St. Thérèse: Mercy in the Little Way

St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face is often pictured with roses, a gentle smile, and her famous "Little Way."

It can be tempting to think of her spirituality as simply sweet.

But there was nothing weak about the mercy of St. Thérèse.

Her Little Way was not an escape from the difficult realities of sin and suffering. It was a way of confronting them with love, prayer, sacrifice, and confidence in God's grace.

One of the most striking examples involved a convicted murderer whom Thérèse had never met.

His name was Henri Pranzini.

And Thérèse prayed for his conversion.

"My First Child"

In 1887, Pranzini was convicted of murdering two women and a child in Paris and was sentenced to death by guillotine.

Thérèse was only fourteen.

When she read about his case, she became deeply concerned—not simply about his earthly punishment, but about the state of his soul. She began praying intensely for his conversion and later referred to him as her "first child."

That is an extraordinary thing to say.

She did not minimize his crimes.

She did not deny the suffering of his victims.

She did not argue against justice.

She wanted something else for him: repentance.

She wanted this murderer to encounter the mercy of Christ before he died.

Mercy Does Not Cancel Justice

This distinction matters.

Thérèse's prayer for Pranzini was not a rejection of justice. She could acknowledge the seriousness of his crimes while still believing that he was not beyond the reach of God's grace.

That is an essential part of True Mercy Has Teeth:

    Forgiveness is not pretending that evil never happened.

Mercy does not  call evil good, eliminate legitimate consequences, or ignore the wounds left by sin.

But neither does it allow us to conclude that a sinner is beyond redemption.

Thérèse believed that even a condemned murderer could turn toward Christ.

So she prayed.

The Sign She Asked For

Thérèse wanted some indication that her prayers had reached Pranzini.

According to her account, he had refused the ministry of the priest who accompanied him to the scaffold. But at the last moment, he seized the crucifix offered to him and kissed the sacred wounds three times.

For Thérèse, this was the sign she had begged God to give her.

She believed that Christ's mercy had reached him.

The murderer had not been beyond hope.

And that experience became deeply important to her understanding of prayer.

The Little Way Has Teeth

Thérèse's Little Way is often reduced to the idea of doing small things.

It is that—but it is much more demanding than it sounds.

A small act of love can require enormous faith.

A prayer may seem insignificant.

A sacrifice may go unnoticed.

An act of patience may receive no recognition.

A prayer for the conversion of someone who has done terrible things may feel almost absurdly small in the face of the evil involved.

Yet Thérèse trusted that God could take what she offered and accomplish what she could not.

She could not stand beside Pranzini.

She could not undo his crimes.

She could not force repentance.

She could pray.

And she could place his soul in the hands of Divine Mercy.

That is the strength of the Little Way.

The Little Way Is Not the Easy Way

The Little Way asks us to love when nobody notices, forgive when we would rather hold a grudge, and make sacrifices without receiving recognition.

It asks us to pray for people who may never know that we prayed for them.

And sometimes that means praying for someone we would rather see punished than redeemed.

This is where Thérèse's example becomes uncomfortable.

    Can we want justice and still pray for conversion?

    Can we acknowledge the seriousness of someone's actions and still hope for their salvation?

    Can we protect ourselves from someone while refusing to hate them?

    Can we entrust judgment to God without pretending the wounds do not exist?

Thérèse's answer was yes.

That is mercy with teeth.

The Rose and the Cross

Thérèse promised to spend her heaven doing good on earth and spoke of sending down a "shower of roses."

But roses grow among thorns.

The Little Way is not a way around the Cross. It is a way of carrying the Cross through ordinary life.

Her prayer for Pranzini was one small act that she trusted God could use for something much larger.

That is how grace works.

We offer what little we have.

God does what we cannot.

Where We Begin

Most of us never encounter a condemned murderer.

But we will encounter people who are difficult to forgive.

Someone who hurt us.

Someone who betrayed us.

Someone whose choices caused real damage.

Someone we would rather see punished than redeemed.

Thérèse teaches us that we can acknowledge the evil, seek justice, protect the vulnerable, and still refuse to surrender a person's soul to despair.

We can pray.

We can forgive.

We can refuse revenge.

