Finding calm amid the chaos

I have heard from so many friends telling me that my previous post about my difficult third week of Advent rang true for them. Apparently a lot of us are feeling the same joylessness, the same darkness and confusion at a time that is supposed to be filled with light and hope.

Then today a Facebook friend in Italy posted a beautiful reflection on this very topic. I guess some things translate across oceans and continents.

The post is from a certain simplicity* (uncomplicated creative living) and it's just what I needed to hear, read, think about, absorb. I'll get you started here and then link to the blog, because you should go there today -- and any day you need a lift -- to hear lots of positive things with servings of Italy on the side.

From Diana Baur's post today:

The clutter, the discord and the difficulty are what produce the fertile ground of creativity.

On the day you decide to follow a creative path, you will have lesson after lesson handed to you. You will feel beaten, humbled, and alive. You will be aware of large churnings under the surface that no one can see or feel but you. You might smile at friends and family, talking to them about things you have always talked about, but inside you will be jumping hurdles, slaying dragons, praying for answers.

You will feel like you are running as hard as you can - in a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Your advances will be small, your badges earned. You will be a student for a very, very long time. You will wonder whether it was worth it. If you should not have just stayed where you were, in the land of mediocrity and perpetual indecision.

Continue reading...

Thank you, Diana, for giving me food for thought when I most needed to know I am not alone and I will move forward. Peace to everyone out there today who feels like they're running hard but standing still.

Advent, Week 3: Every rose has its thorn

I began this week basking in the glow of Gaudete Sunday. The thrill I get when it's time to light the pink, ahem, ROSE candle in the Advent wreath is a little ridiculous. It's just a candle, after all. And yet, I fully appreciate the placement of rose in the third week rather than the fourth. It's a little wake-up call, a sudden bright spot that urges us forward before it's too late.

My Gaudete spirit only increased when I went to a nursing home with my parish's youth ministry group last Sunday to sing carols and distribute little Christmas crafts. As we sang O Come All Ye Faithful, I spied a tiny woman hunched down in a wheelchair just to my right, singing away and smiling at me. She waved me over, and I tried to understand what she wanted me to do. Something with the Christmas craft. We tried to communicate in loud whispers so as not to disrupt the young girl reading from the Gospel of Luke, but I finally gave up and squatted down near her wheelchair to wait for a break in the show.

As I knelt there next to her, she leaned over from her chair and put her arm around me, squeezed my shoulder, and smiled. She did that at least three more times in the span of a few minutes. Talk about a bright spot in my week. When we finally managed to get back to the craft and what she wanted me to do, it became clear: She wanted me to have the Christmas decoration meant to hang on her door. After my futile attempts to make her keep it, I thanked her and took it home, promising myself I'd pray for Ruth whenever I saw it.

Then, due to the alignment -- or misalignment -- of a few events (too confusing to go into here), my rose-y spirit began to dampen and darken. Gone is the joy I had felt only days ago, gone is the hope that is supposed to be building with each day until it reaches its crescendo on Christmas, gone is my interest in or motivation for prayer. Zippo. Nada. Nothing. Darkness.

And so, during this season of dark and light, I find myself going in the wrong direction at the wrong time. Maybe it's meant to be this way. Maybe I'm supposed to experience the heart of John's Gospel in a real and felt way, knowing once and for all that the darkness can never overcome the light.

Rather than skipping through this week of Advent, I'm plodding and brooding and wishing the season would be over and done with. Then I stop and remember Ruth, smiling and singing from her wheelchair in a nursing home where life -- as pleasant as the staff tries to make it -- is difficult, at best. Every day. For Ruth and so many others like her -- my almost-98-year-old grandmother, for example -- life is never going to get easier at this point, and yet they carry on with the same determination and spirit that got them to this point.

I think Ruth was placed in my life last Sunday for a reason. When I find myself sinking into self-pity over my un-Christmasy feelings this week, I see her smiling face and feel her little squeeze around my shoulder and remember that light can come into our lives in the most unexpected ways and the most unlikely places. We just have to be willing to open the door to it.

