From Your Valentine: Saint Valentine

So I happen to be a single woman, and as you can imagine, Valentine’s Day can feel like a lonely day, especially because it’s a holiday that is marketed towards people who are in romantic relationships.  It may seem that I have no business talking about the patron saint of this holiday.  However, what if I told you that the founder of Valentine’s Day was a single man, who was a priest and later a saint named Valentine?

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Saint Valentine lived during the reign of Emperor Claudius. In third century AD, Emperor Claudius imposed an edict, or a law, that banned marriage.  This law was particularly targeting military-aged men. In Claudius’ mind, he felt that unmarried soldiers would fight better and with reckless abandon because they wouldn’t worried about their wives and children at home.
When you get married, you make a vow that your life belongs to your spouse, and vice versa.  You live for your spouse and you would willingly die for your spouse. Claudius feared the notion that a man would lay down his life for his wife before he would for his country.

Now this edict was before Constantine, so the Christian Church was gaining popularity, but still underground.  This no-marriage edict threw the Church in for a loop, and since marriage was a public affair, many priests feared to go against the edict and call attention to themselves. It was still the days where being a Christian meant you could quite literally lose your head.

Valentine believed in preserving and carrying out the sacred institution of marriage and honestly, fear means nothing when you believe in something strong enough. Against all odds, Valentine basically decided to disregard the edict and perform marriages in secret. He celebrated the sacrament of holy matrimony in the catacombs, where only he and God could see the hidden couples engaging their vows.
It is unknown how long Valentine was officiating these underground marriages, but I’m just going to say that after a long period of time, someone betrayed Valentine and reported what he was doing to Emperor Claudius.

Valentine was arrested and brought before a panel of judges, one of whom was a man named Asterius. Asterius decided to put Valentine to the test; he ordered him to pray over his sick daughter.  If God was real, then surely Valentine’s prayers would cure the child.  We can safely assume that Asterius doubted Valentine’s prayers would do anything.
Well, Valentine went to Asterius’ home and prayed over the sickly girl.  By the grace of God, she was healed by the prayers of the kind priest.
Asterius realized that this man was the real deal and he became a Christian on the spot.  It has been said that to prove his newfound faith, Asterius destroyed all the Pagan idols in his home and fasted for three days.  After he was baptized, he freed all of the Christian inmates.

Asterius’ conversion did not bode well with Emperor Claudius. Under his command, Valentine was sentenced to a three-part execution: He was beaten, stoned and then beheaded.
Before his execution, Valentine had written a letter to Asterius’ daughter, which he gave to Asterius himself.  We do not know the contents of the letter, but we do know what Valentine’s signature was.  It read, “From your Valentine…”

I find it to be interesting that Valentine’s Day, a day where romantic couples express their love for all to see, exists because of one man’s daring mission to help those who wanted to commit their lives to each other get married in secret.  What is even more striking is how this man had no lover of his own.  Valentine’s heart belonged to someone greater, a higher power that compelled him to go against an anti-marriage edict to protect a sacrament that is once again under attack in our modern world.  He belonged to God alone.
Valentine understood the true meaning of love: To care for others more than you care about yourself, to give your life to a greater cause.   Love calls us to change the world.

Saint Valentine, pray for us.

What We Stand For: A Brief Reflection on The Colorado Springs Planned Parenthood Shooting

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I’m sure by now you have heard of the Planned Parenthod shooting that took place in Colorado Springs yesterday.  However, just for emphasis, I will summarize it:
At 11:38 local time, 57-year old Robert Lewis Dear burst into the Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado Springs and opened fire. The staff and patients took cover in closets and bathrooms.
Police were engaged in a standoff with Robert Lewis Dear that some sources say lasted five hours while other sources state lasted for six hours. Officers continued to encounter gunfire as they evacuated the people who had taken cover.
The standoff ended when Robert Lewis Dear surrendered.

