Guarding the Pope

He’s a young man, just twenty-one.  A soldier in his country’s army, he enjoys the life of a military man.  But now three years out of high school, he’s ready for something more.  He wants to be challenged, to be called out of himself and into a greater purpose for his life.  He wants to serve something bigger, something more meaningful.  Born in Lucerne, Switzerland, his Catholic faith is important to him.  He feels called to serve in the Pontifical Swiss Guards and put his life and his vocation in service of his Pope.  We’ll call him Luke.

Luke knows that the Swiss Guards have a proud and rich history and

have served the Popes since the 16th century.  Kings and princes had long-recruited soldiers from Switzerland to employ as mercenaries in their armies.  The Swiss were a poor nation and young men seeking their fortune (and maybe a little bit of fame) were known for their discipline and loyalty. There were considered exceptional military tacticians and viewed as some of the best soldiers and military leaders in the world.  Over the centuries, there were several Swiss Guard units who served in France, Belgium and Germany as well as the various city-states of Italy.  When Pope Julius II took office in 1503, he asked the Swiss government to provide him with a small army of 200 soldiers.  They finally arrived in Rome on January 22, 1506 which is recognized now as the anniversary date of their founding. One of te Guard’s most famous battles is a great source of pride for Luke. On May 6, 1527 the city of Rome was attacked by Emperor Charles V. The Swiss Guard stood between the attackers and the Pope at the gates of St. Peter’s Basilica.  While 42 of their number helped the Pope escape via a secret tunnel to nearby Castel San Angelo, 147 Swiss Guards were massacred on the steps of the church’s high altar.  Luke knows that each Guardsman is courageous even unto death in defense of the Holy Father.  He hopes to become one of them.

Approved as a new recruit, Luke, like all Swiss Guards, is a Swiss

citizen and a Catholic in good standing.  He has a high school diploma and has served in the Swiss military with exemplary conduct.  At 6 feet tall, he meets the minimum height requirement of 5 feet, 8.5 inches.  And he’s unmarried.  Luke knows that after 2 years of service and if he’s risen to the rank of corporal, he’ll be free to marry. If, and it’s a big “if” he and his bride-to-be can find an available apartment within the confines of Vatican City.  He’ll serve the Guard for at least 2 years, but his career can span up to 25 years.  New Swiss Guards are formally sworn-in each May 6th (the anniversary ofthe sack of Rome) in the San Damaso Courtyard in the Vatican.  In a moving ceremony attended by his family and the Pope, Luke and his classmen swear to serve and protect the Holy Father, even if that means sacrificing his own life in the process.  Luke’s salary will be a tax-free 5000 Euros per month (about $6500), with overtime as well. And that could amount to a lot of extra pay since most workweeks are in excess of 90-100 hours on duty.  Of course his room and board are free.  Luke’s dress uniform, the red, blue and yellow-striped one that we all recognize was designed (not by Michelangelo) but  by one of the Guard commanders in 1914.  Tailors hand sew each one which has 154 pieces and takes about 32 hours to complete.  Each Guard is trained in the use of their signature halberds and swords as well as in

hand-to-hand combat and the use of various sidearms.  More than just

colorful Vatican icons, the Guards are well-trained, well-armed modern soldiers who are experts in protecting the Pope at all times.  The Holy Father is surrounded by Guards wearing plain clothes whenever he travels outside the Apostolic Palace.

Luke and his fellow Swiss Guards are examples of personal sacrifice

and faith.  They leave their family and home to dedicate themselves to serving the Pope.  Their faith leads them to choose a career open to only a few men each year.  They serve the Pope so that Pope may serve the people of God and they’re willing to lay down their lives in his protection.  The presence of each man, standing guard and doing his duty, should challenge each of us in our own service to Christ. 

What are we willing to sacrifice?  Do we follow the call of service wherever it leads us?  Are we willing to lay down our lives for what (and for Who) we say we believe?

“Among the many expressions of lay people in the Catholic Church there is also the particular one of the Pontifical Swiss Guards, young men who,motivated by love for Christ and Church,, put themselves at the service of the successor of Peter.”