We can speak the truth without hatred.

We can entrust the person to God.

And we can trust that no act of love offered to Christ is wasted.

Thérèse did not know what would happen to Pranzini.

She simply prayed.

When she saw what she believed was a sign of his repentance, she rejoiced—not because his crimes no longer mattered, but because God's mercy was greater than his sin.

That is the Little Way.

Small acts of enormous trust.

Love when love is difficult.

Hope when someone seems beyond hope.

Mercy with teeth.

St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, pray for us. Teach us your Little Way: to love in the small things, to pray for those who seem beyond hope, and to trust that the mercy of Jesus can reach even the hardest heart.

St. Cosmas and St. Damian: Mercy Freely Given

There are many ways to speak about mercy.

We can talk about forgiveness, compassion, reconciliation, and healing. But sometimes mercy is much more concrete.

Sometimes mercy looks like showing up at someone's bedside.

Sometimes it means using the gifts God has given us for someone who has nothing to give in return.

And sometimes it means doing so simply because the person in front of us is worth loving.

The lives of St. Cosmas and St. Damian, whose memorial we celebrate today, offer a beautiful example of this kind of mercy.

They were brothers, physicians, and Christian martyrs of the early Church. Tradition remembers them as the Anargyroi—the "Penniless Ones" or "Unmercenaries"—because they refused payment for the medical care they provided.

They had the knowledge and skill to make a living from their profession. Instead, they freely treated those who could not afford care.

Their medicine became an act of mercy.

Mercy That Costs Something

Cosmas and Damian remind us that mercy is not merely feeling sorry for someone. Mercy moves.

They did not simply see suffering and wish that things were different. They took what they had—their knowledge, their skill, and their time—and placed it at the service of those who needed it.

Their gifts had value.

Their labor had value.

Their time had value.

Yet they gave these things freely.

This is mercy with teeth: compassion that becomes concrete action.

The Church does not ask us all to give our work away without compensation. But the Penniless Ones challenge us to consider whether everything we possess must be measured by what we can get in return.

There are moments when Christian charity requires us to say:

"This person cannot repay me—and I will help anyway."

Seeing the Person Before the Payment

Imagine being sick in the ancient world, where poverty could mean that medical care was simply beyond your reach.

Then two physicians arrive and treat you without asking what you can pay.

What must that have communicated?

Before they were patients, these people were human beings.

Before they were sources of income, they were brothers and sisters.

Cosmas and Damian saw the person before they saw the payment.

That is a profoundly Christian way of seeing.

Jesus does not ask us first, "What can this person do for me?"

He teaches us to see the hungry, the sick, the lonely, the forgotten, the prisoner, the stranger—and ultimately, to see Him.

Why "Penniless"?

The title Anargyroi—the "Penniless Ones"—is particularly striking.

They were not penniless because they lacked ability or opportunity. Their poverty was voluntary. They chose not to make money the measure of their service.

Their example reminds us that our gifts are ultimately gifts from God.

And gifts are meant to be given.

This does not mean that Christians should never receive payment for their work or that professional expertise has no monetary value. Rather, Cosmas and Damian challenge us to recognize that there are things more important than what a person can afford to pay.

The person who cannot repay us is still worthy of our love.

Their Mercy Eventually Cost Them Everything

There is an even deeper dimension to their story.

Their generosity was not limited to their profession. According to ancient Christian tradition, the brothers eventually suffered martyrdom during a persecution of Christians.

The men who had freely given their medical care ultimately gave the greatest gift of all: their own lives.

They gave their knowledge.

They gave their time.

They gave their labor.

And finally, they gave themselves.

Their lives point us toward the Cross, where Christ gives Himself without counting the cost.

The Physician Who Heals

There is a beautiful connection between the ministry of Cosmas and Damian and the ministry of Christ.

The brothers were physicians who treated bodily illness.

Christ is the Divine Physician who comes to heal the deepest sickness of the human person: sin.

And Christ does not charge us for His mercy.

We cannot purchase redemption.

We cannot earn grace.

We cannot pay God back for salvation.

It is pure gift.

Cosmas and Damian's generosity points toward that greater reality. They gave healing freely because they had encountered the One who gives Himself freely.

