Monthly Newspaper • DIOCESE OF BRIDGEPORT

“I’m not leaving.”

I sat beside my brother’s hospital bed.

My husband frowned. “What?” he said. “Nobody said anything about leaving.”

True.  Moments earlier, however, I’d mentally decided to check-out. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. Maybe I couldn’t handle the truth.

My brother, 33, was battling kidney failure. Jim was diagnosed three weeks earlier, when my husband and I announced the birth of our youngest daughter.  Immediately, desperately, we sought competent medical care for Jim.

But Jim, unable to tolerate dialysis, became hospitalized. Still, I was convinced he’d recover.

I stood there, observing Jim’s slumbering form. Why stay? I thought.  Jim was sleeping. I needed to get home to my newborn. And Joe was supposed to play tennis that night. 

Yes, I’d silently decided. We’d return tomorrow. For now, we’d leave.

Almost immediately another thought hit: I have to stay.

Suddenly I was filled with conviction.

I sat down. “I’m not leaving,” I heard myself say.

Joe cocked his head.

“Go play tennis,” I said. Who put those words in my mouth? The tennis match was miles away.

“No, I’m not…” Joe protested.

However, with uncharacteristic persuasion, I insisted he go.

“What do you want me to do afterwards?” he asked.

My words came without hesitation.  “Come back here,” I said.

“Then what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I heard myself say. “I’ll tell you then.”

He left, and I turned to Jim.

Inching closer to his face, I jiggled Jim’s shoulder. “Jim,” I said. “Jim”

Jim couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. But his eyes flickered open. We made eye contact, enabling a communication, albeit without words.

He wore an oxygen mask. Sometimes he wanted it on, and sometimes he wanted it off, so I did that for him. Sometimes waves of pain washed over him, and I’d encourage him through that. Sometimes I’d just talk, and he’d watch, listening to my every word.

In the handful of hours that passed, time stood still. I remained freakishly calm, even when I lost the connection to Jim…even when he, moments later, took his last breath…even when Sr. Catherine appeared, apologizing for the unexpected delay that caused her to arrive after his passing…

But the nun’s timing was perfect. She prayed with me. Jim wouldn’t have wanted a stranger in the room.

After she left, I stood alone, still strangely calm, besides my brother’s lifeless body. Moments later, a thought arose: My job is done. I can go home now.

With that, I turned to leave.

As I exited the hospital room, the elevator doors across the hallway opened. Amazingly, my husband emerged, returning from his tennis game. I collapsed into his arms.

Looking back, I didn’t know how I remained calm. I didn’t know how I knew what to do. I didn’t know how Joe or the nun arrived with such perfect timing.

Jim’s death, however, awakened my faith. With that, I realized, despite the sad outcome, that each one of us was held, like a royal diadem, in the hand of God. The orchestration was supernatural.

Indeed, God gives us what we need, when we need it. He can be trusted. His timing is perfect.

Debra Tomaselli writes from Altamonte Springs, Florida. She can be reached at dtomaselli@cfl.rr.com

I’m doing a novena for Democrats and Republicans. For Catholic Democrats and Republicans. (And Independents, too, of which I am one.) I’m praying that the Holy Spirit brings us together because politics certainly is pulling us apart in the Church.

For many of us, political views compete with the Gospel, and the Gospel often loses.

Politics can rule our lives and divide families, friends and faith communities.

Even worse, many of us try to superimpose our political views on Catholic teachings. If the Church doesn’t agree with our politics — on the left or on the right — we’re perfectly willing to disagree with the Church and contort our faith to suit our needs.

In a New York Times opinion piece titled “When Politicians Determine Your Religious Beliefs,” Michele Margolis, author of From Politics to the Pews: How Partisanship and the Political Environment Shape Religious Identity, said: “It’s not just that our religious beliefs affect our politics — it’s that our politics affect our religious choices. We don’t just take cues about politics from our pastors and priests; we take cues about religion from our politicians. It may seem counterintuitive, if not downright implausible, that voting Democrat or Republican could change something as personal as our relationship with God. But over the course of our lives, political choices tend to come first, religious choices second.”