Why Merton matters

Ever since I first came in contact with the writings of Thomas Merton some 25 years ago, he has spoken to me. I know I'm not alone there. Countless people of every faith and persuasion have found meaning in his writings and his life. Of course, others will counter that with claims that he was too flawed to be held up as a role model, or, dare I say, saint. But that's precisely why he's a great example.

I find comfort in the fact that he carried on, following his path toward God, even when he was thrown off course by his humanness. I look at Merton and see holiness wrapped in weakness, and isn't that where most of us are? We're all called to be saints, but oftentimes our humanity gets in the way. In Merton, we can see ourselves, trudging ever closer to God despite mistakes -- some of them pretty major -- and confusion and doubt.

Today, on the 42nd anniversary of his death by accidental electrocution in Bagkok, I am taking time to remember and reflect, but Merton is never far from my thoughts because so many of his words are constantly ringing in my ears.

Hanging next to my desk is this Merton quote from Thoughts in Solitude:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.

See what I mean? Comforting and yet challenging. I read those words and think, "Oh, good, Merton had no idea where he was going either." Then I read a little more and think, "Oh, no, he trusted God completely. Can I do the same?" For me that's a saintly role model, reminding me that I'm not alone but pushing me to go beyond my typical response and reach for something deeper, truer.

A couple of years ago, I received a wonderful blessing in the form of a silent retreat called "Merton in the Mountains." By a lake in the low peaks of the Adirondacks I had one weekend of solitude and silence, a brief glimpse into Merton's way of life. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was downright difficult and more than a little frightening -- to give up my voice, to sit and wait for God while trying to throw off the monkeys of worry and doubt and pride and ambition. Merton knew those same feelings, and yet he continued to return to the silence, the solitude because that is where he knew he'd find God.

Another quote from Thoughts in Solitude:

To love solitude and to seek it does not mean constantly traveling from one geographic possibility to another. A man becomes a solitary at the moment when, no matter what may be his external surroundings, he is suddenly aware of his own inalienable solitude and sees that he will never be anything but solitary. From that moment on, solitude is not potential -- it is actual.

But perhaps the quote that always calls me back, the one that echoes in my head, is the quote below. It's a constant reminder of my inability to ever know God if I try to make him in my own image:

God approaches our minds by receding from them. We can never fully know Him if we think of Him as an object of capture, to be fenced in by the enclosure of our own ideas.

We know him better after our minds have let him go.

The Lord travels in all directions at once.

The Lord arrives from all directions at once.

Wherever we are, we find that He has just departed. Wherever we go, we discover that He has just arrived before us.

Merton reminds me that I still have a shot, even when I don't get it right on a pretty regular basis. Merton, with his beautiful and powerful words, gives me something to hold onto when God feels very far away.

Thomas Merton, pray for us.

Advent, Week 2: the waiting game

I am not a patient person. Not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I consider myself to be one of the most impatient people I know. If I start an exercise routine, I expect to see results the next day, or sooner. When I pray, I often do so with one eye half-open, as if to watch for some sort of lightning bolt answer that might come down from heaven right there on the spot. I don't like to wait. Ever. Or, almost ever. There is one exception to my inability to sit still and let things unfold as they should, and that one exception is Advent.

As others spin with frantic holiday energy -- buying gifts, baking cookies, singing carols, decorating trees -- I am quite content to ignore it all and simply wait. Which kind of makes the rest of my family a little crazy. They want singing Santas and twinkling lights, but our house is decidedly unfestive at this point. If you were to stop by, you might even wonder if we plan to celebrate Christmas at all, so barren are our table tops and windows and walls. The only signs of the season are Advent signs: a wreath on the kitchen table, a purple and pink paper chain hanging from a window, the Advent calendar on the hearth, and a little Advent tree that my grandmother gave me. There's something beautiful about the starkness of it all amid the abundance of Christmas that is so obvious everywhere else. And, despite my usual impatience, I have to admit that there's something wonderful about the anticipation that continues to build every day, that expectant feeling that recognizes that something amazing is just around the corner but the time is not quite right, our spirits not quite ripe.