What Are We Willing to Give?

Perhaps the Penniless Ones leave us with a simple question:

What has God given me that I can give away?

    My time?

    My knowledge?

    My skills?

    My money?

    My attention?

    My forgiveness?

    My presence?

    My patience?

Every one of us possesses something that another person needs. And sometimes the person who needs it cannot repay us.

That may be precisely the point.

The Penniless Ones remind us that Christian mercy is not measured by what we receive in return. It is measured by the love with which we give.

St. Cosmas and St. Damian, pray for us.

Teach us to see Christ in those who are suffering.

Teach us to use our gifts for the good of others.

Teach us to give without keeping score.

And teach us that true mercy is not merely something we feel.

True mercy has teeth. It gets to work.

St. Catherine of Sienna - Fire of Mercy

 

The life of St. Catherine of Siena confronts us with a truth we often resist: real mercy is not timid. It does not whisper when souls are at stake. It speaks—with clarity, urgency, and love that is willing to risk everything.

St. Catherine of Siena shows us mercy with fire—love for Christ and His Church that refused to stay silent in a moment of crisis.

A Church Out of Place

In the 14th century, the papacy was not in Rome. For decades, the popes resided in Avignon, in what is now southern France—a period we now call the Avignon Papacy. What began as a political relocation had become a spiritual and symbolic wound.

Rome stood empty.

The Church’s unity was strained. Its credibility weakened. Its shepherd seemed distant from his flock.

Many recognized the problem. Few were willing to confront it.

St. Catherine was.

A Laywoman Who Spoke Like a Prophet

St. Catherine was of course not a bishop or priest. Nor was she a theologian in the academic sense. She was not a person of institutional authority.

She was a Dominican tertiary. A laywoman. A mystic.

And yet, she wrote boldly to Pope Gregory XI, urging him to return to Rome. Her letters are astonishing—not because they are rebellious, but because they are rooted in profound obedience and love for the Church.

She called him “sweet Christ on earth.”

And then she told him the truth.

She warned against cowardice. She urged him to act with courage. She reminded him of his responsibility before God. She did not flatter him into comfort—she loved him into conversion.

This is the heart of mercy with teeth.

Mercy That Calls to Courage

In True Mercy Has Teeth, I argue that mercy is not the absence of challenge—it is the presence of truth spoken for the sake of salvation.

St. Catherine embodies this.

Her concern was not political strategy. It was the salvation of souls and the integrity of the Church. She saw that hesitation at the highest levels had consequences for everyone.

So she spoke.

Not with bitterness. Not with contempt. But with a kind of holy urgency that refused to let fear have the final word.

And remarkably—he listened.

In 1377, Pope Gregory XI returned the papacy to Rome. St. Catherine’s influence was not the only factor, but it was significant. Her courage helped move history.

The Cost of Loving the Church

St. Catherine’s story did not end in triumphal peace. The years that followed were marked by even greater turmoil, including the Western Schism. She suffered. She labored. She poured herself out for a Church that was, at times, deeply wounded.

But she never withdrew her love.

This is another mark of real mercy: it does not abandon when things get messy.

It stays.

It speaks.

It suffers.

And it hopes.

A Saint for a Wounded Age

It is easy to romanticize saints like St. Catherine—until we realize what her witness demands of us.

• To love the Church enough to speak truth, even upward
• To call leaders to holiness without rejecting their authority
• To refuse both silence and cynicism
• To act, not from outrage, but from charity

St. Catherine shows us that reform in the Church has always come from saints who were willing to risk misunderstanding for the sake of fidelity.

She did not seek power.

She sought holiness—and trusted that truth, spoken in love, could move even the heart of a pope.

Mercy That Burns

St. Catherine of Siena shows us the fire of mercy.

Mercy that burns away cowardice.

Mercy that refuses to let fear dictate decisions.

Mercy that calls the Church back to where she belongs.

Today, her voice still echoes:

“Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.”

May we have the courage to live a mercy like that—not comfortable, not passive, but alive with truth and love.

St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us—and teach us how to love the Church enough to call her higher.

