Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 2

Spiritual Amnesia

Published on May 17, 2025, in Give Us This Day:

“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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A Church of Both/And

When the white smoke appeared in St. Peter’s Square, the frenzy of the crowd could be felt from across the ocean and through our TV screen. Even without knowing who the next pope would be, Catholics and non-Catholics alike were beyond excited by the prospect of what was to come. I think that reality is a great way to enter into the new papacy. Although we humans — and especially we Americans — like to know everything in advance or like to think we know everything, there is no knowing when it comes to a new pope. Everything we think we know goes out the window with the pope’s name, job title and habits when he dons the robes of Holy Father.

With the memory of our beloved Francis still fresh in our minds, Catholics opened their hearts anew to Pope Leo XIV, joyful over his backstory and his roots in Chicago, moved by his work as a missionary and bishop in Peru, impressed by the many languages he speaks. As he offered his blessing to those in person and watching via TV or some other screen, we could all feel a sense of awe that the Holy Spirit continues to work so powerfully in our Church, giving us what we need at just the right moment in time.

Of course, within hours, there were critics trying (fairly desperately, it seemed) to “dig up” some dirt on the new pontiff, attempting to tarnish the shine before we even had a chance to soak up the joy of the moment. I remember when Francis was first named pope and I wrote a blog post about my hope and excitement, another writer immediately came after me claiming I was turning a blind eye to his flaws. Our pope — every pope — is human. Of course there will be flaws, but how about we take a breath and watch and listen before we judge and criticize. It’s the American way to tear down, especially on social media these days, but we Catholics would be wise to pause and pray rather than join the fray.

The day Pope Leo XIV was elected, my husband, Dennis, who is executive director of the New York State Catholic Conference, was interviewed on Capital Region television regarding the breaking news. At the end of the conversation, the interviewer asked if he thought Pope Leo was “more of a liberal or a conservative under the umbrella of Catholicism.” He responded with a reminder that Catholics are not so easy to categorize, as we do not fit any label. “The terms ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’ don’t really work as much when it comes to the Church … We are very liberal on some issues, like immigration, and very conservative on others, like abortion,” he explained. “I think he’ll be a Catholic, rather than a liberal or conservative.”

I loved that statement because it is a reminder that we are not a Church of “sides,” but rather one that is literally “universal” in its reach, its mission, its makeup. We are, in a sense, a Church of both/and, not either/or.

When I think back over the popes of my lifetime, I have loved each one of them for different reasons. Born under John XXIII, I love the fact that I was a child of Vatican II. John Paul II was the rockstar pope of my teens, and when I saw him at Madison Square Garden in 1979, you’d think I was waiting for the Beatles to appear. Pope Benedict XVI was a favorite for entirely different reasons, and if you haven’t read his beautiful and accessible encyclicals, they are worth your time even all these years later. When Francis was named pope, I practically swooned with joy, and I could not imagine another pope would so quickly fill me with hope and excitement for our Church. And then along came Leo XIV, whose first words out on the balcony of St. Peter’s made me declare: It’s a great day to be a Catholic!

We don’t know what’s coming. We never do. But we trust in the work of the Spirit and the wisdom of our new pope to guide us through whatever is ahead. After all, this pope is one of us, and if a kid from the South Side of Chicago can become pope, anything is possible with God.

This column originally appeared in the May 14, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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Claiming the Easter joy that is our birthright

Every Easter brings me back to my teenage years, when I was a leader of my parish’s high school youth group. For several years running, we planned outdoor sunrise Easter Masses to be held on a nearby mountaintop. We baked our own Communion bread (according to an official recipe, of course). We made felt banners (it was the late ’70s, after all), and we practiced Catholic folk songs (see previous comment about the late ’70s). Inevitably, it would rain, and Mass would end up in the small cinder-block chapel at our suburban parish, which had no church building at the time. But that did nothing to dampen our Easter joy. We were so filled with the Spirit that rain and cold and concrete had no effect. Jesus had risen from the dead. How could we possibly be disappointed?

And yet, we are often disappointed, even on Easter, even when we are offered the promise of eternal life and salvation. We look at prayers unanswered (at least according to our standards) and a world breaking under the strain of division and human suffering, and we struggle to find joy, even when our faith tells us not to be afraid, that nothing on this earth, no matter how awful, can keep us away from what God has promised.

Wherever you find yourself today, whatever your problems and struggles, there is reason to rejoice. Jesus is not dead; he is alive. The cross was not a defeat for him, and it will not be a defeat for us. We do not always understand Jesus’ ways, and like those early disciples, we may stare at the empty tomb — or at some challenge in our own life or the larger world — and wonder, “How can this be?” But Jesus doesn’t ask us to understand; he asks us to trust that things are unfolding just as he told us they would.

