By:

Darleen Pryds, Ph.D.

Vice President, Franciscan Federation Board
Academic Director, MTS-Franciscan Theology, Franciscan School of Theology

With the beginning of Advent, I often wax nostalgic, especially with my mother, who at 96 is handing over more and more holiday roles to my sisters and me. The decoration of the tree is incrementally done by my oldest sister and brother-in-law, who set up the tree and haul out the boxes of bulbs and lights. My other sister sets up bigger decorations for outside—a couple of wooden bears who don seasonally appropriate scarves and beanies. Mom still addresses all the envelopes for her long list of Christmas card recipients. And on my visits, I finish up whatever odd tasks that need to be completed, like taking one or more trips to the post office for stamps, mindful there used to be a time when I would be instructed to buy only the self-adhesive Christmas stamps, since it wouldn’t be right to lick the Madonna!

It’s our tradition…this is how we prepare for Christmas.

Over the years, our preparations for the holiday have become rather predictable and routine. This very predictability makes them comforting. At the same time, on a deeper faith level, I am not fully satisfied with the ease they bring. After all, the first “Christmas” was anything but predictable or routine.

It was full of the kind of vulnerability that comes from uncertain conditions and unpredictability.

A pregnant, young woman went into labor while traveling with the man she was engaged to be married, to register with the government in the town of his family of origin as required by the decree. In addition to the sheer exertion of travel, their ordeal was made more precarious when they were unable to find “suitable lodging.” Instead, they made do with the shelter of a stable with animals around.

Luke reports this succinctly and matter of factly, “[S]he gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” (LK 2:7)

The pain, exertion, and blood of birthing are all common aspects of lived experience, but they are left out of sacred scripture. The smells and discomfort of sheltering and giving birth in a barn are also missing from the official record, as are accounts of the warmth that the animals offered with their presence.

Luke’s account is so brief without the real details of life, we easily forget how precarious this birth was.

All of our nativity scenes train us to admire the clean, healthy, safe, and holy newborn baby. We forget that the baby who was born that night needed to be washed, dried, and swaddled.. fed, kept warm, and washed so he would survive in the midst of such unpredictable circumstances. We forget all the particulars that allowed the baby’s life to begin and thrive. We easily forget the attentive presence Mary and Joseph offered to one another and to their newborn son until they were overcome with fatigue. The urgency and the care of those days in that stable required mindful presence in order to survive. We gloss over that fact. This is nothing less than a survival story.

Annie Dillard in her book, Teaching a Stone to Talk, evoked this forgotten urgency of our Christian faith in stark imagery upon noticing the casual, self-assured, well-dressed devotion of church goers: “We should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.”

Such a bold suggestion surprises us into recognizing the seriousness of our faith. My own reflection leads me to something more mundane, perhaps, but with equal significance: What if we cultivate mindful presence to what is.. without running away from or overlooking the grittiness of human life, but by turning toward it and acknowledge the presence of God even in its midst?

As I get older, my reflections around holidays like Christmas and Easter have zeroed in on the original experiences of real people and creatures who were involved in and present at Jesus’ birth, death, and resurrection. What these people shared were vulnerability and uncertainty in the midst of the harsh experiences of life. They did not rush to certain faith. Instead, they lived vulnerably through their uncertainty to faith in God.

That’s where I find real beauty and joy.. in the awareness that we too are living on the edge, with precarious uncertainty, but always in the presence of God.

From Advent through Christmas and into Epiphany, followed by Lent into Easter and Pentecost, we have season upon season to explore, reflect, and be aware of our own vulnerabilities and those we share with one another by cultivating mindful presence with the realities of our lives.

In January, Shalom Spirituality Center will launch its 2026 series of reflective talks that will explore the “Easter of St. Francis.” My own contribution will be a 2-part virtual series during the season of Epiphany entitled, The Easter of Francis of Assisi: Ongoing Conversion and the Spirituality of Presence, on January 20 and 27 from 6:30 – 8:00 pm CT. In these talks, I will build on the theme of vulnerability and uncertainty in order to usher in a year of mindful presence where real joy is experienced. Click here to learn more about this program.

REFLECTION:

In what ways do you experience uncertainty in your life? 

How do you experience the presence of God in the midst of uncertainty?

By:

Father Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

See Spanish translation below — Consulte la traducción al español a continuación

Saving oneself or offering oneself in a pandemic situation. Where is perfect Joy?

It was during the time of the pandemic (Covid-19), when, for preventive measures, confinement in homes was decreed. Commerce stopped; the streets were empty. Church buildings were closed and the sacramental life of the faithful was reduced to virtual participation.

People began to die, among them, dear, irreplaceable friends. We all secluded ourselves. Fear arose, and extreme measures were put in place for distancing to avoid contagion.

In that time of such circumstances and needs, the Word of God appealed to my conscience. Meditating on the quote from Mt. 10:39: "Whoever finds his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for me will find it," I thought I couldn't stay locked up without taking care of the spiritual needs of the people who needed me. I had to lose my fear and to look for ways to support, accompany, and strengthen them.

In the parish, we began to distribute food until our funds ran out, thinking that the pandemic would last only a short time. The money was indeed depleted, but the pandemic continued.

We began to pray every night, before the exposed Blessed Sacrament. People started to connect with us, sharing their names and their prayers. Some time later, people commented to me how much comfort they received in those moments! The holy hours went on for two years, night after night, as we prayed and prayed.

I began to visit the sick when they requested it and celebrated with them the Sacrament of the Sick. Many had Covid-19, although their relatives preferred to tell me that it was pneumonia. I also offered prayers for the deceased, in funeral homes and in private residences, regardless of ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The important thing was to bring God's comfort.

To administer the Sacrament of Reconciliation, since it was not possible inside the church building, I went out to the atrium, armed with a small screen made of PVC pipes and lined with transparent plastic. On Thursdays and Saturdays, many people came. The two hours, sometimes three, that I dedicated to it were insufficient.

The most painful experiences were: praying and saying goodbye by video call to a parishioner brother, already in agony, and encouraging him in his passing; visiting and giving the last rites and viaticum to a brother priest who died in the early morning; waiting for the body of another brother priest outside the hospital and accompanying him to the grave, with all the restrictions and care imposed by the authorities; and offering the prayers for the deceased for another brother priest from afar, at the entrance to the cemetery, because that was the only way possible.

I also recorded daily meditations for about 150 days and sent them via WhatsApp to all the contacts I had. The purpose was to accompany, strengthen, and encourage. We made some videos with those same topics and posted them on the parish’s Facebook page.

Why do I share all of this? To meditate on the theme of "Perfect Joy" through a personal experience.

In the face of a pandemic and the possibility of contagion and likely death, the logical thing to do is to seclude yourself and to take care of yourself. Yet, the Word of God questioned me so that, at that moment, I could not be afraid. I couldn't "save my life" because that would be to lose it. That made me leave my fears behind and go out and bring God's comfort to sick people and their families.

That experience helped me to live life with greater intensity, to celebrate it every day. It also helped me to be a little freer. Joy arose from letting go of the fear of contagion and death, in this specific situation of the pandemic; and without ceasing to be careful with my health, to see an opportunity to give myself, offering what from my priestly ministry I could give, consolation and the closeness of God. I am thankful for that.

REFLECTION:

Perfect joy is a gratuitous gift. When have you received the capacity to respond positively in a difficult situation?

¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

By:

Padre Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

REFLECTION:

La “alegría perfecta” es un don gratuita. ¿Cuándo has recibido la capacidad de responder de manera positiva a una situación difícil?