Reflection on the Japanese Martyrs

Today is the feast of St. Paul Miki and Companions — 26 men of varying ages: Franciscan and Jesuit priests, catechists, and laymen. They were crucified in 1597 for the crime of being Catholic in a Japan that, at the time, was violently opposed to outside influence — especially the Catholic faith.

The foreign missionaries left behind knew it was only a matter of time before they, too, would be discovered. Anyone wise in the ways of the world would have sought escape, saved their own life, or denied the faith.

They did not.

Before the missionaries were martyred or expelled, they did something extraordinary: they prepared the faithful for a Church without clergy. They told them, one day men will come claiming to be ministers — here is how you will know the true Church.

They gave them three signs to watch for:

    • A priest who was not married

    • Devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary

    • Union with the Pope in Rome

Generations passed. Children were baptized by grandparents. Prayers were whispered — distorted, half-forgotten — yet guarded like treasure.

For more than 250 years, Japan had no Catholic priests.

When Japan reopened in the 1800s, villagers quietly approached a French priest and asked:

    “Are you married?”

    “Do you honor Santa Maria?”

    “Are you united to the Pope of Rome?”

When he answered correctly, they said:

    “Our hearts are the same as yours.”

After centuries in hiding, the faith endured — not sentimental, not soft, but rooted, costly, and recognizable.

That story has been on my heart today as an example of mercy.

Because real mercy isn’t vague.

It puts others first, seeking their good.

It isn’t whatever survives cultural pressure.

It has edges, marks, and a memory.

True mercy clings to truth — even when truth must be whispered in the dark.

“The Dumb Ox” Who Shook the World

As a young student, St. Thomas Aquinas was mocked by his classmates and called “the dumb ox.”

He was big. He was quiet. He didn’t argue for attention or rush to prove himself.

They mistook silence for stupidity.

But his teacher, St. Albert the Great, saw what others missed and famously replied:

“You call him a dumb ox, but his bellowing will one day be heard throughout the world.”

And it was.

Thomas Aquinas would become one of the greatest minds the Church has ever known—not because he demanded recognition, but because he practiced humility, patience, and obedience to truth.

This story has stayed with me, and it echoes something I explore deeply in True Mercy Has Teeth:

Mercy is not weakness.

Silence is not surrender.

Meekness is not the absence of strength—it is strength rightly ordered.

Sometimes God is doing His deepest work in us while the world is busy mislabeling us.

If you’ve ever felt underestimated, misunderstood, or dismissed for being “too quiet,” take heart. God may be forming something far greater than appearances suggest.

True Mercy Has Teeth: A Catholic Journey to Forgiveness and Healing

Available now.

#mercywithteeth

St. Margaret Mary Alocoque and Mercy With Teeth

Today is the Memorial of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, the humble Visitation nun through whom the Lord revealed His Sacred Heart—a heart burning with love, wounded by sin, and overflowing with mercy.

St. Margaret Mary lived in a turbulent era. The Church in 17th-century France was marked by a rigorist spirit, particularly through the rise of Jansenism—a movement that distorted the faith by emphasizing fear, severity, and human unworthiness over divine mercy. Many of the faithful were led to believe that God’s justice left little room for love. People were discouraged from approaching the Eucharist, terrified of receiving unworthily. Even some bishops and priests forbade their parishioners to receive Communion, believing it safer to stay away from Christ than risk offending Him.

Into that fear, Jesus revealed His Heart to Sr. Margaret Mary—a Heart that beats not with condemnation, but with compassion. He did not deny sin or the need for repentance; rather, He showed that mercy is stronger than fear. His Sacred Heart burns with love for sinners and longs to heal, not to harm; to invite, not to intimidate.

The Lord’s revelation to St. Margaret Mary was, in its time, a form of “mercy with teeth.” It was not sentimental or permissive—it was courageous. It confronted a distorted image of God and called the Church back to the truth: that holiness flows from love, not terror; from trust, not despair. Divine Mercy does not erase justice—it fulfills it. The Sacred Heart is both pierced and powerful, tender yet strong, embracing humanity’s wounds while calling souls to conversion and deeper intimacy with Christ.