Since yesterday I have been taking to Facebook and joining the flood of pro-life groups and advocates who have been condemning Robert Lewis Dear’s act of violence against Planned Parenthood.  However, that hasn’t stop detractors from using this tragedy to blame pro-life activists and smear our cause.  For me, the biggest blow came when Buzzfeed posted an article entitled, “Some Abortion Foes Cheered the Planned Parenthood Shooting.”  http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/some-pro-life-supporters-cheered-planned-parenthood-shooting?utm_term=.uoAz1YPPe#.ggM0eMww9

After that, I just logged off and took some time to take a breath.  My heart was already heavy from what happened in Colorado Springs, and to see a cause I care for being slandered was even worse.
I went to our living room and sat in front of the Christmas tree, staring at the ornaments and lights.  “Why should I even bother?” I asked myself. Why should I even bother to keep posting about how pro-life groups have condemned what happened in Colorado Springs if people will continue to paint us as violent extremists anyway?
I looked at our pictures of Jesus and Mary that hang side by side on our wall. I bore my eyes into Jesus’ image, concentrating at his upward gaze, his purposeful expression.

Then, somehow, I came to a distressing thought: ‘Why did Jesus even bother to die on the Cross?’

I had to sit down.  Jesus died for our sins, but we still sin anyway, so why would He bother?
The answer: Because Jesus’ mission was to save us.

This conclusion lifted me from my drained state.  Why should I bother to be vocal about defending the pro-life cause?
Because defending every life is our mission.

What others say about us doesn’t matter.  How society paints us is irrelevant.  Pro-life does not exist to please others.  Pro-life exists to protect the dignity of every single life.

Pro-life means defending the humanity of the unborn baby.
Pro-life means reaching out to the single mother.
Pro-life means offering hope to the pregnant teenager.
Pro-life means supporting the rape victim.
Pro-life means showing mercy to abortion clinic workers.
Pro-life means feeding and clothing the homeless.
Pro-life means welcoming the refugee.
Pro-life means standing up for the death row inmate.
Pro-life means giving shelter to abandoned animals.
Pro-life means every beating heart matters.
I will say this as many times as I need to: Pro-life does not stand for violence or extremism.  We do not stand for shaming women or abortion workers.  You cannot call yourself pro-life if you do not condemn violence against clinics or the people who work there.  Oppose abortion, but do no harm to those who support it.

Pro-life is pro-peace.
Period.

 

A Mother’s Love: Saint Monica

I was sixteen-years old when I was going through the Confirmation program. When it came time for me to pick a saint, I was torn between all the single saintly ladies: Teresa of Avila and Catherine of Siena were my top picks, but so were Agnes of Rome, Maria Goretti, and Cecilia.  Joan of Arc is cool, but Lucy of Syracuse is like a sister to me.  Then there’s my parish patron Kateri Tekakwitha to consider, but then again, Faustina Kowalska is the patroness of the Divine Mercy!  AAAAHHHHH!!!!
As you can see, I was quite stressed.  So many awesome ladies to choose from and I only had so much time.  I remember flipping through my Saints book in a panic.  I ended up dropping it and watched it cracked open on the tile.  When I picked it up, I saw the page on Saint Monica.
I skimmed through her chapter, “She doesn’t seem very interesting.”  She wasn’t a soldier like Joan or a martyr like Lucy, Maria or Agnes.  I put Monica on the backburner for a while.
However, the longer I resisted, the more she crept up on me.  One night I went online and read up on Monica.  I scratched my head, “God, why should I pick her?  We have nothing in common.”
At first glance, Monica and I were incompatible as candidate and patron.
She was a married woman.  I am single.
She lived in Africa.  I am a born-and-raised California girl.
She was an obedient old woman.  I am a headstrong young woman.
In spite of all these differences between us, I couldn’t bring myself to click out of her info page just yet.  So I sighed and took a second look at her story.

Saint Monica portrayed by actress Monica Guerritore in Restless Heart.
Saint Monica portrayed by actress Monica Guerritore in Restless Heart.

