Category Archives: Family Spirituality

An intriguing figure in today’s gospel (Luke 2:22-40) is Anna the prophetess. Scripture scholar Barbara Reid believes that she, Mary and Elizabeth continue the long line of Israel’s powerful prophets. After her, women speak in pain or are corrected or disbelieved. But she, overhearing Simeon tell a bewildered young mother she’d be pierced by a sword, redirects the conversation back to where it belongs: to thanking God.  

Luke has the key characters in this little drama enter off stage, not the razzle-dazzle of the main altar or the chief priest, but a side aisle. Artfully he transposes from temple vastness into human scale. The tableau that really matters is composed of two couples, one old, one younger, centered on an infant. In her quiet way, Anna becomes the threshold to the next quiet chapter of Jesus’ life, when “he grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him” (Lk. 2:40). Anna signals the spectacular power that coiled beneath the apparently unimpressive surface. Had she spoken in twenty-first-century jargon, she might’ve winked conspiratorially and said, “Stay tuned…”

On 12/28/14, Pope Francis linked Anna and Simeon to grandparents. In better moments, grandparents know how precious children are. Call them dotty, but they’ve been sidelined to the really important work: cradling. Soothing. Rocking. Humming.  Inventing songs and games. It’s a “hidden way” of life; its immense fulfillment not publicized. What gives it depth and resonance is the echo back to that temple in Jerusalem where two old people waited.

Anna is the patron saint of those whose language speaks through care, the grandparents who sing off-key lullabyes, hunched over a precious lump in crib or arms, the backstage crew, the meticulous researchers who painstakingly prepare the way for the breakthrough discovery, but receive no credit themselves. She also could model for those who wait—sometimes interminably long—but don’t lose hope.

Excerpts from More Hidden Women of the Gospels by Kathy Coffey, Orbis Books, Orbis Books, 800-258-5838, or https://orbisbooks.com/

Perhaps the challenge of the Christmas season is whether we can hear familiar stories and songs with wonder, not the yawn of “déjà vu.”  Our model might be the three-year old boy, who,  entering a vast, baroque cathedral for the first time at Christmas, seeing the trees, banners, huge statues, a jillion tiny white lights, glittering mosaics arching overhead into infinite space, breathed one word: “wow.” Can we allow the stories we’ve heard a thousand times—of a journey to Bethlehem, a stable, angels, shepherds and magi, to resonate at a deeper level this year? Can we attend with care to whatever God wants to birth in us during this season? As Eugene Ionesco warns, “over-explanation separates us from astonishment.” Perhaps the rest of the year can be cut-and-dried, but this is the season for mystery to flourish.

If ever we misperceived God as stingy or punitive, the scriptures of this season should correct that image, as God pours forth God’s self in the only Son, who begins his great adventure now. Like beautiful bells, the prophets foretell: something spectacular is on the way!

The psalms keep the focus where it belongs: on the praise of God, not on human predicaments nor flaws. They bring out today’s equivalent of the big brass band: lute and harp, the songs of forest, plains, earth and sea.  And limited human beings brush shoulders with angels as all sing God’s glory.

John’s letters after Christmas might startle those who spent their childhoods following the rules, pleasing authorities and winning awards. God gives everyone gold stars, an inestimable gift of adoption as God’s heirs that no one can deserve. This inheritance would fill us with confidence and gratitude if we weren’t numb to the implications. One response might be to break into the glad abandon of dance—or to carry that exuberance more quietly within. The season also celebrates saints who took the lavish promise seriously, raising the question, “Can I too believe that God delights in me?”

This season seems permeated with impossibilities like the dead stump of Jesse budding. Even if we could wrap our minds around the idea of God becoming human, “pitching a tent in us,“ it’s an even longer leap to see ourselves as God’s children, heirs to the divine kingdom. Irish poet John O’Donohue writes of “being betrothed to the unknown.” Christmas means we are also married to the impossible, getting comfortable with the preposterous. It all began with Mary’s vote of confidence: “For nothing is impossible with God.” During liturgies when we hear Mary’s “Magnificat,” we might remember Elizabeth’s words that precede it: “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord will be fulfilled” (Luke 1:45).

It’s a good time to ask ourselves, do we let bitterness and cynicism poison our hearts? Ironically, WE are conscious of our own limitations. GOD keeps reminding us of our high calling, royal lineage and a mission so impeccably suited to our talents and abilities, no one else in the world can do it. Again, Mary is the perfect model. She might not understand half the titles given her son in the “Alleluia Chorus” of the “Messiah.” Mighty God? Prince of Peace? Such language is better suited to a royal citadel than a poor village named Nazareth.  While her questions are natural, she never wimps out with “I don’t deserve this honor.” Instead, she rises to the occasion.