In a world that still wrestles with both extremes—either cheap grace or paralyzing fear—the message of the Sacred Heart remains urgent. Mercy with teeth is the mercy of that Heart: love that defends, heals, and restores, but also names sin and calls the sinner home.

May St. Margaret Mary teach us to approach the Lord’s Heart with confidence and awe, trusting that in His mercy we find both strength and salvation.

“Behold this Heart which has loved men so much…” — Our Lord to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

#mercywithteeth

My Book, True Mercy Has Teeth is available on Amazon or at www.mercywithteeth.com

Lent

St. John Vianney (1786-1859, Ars, France) was a man sought far and wide for his wisdom and spiritual counsel. He spent countless hours in the confessional, hearing thousands of confessions every year. His homilies and guidance were always in his own down-to-earth style. One day, a woman of obvious means came to him and asked a simple question, "What must I do to reduce [lose weight]?" He looked her up and down, noting her fine jewelry and clothing, and her girth, and replied, "About three Lents." It was not well received, to say the least. She was perhaps looking for an easy answer, his response gave none. He read her soul and found that her size was due to a spiritual malady - perhaps greed, gluttony, or sloth - that could only be cured by entering into a penitential season such as Lent.

The danger is that we too often approach Lent with the opposite attitude. We might be tempted to see it as a period of self-improvement. Looking at the number on the scale or noticing the tightness of our clothing, we might decide that this Lent is a great time to diet. We might be tempted, as we look around, to see the people who might benefit from our charity, and so we create a program for giving. We might be aware of a little addiction (chocolate or candy, pop, TV, etc), and decide Lent is a good time to face that. As good-hearted as these kinds of things are, however, they are not Lent. These things can turn Lent into a self-improvement project.

Lent, which we are entering this week, is about seeking God and His will. We ought to always seek to eliminate from our lives the things that distract us from God and those things to which we are 'inordinately attached' - those things that take too much of our time and attention compared to their eternal value. Lent is about allowing God's grace to transform us, not about our improving ourselves. While it might be true that we see the same effects, we enter Lent to fast, not to diet. We seek to give alms, not to seek reward for charitable giving. We seek the Lord in prayer, not just of self-reflection. We might not need to enter Lent for the same reason as the woman that St. John Vianney encountered, but we need Lent. Let's enter it well, seeking the Lord and His grace, so that as we gather to celebrate Christ's resurrection, we may do so with hearts set free.

A secret

I want to share a secret: the Church is filled with sinners. I admit that it is not a very good secret. At times, though, we can pretend that it is a secret or that we are not really sinners. We act like this statement in itself is scandalous, ignoring that is the sinful behavior that is cause of scandal, not that the members struggle with sin. From the first apostles until now, this has been the case. Call to mind the original 12 apostles. They were not perfect. Time and again, they bumbled their way through life. Consider St. Peter, patron of our fair city. He sometimes got things so right - making the bold profession that Jesus is the Son of the Living God and having courage to take the first step onto the water, only to display complete ignorance to God’s will or take his eyes off our Lord. Or think of Judas, the man who could follow Jesus for three years, but sold him out for thirty pieces of silver, then to commit suicide in despair. The other apostles who ran, hid, or were skeptical. No, the Church, as beautiful as she is as a whole, is filled with sinners in her members. But that is good - the Church is a hospital for the sick, not a shrine for the perfect. We as members are not perfect, but the Body of Christ, united to Christ as head, is. While the vile acts of some priests have certainly challenged us, the message of the Church remains - that Christ is our savior. But we still act in such a way that suggests we can keep this secret. First, we members and leadership attempt to be “Nice”, and to avoid anything that would not be seen as ‘nice’. We become too accommodating, allowing bad behavior because we are in the Church (a problem that also plagued the early Church as some rejoiced in the freedom to sin) . We do not want to offend anyone, so we allow sin to go unchallenged. We too often allow unprofessional behavior in the workplace lest we come off as mean. We are members of the Church, after all, and we are supposed to love and accept everyone, right? The opposite of this being nice is also prevalent - we can be done right mean. We disparage those who do not meet our ideas of perfection, and we become too demanding. Specifically, we might look at incidents of members condemning a unmarried woman who is pregnant, or groups protesting funerals as God’s punishment. Neither of these extremes (nice or mean) reveal Jesus. Jesus is merciful, certainly, but He is also just. He spent time with prostitutes and tax collectors, but did not confirm them in their sins but called them to conversion. We need to be kind and loving, but the most loving thing we can sometimes do is challenge someone to be better, to respond to grace. Too often the charge of hypocrisy is thrown around when we do so, however. It is not hypocrisy to be a sinner seeking conversion, but it is hypocrisy to pretend like we do not sin, or to hold others to standards we do not apply to ourselves, however imperfectly. Only when we get beyond the fear of being called hypocrites, only when we stop fearing that we are sinners to be discovered, will we find the grace to move forward in the Lord. The truth is that there are sinners in the Church, but we are sinners who know our savior is Jesus who loves us and calls us to repentance.