If you are struggling to find Easter joy this season, imagine you are Mary Magdalene, bereft after finding the tomb empty. Upon encountering a man whom she does not recognize at first, she is called by name and realizes she is speaking to the resurrected Jesus. He tells her not to be afraid and to go and preach the good news of his resurrection to the other disciples. Her fear disappears in that moment, and she boldly proclaims: “I have seen the Lord.” We, too, are called by name.

In his beautiful book, “Life of the Beloved,” theologian Henri J.M. Nouwen writes, “What I most want to say is that when the totality of our daily lives is lived ‘from above,’ that is, as the Beloved sent into the world, then everyone we meet and everything that happens to us becomes a unique opportunity to choose for the life that cannot be conquered by death. Thus, both joy and suffering become part of the way to our spiritual fulfillment.”

Our lives will always be a mixture of both dark and light, happiness and sadness, but always hope, and possibly even joy in the face of struggle, if we follow Mary Magdalene’s example of complete trust.

As you move through this Easter season, pay attention to physical signs and symbols around you at Mass — the Paschal candle flickering, the powerful fragrance of lilies in bloom, the music bursting with Alleluias, the holy water cool against your skin, a shower of blessings in the most literal sense. It’s beautiful how we use physical things to help us bridge the distance to God, as though we are so hungry to get closer, we pull out all the stops. If only we could keep that fire of love going year-round. The Church gives us a running start by offering us the beautiful 50-day season of Easter. Soak it up. Let it feed your soul and animate the inner joy that is your spiritual birthright. After all, he is risen. Run and tell the others!

This column originally appeared in the April 9, 2025, issue of The Evangelist.

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You can’t fail Lent! Begin again.

We find ourselves now at the midway point of our Lenten desert experience. Ash Wednesday is far behind us, and Easter not yet in sight. Although we walk this Lenten path year after year, the reality is that no two Lenten journeys are alike. Whatever is going on in our lives, in the news, in the daily Scripture readings help shape every Lent into a unique experience, for better or worse. At some points along the way, we may feel as though we are in a spiritual groove, with everything going as planned. At other times, we may feel like spiritual failures with all our promises falling by the wayside. But you can’t fail Lent! This season is a journey not a test, and we can refocus and renew our commitment at any point along the way.

We can take our cues on how to do this from Jesus himself, who retreated in solitude to a quiet place — a desert, a mountain, a garden — when he needed to replenish his spirit and reconnect with his Father. Or we can look to the desert fathers and mothers, who sought out solitude and simplicity in order to better hear the voice of God.

Of course, we’re not likely to get to a desert anytime soon, so what does this look like for those of us living in the modern world? While it’s always good to take time away with God whenever we can, the Lenten desert journey is not about changing physical locations but interior attitudes. We can be surrounded by people in a bustling city or in the tropics lush with greenery and still experience a desert moment. Because we are not on a pilgrimage that requires walking great lengths but one that is perhaps even more difficult, a journey from the head to the heart.

Most of us on the spiritual path are seeking some sort of transformation, but often we want that transformation on our own terms. We ask for signs, but when something comes along that seems too challenging or outside our comfort zone, we think, “No, this is not my transformation moment. I’d like another, please.” Because transformation on God’s terms is almost never easy. But no transformation that is truly life-changing is going to come without a cost to us personally.

We give up chocolate or wine or social media for Lent and sit back and wait for transformation to arrive, but we know in our heart of hearts that it doesn’t work that way. It has to go much deeper than anything we pour into a glass or scroll by on a screen. And a big part of it starts with us simply becoming aware of this reality and opening our hearts in silence to what God puts in front of us, no matter how challenging or discomfiting. We are called to listen with “the ear of our heart” as St. Benedict taught, and to simply sit, as Jesus did, in the presence of the Father, who knows our hearts without us needing to speak a word.

That’s not an easy thing to do — sitting in silence with God. We tend to go to God with a laundry list of requests, apologies and thank-you prayers. But when we put all the asking aside and simply give our full attention to being rather than doing, we allow the Spirit to move into the open space we create.

As we begin the second half of Lent, can we put aside our big spiritual plans for just a few minutes each day and simply be with God in the silence of souls, where no words or actions are necessary? When we make the commitment to journey into the cave of the heart, we find deep within us a peace untouched by the chaos of the world around us, a peace that will sustain us through Lent and beyond.

