Mark’s Gospel contains precious little of Jesus’ actual teaching and is focused on the arrival of the Kingdom in the person and authority of Christ, and the astonishment this stirred in those who encountered him. Mark repeatedly shows us that the coming of Christ was altogether astounding, his words and actions unprecedented and challenging to the status quo, his authority, and power noted by all – even the demon who acknowledges him as “the Holy One of God.” Jesus, with authority, tells the unclean spirit literally: “Be muzzled” and orders him to leave the man. And the evil spirit must obey, stirring new amazement through the crowd.

Both of these events give evidence of the power and authority of Jesus, and the widespread attention he drew. People heard him teach and saw him healing and overcoming demons and were amazed and astonished.

In a world that seems to take everything for granted (even the Gospel) and that undervalues vulnerability, openness, and wonder, we should examine our own hearts:

Do we really believe in the transforming power of Christ in every facet of our being?

Are we truly open to the God of surprises, opening ourselves fully to a sincere encounter with the living God?

Are we still capable of wonder and amazement at the peaceful presence of God in each moment?

Are we able to celebrate the bright moments of grace in our lives and in the lives of others?

Let’s all ask for the great gift of recognizing and marveling at the mighty power and authority of Christ, which can be found everywhere we turn: in the sky and the sea, in the hearts of those we encounter, in the seed and bloom and fruit of the earth, and in every tabernacle that holds the very Presence of God in the Eucharist.

Kathryn Mulderink, MA, is married to Robert, Station Manager for Holy Family Radio. Together they have seven children (including Deacon Rob and seminarian Luke ;-), and two grandchildren. She is a Secular Discalced Carmelite and has published five books and many articles. Over the last 25 years, she has worked as a teacher, headmistress, catechist, Pastoral Associate, and DRE. Currently, she serves the Church as a writer and voice talent for Catholic Radio, by publishing and speaking, and by collaborating with the diocesan Office of Catechesis, various parishes, and other ministries to lead others to encounter Christ and engage their faith. Her website is www.KathrynTherese.com.