—-Pope Benedict XVI

Carrying Your Cross

We all have one. Mine is different than yours. Most of us have more than one. Some are bigger than others. Some are tiny, but very very painful. Some are so huge they seem impossible to bear. Some are obvious, but many are hidden from view. What are they? They’re our hurts and pains, our sufferings, and our burdens. They’re the wounds we all carry each day. Some are physical like an illness or injurty. Others are addictions or compulsions. Still others are the emotional pains of mental illness or the damage done by an abusive relationship. Many times we’ve caused the pain ourselves. Fear, anger, bitterness, jealousy—a broken heart. These are our crosses. Jesus carried a heavy wooden cross to Golgotha. He told us if we want to be His disciples, we have to deny ourselves, pick up our own crosses, and follow Him (Luke 9:23).

Catholics aren’t afraid of the Cross of Christ. Every Catholic church in the world has a crucifix displayed prominently near the altar. My own church has a lifesize crucifix behind the altar. The large wooden cross with the dying Christ nailed to it dominates our sanctuary space. It’s not merely an ornament or decoration. Neither does it reflect a morbid fascination with death or physical pain. The Cross of Christ is Love. Our crucifix is a constant and holy reminder to us of Jesus’ great love for us. Carried in His arms and across His flayed and bleeding back, the Cross became salvation for the world. His invitation to us is to embrace our sufferings and to unite our pain with His. This is love embracing Love. “When the Cross is embraced it becomes a sign of love and total self-giving. To carry it behind Christ means to be united with Him in offering the greatest proof of love,” wrote St. John Paul II. There’s no greater proof of God’s love for us than Jesus’ own suffering and death for our sake.

Everyday life for each of us is full of crosses we can carry behind our Lord. You know what yours are just as I know my own. We carry them in union with Jesus, as He leads the way for us. He is our model. He invites us to follow His example, to share in His life and in His choices—to stake our life for the love of God and neighbor. This is what St. Paul meant when he wrote to the Colossians “who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up those things that are wanting in the sufferings of Christ, in my flesh, for His Body, which is the Church” (1:24). Any of our sufferings can be prayerfully united with Christ’s own Passion and Death. This is redemptive suffering, or what Catholics mean when they say, “I’m offering it up.” What we are offering up is to share in Jesus’ suffering out of thanksgiving and love for Him. This unity is part of our personal encounter with Christ in the Holy Eucharist which lies at the heart of our Catholic faith. He is our first Love. We claim a share of His Life in all His fullness of divinity and humanity. As much as our Love calls us to meet Him in the manger at Bethlehem, we’re also drawn to meet Him at Calvary and later, at the empty tomb, or the road to Emmaus. Being Catholic means walking with Christ every day, faithfully assured that He opens up for us His way of life and abundant love. Suffering is necessarily a part of that faith journey for us, just as it was for Him. Yet no one knows more about my crosses, my pains, my sins than Jesus Christ. When I see a crucifix, I see Love’s arms open wide, embracing all my pain, forgiving all my sin. My crosses seem so small in comparison.

“Suffering is a sign that we have come so close to Jesus on the Cross that He can kiss us and He can show that He is in love with us by giving us an opportunity to share in His Passion.” —St. Teresa of Calcutta (1910-1997)

Our True Country

The beginning of every year is a time of hope. Hope looks forward, to the future and to our true home in heaven, living in the presence of Christ, Who never changes and Who never fails us. These days we seem divided and adrift as a country. But we needn’t be if we live in hope. And, if we chose to see it, hope springs up all around us. The empty tomb is lived out in the simple choices that each one of us makes every day. Seeing these choices for what they reveal about our hearts is one of the joys of the Christian life.

We see hope when a teacher takes the time to comfort a crying child whose home life is hunger, loneliness, and harsh words. We see hope when a young man in prison receives a letter filled with kind words and encouragement, tucked inside a new Bible. We see hope when a young mother, despite pressure from her boyfriend, decides to keep her unborn child. We see hope when a man who has been away from the Church for decades is welcomed and consoled in the confessional by a kind and patient priest. Oh yes. Hope is surely here, if we see it.