That should terrify anyone committed to the Gospel.

Jesus said, “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.” He might as well have said, “You cannot serve God and politics.”

No one can serve two masters, although we try — and sometimes we are forced to try. That is why Catholic judicial nominees must endure ruthless inquisitions as to whether their religious beliefs will influence their decisions.

Placing political ideologies before Catholic teaching has also led to divisions in the Church between self-defined liberal and conservative Catholics. So often I’ve heard people say, “I’m a liberal Catholic.” Or “I’m a conservative Catholic.” Or “I’m a Vatican II Catholic.” Or “I’m a Latin Mass Catholic.” This often means they take what they like and leave the rest.

Instead of looking at what divides us, we have to start looking at what unites us, which should be the Gospel, clear and simple, untainted and undistorted by political opinion.

If we live our faith the way it is supposed to be lived, it will defy categorizations like “liberal” and “conservative” because the Gospel is founded on the love of Christ, not on special interests or self-interests. And if we live our faith well, we will be a sign of contradiction in modern society, not cheerleaders for the latest legislative outrage.

A few weeks ago I came upon a prayer that captured our fundamental challenge as followers of Christ. It said:

Christ, our Savior and our King, renew in me allegiance to Your Kingship.

I pray for the grace to place You above the powers of this world in all things.

I pray for the grace to obey You before any civic authority.

I pray for the grace to fervently bring about Your Kingdom in my family and community.

I pray that You will reign in my mind.

I pray that You will reign in my heart.

I pray that You will reign in my will.

O Prince of Peace, may Your reign be complete in my life and in the life of the world. Christ, my King, please answer these petitions if they be in accordance with Your Holy Will. Christ the King, Thy Kingdom come!

Thy kingdom come … not man’s kingdom come.

By: Joe Pisani

NORWALK—On Saturday, February 23, St. Philip Church, in collaboration with local parishes andCatholic Relief Services, held its annual hunger awareness event “FoodFast – Be the Change” to help raise awareness and funds to eradicate World Hunger. As the title indicates, everyone was fasting for the entire day… what an incredible display of devotion to this very worthy cause! 55 middle school and high school teens from local parishes participated in the daylong event taking part in activities including prayer, reflection, educational games and service projects before concluding the day with Mass.

The St. Philip parish community is passionate about the issue of world hunger, and they have worked to alleviate hunger throughout the world by raising $360,000 over the past fifteen years.

Christian Mendoza from Person-2-Person, an organization in Norwalk and Darien, spoke of the local struggles of our neighbors here in Fairfield County. Through his talk and his video presentation, he opened the eyes of the teens to the reality of hunger in our own backyard. The teens had the opportunity to spend several hours volunteering at local organizations in the afternoon–Filling in the Blanks, Maplewood Assisted Living and the Open Door Shelter. The team noted that the service opportunities were an essential part of the day, because it’s important for “the teens to be aware of the different opportunities they have, to serve and to reach out” beyond this one-day event. The Fast concluded with the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, presided over by Rev. Eugene Szantyr, the Pastor of St. Andrew Church, Bridgeport. Father Szantyr shared his experience of his CRS Ethiopia trip and spoke about the scarcity of water in Ethiopia.

St. Philip parish will continue to collect donations for CRS throughout the month of March. The parish hopes that even more young people from parishes and schools throughout the diocese will join them for next year’s FoodFast.

(Donations can be made by visiting the parish website at: www.stphilipnorwalk.org or https://crs.donordrive.com/team/5571.)

If you know me, you know I love to be outside. I could walk for hours just taking in the beauty of nature. It is often in nature that I witness God’s presence most of all. Gazing on the beauty of His creation can bring a sense of peace, along with a sense of wonder and awe that makes me say, “God, I know you must be there.”

This love of nature has lent itself well to my enjoyment of photography. Capturing the beauty of God’s creation with the right combination of light at the perfect angle seems, in a way, to be a nod to Him. Almost as if each picture is a way of saying, “thank you, I appreciate the beauty of your creation.”