Some Thoughts on Vocations

As I depart, I want to share some things I have learned about vocations these last years. While mostly random thoughts, I hope that these can help us continue to build a culture of vocations.
1. The New Evangelization is absolutely necessary. This New Evangelization is not a program, rather a focus on the proclamation of Jesus Christ, to re-propose to people who may have some familiarity to Him, but do not let that knowledge deepen within them. It is not about a re-invigoration of parishes or promotion of more programs. We live in a culture that is further disconnected from God and the faith. The New Evangelization sees this as a new opportunity to proclaim Christ. It is proclaiming Christ to a world that has a ‘certain forgetfulness of God’, as Pope Benedict XVI has reminded us several times. When we can share the love of Christ, tell of His mercy and forgiveness, and help others begin to live a moral life, discernment inevitably follows. True, though, that the New Evangelization will lead to vibrant parishes, but only because the faith has taken flame in the hearts of parishioners!
2. Vocations are everyone’s business. It is not just the Director of Vocations, or the Bishop, or the priest personnel board, or even only the parish pastors who are responsible for promoting vocations. It belongs to everyone, ordained, vowed, and lay men and women of all ages. The flame of faith in the hearts of the faithful lead to a desire that others be on fire with the love of God. They encourage others to respond to the promptings of the Spirit to answer a vocation, and all can personally invite a young man or woman to consider a vocation.
3. Personal Invitation is vital. We can help others hear the voice of Christ by inviting them to consider a vocation. To highlight the point of personal invitation, over 75% of seminarians state that they were encouraged and invited to discern a vocation by a priest, but only about 33% of priests are inviting young men – imagine if we could get at least another third of priests to invite! Further, imagine a parish or diocese in which a majority of the members are listening to the promptings of the Spirit and invite others to follow the Lord.
4. Fear is an obstacle to the spiritual life and to the growth of vocations. Some are afraid to invite others to consider a vocation because of a fear of rejection. Some are afraid to give their lives to God, fearing it will lead to unhappiness or dissatisfaction. Jesus assures us time and again, though, “Be not afraid!” We must also remember that perfect love casts out fear (1John 4:18). We need to grow in more perfect love – something we do when we pray.
5. Prayer, even the most humble, is more powerful than any vocations program. If we are not praying, how can we expect other to pray. Recognition of a vocation is born from the silence of prayer. As one grows in relation with the Holy Trinity, one also is more able to respond to the promptings of the Spirit.
6. When we pray, we must be specific. While it sounds rather bold, it is necessary and theologically sound. Like personal goals, or even a programed GPS, when we are specific in our prayers, we might also see what we need to do to help God grant those prayers or at least be moving in the right direction. Generic prayer and sacrifice for vocations are good, but to offer specific prayers (a rosary a day or an weekly hour of adoration, for example) or specific sacrifices (like fasting from meat on Fridays) are powerful. Pray for a specific number of seminarians or religious, parishioners, pray for those discerning to come from “our parish”. Families, pray for that a son or daughter may be open to discerning! Be specific.
7. We must present vocations out of a great opportunity versus crisis. In our great Diocese of New Ulm, like many throughout the world, it is easy to focus on the need we have for priests. Some, when they do speak on vocations and the need for priests, do so from a very pessimistic perspective. Giving the impression all is lost, and that the Church as we now have it is a sinking ship, leads to despair and many who may be called to walk away in despair. While we cannot be Pollyannish – ignoring the difficulty of our current situation – we must realize that God is still God, and He continues to call men to the priesthood, and men and women to the religious life. We need to encourage them instead of discouraging. Jesus promised that the gates of hell will not prevail against the Church, so it is safe to remain in the “barque of Peter”, in fact – it is the safest place to be.
8. There is a vocations crisis, but one that is bigger than just priests. We see the deterioration of family life in divorce, the attempts to redefine family in which the nuptial meaning of procreation is questioned due to the rampant culture of death. In such a climate, making a lifelong, permanent choice is difficult, if not impossible for many. To confront this, a concerted focus needs to be made in highlight the sacrament of matrimony and those who have embraced this vocation. We can highlight those couples lovingly commit themselves to each other freely, and lovingly embrace children as an extension of their love. The majority of priesthood and religious vocations will continue to come from those (in fact, in the Diocese of New Ulm, all of our current seminarians hail from intact families, and a the large majority of priests have intact, biological families). If our youth cannot identify even one strong witness of a married couple in their lives, how can our young discern a loving vocation, and commit themselves to live such a vocation freely and permanently? This is not to say that those from other types of homes cannot hear a vocation, or do not have a vocation, but it certainly makes responding to one more difficult as I can personally testify.
9. Sadly, certain scandals have damaged the personal witness of the vast majority of good and holy priests, adding to the fuel of those who claim vocations are in crisis. As the Church roots out the perpetrators, brings healing to the victims, and reestablishes trust with parishioners and others, we need to be even more diligent in seeking holiness ourselves.
10. Personal witness is the best vocations promotion. St. John Paul II drew hundreds of thousands to World Youth Days. When he died, many expressed concern that World Youth Days would cease to draw youth. While his personality was more reserved and introspective, Pope Emeritus Benedict drew massive crowds as well. The youth expressed that he was authentic. Pope Francis draws crowds with his warmth and wit. But all three drew people for the same reason – they love Jesus Christ with their whole being, and were leading people to Him, not to themselves (as a pop star might). If we want to draw people to Christ, we must be authentic, not pretending to be something we are not. We must avail ourselves of the grace of the Sacraments, especially Reconciliation and the Eucharist. We must be in love with Christ, and let that love permeate all that we do and say. In the end, we must all become saints!