Saint Monica was born in 331 AD in Tagaste, which is now known as Souk Ahras, Algeria.  Not much is known about Monica’s childhood, but we do know that she was born after Constantine legalized Christianity.
You may have noticed that in a lot of my Saints bios, many of these guys and gals were either in arranged marriages (ex. Cecilia) or were arranged to be married to somebody (ex. Lucy).  Monica is no exception.
She was twenty-two (a year younger than me) when she was betrothed to a Pagan man named Patricius.  By all accounts, Monica was a generous and obedient girl, so she was married off without hesitation.
To put it simply, Monica got a pretty raw deal because Patricius was the biggest jerk in Tagaste.  Violent, with an explosive temper, he verbally and physically abused Monica during his outbursts.  To add insult to injury, he was the kind of guy who would be a regular Ashley Madison customer if he lived in the year 2015.  Oh, and did I mention that his mother/Monica’s mother-in-law also worse than Nurse Ratchet from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”  Needless to say, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Now, you’re probably thinking, “Ditch this guy, Monica,” but divorce court wasn’t a thing in AD Tagaste.  These were the days where a man could leave his wife if she wasn’t a virgin, but a woman was stuck with a hot-headed cheater.
Monica was a Christian and she was especially drawn to Christianity’s emphasis on kindness and humility.  She was also very smart, so she figured that if she couldn’t leave Patricius, she would kill him with kindness.  She knew she couldn’t fight back when he hit her because she would end up on the streets as a beggar woman, so she said her prayers aloud, ignoring him as he stormed off.   When he came home after visiting one of his “lady friends,” Patricius scratched his head when he saw a lavish meal prepared for him by the wife he was betraying.
Monica’s charitible approach won over Patricius’ respect and admiration, to where his punches became less frequent and he began walking out of the room instead of screaming at her.

Monica had three children with Patricius; Augustine, Navigius and Perpetua. There’s very little info on Navigius and Perpetua (I did find out that Navigius entered the monastery), but Augustine–oh, yes–there is a plethora of info on Augustine.  Why?  Because her Augustine just so happens to be THE great Saint Augustine of Hippo.  What a twist!
Monica did the best job she could at raising her children in the faith, but remember, Patricius was an aggressive Pagan and it was his way or the highway. Augustine was the oldest son and it’s not uncommon for the oldest son to gravitate towards his father.  This means that Augustine was very much his father’s son in his actions…and in his beliefs.
Monica knew that her son was a fast-learner, but her heart broke when she saw how disinterested he was in her Christian faith.  She was even more distressed when she realized that Paganism was more enticing to her impressionable son.

After years of being bound to his sinful ways, Patricius converted to Christianity on his deathbed.  However, Monica still had one more thing to do: Save her Pagan-party boy son!  (Plays Superman theme music)
When Augustine grew up, he traveled to Carthage.  In those days, saying “I’m going to Carthage” was like saying, “I’m going to Harvard.”  It was where all the great thinkers went to, well, think and trade abstract ideas.  It was also where many heresies and questionable theological theories sprang up and resided.  These ideas influenced Augustine and led him astray for oh-so-many years.  To his chagrin, Augustine wasn’t alone.  Right behind him on the boat to Carthage was his mother.

As she followed him on his travels, Monica witnessed Augustine’s sinful ways.  She watched him drink himself into a stupor on multiple occasions.  She watched him blaspheme against God and the Church.  She watched him impregnate a woman he wasn’t married to.  She watched him abandon the woman and their infant son.  Her heart broke with each sin.  Every day she offered up her son in prayer.  She asked God to forgive Augustine and to change his hardened heart.  Sometimes her prayers were calm and contemplative; other times they were shouted in desperation and anger. Every prayer came with tears for her wayward son.  Monica’s valiant praying caught the attention of Saint Ambrose, the bishop of Milan.  Monica went to him and poured out her story about the abuse she suffered and of her fear for Augustine’s immortal soul.  Ambrose was so moved by Monica’s courage and all that she had sacrificed that he assured her, “It is not possible that the child of so many tears should perish.”

Monica’s prayers finally paid off.  Augustine had a powerful “come-to-Jesus” experience that changed his life.  He abandoned his selfish ways and became a Christian.  Monica could live in peace at last.  She was called home to Heaven shortly after.

I Volunteer as Tribute: Saint Maximilian Maria Kolbe

As a Catholic fan of the Hunger Games, I can’t help but wonder if author Suzanne Collins was inspired by Saint Maximilian Kolbe to have Katniss take her sister Prim’s place in the 74th Games.
Well, Suzanne Collins is Roman Catholic…
Anything is possible, I suppose.