Over a year ago, I had the privilege of joining a group of young adults from around the diocese on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This was something I never thought I would be able to do and an experience I am forever grateful to have had.

I never really imagined what it would be like to travel to the Middle East. Any image I had ever seen of that area of the world seemed barren and even dangerous.

That being said, one of the things that surprised me most about being there was the sheer beauty of the land around us. Each place we went was more beautiful than the next. We were surrounded by palm trees, lush vegetation and sunsets over the sea. Even the desert, which most would expect to be dry and void of life, was absolutely breathtaking.

When I’m reading the Gospels, I often picture the places that we traveled to. I look back at the pictures I took as reminders. It makes a difference knowing they are real, tangible, beautiful places.

This seems especially heightened during Lent, Holy Week and Easter. Having been there makes it all the more real, even though it all occurred some two thousand years ago.

The forty days of Lent mirror the forty days that Jesus was tempted by the devil in the desert. We know it is a real place. We know because we’ve been there.

I can’t help but picture the Mount of Temptations in Jericho, surrounded by mountains of rock and sand. We hiked up to a monastery build high up in that rock. Although the monastery and the buildings below it would not have been there when Jesus was, it wasn’t hard to imagine what the land might have looked like at the time. It makes a difference knowing it was a real place.

It helps the Gospels come alive when we can picture an actual place in which they occurred. When the Pharisees tried to silence the crowd of disciples upon our Lord’s entry into Jerusalem, Jesus responded, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out” (Luke 19:40). I believe it. The earth reflects His glory. His creation can be a prayer, wherever you may be.

He has made all ground holy: Every time we watch a sunrise or a sunset. Every time we walk by the beach or hike up a mountain. Every time we witness the change of seasons; the fresh fallen snow, a tree of bright orange leaves or the first buds of spring.

As Thomas Merton wrote, “Let me seek, then, the gift of silence and poverty and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into prayer: where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is all in all.”

Elizabeth Clyons is the Communications Associate for the diocese of Bridgeport and the author of A Young Woman’s Voice Column in the Fairfield County Catholic. She can be reached at elizabeth.clyons@diobpt.org. 

It was Friday, May 19th, 2017. I had recently found out I was pregnant and because of pressure, I had an appointment to terminate the pregnancy the next morning. That night, on my way home from church, I was discouraged from having asked God what I should do and not hearing from Him.  As I walked back to my car, I noticed a carnival ready to close down for the night.  As I was driving past a big Ferris wheel, a small still voice told me to stop and get on. I thought that was nuts! I drove a little further along and the voice grew louder… “turn around and go on the Ferris wheel.”  I told God if the next traffic light changes, I will turn around.  Three traffic lights had changed, and feeling like Peter who denied Jesus three times, I knew I had to turn my car around to go back. I had to beg the grumpy Ferris wheel operator to let me on. He told me they were closed and it cost tickets and that the ticket booth was closed. After ten minutes of discouragement,  I began wondering why I couldn’t shake this voice that was telling me not to give up and to go on the Ferris wheel.  Finally, I was able to get tickets from a group of teenagers on their way out. God uses those we don’t expect. The operator looked at me as if I was crazy and was ready to say no, but because I persisted, he said, “Get on! Only one time around!”

As I was climbing up, I said to God, “Well, here I am. What do you want to tell me?” I had reached the peak of the Ferris wheel and could see the entire town all lit up and beyond… that is when I heard that loud clear voice and it distinctly said, “I will bring you to high places, just follow me.” I didn’t know what my ‘yes’ was going to mean or what trials and pain I would need to endure but I can say God did fulfill His promises. I didn’t go through with the termination and four months after that day, I would move in with the Sisters of Life at Villa Maria Guadalupe, which happens to be the highest point in Stamford, Connecticut! My son was born January 19th, 2018, exactly eight months after that encounter on the Ferris wheel and the same day of the March of Life in Washington D.C.  I was literally in labor watching Sr. Bethany Madonna address the nation on TV, while sisters were by my side in the hospital room. I placed my son up for adoption with an amazing couple that God has brought into my life. During the adoption placement ceremony that took place on January 29th, 2018 at Villa Maria, the Sisters of Life sung their song “Blessed is She”. This video is about the people and places that became part of my birth story during the nine beautiful months I got to carry my son. I pray it inspires you and can be a testimony of God’s reckless love for all His children.