What’s become of our great dreams? Have we adjusted wisely to reality, or buried ideals in a tide of cynicism? Mired in our own problems and anxieties, do we struggle more with good news than with bad? If these questions make us squirm, perhaps we need the prayer of Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB: “God help me believe the truth about myself, no matter how beautiful it is.”

Remember that the adult Jesus hung out with some unsavory characters: crooks and curmudgeons, loudmouths and lepers, shady ladies and detested tax guys. In his scheme of things, our virtue trips us up more than our sin. The ugly stain of self-righteousness blocks our path to God more than natural, human failures.  Limited as we know ourselves to be, we might ask ourselves the question raised by novelist Gail Godwin, “who of us can say we’re not in the process of being used right now, this Advent, to fulfill some purpose whose grace and goodness would boggle our imagination if we could even begin to get our minds around it?” (“Genealogy and Grace” in Watch for the Light. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2004, 167)

Notice the angel Gabriel’s first word to Mary: “Rejoice.” The baby in Elizabeth’s womb as she greets Mary “leaps for joy.” Let’s remember that tone this week, which can be one of the most hectic in the year. The angel says, “rejoice.” Not “spend. Clean. Cook. Decorate. Shop. Bake. Wrap. Shop again. Create the perfect holiday ambiance. Work to exhaustion. Make everyone in the family sublimely happy.”

As we do seasonal tasks this week, may we do them not as perfectionists, but with a mantra of gratitude and praise: Not “I have to do this,” but “I get to do this. Let me do it with thanks.”

The human ego resists change, especially as we age. “Gimme my safe rut, even if it’s miserable!” we say, defying logic. But Advent presents a different approach to change.

Mary models the perfect response to God’s unexpected, even scandalous intervention in her life. When she told Gabriel, “May it be to me as you have said,” she had no guarantees, no script foretelling the future. All she’d learned was the trust handed on by great great-grandmothers: if it comes from God’s hands, it must be perfectly tailored for me.

In times of central heating and plentiful food supplies, we no longer battle the winter as our ancestors did, finding it a precarious season to stay alive. Isolated from others, running low on resources, great-grandparents endured many cold, gloomy nights. How they must’ve rejoiced at those glints of light in dark forests, when almost imperceptibly, the planet tilted towards spring, and the days became longer.

We too have reasons for despair, crippling fears, anxiety over how much we need to do before Christmas. If problems are more serious, do we run from them, or lean into them, wondering what they might teach us? Can we befriend our pain, knowing we’re more than its sting? Could we embrace for once an imperfect holiday, not scripted by Martha Stewart, but perhaps closer to the first, where an unmarried couple had to scrounge an inhospitable place to have a baby?

We start Advent not with dread or foreboding, but with joyful anticipation. It’s like welcoming into our homes a dear friend or relative whom we haven’t seen for a while. There’s probably a flurry of cleaning, grocery shopping and cooking—all done with delight. When we look forward to renewing a close relationship, the preparation isn’t a burdensome chore. It may be tiring, but it’s happy.   

Jesus gives the disciples similar advice in today’s gospel: don’t be snoozing when an important visitor arrives. Be alert, awake, watchful as people are at an airport, searching the crowd for a beloved face.

How much more carefully we await the arrival of God. God is already with us, always and everywhere. Our Advent preparations highlight that presence, helping us become more aware. If we are lulled into anesthesia by busy schedules or overfamiliarity, Advent is the wake-up call. Look at what richness surrounds us! See how blessed we are! Do we look for God like the gospel gatekeeper, with a sharp eye? Or do we surrender our spirituality for the ersatz cheer of sales and malls?

One way of marking time that has been honored by Christians for centuries is the Advent wreath. Googling the phrase produces over 100,000 results—ways to buy one, make one, pray with one. This circle of pine with four candles nestled within can become the center for Advent prayer, reflection and song. It reminds us to pause, breathe deeply of its fragrance, remember what distinguishes this time of year.

Many older people don’t want any more Stuff for the holidays. They’re trying to clear out, streamline, de-clutter. But what they could use is this: a dose of affirmation, a breath of humor, a unique window into the spirituality of their experience. Even this book’s proof-reader said it was like having a cup of hot tea under a warm blanket!