This is the story of Saint Maximilian Maria Kolbe!

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There once was a boy named Raymund, who was born in Zduńska Wola, Poland with his father Julius, his mother Maria and four brothers.  Not long after he was born, Raymund and his family moved to another town called Pabianice.
Raymund was an aimless boy; he went to school, helped out around the house, walked around town, etc.  He didn’t seem to have any particular talents that would make him famous or important by the world’s standards.

Then in 1906, the Virgin Mary appeared to him in an apparition that would change the course of his life forever.

“That night I asked the Mother of God what was to become of me. Then she came to me holding two crowns, one white, the other red. She asked me if I was willing to accept either of these crowns. The white one meant that I should persevere in purity, and the red that I should become a martyr.  I said that I would accept them both.”

Raymund joined the Conventual Franciscan minor seminary with his older brother Francis one year later.
Then in 1910, Raymund Kolbe entered the novitiate with a new name: Maximilian.

Now Maximilian and the Virgin Mary were BFFs.  After all, she saved him from a dull life as a directionless country boy by revealing his purpose in life.   Naturally whenever someone impacts your life in a positive way, you feel a desire to repay them and show your gratitude.
In Maximilian’s case, he felt so much love and respect for the Blessed Mother that he not only added “Maria” to his full name (Maximilian Maria Kolbe), not only did he openly promote the veneration of Mary, but he even started the Militia Immaculata (MI) in her honor.  The purpose of MI is to evangelize to the world and convert hearts by relying on Mary’s intercession.  In fact, to become a member of MI, you have to make a personal act of consecration to Mama Mary.
Yep, that’s the sexist Catholic Church; we’re so misogynistic that we canonized a guy who was inspired by a woman to change his life and then started an organization where members consecrate themselves to that same woman.
Just let that sink in for a moment.

Maximilian’s missionary work took him all over the world; China, Japan, and eventually to India.  For reasons unknown, he couldn’t gather a following in China, but he did get a lot of work done in Japan.  He build a monastery on the outskirts of Nagasaki.
Interesting trivia: The atomic bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki obliterated everything in its path…except for the monastery that Maximilian had built.  In the midst of death and destruction, the monastery was still standing.
Even when tuberculosis forced him to end his travels and return to Poland, Maximilian remained active by starting a radio station in–(do not ask me how to pronounce this) Niepokalanow.
I’ll bet you Satan got ticked with Maximilian; “you have freaking tuberculosis; how are you still moving?  These Mary-loving types are always the hardest to axe off.”

Then everything changed when the Fire Nation–I mean–the Nazis attacked.  In addition to slaughtering innocent Jews, the Third Reich had a particular hatred of the Catholic Church and anyone associated with her (I say “her” because the Church is the bride of Christ).  Maximilian and four other priests were arrested on Feburary 17th, 1941.  When Maximilian was sent to Auschwitz, he was given another new name: Prisoner #16670.

One of the twisted policies of Auschwitz was that if a prisoner escaped, ten prisoners would pay with their lives.  So when three prisoners fled Auschwitz, ten men were randomly selected to spend their days in an underground bunker, where they would left to die from starvation and dehydration.
One of the chosen was Prisoner #26273, also known as Franciszek Gajowniczek.  In a panic, Franciszek cried out, “My wife!  My children!”  Haunted by the fear of leaving his wife to fend for herself with two fatherless child, he begged for mercy.  The Gestapo officers held their batons, ready to strike him to end his pleading.

A man with glasses and a long white beard stepped up and faced the Gestapo.
“I am a Catholic priest from Poland; I would like to take his place, because he has a wife and children.”
The switch was made and Franciszek was sent back in line to live another day.  Wiping off the sweat from his face, he turned to get a look at his rescuer, Father Maximilian Maria Kolbe.
During his final days, Maximilian kept his fellow prisoners in high spirits with prayer and fasting.  He evangelized to the men, giving them hope by telling them of Jesus and His mother Mary and praying with them.
Two weeks later, the guards entered the bunker to collect the bodies.  They froze when Maximilian Kolbe looked up at them, still alive.
A calm Maximilian lifted his left arm and received a deadly injection of carbolic acid.  His body was cremated on August 15th, the feast day of the Assumption of his beloved friend, Mary.