“Hope is the life of the soul,” writes Dr. Peter Kreeft. Hope isn’t wishful thinking, or a merely optimistic outlook on life. Real hope, Christian hope, is the solid conviction that God has a plan for my life. Hope is knowing that He is in charge of everything and that He will see me through every trial—even the trial of my death.

Hope is the risen Christ, the empty tomb, and life everlasting. Hope gives us strength to trust in God and not in ourselves. “Our God is thus a God of promises. And He keeps every one to the letter,” says Dr. Kreeft. We see that hope when an elderly couple, homebound and frail, share a meal and hospitality with the family that lives next door. We see hope when a businessman spends his Saturdays working with homeless men, helping them to fill out job applications and develop interview skills. We see hope when a parish welcomes two refugee families and provides them with housing and settlement support. We see hope when a husband and wife choose to adopt a child.

Hope connects us with one another and helps us to realize that we are all on this earthly journey together. “Hope builds bridges between faith and love, between conservatives and liberals, between present and future, between earth and heaven,” writes Dr. Kreeft. Hope asks of us to care for the needy among us, to reach out beyond our prejudices and to see the face of Christ in our neighbor. Hope gives us the courage to leave our fears in God’s hands.

Hope calls us forth to love. We see hope when a teenaged girl is rescued from sex-trafficking by a group of dedicated nuns. We see hope when a small boy witnesses his mother love and care for his dying father in their home, day after day, for months on end. We see hope when a brother and a sister reconcile with one another after years of resentment over a now-forgotten slight. We see hope in the life of a woman battling breast cancer, who faces each day with courage and joy, inspiring those around her to do the same.  

We show hope to others when we live a life of gratitude, no matter our circumstances. Because we know that our God is always in charge, caring for us and drawing us to Himself. We know that today and tomorrow and all eternity are in His loving grasp. Hope is not an abstraction or a concept. Hope isn’t an intellectual exercise or a naive belief in some make-believe Candyland of our own design.

Hope is as real as the nails in His sacred hands, as solid as the rock rolled away from His grave, as everlasting as God Himself. Hope isn’t some “thing”—as Pope Francis recently told the people of Mexico: “You have asked me for a word of hope–what I have to offer you has a name–Jesus Christ.”

“I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find til after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to the other country and to help others do the same.”

—-C.S. Lewis

How To Have A Bad Day

It was one of those days when nothing seemed to go right. I got up late and the more I hurried, the less I seemed to get done. Traffic was awful with every stoplight turning red just as I approached it. Trains even timed their journeys to cross my path, too. I dropped things, forgot stuff and wasted time looking for keys and paperwork and schedules. By lunchtime, I was exhausted. I thought I could see the end of the rope that people always talk about. Just then I looked down to see that the “check engine” light on my dashboard was glowing brightly. I broke down and cried. I thought, “Lord, what have I done?” Surely I must had done something bad to be having so many trials in just one day. It seemed as if I was being punished and I wanted to know my offense. My answer came pretty quickly. I had planned my day carefully and had made a lot of assumptions about how it needed to unfold. I had my timetable ready to go. The more I sat there in my funk, the more I realized that my plans hadn’t included God.

I hadn’t started my day with gratitude. In a hurry, I’d skipped those precious waking moments spent lifting my heart to The Lord and giving Him thanks for the precious gift of another day. I was too busy thinking of all I needed to get done and adding items to my to-do list. I didn’t take the time to remember the Author of my life. After all, God has given me all that I have, including the work I was absorbed with just then. Without Him, what is there? Yet on that misbegotten day of problems and tangles and frustrations, I’d been trying to do it all myself. I hadn’t included God in my plans. Also, I was living in the future and not in the now. Gratitude is being thankful for the moment, not living in the “what’s next.”

And that’s why the day was such a mess. I hadn’t turned to Him, given thanks and offered all my works and sufferings of the day for His good use. I hadn’t asked Jesus what His plans were for my day. The Savior I daily claim to follow might just as well have been a forgotten bit of pocket lint. That may sound harsh, but any Christian whose life isn’t founded on, centered in, and consumed by Jesus Christ is just plain lost. St. Paul tells us that “He is before all things and in Him all things hold together”(Colossians 1:17). Things were definitely NOT holding together for me that day because of my own pridefulness. It’s a lesson I have to learn fairly frequently.