A Generous Lap offers affirmation of what grandparents do naturally—love the grandkids.While not skirting the challenges and difficulties, it shows how for many, a renewed involvement with children can lead to the unveiling and flourishing of the truest, best self. The book interweaves two themes: the experiences of one grandparent, and the spirituality which saturates it.

Grandparents learn from unique small people, sent into our lives at this precise moment to teach exactly what we need for the final chapter. In Grandparent School, there are no tests nor grades, but what stakes could be higher than contributing to the growth and development of a healthy human being? And it’s not just about Biology. Fr. Richard Rohr coined the term “grand parent” (note the space between words) to refer to people of a certain age who’ve grown so spacious and comfortable, children and adults feel safe around them.

At this stage of life, the frenzied pursuits of earlier years can be set aside. When we’re no longer intent on accomplishing, proving, and attaining our own goals, we can marvel at God’s work. The professional wardrobe and the identity that went with it no longer seem important when the lucky grandparent is chosen as “base” for tag.

For some, the path to wholeness is grandparenting. Why are we given the chance to grandparent? Maybe to grow closer to God later in life, or to find our truest self. We discover again that humans who make serious mistakes can still be channels for grace.

In grandchildren, hope is made visible, tangible, a promise that what I’ve worked a lifetime to become will continue. Whether it’s love of reading or music, work for social justice, appreciation of beauty, dedication to health—all that is finest in us is mysteriously passed on. What a blessed glimpse of our own immortality!

These excerpts give hints of what the book contains—other bonuses are its cover art (“Jesus Has a Sleepover with his Grandparents”), questions for reflection or discussion, interviews with active grandparents, and profiles of those who have had remarkable influence on later generations.

To order, call Orbis Books, 800-258-5838, or see their website: https://orbisbooks.com/

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

I’ve said it before, but Thanksgiving seems a good time to repeat. Gratitude isn’t an attitude, but a deliberate practice, which like any other skill, builds as we do it more often, more concretely. While we’re all grateful for health, family, security and peace, those are abstractions.

Dr. Brene Brown, who has done extensive research with traumatized people says that when they undergo war, catastrophe or pain, they miss the ordinary things: a shaft of late afternoon light touching the dahlia’s peach-gold petals, “the way a wife set the table.” So in that spirit, I try to record specifics in my gratitude journal.

Looking back over a year of entries there, I seek patterns. Some things are constant: looking forward during the day to movies on PBS or Netflix at night, sun after rain, clean laundry baking on the line, surprise visits from my grandkids, who thankfully pop in and out of my days with charming quips.

It’s also interesting how often touchstones of memory appear. Hearing my yoga teacher’s voice, we’re back on our retreat in Tuscany, in the studio with terra cotta walls and cedar floor, hills and geraniums outside the windows. Or wearing a certain shirt, a vivid memory of the day I bought it with my daughter, our unanimous agreement that color and fit were perfect. Or leftovers savored the next day, which bring back the original restaurant or table at home, the group of family/friends gathered for a meal.

Then there’s the thrill of finding—the eyeglasses that were lost for months, suddenly turning up in the trunk of the car, the library book left on an airplane and kindly returned by a thoughtful passenger, the butter in the freezer that saves a trip to the store, pens under couches, earrings in coat pockets, a cookie from a trip, still not stale, work that won’t need to be redone, stored safely in the computer.

Nature appears often—from the first red leaves on the maple tree in spring to the last amber ones in fall, the way the sun in Northern California unfailingly clears the morning fog, hummingbirds dipping into the feeder, shining paths carved on the ocean by the light, the jewels left by rain on long grasses touched by sun. These beauties make me grateful for Celtic spirituality, which finds God in sacred landscape more than in the hierarchical structures of church.

Always grateful for a bonanza of library books—most recently,

The Covenant of Water, Abraham Verghese

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store, James McBride

Tom Lake, Ann Patchett

The Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo

Blocks of time, especially those that come by surprise, always rate gratitude, maybe because I’ve felt short on time most of my life. An unscheduled afternoon or day feels like graced gift, and makes me appreciate the years of life I’ve been given, more than several friends and relatives who died prematurely.

The main value in reviewing causes for gratitude lies in prompting the reader’s own. No list is exhaustive; all are enriched by broader contributions. So, what makes YOU grateful?