Tiffany Tubby was a recent pilgrim to WYD 2019, traveling with the Diocese of Bridgeport. The video below was submitted to the WYD film festival. After watching it, please give it a “thumbs up!”

It’s hard to believe that on January 27 we will celebrate one year of being engaged. Both of us can remember every detail of that day: John recalls an atypically warm day preceded by a sleepless night of anticipation and excitement. Nicole mostly lived in ignorance and recalls nearly foiling the plot—first by slicing her left hand while cutting meat and then by going into work on a Saturday.

Everything had (surprisingly) gone according to plan. We were supposed to “meet” a friend for breakfast next to St. Thomas More, the Catholic chapel and center at Yale University. Once the two of us had arrived at the center, our friend would text us that she was “running late,” and while we waited for her, we would go into the chapel to say a prayer. This was a normal occurrence for us, as we often found ourselves ducking into churches during our travels to offer up a quick prayer.

As soon as we entered the chapel, John got down on one knee. After quickly realizing that he was not joking, Nicole practically tackled John before he could say his carefully rehearsed speech. After popping champagne with that same co-conspirator friend, we were off to lunch. The next surprise? Our parents awaited us. The icing on the cake? John’s siblings joined us for celebratory ice cream. The entire day was bliss.

A few weeks later, wedding planning began in earnest. Each thing we did—from selecting our venue to designing save-the-date announcements—only increased our excitement. The best part about being engaged, though, has been dreaming together about what our shared life will look like.

However, we would be lying if we said it has all been easy.

We have found ourselves fighting with more frequency than either of us are comfortable with as the stress of planning an enormous event intensifies. The expectations of society, the emotions of friends and family (and our own), and the desire to make this experience memorable are all difficult to navigate!

Compound that with the challenges of working in ministry, as well as experiencing massive life changes all at once, and it’s an easy recipe for stress.

The stress certainly hasn’t dampened our giddy enthusiasm toward our future marriage, but it is a reality of any healthy relationship that disagreements occur.

As we walk the premarital path, we are reminded of the journey of discipleship: It is not always easy or quite as fun as hashtag-laden posts on faith-based inspirational social media accounts might have us believe. Discipleship is HARD.

Christ asks us to enter into difficult places, go where we may not want to go and carry crosses along the way. While we need to be honest that the Christian life is not always easy, that should not stop us from consistently manifesting the joy that is a hallmark of our faith. While challenges and suffering certainly will arise, we know too of the blessed assurance that is God’s unconditional love and Christ’s sacrifice.

If we’re being honest, we were both reticent to share this part of our engagement experience. Perhaps we were caught between the two realities of the social media generation:

On the one hand, you have carefully crafted public personas who ensure that every photo is artfully filtered and every caption is thoughtfully written to present an overall image of unattainable perfection. On the other hand, a simple scroll through Facebook’s newsfeed will reveal many couples airing their “dirty laundry.”

So, where is the middle ground? As Catholics, we are a “both-and” people. There is no reason that we can’t be honest about some of the challenges of this chapter in our relationship without it totally coloring the experience.

We can be focused on the joyful, fun aspects of this time while acknowledging that it hasn’t always been smooth sailing. We both thought it was important to share all aspects of what we’ve experienced throughout our engagement.

We have come to learn the lesson that many wise married couples have already learned (and shared with us): Marriage isn’t always “easy,” but if it is rooted in our Catholic faith, it can weather any storm; and while our storms may be quite minor these days, it is comforting to know that we have built our relationship and future marriage on such a rock-solid foundation.