Saint Maximilian Maria Kolbe, pray for us.

How Do You Solve a Problem like Cecilia?: Saint Cecilia

This Saints post exists because I owe Saint Cecilia a favor.  First, here’s some backstory:
Last weekend, I was on a LifeTeen retreat (not as a teen, of course.  I’m a Core member).  On Friday my throat felt scratchy and by “lights out” time, my voice was heading down the drain.  All day Saturday, I had a raspy, chain-smoker voice and it hurt to talk.  As luck would have it, I had to give a teaching on authentic prayer.  Normally Saint Blaise is an obvious person to go to for throat trouble because that’s his patronage, but then Saint Cecilia, patroness of music, came to mind.  I said, “Okay, Cecilia, if you can help me deliver my talk in the exact way that I had practiced it, I will bump you up in my posting schedule and you will be the next CGB Saints post.”

I delivered my talk without forgetting a single word.  Remember when I said that it hurt to talk?  As I gave my teaching, my throat felt just fine.

The hills are alive with the sound of Cecilia!
The hills are alive with the sound of Cecilia!

Saint Cecilia has the typical 2nd century A.D. Roman girl backstory; she was born into a wealthy family.  They were all Christians, but she had been betrothed to Valerian, a Pagan man who had a brother named Tibertius, who will be important later, so remember him.  Anyway, between this and my Saint Lucy post, you have figured out by now that in those days, love was not a central ingredient to marriage.  It takes two prominent families to get their younglings to tango.

Of course, Cecilia had promised God that she would be His bride, consecrating her virginity to Him alone.  Instead of adorning herself in the fine dresses and jewels that her family could afford, a sackcloth was her clothing of choice.
Cecilia and Valerian were married and so began the wedding night.  I’m just gonna paraphrase how I think their conversation went:

CECILIA: Honey, I know I’m your wife now and I have to fulfill my duty to you, BUT…I consecrated my virginity to God and because of that, my guardian angel will be standing guard to protect my purity.
VALERIAN: Uh…all right, prove it.  I want to see the angel.
CECILIA: Tell you what; you go visit Pope Urban and get yourself baptized.  When you get back, you will see my angel.
VALERIAN: Well, it is fashionable to see the Holy Father and such a visit could benefit our families, so why not?

I came so close to referring “the angel of music” from Phantom of the Opera as I was typing this.

Valerian visited Pope Urban and was baptized.  When he returned, his jaw hit the floor.  A magnificent angel was standing alongside his new wife while she played the piano.
I’m just gonna go ahead and sing this: “Then I saw her face.  Now I’m a believer!  Without a trace or doubt in my mind…I’m a believer, I couldn’t leave her if I tried!”
The angel had two crowns, one for Cecilia and the other for Valerian.  The crowns were placed on the heads of husband and wife.

Earlier I told you to remember Valerian’s brother Tibertius.  That’s because Tibertius also became a believer once he saw the crowns on Cecilia and Valerian’s heads.  Two is plenty, but three’s a crowd.

Now in their day, Christians were being martyred left and right.  The prefect of their city had a serious case of bloodlust; not only were Christians were being killed off faster than a Game of Thrones character, but their bodies were left on the streets as a warning to Roman citizens.  Valerian and Tibertius were persuaded by Cecilia to bury the martyrs.  When onlookers would approach them, the brothers would direct them to Valerian’s home, where Cecilia would tell them about Jesus Christ.  A woman in love with Jesus, her eloquence and compassion for nonbelievers brought visitors to their knees as they converted to Christianity.

There is no exact timeline of when shiz went down, but we do know that the prefect of the city put a stop to Valerian and Tibertius’ martyr-burial operation.  The brothers were captured, brought before the prefect, and joined the dead.

Preparing her home to be a church, Cecilia turned around when she heard the door open, thinking it was her husband and brother-in-law.  Her smile left her face when Roman soldiers stood at her door.  She took a breath, entrusting her fate to God.

