I. Elizabeth Aviva Fiada March 20, 2017 A wise man gifted Mary myrrh; his prayers fell silent before her stare; he lifted eyes of slate and stirred, afraid to speak—to prophesy, to say her Son was born to die. In Ireland, there is green that never fades and caves that gasp against the waves. Years…
Dear Cece, Today is the last day of November, and on this day, I want to teach you about the Greek word eucharistia, which is translated as “thankfulness” or “gratitude.” Thanksgiving is a uniquely American holiday, but the act of thanksgiving is much, much older. Our theology will tell you that thanksgiving is the first…
There is a wrongness about death that feels inescapable, as illogical as this is. The entire structure of the created world is that of decay and regeneration, and yet, the death of a human person feels like it must be avoided at all costs. We cannot accept it. Something about it feels unnatural, wrong, inhuman….
As human persons, we are born with an innate incapacity for self-regulation. Our initial understanding of self exists only in reference to our mothers; we are inescapably relational creatures from the first stirrings of conception. An infant can no more control his or her emotions than cause the sun to rise and set at will….
For the newly postpartum mother, the exact tone, pitch, and key of her newborn infant’s cry can trigger panic, milk, and tears simultaneously. This is not coincidence. This is not emotionalism. There is nothing in the world like the cry of a newborn mammal, and there is no one in the world more equipped to…
There is a term called “existential loneliness,” indicating that the very state of being human is to be alone, to suffer alone, to die alone. Some argue we are living in an epidemic of loneliness, even before this pandemic and social isolation. I have heard doctors refer to cancer cells as “acting out of a…
Before the start of the holidays, my therapist told me that Jewish tradition believes we will be held accountable for the joy that was offered to us which we refused to experience. I admit this concept has dominated much of my free thought throughout this Christmas and New Years. The problem, however, is not that…
On April 16, 1879, St. Bernadette Soubirous of Lourdes died at age 35. She was always a sickly child, barely surviving the cholera epidemic of 1855 and suffering from asthma all throughout her short life. Towards the end, she developed tuberculosis, culminating in a tubercular tumor on her right knee. According to the nuns who…
I spent my undergraduate years insatiably devouring mystical and sacred texts from world religions, desperately hoping to find answers to the inexhaustible questions of life. Among the most important of these questions to me was the nature and meaning of suffering. Buddhist teaching frustrated and repelled me because it advocated eliminating attachment as a way…
On Wednesday, Cecilia will turn fifteen months old. Her tiny feet are still turned inwards, monkey-like, and her fragile ankles struggles to support the weight of her growing body. She works her little heart out every day while practicing standing, taking steps, shifting her weight, balancing, turning, and clasping onto my arms and fingers to…