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

Each religious tradition holds water sacred. In the Judeo-Christian scriptures, it’s mentioned 722 times, beginning with Genesis 1:2, “The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” The New Testament concludes with Revelations 22:17, “let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” 

Jesus used water to heal, and in John 4:10-15, he speaks with the woman at the well. There he refers to “a spring of water welling up to eternal life,” or the God-life within. St. Francis prayed, “Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.” The Koran states, “From water we have made all things.”

But what about the 771 million people around the world–1 in 10—who lack access to safe water at home? And the 1.7 billion — 1 in 4 people — who don’t have access to a toilet?  Commenting on the scarcity of clean drinking water,  actor Matt Damon said during a panel discussion at Forbes’ annual Philanthropy Summit, “This particular problem is solvable during our lifetime. It’s just about bringing the energy to bear.” Oddly heartening to see someone more familiar from the big screen trudging through scenes of desperate poverty, eagerly discussing ways to change.

Damon is the co-founder of Water.org, which has offices and staff members in Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Kenya, Peru and the Philippines. To date, they have brought water and sanitation to 58 million people through their small loan programs, which are paid back at a rate of 98%, according to the founders. People living in poverty use these loans to put a tap or toilet in their homes.

In an interview with ABC News April 19, 2023, Damon explained how in studying poverty, he came to see that water undergirded everything. The grinding, daily search for it robbed girls of their potential; providing it unshackled them from drudgery. (https://abcnews.go.com/International/video/power-water-mexicos-water-warriors-98711382)

Before Water.org, millions of people were waiting for rain, paying high prices (some 20% of their income) for water from vendors or collecting water from unsafe natural sources. Those options cost families in time, money, opportunities and health. Now, Water. Org works with financial institutions, international nonprofits, United Nations agencies, and governments to increase affordable access to safe water.

Women are disproportionately impacted by clean water scarcity. World-wide, they collectively spend 200 million hours a day collecting water. But if girls and women aren’t spending all day walking to a water source and carrying it home, their days are freed for attending school or tending a small business, thus quickly repaying the loan to the family.

In the case of a young Kenyan girl named Meuni, when water had to be transported from a nearby stream, it often made her family sick, so she had to miss school. But her mother took out a loan for a rainwater tank that improved their health, and gave her daughter the chance to attend school rather than spend time lugging water. Or consider Edme, who traveled an hour round-trip, 3 or 4 times a day, to get the family’s drinking water and carry it in a plastic jug on her head.

Chief among the 11 countries Water.org serves are India, Indonesia, Cambodia, the Philippines and Kenya. The nonprofit is among the 2% of charities that have received the highest ratings from Charity Navigator for 11 years. According to their website, (https://water.org): “Water is the best investment the world can make to reduce disease, increase family income, keep girls in school, and change lives.”

Watch a few of the uplifting videos on their website, and you may not take that next glass from the tap, or that next flush, for granted.

Full disclosure: my son-in-law recently became CFO for Water.org.

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

“Hypocrites! Does not each one of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger and lead it out for watering?

This daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has bound for eighteen years now, ought she not to have been set free on the sabbath day from this bondage?” (Luke 13:15-16)

The seventh and eighth graders at Samantha’s parochial school in Denver were part of the input-gathering process before the recent synod of Catholic leaders in Rome. Asked what issues were important, they—like many counterparts in parishes around the US—said, “the role of women, clerical sexual abuse, and outreach to the L.G.B.T.Q. community.” After a massive amount of time, energy, and money spent on the October meeting in Rome, the results are now in. Yawn.

After a  month of discussion and a year of preparation, “the final text calls for further theological or canonical study, evaluation or consideration at least 20 times.” https://www.ncronline.org/vatican/vatican-news/news/popes-major-vatican-summit-ends-without-action-women-deacons-mention. In other words, not much happened. No inspiration to action. No definitive, inspiring statements. No changes in tedious-business-as-usual.

Those with lots of patience can tune in next October, when the whole expensive production recurs. The rest of us can agree with Richard Rohr who said in another context, “men tend to have a more defended ego structure” and can stay in “Delay, Stall, or Pause forever.” (The Naked Now, p. 50) Sorry, Samantha.

Wiser sorts have presented a more optimistic, nuanced view, which follows below. But I keep toying with a bold, audacious alternative, which risks criticism: what if the 350 bishops had ditched their red beanies, chartered a plane, and stood with the children of Gaza instead? My guess is if you’d asked the ordinary person-in-the-street sort, grabbing lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken, what they thought of the Synod, they’d have stared at you blankly.