Standing before the prefect as Valerian and Tibertius had, Cecilia was ordered to be executed by suffocation in the bathhouse.  Thrown into the bathhouse, she was locked inside and the flames arose, whipping at her skin and hair.  The guards waited for the agonizing screams of the woman caged in the inferno.
They didn’t hear a peep from her.
Then the fires were cooled, the doors unlocked and reopened; Cecilia stood very much alive.

His mind blown from this incident, the prefect ordered her to be beheaded.  The executioner approached her, armed with a sword that promised to impale flesh and bone.
The first strike hit her neck, but was ineffective.
The second strike cut through skin and nothing else.
The third strike caught the jugular, but her vocal cords remained.
He ran away after the third blow.

Mortally wounded, Cecilia was left to die in a cell.  She was in dire pain, but continued to preach the Gospel as blood flowed down from her maimed neck, soaked up by the sponges and cloths of those who came to hear her speak.  She used her final breath to share the Good News.

Saint Cecilia, pray for us.

Christian Movie Reviews: Grace Unplugged

Hey Christian filmmakers, if you want to save the genre, this is the movie you need to imitate.

This is my review of Grace Unplugged! Grace-Unplugged

Grace Unplugged is a family drama that centers around Grace Trey and her father Johnny Trey, a former rock star turned music minister.  The opening scene tells you (very subtly) that though they play in the church band together, there is tension between musical talent Johnny and the equally talented Grace.  When Johnny’s old manager Mostin tries to get him back into the secular music world, Johnny politely declines, but Grace goes behind her father’s back by sending Mostin a demo of her singing.  She enters the world of secular music and is given a new identity as Gracie Trey.  However her inability to write her own songs and the rift she has caused within her family hinders her path to stardom. Aj Michalka gives an impressive and sincere performance as Grace.  Though at times she tends to rely on the “deer-in-a-headlights” look in the second act, her facial expressions convey the protagonist’s inner turmoil.   Aj Michalka portrays a frustrated girl who expresses herself through music and just wants to be free to create.   James Denton plays Johnny Trey, and he gets the most transformation as a character.  I hated him in the first half because of how uptight and overbearing he was, but his journey into humility made him more sympathetic until I finally gave in and changed my mind about him.  This movie succeeds at having both Grace and her father learn a lesson; Grace learns not to throw herself into a world that she’s not ready for, and Johnny sees the error of his suffocating Grace’s talent. The film does a great job at not letting the message clash with the story.  The humanistic script allows the characters to be living, breathing people and not become Bible-belt stereotypes.  The God-dialogue sounds like it’s coming from the characters and not part of an agenda.  The filmmakers understand that our God is not a forceful God, so they avoid forcing His role in the story.  By allowing God to be in control without shoving Him into clumsy dialogue, the moral that God is in control is able to flourish in a natural progression. People, this is a freaking good Christian movie.  It’s a believable family drama, a well-thought character study of Grace and Johnny, and the music is pretty awesome.   I’m gonna go ahead and say it: Grace Unplugged and Soul Surfer are the movies that are going to save the Christian movie genre if filmmakers follow their example.   There is hope for this genre, and it’s movies like Grace Unplugged that are going to lead the way.

Saint Cecilia, pray for us.

The Silent Carpenter: Saint Joseph (Father’s Day Special!)

If I ever get married and have a son, expect the name “Joseph” to be somewhere in his name (it’ll most likely be his middle name).  I really love the name Joseph, and I also love the most famous bearer of this name.  I’m talking about Saint Joseph, husband of the Virgin Mary and Jesus’ foster father.

Guido_Reni_-_Saint_Joseph_and_the_Christ_Child_-_Google_Art_Project
An epic picture of a sturdy carpenter and gentle father.

Doing research on Saint Joseph the Carpenter is really difficult because the information on him is minimal (there was no such thing as a “digital footprint” in his day).  We do know that he was a carpenter in Nazareth.  His reputation among the locals was that he was a just man.  Humble and mild-mannered, he did his woodwork to make ends meet, got along with everybody, and then went home at the end of the day.