John Grosso is director of digital media for the Diocese of Bridgeport, Connecticut, and a communications consultant. Nicole M. Perone is archdiocesan director of adult faith formation for the Archdiocese of Hartford, Connecticut. They are engaged to be married in April 2019. They are guest columnists for Catholic News Service.

I am sitting in the basement of the poorest parish in the diocese, Blessed Sacrament on Union Avenue in Bridgeport’s East End. There’s an event tonight; I am eating bowls of Cape Verdean soup, conja and cachupa, with people of various races and tongues. My ministry partner and co-founder of our association, Sacred Beauty, is hip-hop dancing with a nine-year-old; they look ready to take the show on the road.

Tonight is the Ragman’s Ball, an annual small-group event. In rumpled clothes, over homemade soup, the historic parish of Bridgeport’s African-American Catholics celebrates the memory of a Jew. Hyman Chamnitz, the “ragman,” rode the streets of the East End in a horse-drawn wagon the first half of the 20^th Century, paying a few pennies to carry off the unwanted rags, paper and scrap metal of the neighborhood. According to his grandson, Chamnitz lost a daughter and six grandchildren in the Holocaust; in 1951, he collapsed after some heavy lifting and died in his wagon. His horse brought his body home.

The pastor goes by with a huge bag of garbage slung over his shoulder; an hour ago, he was hauling food and pallets of water; half an hour ago, he was serving soup. Even the apostles were concerned about neglecting the word of God in order to wait on tables, but somehow Father Skip touches all the bases. At no point does he sit down.

Over there, across the room, is the table where Bishop Frank was sitting, the first time we spoke in person, before I got to know him, before Sacred Beauty was officially founded, four years and 350 public Holy Hours ago, besides concerts and musical compositions and writing and so much more. The last I saw that day, Bishop Frank was still there, listening to a feeble elderly man who was evidently talking to him, not because he was the bishop, but because he was a human being who was willing to listen. Father Skip says he stayed the whole afternoon.

Earlier that year had been the parish’s “Epiphany miracle,” when there came from the East on Epiphany morning, not three wise men nor gifts of gold, frankincense or myrrh, but busloads of Korean Catholic tourists looking for a place to go to Mass. They, too, found a place at Blessed Sacrament.

And we have found a place here – a place for trying to live out a vowed life of culture-building, wisdom-loving and -preserving as a vocation like the monastics of old, with a very different external appearance, in the midst of a greatly changed world. Thanks to Bishop Frank, Father Skip is our chaplain now – for him, perhaps, one more burden among the many he bears, but an inestimable grace for us. We spend an hour a day in prayer here before the Eucharist. If anyone were to ask why an association for Eucharistic art, liturgy and culture finds a home here, I feel the question answers itself.

For our Church is troubled now – we all know about the shepherds who devoured the sheep under their charge, and their masters who condoned it or looked the other way. Many talk of redistributing power within the Church; others, of using the powers that be to enforce the Church’s law and doctrines more forcefully. But there is no power but service. There is no power but charity. There is no power but suffering, no power but living and dying by the Cross. Of course there is money, there are buildings, there are universities and hospitals, and there is human governance in the hands of priests and bishops – but all those things come and go, pass and are forgotten. Charity remains.

Without fanfare, Blessed Sacrament is a daily emblem of how small and shallow money and property and institutional power seem at the end of the day – or at the end of a lifetime. Here in this basement, with the people of God around us, the power of God is made perfect in weakness; charity and service are our only riches and our Eucharistic Lord dwells overhead in perfect silence and humility. Perhaps places like this are where new life for our Church can begin.

Paul Chu is co-founder of Sacred Beauty, an approved Private Association of the Faithful in the Diocese of Bridgeport, dedicated to Eucharistic contemplation and to artistic and intellectual creativity reflecting the beauty and holiness of God.

Champagne glasses in hand, my friends and I went around the table asking what each other’s New Year’s resolutions were, exchanging hopes, dreams and plans for the year ahead. When it got to be my turn, I was left speechless. I honestly hadn’t given much thought to plans for the new year. Something in me didn’t want to make any plans, but rather to be open to letting things unfold.