But they might recognize an international effort to help the Israelis cope more humanely and proportionately with their own loss of life by protecting Palestinian civilians. What if every bishop and lay delegate had driven a truck carrying food, water and medicine into the enclave? That probably would’ve been cheaper than the synod, and have spoken more clearly the gospel message to the world.

Trying to be fair, other voices have spoken in favor of subtler dynamics operative at the synod. Before it began, Dominican Timothy Radcliffe gave a retreat with this theme: “So the foundation of all we shall do in this synod should be the friendships we create. It does not look like much. It will not make headlines in the media. ‘They came all that way to Rome to make friends. What a waste!’ But it is by friendship that we will make the transition from ‘I’ to ‘We.’”

Some, like James Martin, SJ writing in America, thought that the synod’s real achievement was lay people joining in discussion, everyone on an equal footing. Perhaps for some bishops, who haven’t quite gotten the idea that women can contribute intelligently, that’s important—and 50 female delegates (15% of the body) did, for the first time, have a vote. But it’s also sadly out of touch with the realities of our century, this process like molasses on ice.

Skirting the burning issue of women’s ordination, the pious flummery of the final statement declares that women’s contributions should “be recognized and valued, and their pastoral leadership increase in all areas.” And what about the two commissions that have already studied the women’s diaconate? No reports?

Martin does admit his disappointment over the lack of any mention of the term “L.G.B.T.Q.” in the final synthesis, called “A Synodal Church on Mission.” Despite emotional debate, the final report largely glossed over the tensions that emerged at the tables. It offered a carrot: those who feel ostracized because of their gender orientation should “feel safe, be heard and respected, without being judged,” after being “hurt and neglected” (15f).

As for the sexual abuse crisis, the document suggests exploring another structure, not relying on bishops to investigate cases. Haven’t some of us joked for twenty years about the wolf guarding the hen house?

Some may relate to a final comment from Michael Sean Winters: “The synodal process needs to make sure it is not hijacked by professional Catholics, those with the time, training and interest to exercise co-responsibility — people like you, dear reader, and me. As a class, we can become insufferable. The B+ Catholics, even the D+ Catholics, need to be engaged on their terms if this synodal process is to be small ‘c’ Catholic.” Think they’ll recruit us D+ sorts next year?

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

The feasts of all saints and all souls once clearly delineated between the officially canonized, and others who’ve died. Now I’m not so sure about that hard, fast distinction. I’d prefer to think of heaven as those singing slightly off-key belting out tunes with Maria Callas, Mozart conducting the orchestra. Or my dad, who specialized in the Russian novel, having earnest discussions with Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky about their themes. Dualistic thinking is bad enough in this life; let’s not project it onto the next. The Communion of Saints is a broadly inclusive concept referring to all people in this life and eternity. Or as Thomas Merton put it in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander: “the gate of heaven is everywhere.”

In this time and space, I sometimes wonder if Zumba class is a gate or a preview. All these women, with various shapes, ethnicities, ages and sizes are dancing and whooping together: from Asia, Afghanistan, Africa and all over the US. Muslim women shed their burkas in the dressing room, and enjoy what may be a rare chance to exercise freely. Our Ukrainian teacher, on their Independence Day, wears her distinctive blue and yellow t-shirt, socks and cap, weeping as she plays their national anthem. We may not all know each other’s names, but we energize each other, commiserate during the strenuous numbers, and would in a minute help anyone who fell or flagged. In his splendid book AWE, author and professor Dacher Keltner names it “collective effervescence.”

It’s an improbable chorus line, usually moving right or left together, but no guarantees whether we’ll stick out an arm or a foot when cued. Having been trained too long in perfectionism (trudging grimly, carrying the whole burden), I like the playful, shared sloppiness of it. As my favorite author Richard Rohr points out, when we don’t realize we’re part of a larger whole, we take our small part too seriously. It’s not about figuring it out alone, or doing it perfectly by myself. All I gotta do is participate in God’s life, stand in the stream of mercy.

What a relief! This may be a long stretch from Zumba, but I’m greatly comforted by the idea that “My holiness is, first of all—and really only—God’s, and that’s why it is certain and secure. It is a participation…not an achievement or performance.” (Rohr, A Spring Within Us, pp. 289-90.) I guess this is why I value teachers in the company of saints (e.g., all of us) who are positive and uplifting, not ranting and finger-pointing. After hearing too many condemning sermons, I’ll take my spot with the awkward chorus line, dancing, elevating their heart rates, laughing at mistakes and doing it again next week.