His quiet life changed when he asked for the hand of Ann and Joachim’s daughter, Mary.  His reputation as a gentleman and hard worker sat well with Ann and Joachim.  As for Mary, she knew of Joseph and was drawn to his genuine nature. Like Prince Kit in Cinderella (2015), Joseph wanted to marry for love, not for riches or personal gain.  Hence they were betrothed.

Joseph’s simple life was shaken when his now-fiancee Mary told him that the Archangel Gabriel had visited her and told her she would bear the Son of God (do I even need to say who it is?)  Naturally Joseph was troubled and even upset.  Let’s be honest: Even the most religious person would have a hard time believing that a woman conceived a child without having sex.

Now in their time, to be pregnant and unmarried (being engaged didn’t help) was a death sentence.  The entire village could corner her and stone her, killing both her and the unborn baby.  Joseph knew this and sought to divorce her quietly.  That was, until an angel appeared to him in a dream and told him to take Mary as his wife.  Upon waking up, Joseph knew what he had been called to do.

To protect Mary, they married quickly so that everyone would assume the child was his.  They traveled to Bethlehem, where Mary gave birth to Jesus.  That same night, an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream, and [paraphrasing] said, “You need to get Mary and the baby out of here.”  Sure enough, King Herod had ordered that every male infant be slaughtered so that he would not be overthrown by “the New King.”  This is called the Slaughtering of the Innocents.  Without hesitation, Joseph woke Mary and got his family out of Bethelem to safer regions.

You may have noticed that Joseph has no lines in this play.  That’s because he doesn’t talk in the Bible.  His character is revealed through his actions; his choice to protect Mary from social persecution, his willingness to obey God’s command to leave Bethelem just hours after Mary gave birth, and his devotion to his wife and child.  Saint Joseph is the epitomy of the phrase, “actions speak louder than words.”

Saint Joseph, pray for us.

Heaven’s Eye Doctor: Saint Lucy of Syracuse

When I started Catholic Girl Bloggin’, I chose my six favorite Saints to be patrons of the blog.  One of those patrons is Saint Lucy of Syracuse.  She came into my life when I was a senior in high school, and she has been my spiritual sister ever since. Lucy is the patroness of eye issues.  She healed my mother when she had pink eye a few years ago.  Last year, when I had a case of dry eyes, I prayed to Saint Lucy and in three days my eyes were healed.

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Saint Lucy was born in Syracuse, Sicily.  She entered the world when the Roman Empire was in some serious shiz.  Heads were rolling, and I do mean that literally because Christians were being executed left and right.  Her father died when she was five, so her mother Eutychia raised her alone.  Lucy embraced her mother’s Christianity and at a young age made a promise to Jesus that she would consecrate her virginity to Him.  In other words, she would never marry and instead be a single bride of Christ for the rest of her life.   However in her day, unmarried women were either left begging on the streets or taken captive by enemies of the Roman Empire.  Out of fear for Lucy’s future, Eutychia did the only thing she could do: She arranged for Lucy to be married off to a young man from a wealthy Pagan family.

The turning point in Lucy’s life came when Eutychia learned she had a blood disorder.  Lucy was able to convince her mother to make a pilgrimage to Catania, where the main attraction was the tomb of Saint Agatha (patron saint of those who suffer from breast cancer).  As Lucy prayed at the tomb, Saint Agatha appeared to her in a vision.  I’m just going to paraphrase how their conversation went:

AGATHA: Lucy, your mother will be cured, but you will be called to martyrdom.

LUCY: Just cure my mother, and I will do whatever He asks of me.

As Agatha promised, Eutychia was cured and after some persuasion from Lucy, she allowed her daughter to serve the poor and the family wealth was used to help those in need.  As time went on, Lucy made a name for herself with her charitable works to the less fortunate, and later, her aid to Christians who were hiding in the catacombs.  She would carry food and drinks to them, unaware of informants who sought to betray the persecuted Christians.

Now Lucy was known to have been very beautiful.  She had striking eyes that sparkled with the light of Christ within her.  I mention this because her former fiancee, the young man from the wealthy Pagan family, wanted her as his wife. But remember, she had made a vow of perpetual virginity to Jesus, so that wasn’t going to work.  Also after her mother was cured, the betrothal had been called off. So the angry ex-fiancee went to Governor Pascasio.  As a result, Lucy was caught and became a prisoner of the Empire.  Her martyrdom took place in Syracuse’s magnificent amphitheater, where Pascasio sat along with politicians and general.  It was Lucy vs. All of Rome.