I find that my willingness to wait becomes stronger with every passing year, much like my love for the Advent season itself. When I was young, I didn't feel a connection to the Advent season. I used to say I was a Lent person, always more comfortable in the desert than in the midst of a party. But then slowly, slowly, slowly I began to "get" Advent, which is a desert experience of a very different kind. Silence and darkness, waiting and watching, surrender and trust. This, too, is a time to pull away from the rest of the world and retreat to a quiet place where God might get a word in edgewise.

Of course, some of my pre-Christmas patience has a practical side as well. If I put up the tree on December 1, I know I'd be tired of it long before the big day finally arrived. And the last thing I want is to be ready to leave the party before the guest of honor arrives. Waiting makes the tree and all the trimmings seem that much more special to me, and I'm hoping that the feeling is beginning to trickle down to the kids.

This morning, when I said we'd probably put up the tree next weekend, Olivia jumped for joy. When I offered to put a few little snowmen decorations out after school today, Chiara could barely contain herself. Excitement is building little by little as we inch toward the main event, trying ever so hard to keep our focus on the constant light of Jesus and not on all those twinkling, temporary flashes around us.

Patient waiting...a pregnant pause, full of expectant joy, much a like a mother waiting for labor to begin. We are growing more ripe each day, more ready for what is to come. In the crisp, cold air we feel a warm glow that burns stronger and stronger each day, as our hearts cry out, Maranatha, "Our Lord, come."

From one spiritual friendship author to another

Sometimes the blog world and the world of Facebook just amaze me. That's how I "met" Dan Brennan, author of "Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions: Engaging the Mystery of Friendship Between Men and Women." In addition to posting a review of my book on his website (HERE), Dan posted the following review on Amazon. The best part (as far as I'm concerned) is that Dan is Protestant/Evangelical, confirming for me that my book is not limited to a Catholic audience (despite the word "Catholic" in the title.) Thanks for the kind words, Dan. Here's his Amazon review:

Five out of five stars
A Protestant's Thumbs up!
By Dan Brennan

This review is from: Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship (Paperback)

Since I have a passion for the subject of spiritual friendship, I was eager to get this book when I found out about it. I was not disappointed. Mary DeTurris Poust does a great job of translating the depth and passion of spiritual friendship in Catholic tradition as something good and beautiful for twenty-first century readers. As a Protestant/evangelical, I highly recommend this accessible book. When I was looking for resources on cross-gender friendship as I was writing my own book, I could hardly find any books or material written from an evangelical perspective. However, I did come across a reference to the friendship between St. Francis de Sales and St. Jeanne de Chantal. That discovery opened the doors for me to discover the rich history of spiritual friendships in Catholic Tradition.

Walking Together is a very good book that introduces us to that history and what spiritual friendship looks like in our superficial and shallow culture today. Poust does an excellent job of helping us understand the beauty of friendship love for us today. Something so beautiful requires nurturing, communication, transparency, and intentionality. Poust gets that. I recommend this book for all Christians who are hungering after something more deeper than what the media portrays in popular friendships.

Tune in today for a discussion on friendship

I will be a guest on "In the Heartland with Bishop Pates" of Des Moines at 10 a.m. CT today. You can catch the show live online at www.kvss.com, or listen on KWKY 1150 AM in Des Moines and KVSS 102.7 FM in Omaha.

Also, for those of you looking to buy my new book "Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship," please let me know if you have trouble getting a copy. Word on the street is that smaller bookshops cannot get the books in stock because the larger distributors are back ordered. Folks in New York's Capital Region should contact me directly and I will get you books in time for Christmas. Other folks can send an email and we can work something out by mail.