New Vocations View Newsletter

I have posted a new Vocations View Newsletter (May 2014).

St. Faustina's Prayer to be Merciful to Others

O Most Holy Trinity! As many times as I breathe, as many times as my heart beats, as many times as my blood pulsates through my body, so many thousand times do I want to glorify your mercy.

I want to be completely transformed into your mercy and to be Your living reflection O Lord. May the greatest of all divine attributes, that of your unfathomable mercy pass through my heart and soul to my neighbor.

Help me O Lord that my eyes may be merciful, so that I may never suspect or judge from appearances, but look for what is beautiful in my neighbors souls and come to their rescue.

Help me O Lord that my ears may be merciful, so that I may give heed to my neighbors needs and not be indifferent to their pains and moanings.

Help me O Lord that my tongue may be merciful so that I should never speak negatively of my neighbor, but have a word of comfort and forgiveness for all.

Help me O Lord that my hands may be merciful and filled with good deeds, so that I may do only good to my neighbors and take upon my self the more difficult and toilsome tasks.

Help me O Lord that my feet may be merciful, so that I may hurry to assist my neighbor, overcoming my own fatigue and weariness. My true rest is in the service of my neighbor.

Help me O Lord that my heart may be merciful so that I myself may feel all the sufferings of my neighbor. I will refuse my heart to no one. I will be sincere even with those who will abuse my kindness. And I will lock myself up in the most merciful Heart of Jesus. I will bear my own suffering in silence. May your mercy O Lord rest upon me.

You yourself command me to exercise the three degrees of mercy. The first; the act of mercy of whatever kind. The second; the word of mercy – if I cannot carry out a work of mercy, I will assist by my words. The third; prayer – if I cannot show mercy by deeds or words, I can always do so by prayer. My prayer reaches out even there where I cannot reach out physically. O my Jesus, transform me into yourself, for you can do all things.