This column originally appeared in the March 26, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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Lent podcast: New ways to approach old traditions

As we prepare to begin our Lenten journey, join me for a conversation about ways we can expand our experience of the traditional pillars of Lent: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Let’s reflect on what those look like for us in our world today and how we might create intentional community to serve as a support.

Link below, and don’t forget to subscribe wherever you listen to your podcasts.

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Who is my neighbor? A radical Gospel teaching, then and now

By Mary DeTurris Poust

“But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’ ” — Luke 10:29

One thing that has never been in question when it comes to Gospel teaching is the commandment — part of the “greatest commandment” — to not only love and care for our neighbors, but to love them as we love ourselves. It’s not easy to live out day to day. It requires a sacrifice that sometimes pushes up against our human tendency toward self-preservation and comfort. I speak from the personal and not just the universal here. Caring for and loving strangers, those in the shadows of our society, is part of what makes the Gospel so radical. It was radical when Jesus preached it; it is radical today.

Jesus answers the above question in the Gospel of Luke with the Parable of the Good Samaritan, an impossible-to-ignore story about the righteous who choose to do the wrong thing and the one who is despised by society but does the right thing. We like to imagine ourselves in the role of the Good Samaritan, remembering times we may have donated to a food drive or helped out at a soup kitchen or maybe even literally helped someone up off the ground. But we don’t have to dig too far to uncover the fears and built-in biases that often prevent us from committing ourselves fully and without condition to what Jesus demands.

In our society today, we can look around our own towns, cities and larger country and see the many men, women and children who are figuratively — and in many cases quite literally — on the side of the road in need of mercy. We take cover in the broad brushstrokes that attempt to cast all of the marginalized as criminals and cheats. We convince ourselves that our willingness to look away is grounded in preservation of orderliness. Like the priest and the Levite in the parable, we rush by, clutching our convictions and hoping someone else will fulfill the Gospel mandate for us. But what if we are the people we are waiting for?

Pope Francis, in a recent letter to the U.S. bishops, said: “Christians know very well that it is only by affirming the infinite dignity of all that our own identity as persons and as communities reaches its maturity. Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups. …The human person is a subject with dignity who, through the constitutive relationship with all, especially with the poorest, can gradually mature in his identity and vocation. The true ‘ordo amoris’ (order of love) that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating constantly on the parable of the ‘Good Samaritan’ (cf. Lk 10:25-37), that is, by meditating on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception.”

The pope’s powerful message calls us back to who we are not just as individual Catholics but as a universal Church, as the Body of Christ at work in our broken world today.

We take comfort in Jesus’ shared humanity with us, in his understanding of our suffering. For many of us who live with the privilege of security and relative safety, it’s often easy to overlook Jesus’ experience, along with Mary and Joseph, as a refugee fleeing violence, as displaced people dependent on the kindness of strangers in a foreign land. If we see that as just a story and not a fundamental truth in our history, it allows us to look away from those who are similarly persecuted.

What would Jesus do? Well, we don’t have to imagine; we know. And not only do we know what Jesus would do, we know what Jesus expects us to do:

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:36-37)

This column first appeared in the Feb. 20, 2025, issue of The Evangelist.
Photo copyright Mary DeTurris Poust, Rome 2010

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New Advent/Christmas book available for pre-order from Liturgical Press

Sure the Christmas season is still in our rearview mirror, but who doesn’t love a reason to dip our toes into the next Advent and Christmas season a little early? Okay, a lot early. My new book of seasonal Scripture reflections is now available for pre-order from Liturgical Press. Waiting in Joyful Hope: Daily Reflections for Advent & Christmas 2025-2026 is my seventh book of seasonal reflections and my favorite writing work these days. Every season brings with it new insights and old favorites. Even if you don’t pre-order today, I hope you’ll make a note to come back and purchase this one when we are closer to the season.

Here’s the description of the book, which is available in pocket size, large print, e-book, and bulk shipments:

Prepare for the celebration of Christ’s coming with this popular and inviting annual guide. During the especially busy Advent and Christmas seasons, this book offers brief, down-to-earth reflections that bring prayer and Scripture into everyday life in a thought-provoking and lasting way. Through Mary DeTurris Poust’s reflections on lectionary readings from the weekday and Sunday Masses, readers will grow in their understanding of the word of God. This book will help busy people enrich their prayer life during the seasons of Advent and Christmas.

Pre-order HERE. Thank you!