Or visit the usual spots, including Amazon, and, of course, my publisher, Ave Maria Press. (B&N and Borders are back ordered at the moment.) And, remember, if all else fails, please contact me directly for signed copies.

UPDATED: Just found out that my book tops the list of Christmas gift suggestions over at The Anchoress. Plus lots of other friends have books on the list. Check it out HERE.

Join the Advent Conspiracy

Every Advent I set out with the best of intentions. I will pray more, and I will not allow the secular world's clarion call of "Buy, buy, buy" to drown out the less flashy but more important scriptural message of "Stay awake!" I vow not to go to shopping malls. I refuse to put up decorations too early. I take tags off the parish Giving Tree. I talk to the kids about asking for reasonable gifts and not expecting everything on their lists. But inevitably, by the time we're one week out from Christmas, I find we've blown our budget and bought way more than anyone needed -- or wanted, for that matter.

I just got off the phone with a friend and I talked about my issues with this season. Most people I know are almost done with their Christmas shopping. I haven't even started. So I told him, "Don't expect too much. I've decided I'm just not going to try that hard this year." I do not mean that in a Bah-Humbug! sort of way. I mean that I'm just not going to let worries over meaningless gifts that will probably get tossed in a closet become the focus of the next few weeks.

Then I saw the video clip above. (Big h/t to Mike Hayes over at Googling God for bringing this one to my attention.) It says it all. Watch it, and then join me in not trying so hard -- or spending so much -- this season.

And while you're at it, check out the second part of Patrice Athanasidy's Advent series over at Fathers for Good. Click HERE to read about how her family counters the focus on material stuff at Christmas.

Then click HERE to read Jesuit Father James Martin's post on Advent "desire" and how it's not all bad.

Advent, Week 1: Spirituality in shades of indigo

As we move through this first week of Advent, I feel immersed in indigo-tinged prayers. Not literally, since the candles in our Advent wreath and the paper links on our Advent chain are clearly purple. No hints of midnight blue there. But inside, when I settle into prayer, I bask in the deep, dark, blue-purple shades that are meant for this season.

My pastor described it last weekend as the shade of the night sky just before dawn. Perfect imagery, I think. Imagine that dark mixture of black and purple and blue that suddenly transforms into bright oranges and yellows and reds with the appearance of the sun. Or, for those of us following the color chart of Advent spirituality, the appearance of the Son.

We are waiting for the Son-rise of Christmas, the moment when Light enters the world in a totally transforming way, the moment when we open our own lives up to that Light and allow it to cast out the shadows that lurk in our souls.

"...What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." -- John 1:5

The infancy narratives are lovely to read during this season leading up to Christmas, but no Scripture speaks to my heart better than the poetry of John's prologue. If those words had a color, they'd be indigo, don't you think? Even the readings of this season have an indigo feel to them -- the anticipation of Christ's birth balanced by the anticipation of the second coming and our willingness to be ready for it at any time. Maybe it's just me, but, boy, that's as indigo as it gets.

"Stay awake!" Jesus tells us this week. We are on guard for what is to come, but we know enough to be not afraid because just when the night seems to reach its darkest hour comes the Light, and our world is reborn, our indigo souls flushed with the bright white of Christ's love.

For at least a few minutes each day, soak up the indigo shades of Advent. Prayerfully (and figuratively, if you're not a morning person) sit in the pre-dawn darkness and feel the anticipation of the sunrise that is to come. Get away from the reds and greens that bombard us during this season and settle into a peaceful, prayerful, joyful, expectant indigo spirituality.

A Thanksgiving Day to remember

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I got to thinking back to the first Thanksgiving Dennis and I spent as a married couple. We had moved to Austin just a few months before and decided to give thanks in a different way that year. So today, I am rerunning a favorite Life Lines column in honor of the holiday and in recognition of all those folks who will not sit down to a feast of food on Thursday. Here it is:

In the past, whenever the dolls and Legos would overflow our kids’ toy bins, we’d give things away to charity. We figured it was a good way to do something nice, clean our closets, and teach our kids the importance of giving to others all at the same time.