Each year, I try and make a New Year’s resolution. Something to work on throughout the coming 365 days, a word to live by, a change to make….

But it seems that, while I hold fast to this resolution in the first few months of the year, the zeal with which I promised to improve, change or grow diminishes with each trip around the sun.

I didn’t want this year to be the same.

It seems fitting that in the Gospel readings during the weeks following Christmas, we read about Jesus’ early ministry, specifically the calling of his disciples. After the whirlwind of the holidays settles down, the lights are put away and the tree is taken down, we are often left wondering “what’s next?”.

I am sure the disciples did not know what lay ahead of them, upon saying yes to following Jesus. They didn’t have time to make any concrete plans or resolutions. They simply knew that in following they would find.

Here were men, not much older than my friends and I. In the same conversation we had while making our New Year’s resolutions, we also discussed how we often do not feel ready for the things that life brings our way, especially as we grow older. With all of our carefully laid plans, I couldn’t imagine having to let go of all of those, for a life of unknowns. While I usually turn to my faith in these instances, many of my friends have lost theirs and are finding it increasingly difficult in our secular culture to find a sense of peace.

The invitation in the Gospel is to “Come and see” (John 1:46).  

The offer is not only for those he calls to be his disciples but for us, as well…

Around this time of year, it seems like the joy has ended and all we are left with are the dark days of a long winter that looms ahead.

What do we do with these days? Can we find joy in what seems barren?

While it seems like everything is now coming to an end, we are really just getting started. So how will we answer this call?

The Liturgical Year is just beginning, along with a new calendar year that welcomes new opportunities. New chances to come and see.

Perhaps this year I will accept the invitation to come and see…to simply be open to what God is calling me to, without making any plans of my own. To take the opportunities he lays before me.

I have often found that the times I try and make plans for myself pale in comparison to the times I let him lead the way and show me his plans for me. The results are infinitely better, as I have found things I never knew I wanted, but that he knew I needed.

As Jesus promised his disciples, “you will see greater things than these” (John 1:50). What are the great things that we will see this year when we are simply open to seeing him work in us?

Elizabeth Clyons is Communications Associate for the Diocese of Bridgeport. She can be reached at elizabeth.clyons@diobpt.org.

Another theme that Father Cantalemessa developed in his talks at the bishops’ retreat was the unity that must exist between the Law and the Spirit that animates the Law. Father Raniero reminded us that both are essential in the spiritual life of anyone who wishes to “put on the mind of Christ”.

Father Raniero made one statement, in particular, that was striking. He said, “The law without the Spirit is dead, while the Spirit without the law is blind.” In other words, the power of grace needs to be concretized by the moral and ecclesial laws of the Church, so that it can bear great fruit. To think that we can alone discern how best to live our Christian life is foolish. On the other hand, to simply follow the precepts of the law without allowing the Spirit to guide, mold and challenge us to grow in faith, hope, and love is to run the risk of living an outwardly righteous life but one that does not bring us closer to the Lord. As the old song says, “you can’t have one without the other.”

I looked on in nervous excitement as the two travelers in front of me laid down and kissed the spot where Jesus was born. This is the spot where Jesus was born. I repeated it to myself in hopes that it would help jumpstart my jetlagged mind and make it all seem real.

“NEXT,” the Orthodox priest deep in the cave called me and one of my fellow pilgrims forward and my mind froze. I’ve never venerated anything before, I thought to myself. I didn’t know what to do…but I had seen everyone else lay their bodies down flat, so I guess that’s what we’re supposed to do…I leaned forward and CRASH…I looked down to see the entire contents of my backpack sprawled out onto the exact spot where Jesus Christ was born. On this blessed, holy place were now nestled my sunglasses, water bottle and toiletry bag. I stifled a curse word, gathered my things and rushed off before I could meet the eye of the ornery-looking Orthodox priest.

I really messed that one up, I thought to myself as I walked out of the crowded church.