 

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Not Strictly Spiritual celebrates 17 years

It was 17 years ago today — on the Feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists — that I launched this blog. (You can read my original blog post from this date in 2008 HERE.) So, happy anniversary to me! And thank you to all of you who have followed me over the years and who continue to show up here again and again. I am forever grateful. It’s been an amazing journey, and, as you can see, what started as a little blog has grown into a much larger endeavor. It’s been a labor of love, one I plan to continue for as many years as I’m able.

When I first launched Not Strictly Spiritual, I did so with a favorite prayer by St. Francis de Sales, whose writings are remarkably relevant to our world today despite his being a 17th century bishop. I used to have this prayer hanging on my bathroom mirror so it was the first thing I would see when I began my day:

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

So much has happened over these past 17 years, much of incredibly wonderful, some of it painfully awful. And yet through it all we carry on, trusting the path, trusting our story as it unfolds, trusting that God will carry us, enfold us, shield us, care for us.

As I continue on the next leg of this journey, I hope to start doing more episodes of my Life Lines podcast, which many of you tell me you listen to on repeat when I don’t record new episodes (Thank you! I love you.) I will continue posting my monthly Life Lines column, which runs in The Evangelist, and I will post other spiritual writing as I am able. You’ll also be able to find my upcoming events, which includes several weekend retreats in 2025, including my annual Stillpoint at Pyramid Life Center in September and two retreats at Bon Secours Retreat Center in Maryland in July and December. Continue to check the Events tab at the top of the home page to see what’s coming up. I also hope to offer some online and in-person yoga workshops and class, so check the Yoga tab, if you have interest in those. I hope I see you along the way.

Thank you again for joining me in this space and in my Tribe. If you haven’t signed up for the Tribe, which includes receiving an occasional email newsletter from me, you can do so at the Join the Tribe button in the top right corner of this page.

Peace, Love, Blessings, and Every Good Thing,

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Remaining faithful when God feels absent

Wildfires and wars, sickness and suffering of every kind. It can sometimes leave us crying out: “Where are you, God?” The silence can feel deafening at times. Prayers are whispered and screamed, written, sung, and held in the quiet of the heart. We try everything and anything and may still feel only isolation and abandonment. The “dark night of the soul” is, of course, part and parcel of the spiritual journey and something experienced by some of our greatest saints, but that fact usually does little to ease our spiritual desperation when we find ourselves enveloped in the arid landscape of the spiritual desert.

One of my favorite Scripture quotes comes from Jeremiah: “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future of hope…if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.” (Jer 29:11-14)

While I love this quote precisely because it reminds me that God is there, always, waiting for me to come around, sometimes it offers more questions than answers. If we are in the throes of suffering or we are watching others suffer, it can make us wonder what exactly God wants us to do to earn release from our “exile”? When we don’t get a response or a clue, it can leave us feeling ignored and abandoned.

As we look around our world, our country, our communities, and our families, we witness suffering that can seem cruel, perhaps even beyond what humans can be expected to bear. It is in moments like these that God may feel distant, unreachable, maybe even absent. It can cause not only spiritual despair but a doubt so deep that we may begin to question the very foundation of faith that has always shored us up.

“Even a believer can sometimes falter when faced with the experience of pain,” Pope Francis has said. “It is a frightening reality that, when it barges in and attacks, can leave a person distraught, even to the point of shattering his or her faith. The person then is faced with a crossroads: he or she can allow suffering to lead to withdrawal into self-doubt to the point of despair and rebellion; or he or she can accept it as an opportunity for growth and discernment about what really matters in life until the time one encounters God.”

As is often the case, the pope’s wise words are difficult to live. Finding an “opportunity for growth” in the hardest moments of our lives or in the pain of those around us can feel like a pious platitude. So, what can we do if we feel ourselves faltering and cannot see our way clear to approach our suffering in such an enlightened way just yet? We can continue to show up in prayer. Daily. Even when it feels as though our spiritual life is a black hole devoid of God’s presence and our prayers words shouted into the wind.

Paulist Father Tom Ryan, leading a retreat I attended years ago at St. Mary’s on the Lake in Lake George, offered one “non-negotiable” when it comes to prayer. “Be faithful to the rendezvous,” he said, following up with a challenging question: “Can you love the God of consolations when the consolations aren’t there?”

Perhaps that is a question each one of us can ponder not just today but any time a prayer isn’t answered in the way we had hoped or isn’t answered at all (at least as far as we can tell). Can we continue to show up and sit in God’s presence anyway, knowing that if we do — through dark and light, joy and sorrow, abundance and scarcity — God will respond to our hungry hearts in God’s own time and release us from our exile?

This column originally appeared in the Jan. 23, 2025, issue of The Evangelist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Blessing of Aaron: a message for our hungry hearts

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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