Ever since Noah turned 2, he knew that many of his toys would eventually go to “the poor.” We never really put a face on “the poor,” but whenever a toy was conspicuous by its absence, Noah would ask if they had it.

We thought we were teaching him a valuable lesson in Christian charity. Then one night he took the globe off the coffee table, spun it around and randomly put his finger on Egypt. “Is this where the poor live?” he asked.

I tried to imagine what was going through his head. I had visions of hungry children on the other side of the world opening boxes filled with Teletubbies and beeping plastic steering wheels.

And so began our quest to teach our kids just how many people are desperately poor, not just on the other side of the globe, but on the other side of town. We tried to find ways to drive the point home: a brown bag full of cans from our pantry at Thanksgiving, a gift for the Giving Tree at Christmas, an Easter basket for a needy child. They were all lovely sentiments – and important in their own ways -- but hardly enough to convey what the Gospel challenges us to do.

The first Thanksgiving after Dennis and I were married we volunteered to serve breakfast to hungry men and women who didn’t have plans for a home-cooked meal, or a home for that matter. A woman who ran the Catholic Worker House was happy for the extra hands and told us to be at the day labor corner at 7:30 a.m. to hand out hard-boiled eggs, tortillas and hot coffee.

The woman was known around town as “The Egg Lady” because she was out there with her eggs not just on Thanksgiving but every day. She drove homeless people to AA meetings, let them shower at her house, gave them clothes and offered them prayers. She reached out a hand where many would recoil in fear. She told us how one man she’d been helping stole her car. She said it without a hint of anger, without an ounce of regret. Then she boiled more eggs and went back out to the streets.

Now that is a lesson in Christian charity. Talk about living the Gospel. It’s not nearly as neat and easy as throwing some canned corn in a paper bag. In fact it’s the kind of charity that I find downright scary. But it’s exactly the kind of charity we need to embrace if we’re going to teach our kids about compassion and our duty to make sure people have eggs and coffee and a generous serving of dignity and respect.

Maybe this year we’ll hold onto the extra Elmos and try a different approach – like talking about the fact that there are poor people right here, that they’re just like us except they don’t have a way to pay for food or doctor visits or heat during the winter. Bags of food and boxes of toys are a good start, but they won’t end poverty. We end poverty, and not just with a checkbook but with a change of heart. Maybe that’s a naïve idea, but people like The Egg Lady put it to the test every day.

Unfortunately there are plenty of opportunities to test our mettle. Spin the globe. Put your finger down. Anywhere. That’s where the poor live.

Originally published in Catholic New York, November 2001. If you would like to learn more about the real "Egg Lady," click HERE.

Get a free hug to start your weekend

Here's a great video (with awesome music) to send you into the weekend with a smile. Give someone an unexpected free hug today.

Celebrating with my soul sisters

Thank you to all my Cornerstone sisters, friends from St. Thomas the Apostle, and friends from Delmar in general who gave up a night at home with their families to attend my talk and signing at Christ the King Church in Albany. I had a great time. I hope you did too. I felt so lifted up and blessed by your support. Your being there really meant the world to me, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And related to the book stuff, here's a new Amazon review of my book, posted by another Diocese of Albany friend. Thanks, Fran. What a wonderful review:

5.0 out of 5 stars A Walk - and a Gift - For One and All, November 19, 2010
By FranReadsALot "Fran Rossi Szpylczyn" (Albany, NY United States)

This review is from: Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship (Paperback)

Looking for the perfect Christmas gift for your friends and family? Look no further, Walking Together will fit the bill for so many, because friendship is the gift.

Using examples from many sources, Mary DeTurris Poust puts forth a beautiful little volume that is a gift to read. She is intellectual but completely accessible, she is filled with great warmth but never saccharine. Her words about people as diverse as St. Francis de Sales, Bishop Howard Hubbard, her mother and her husband and more will inspire you.