But as I breathed in the fresh Bethlehem air I was overwhelmed with a tremendous sense of peace. Here in this place of political unrest, after a ten-hour flight and hours waiting in line, I felt more peace than I had ever felt before.

As I thought about the chaos that surrounded my experience at the Church of the Nativity, I realized that it was in no way the most out-of-the-ordinary thing to happen there. I imagine Mary was experiencing something a lot different than jetlag that night so long ago. I imagine her and Joseph trying to make a comfortable bed of hay for the God-child on the way, rushing to find a place to rest after their long journey. I imagine the immense trust in God that was needed as inn doors were slammed in their face and they were turned away.

But when that Blessed Child was born, I’m sure the sense of peace that overwhelmed that small cave was unlike anything they had ever felt before. The fourth week of Advent reminds us of the peace found in Christ. As the angels praised, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.”

This Child who brought peace to the world two thousand years ago continues to bring peace to us all. The Advent and Christmas seasons always remind me of this. Sometimes during the rest of the year, we can get so caught up in our routines…even during the holiday season, the hustle and bustle can distract us from the real meaning, as we become caught up in crowds and wait in long lines. But when these seasons are lived intentionally, things can seem to slow down a bit. We can slow down to let Jesus be born into our hearts and minds once more.

You don’t have to travel all the way to the Holy Land to feel this profound peace. He is present for us whenever we participate in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, kneel before Him in Adoration or say our nightly prayers.

By: Elizabeth Clyons, Communications Associate for the Diocese of Bridgeport

The young adult bible study I am attending at St. John’s in Stamford has been eye-opening. We just finished Genesis and while I knew the story of Abraham, I always pictured him as a sort of superhuman figure – graced by God with an impenetrable faith. But as we delved into the scripture passages, it became clear to me that Abraham experienced the same emotions we all do – doubt, uncertainty, and confusion to name a few. When God tells Abraham that his wife will bear him a son and that “kings of people shall come from her,” (Genesis 17: 16) Abraham responds by falling on his face, laughing and declaring to himself, “Shall a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?” (Genesis 17: 15-17). And who can blame Abraham for his reaction? How could a ninety-year-old barren woman possibly conceive? But when Sarah does, in fact, conceive and bear a son, the answer to God’s question: “Is anything too hard for the Lord? (Genesis 18:14) becomes clear: no, absolutely nothing is impossible for God.

Perhaps this personal experience of God’s faithfulness in the midst of apparent hopelessness is what ultimately gives Abraham the courage/strength to obey the Lord’s command to sacrifice his son Isaac, despite knowing that Isaac is the only means by which God’s covenant promise of descendants can come to fruition. Abraham later names the mountain upon which the sacrifice was to take place, “The Lord will provide” (Genesis 22:14), which attests to the degree of faith he had in God.

As this season of Advent comes to a close, let us look to Abraham as an example of what it means to truly trust in the Lord – to surrender our own desires/plans in order to fulfill His. God’s absolute faithfulness to His promises is the overarching theme throughout salvation history and He has proven time and again that His is word and His ways are true.

Therefore, what do we have to fear when God himself has vowed that He will never abandon us? “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; be not frightened, neither be dismayed; for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9).

Diane Kremheller is an Assurance Manager at PwC & co-founder of Catholic Adventures Stamford

As it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah:
‘A voice of one crying out in the desert:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight his paths’ (Luke 3:4).

I have a friend who is deployed in an area of the world that is mostly desert. He recently sent a photo of a bright orange leaf that he found on the ground. There was something about that faint glimmer of new life in a place that seemed desolate that was captivating.

I am reminded of the way God’s people must have felt while waiting for the Messiah. The time of Jesus was a time of unrest in both political and religious leadership. I can imagine that people felt as if they were wandering through the desert, waiting for a glimmer of hope.

But they had faith. They had faith in their God who had proven Himself faithful before, even though it wasn’t always made clear to them right away. God promised to lead His people out of slavery and He made good on that promise. He promised them a land of their own and He made good on that promise. He promised them a Savior…

I think of the prophet John the Baptist. The Word of God came to John, the son of Zechariah, in the desert. What is usually a place of desolation and hopelessness, comes to this most unlikely person in the most unlikely place. And he stood as a sign to the people…a glimmer of hope, that the Messiah was coming.

