Sister Antona Ebo, FSM, likes to start her day worshiping the Lord. But the 85-year-old retired health-care expert with the Franciscan Sisters of Mary can no longer drive to church. Instead, she watches daily Mass on television. “My first line of defense is the Spirit and the Eucharist,” says Sister Antona, who lives in a one-bedroom apartment on the north side of St. Louis, Missouri. “Yes, I would prefer a live Mass. Then I could receive Communion and be in the physical presence of the Lord.…But as the old folks say, ‘make do with what you got.’…I’ve got television Mass.”
Just as she watches televised services to replace live Masses, Sister Antona has always found a way to address her concerns. And there was a time when she was on the other side of the television screen. In 1965, while working in a St. Louis hospital, Sister Antona heard about the bloodshed that occurred during a voting-rights march in Selma, Alabama. So, in response to a call from the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., she and five other religious sisters joined a second protest there.
Driving to the Sunday-night mission at her parish, Sara had high hopes for the Lent that had just begun. It was her sophomore year in college, and she had celebrated Ash Wednesday at her university’s Newman Center just days before spring break. Now she was home for a week, and as her car wound along the familiar roads from her parents’ house to church, Sara mused about her three Lenten resolutions.
Every morning I woke to the call of the muezzin: “Prayer is better than sleep! Prayer is better than sleep!” From high atop the minaret that plaintive cry drifted out over the sleeping city of Cairo, coaxing the faithful to rise from their slumber and give praise to Allah. Sometimes I would open my eyes and enter for a few minutes into a space of prayer.
Often I would simply roll over and fall back asleep. But even in my sleep those words haunted me. They stirred my dreams. I knew that the muezzin’s words were true. But it is hard to wake up; harder still to remain awake.
During our spiritual journey, we often resemble the squirming child in the back seat: “Are we there yet?” God’s response is a firm but loving “No! You have miles to drive, rivers to ford, and mountains to climb before the end. Practice patience and find joy in the ever-changing scenery of your life.”
Since Exodus times and even ages before, a popular metaphor for reaching God—spiritually, mentally, and physically - is a journey. We cannot stand still and grow. Spiritual development requires movement—onward, upward, inward. Saint Teresa of Avila used the metaphor of our souls as an interior castle, where we progress from room to room until we reach full union with God. To stand still would be to remain always in the castle’s outer chambers, satisfied that we know all there is to know about God.
Remember the mending basket? We used to stuff things into it: the shirt that needed a button, the pants with a ripped seam, the sock with a hole in the toe. It has probably become a sad relic by now—who has time to darn? The ripped pants get tossed in the Good Will bag, and the button is lost at the bottom of the closet. But the mending basket still works as a metaphor for Lent. During this season we look at relationships in disrepair, gaps and fissures in the fabric of our lives, embarrassing failures we avoid the rest of the year.
Many readers will remember with fondness Pope John XXIII, certainly one of the most loved popes of the twentieth century. Coming after the stern and aristocratic Eugenio Pacelli, Pope Pius XII, this roly-poly man with a smile on his face and a readiness for a joke was a breath of fresh air for many. In fact, that was the meaning he gave to the major project of his papacy, the convoking of the Second Vatican Council. John XXIII wanted the council to open windows that had been closed to let in some fresh air.
All around the world today Catholics and Buddhists are engaged in dynamic interfaith encounter. Catholic theologians discuss vital questions of doctrine with their Buddhist counterparts. Priests and laypeople from both traditions explore time-honored methods of prayer and meditation. Activists in both communities join forces to promote human rights and environmental healing. Monks from both faiths seek common ground in the wisdom of simplicity and silence.
Sister Antona Ebo, FSM, likes to start her day worshiping the Lord. But the 85-year-old retired health-care expert with the Franciscan Sisters of Mary can no longer drive to church. Instead, she watches daily Mass on television. “My first line of defense is the Spirit and the Eucharist,” says Sister Antona, who lives in a one-bedroom apartment on the north side of St. Louis, Missouri. “Yes, I would prefer a live Mass. Then I could receive Communion and be in the physical presence of the Lord.…But as the old folks say, ‘make do with what you got.’…I’ve got television Mass.”