I love books like this, written in a way that allows you to flip from chapter to chapter, not necessarily in order. Each chapter invites you to look at friendship that is spiritual but very real. And if being Roman Catholic is about anything, it is about being in our bodies and being part of The Body that is all very real. That said, this is not a book for Catholics alone, but rather a way for anyone to reframe their view of friendship and faith in a new light.

And while you are buying gifts for all of your friends, please - make sure you buy one for yourself!

Click HERE for the Amazon link, HERE for the Barnes and Noble link, and HERE for the Ave Maria Press link. I'm hoping to get a Pay Pal link up on my own website soon so you can order signed copies directly from me in time for Christmas. If you want a book signed before that's up and running, email me privately and we'll work something out. Once you've had a chance to read the book, please consider posting a review at Amazon or B&N. Thank you, one and all!

Soul to Soul Conversations

Check out my latest column on spiritual friendship, Soul to Soul Conversations, up on Faith & Family Live! this week. I'll be taping a podcast for Faith & Family today, so stay tuned for more on when you can download that.

Soul to Soul Conversations
The importance of spiritual friendship
by Mary DeTurris Poust

We live in age when we can strike up a new friendship with the click of a mouse, when our “friends,” many of whom we’ve never even met, can number into the hundreds, or even thousands, thanks to social networking. Yet despite all the connections and links and “likes” about everything from what we cooked for dinner last night to our latest work project, most people are hungry for something more.
We can have 395 Facebook friends and still feel lonely. We can “talk” to people all day in an almost constant stream of e-mail, telephone and online chats and never have a conversation that dips below the surface to touch the soul. We can surround ourselves around the clock with co-workers and neighbors, parishioners and family members and still wonder at times if we’re flying solo.

Continue reading...

A potential convert tests the waters - UPDATED

If you think Facebook is just for superficial commentary on the silly and sundry things that happen throughout the day, think again. Sometimes Facebook gets serious. And spiritual. Yesterday a Facebook friend posted the following status update:

“Ok, all you Catholics out there - what words of advice, encouragement or warning would you share with someone who is thinking of converting to Catholicism?”

Wow. It takes a lot of courage to send that message out there into the universe, or at least the world of Facebook. I promised, in my OSV Daily Take post yesterday (where you can read what others have to say on this subject), that I would respond with my own answers to that question today. It's a good question for any Catholic to ponder every once in a while, I think. So here we go...

Advice: Follow your heart, or, more accurately, follow the Spirit. If you're being drawn to the Catholic faith and feel the stirrings of something deep within your soul, don't ignore it. Embrace it. Revel in it. Sometimes, as a lifelong Catholic, I'm envious of those who have had a "conversion experience," those people who aren't just born into the faith but are called to seek out the Catholic faith in an active way. What a tremendous gift!

When I hear about someone considering the Catholic faith, I am filled with awe and excitement. Awe because it's a reminder that God is still calling people; excitement because I know that grace will flow from your conversion, and your life will be transformed.

Encouragement: Ours is a rich and beautiful tradition, filled with ancient rituals that connect us back to our beginnings but also feed us where we are right now. Take the time to explore and appreciate the many diverse spiritual practices that will strengthen your faith, starting with Mass, of course. But don't stop there. You can find spiritual nourishment in so many wonderful places -- private devotions, like the Rosary; silent meditation or contemplation; the lives and examples of saints and holy men and women from throughout our history; the Liturgy of the Hours (although I have to admit that I still struggle with this one in a big way).

As you continue on this journey, know that you are surrounded by countless others -- the Communion of Saints -- who walk the same path. We are a family, and you are never alone.

Warning: Unfortunately, every family has its issues. Many of us born into the Catholic faith take it for granted. We forget, sometimes, just how amazing this gift of faith really is. We sit in church and look bored. We forget to pray at home. We complain about this priest or that parish. You will come to the faith with a zeal that many of us cradle Catholics have never known, so you may look around and wonder why you're the only one who seems to be on fire with the faith. Be patient with us.