I used to think of Lucy as a sweet, docile Saint.

I was wrong.

When she refused to worship the Pagan gods, Pascasio ordered that she be forced into prostitution.  The Roman guards gathered to take her to the brothel, but to their surprise, her body was suddenly immovable.  No, seriously, she was like a statue.  More guards came to try and move her.  Even a team of oxen was used to try and haul her, but the thin girl was now heavy as a boulder.  By the power of Christ she was protected from the house of sexual sin.  Pascasio’s next move was to have her burned at the stake.  As she stood in a bundle of twigs, soldiers began to ignite the twigs, but they wouldn’t burn.  Even when they were soaked with oil, no fire would come.  As you can imagine, Pascasio was not happy being one-upped by a young Christian girl.  In desperation, he ordered that her eyes be gouged out, which is why she is the patron saint of eye problems.  As blood ran down her face from where her sparkling eyes used to be, Lucy did not scream or cry.  She simply stood there, professing faith in Jesus Christ.  It is said that her bravery and the miracles surrounding her inspired many Pagans to convert to Christianity.  Lucy was then stabbed in the neck by a soldier.  She had won the battle and went to Heaven as a victor on December 13th, 304 A.D.

Champion of the Lepers: Saint Damien of Molokai

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So in the 1800’s, Hawaii had a bigger crisis on its hands than being the backdrop of a terrible movie (Aloha); it was facing an outbreak of Hansen’s disease, also known as leprosy.  Once you got leprosy, you were a goner.   However our story begins in Tremelo, Belgium, with the birth of a little boy named Joseph de Veuster on January 3rd, 1840.  All that is known about his childhood is that he had to quit school when he was thirteen-years old so that he could work on the family farm.   However, he was able to go to college in Braine-le-Comte, and later entered the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary at the age of eighteen.   In many respects, no one was really surprised.  Both of his sisters, Eugenie and Pauline, were nuns.   His brother Auguste became Father Pamphile.  For Joseph, religious life was in his genes.  On October 7, 1860, he received the name Brother Damien.  At first his superiors thought an uneducated farmer boy was unqualified, but then they learned that his brother had taught him Latin. Yeah…talk about an awkward moment.  #jokesonyoumybrothertaughtmelatin
Damien felt a strong calling to be missionary and prayed for an opportunity to answer that call.  Then his brother got sick and couldn’t go on his assigned mission to Hawaii, so Damien basically volunteered as tribute and took his place.  He hit the road to Honolulu in 1864.  He was ordained into the priesthood two years into his stay.

Imagine moving into a new neighborhood only to find that neighborhood in chaos. That was Damien’s arrival to Hawaii was like; a colony in disarray ruled by a ruthless disease.  The island of Molokai was the leper drop-off station; when you got leprosy, you were shipped off to Molokai.  Damien wouldn’t get to Molokai until nine years later.  He had been working on missionary assignments throughout Hawaii and reached Molokai in 1873.  He was part of a team of four other chaplains, but was the only one of the group who chose to stay permanently in Molokai.  Every missionary assignment had led up to this, and he knew this was the place God had called him to.

Damien became a champion of the segregated lepers.  He advocated government assistance on their behalf.  He said last rites to the dying, baptized infants whether they had contracted leprosy or not, and was responsible for the construction of hospitals, clinics and churches throughout the leper colony.  The children could go to school, and those who had lost their parents to leprosy had an orphanage for refuge.  All of this because of Damien’s efforts and advocacy.  To put it simply, the man got things done.

One day in 1885, he had stepped into some water and noticed that he couldn’t feel the water against his skin.  That is one of the signs of leprosy.  His time was drawing near.  Nevertheless he spent his final days serving the lepers and giving them a better life until his body could take no more.  Damien died on April 15, 1889.

The core of Damien’s character was mission.  He was born with a sense of duty and became a man on a mission to be the face of Jesus to the outcasts.

Saint Damien of Molokai, pray for us.

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