Some people teach a kind of Christianity that says God will give you earthly riches if you are following Him “in the right way.” I don’t remember reading that anywhere in the Bible. I believe that suffering is a part of living in this world and that being a Christian doesn’t mean you’re magically protected from hard times. Remember that 11 of the 12 Apostles were martyred for their faith. Most of the saints suffered all sorts of difficulties in their lives and they claimed their suffering as joy because it united them to His Cross. Their lives make my silly little frustrations disappear.

So at the end of my tiresome, trying day, I heard Him call to me. “Let me into your day, Judy. Share your plans and fears and frustrations with me. Let me carry the burdens in your heart and when you’re tired, I’ll carry you, too. Don’t try to do it all yourself. I love you. Let’s walk this road together.” He quietens my restless heart and gives me peace in the midst of my troubles. He restores my soul. Problems and heartaches don’t disappear if you follow Jesus—but they take on eternal meaning and joy. I pray that He’ll keep reminding me of that and that His grace will conform my will to His own, in thanksgiving and gratitude.

“When it comes to life, the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.”

—-G. K. Chesterton

A Different Kind Of Christmas

The little blue house at the end of the street looks different this winter. She has always kept a tidy home and garden, with windows washed, porches swept, and shrubs well-trimmed. The neat little cottage never lacked for maintenance or paint, the window boxes always had bright flowers, and when an errant leaf fell on the lawn, it was promptly removed. But not this year. The fall leaves are piled in windswept heaps underneath unkempt boxwoods. Frost-killed begonias are still in their pots on the porch. The whole house has a neglected, forgotten look about it. She’d always loved decorating for Christmas. Strands of sparkly white fairy lights were her favorite and she would drape them around every window and door frame. Candles would light each window and a huge evergreen wreath bedecked the front door. But this December there had been no Christmas lights or welcoming wreath. This year, Christmas came and went with the little blue house giving it no notice. Its blank windows stared out at the street, unblinking, not giving away any clue as to what’s happening inside.  

And inside the little blue house at the end of the street something incredible is happening. Something so amazing and completely other-worldly is happening there that every newspaper and television station on earth should be crowded into the quiet street out front, clambering for interviews and updates. Instead, only a few family members, a nurse, and a priest are there to bear witness. They come each day and gather around her bedside. Some bring food. Others, medicine. When the priest comes, the others meet him at the front door with a lighted candle (a Christmas candle?) and walk silently with him to her room. There they find a small table covered with a white cloth near her bedside. On it is a crucifix, two candles, a bottle of holy water and a few other items. The visitors kneel in reverence, not to the priest, but to the Body and Blood of our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, which he has brought with him. They join in prayer. She is anointed with oil and receives Holy Communion.  

As she had lived her life in the faith of Jesus Christ, she is meeting her death in that same steadfast love. Her family, in their charity, has made certain that her wishes are being followed. Her pastor was notified of her physical condition so that he could come to offer her the Sacraments of the Church she loved. Her family was prepared for his visits and had assembled everything the priest would need on the table in her room. Doing this is an act of charity and mercy for the woman they love and who is preparing to meet her Lord. 

And that meeting, whether later today or sometime in the days to come, is indeed a miracle. If you’re ever blessed to witness this sacred journey with someone you love, be truly grateful. We should never forget that the holy death of a faithful Christian is a triumph and not a tragedy. Yes, we cry for the loss of our loved one, but we also rejoice in the hope of our salvation in Christ, Who is victorious over death. When we kneel there, at the bedside of our loved one, we witness “as through a glass darkly”(I Corinthians 13:12) the unbearable beauty of the presence of God. Inside that little blue house at the end of the street is Bethlehem and Bethany, Calvary and Easter morning. Angels crowd the rooms, their holy wings brushing against the walls, infusing the house with the incense of heaven. So much grace that a mere earthly life can no longer contain it. And so, she flies free. And home. 

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants.”

—-Psalm 116:15