Being Catholic isn't always popular. In fact, it's often not popular. People are likely to tell you you're crazy for wanting to join us. People will decide at dinner parties and summer picnics that it is the perfect time to confront you about every single thing they hate or don't understand about the Catholic Church. Don't be afraid. Although it can get annoying to be grilled about things over which you have no control or misconceptions that many people cling to, it's all part of the package. Jesus never said it was going to be easy. He often said it was going to be really, really difficult. Those moments are likely to be the times that reaffirm your faith and force you to put into words what you normally just keep hidden in your heart. It' s a beautiful faith, a Church that stretches back in an unbroken chain to Jesus Christ. You can't get that anywhere else.

Finally, our Church is not perfect. It is made up of human beings, and while I'll be the first one to stand up and say that I find that excuse rather lame when monumental sins and scandals come to light, the reality is that it is true. God gave us free will, and some of us will not use that freedom for good. Given the history of our Church and the enormity of our world, it is inevitable that sometimes someone with less-than-pure intentions is going to enter the picture and do things to hurt the rest of us. Keep the faith. They are not the Church. We are the Church. We are the Body of Christ on earth, and if Christ is for us, who can be against us?

UPDATE: I'll be talking about this on the Son Rise Morning Show with Brian Patrick tomorrow, Nov. 12, at 6:50 a.m. Eastern time. If you're not in Cincinnati, you can listen live online by clicking HERE.

Friendship under a spiritual microscope

This review really captured the heart and soul of my new book. My favorite review of any book I've ever written. It appeared in this week's Evangelist of the Diocese of Albany. Check it out, if you have a few minutes.

BY FRAN ROSSI SZPYLCZYN

A recent piece in the LA Times newspaper left me stunned. Citing one study of Americans, the article stated that most people "had one-third fewer non-family confidants than they had 20 years earlier, and 25 percent had no one in whom to confide whatsoever."

It continued, "Another study of 3,000 Americans found that, on average, they had only four close social contacts."

We are a pilgrim people and, as Catholics, we are "covenantal" people, so those numbers startled me. That may be one reason I enjoyed "Walking Together: Discovering the Catholic Tradition of Spiritual Friendship" by Mary DeTurris Poust.

With friendship frequently defined as being a mouse-click away, this book shines with the potential of what relationship can actually mean.

Continue reading HERE.

More Mary than you know what to do with...

Sorry I've been absent from the blog for a while. Book promotion in other arenas is burning up a lot of hours. In a good way. So...if you'd like to see what I've been doing while I've been away, here we go:

Tonight I'll be on Currents, the nightly public affairs show of The NET, at 7:30 p.m. If you're not in Manhattan or Brooklyn, you want watch it live via streaming by clicking HERE. It will repeat at 11:30 p.m. tonight and 6:30 a.m. tomorrow. And after that it will be up on YouTube.

You can also click on the video link above and watch my interview via Skype with the folks of Everyday Faith Live! on Telecare-TV. I'm at the 15 minute mark.

If you click HERE, you can see the recent review of my book in U.S. Catholic.

And today a wonderful review by my Facebook friend Fran Rossi Szpylczyn is running in The Evangelist (of the Diocese of Albany). Page six for those with print editions. An online version is coming soon. Don't worry, I'll post the link. As if you ever doubted.

On Saturday, watch the Albany Times Union for my Voices of Faith column on spiritual friendship. And don't forget, I'll be selling books after all Masses at St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Delmar on Nov. 13-14 and speaking about spiritual friendship at Christ the King Church, Albany, on Thursday, Nov. 18, at 7 p.m.

There have actually been numerous other radio shows and articles (for which I am so grateful), but I think you get the idea. I'll be heading to NJ tomorrow for a Saturday workshop in the Diocese of Metuchen. If you're going to be in the area, check my website for details and stop by and say hello. God is good. Life is good. I am blest.