“The word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the desert. He went throughout the whole region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah:

“A voice of one crying out in the desert:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight his paths’” (Luke 3:2-4).

I imagine the star of Bethlehem like this bright orange leaf. A glimmer of light in a desolate place. Enough so that it captured the attention of the wise men from the East. Enough so that they told King Herod:

“In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet:
‘And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
since from you shall come a ruler,
who is to shepherd my people Israel’” (Matthew 2:5-6).

The Letter to the Hebrews reads, “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. Because of it the ancients were well attested. By faith, we understand that the universe was ordered by the word of God, so that what is visible came into being through the invisible” (Hebrews 11:1-3).

God’s people had faith that their Messiah would come. And when He came, there were signs, bright and glimmering, in a land that seemed barren. Like a bright orange leaf during a desert deployment, or an “unkempt” prophet with an important message, or a star leading the way to the God Son in a manger.

By: Elizabeth Clyons, Communications Associate for the Diocese of Bridgeport

I have a particular devotion to St. Andrew, the Apostle. Being the brother of Peter, he often gets overlooked. This resonates with those who often humbly serve behind the scenes, seemingly unappreciated but crucial to spreading the Gospel message. That being said, St. Andrew was the very first disciple called by Our Lord, and he even had a hand in convincing his brother, St. Peter, to follow Jesus (John 1:40). He also pointed out the boy who had five loaves and two fish that Jesus multiplied in order to feed the 5,000 (John 6:8). He was the conduit for the Greeks who wanted to meet Jesus (John 12:21). Although his ministry was more behind the scenes, he played an important role in bringing others to Christ.

The feast of St. Andrew (Nov. 30) marks the beginning of a new liturgical year, with the start of Advent beginning the Sunday closest to his feast day. The most popular tradition surrounding St. Andrew’s feast day is to begin the St. Andrew Christmas novena on that day.

Unlike a traditional novena, the St. Andrew novena is to be prayed throughout Advent. Pious tradition has it that if you pray the St. Andrew novena fifteen times a day from the feast of St. Andrew until Christmas Eve, you will obtain what you were praying for.

I recently explained the tradition surrounding the St. Andrew Christmas Novena to some co-workers.

“Well I prayed it last year and I still haven’t received my request,” I joked with my co-workers.

I said it in jest but it got me thinking. St. Paul writes, “Hope that is seen is not hope, because who hopes for what he sees? Now if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with patience” (Romans 8: 24–25).

Hope.

Sometimes we feel like St. Andrew. We feel like we just keep serving behind the scenes, quietly praying for what we desire, seemingly unheard.

But He hears us. He sees us. He calls us, as He did St. Andrew.

Having not received my request, I could’ve lost hope.

Having not “received his reward,” St. Andrew could’ve lost hope.

But he didn’t. I didn’t. I won’t.

This first week of Advent, we remember hope. We are reminded that Jesus is coming. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:12-13).

In sending His incarnate Son, God kept His promise to His people. They waited and they hoped. And they did not Hope in vain.

How do we know?  I often read the following passage as a reminder:

“When God made a promise to Abraham because he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, saying, ‘I will surely bless you and multiply you.’ And thus Abraham, having patiently endured, obtained the promise. Human beings, of course, swear by someone greater than themselves, and an oath given as confirmation puts an end to all dispute. In the same way, when God desired to show even more clearly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it by an oath, so that through two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible that God would prove false, we who have taken refuge might be strongly encouraged to seize the hope set before us. We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain, where Jesus, a forerunner on our behalf, has entered, having become a high priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek” (Hebrews 6:13-20).

We have this hope. He desires to show us the unchangeable character of His purpose. I’m sure St. Andrew knew this. Let us remember it as we wait in joyful hope this Advent.

By: Elizabeth Clyons, Communications Associate for the Diocese of Bridgeport