Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI (16 April 1927 - 31 December 2022)

"If we allow the love of Christ to change our heart,

 then we can change the world. This is the secret of

authentic happiness."

As the New Year quickly approaches us, let us take a moment to remember the incredible life of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, who passed away this morning at 9.34 at the age of 95. While no longer serving as acting pope at the time of his death, he left a lasting impact on the Church as a whole before, during, and after his papacy. Let us offer up our prayers today in gratitude for all the beautiful work G'D allowed him to do, and for his soul, that he may rest in the arms of his King in Heaven until the end of time and beyond. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of G'D, rest in peace.

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Teresa

It was an ordinary Christmas in the home of the Missionaries of Charity in Calcutta. Mother Teresa, her sisters, and Monsignor Hnilica sat around a table, enjoying a simple Christmas meal together, laughing and talking and sharing the love of Jesus through their smiles. These women sitting around Monsignor Hnilica had an unearthly happiness about them. Even though they were not blessed with fortune and richness, they had what they needed, and they used it all to help those poorer than they. 

At one point in the dinner, the doorbell rang, and one of the sisters went to answer it. She returned a few minutes later, explaining how a woman had given it to her and run off afterwards.

“It must be money or food from a benefactor,” the sister said, handing the basket to Teresa. As she removed the clothes from the top of the basket, her eyes lit up and she exclaimed, “Jesus has come to us this Christmas!”

Everyone jumped up from the table to see what Teresa was talking about. They gasped as their eyes fell upon the figure of an Indian child, sleeping soundly. The sisters wrapped him up and took care of him, doting on him all that Christmas Eve. 

This is what made Teresa and her sisters so happy. This is what caused Teresa’s famous radiant smile, which lights up the hearts of everyone who sets eyes on her. Teresa and her sisters saw Jesus in every person they met, recognizing Him in poor children who ran around looking for food all day, in women who searched through the trash to find things good enough to eat, in men who were covered in terrible sores from leprosy. Teresa saw Jesus in every person, knowing He was there, living inside them, even if they did not even know Him. 

Teresa lived her life for Jesus, quite literally. She lived it serving others, whom she knew were the Temples of the Holy Spirit. She loved them with a love she felt for Jesus, and now her love is famous. Everyone has seen photographs of Mother Teresa, the smiling poor woman from Albania who “gave up her life to serve the poor”. But Mother Teresa did not give up her life, as some people say. Rather, by her own accounts, she gained it. She found the source and fullness of her life, Jesus, serving the poorest of the poor in the filthy slums of Calcutta. She did not avoid them, as others did. Teresa went to them and healed not only their bodies, but also their hearts. 

Teresa, who died in 1997 at the age of 87, shows us that even in this modern time, we can still find Jesus. She shows us that it does not matter who you are, where you are from, or how old you are - all that matters is where you are going. Teresa went to the slums to find Jesus. Where can you find Jesus this Christmas?

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Thérèse

“Well, fortunately, this is the last year.”

It was Christmas 1886, and the three members of the Martin family had just returned home from Midnight Mass. Mr. Martin and Celine, tired from the strain of being up at such a late hour, were selflessly preparing the parlor for the gift unwrapping as the youngest daughter, Thérèse, hurried upstairs to put her coat away. Thirteen-year-old Thérèse thought that Christmas was going wonderfully until she heard this remark from her sleepy father. Celine bit her lip, knowing if Thérèse was to hear such a comment, it would set her hypersensitive sister off. Peeking around the corner to whisper up the stairs while their father grabbed the treats, Celine addressed her sister. 

“You best calm down before coming back to get your surprise,” Celine suggested, trying to look out for both her sister and her father. 

Celine disappeared from the staircase, and Thérèse was left alone to sob her heart out, as she usually did when something of the sort happened. She sunk to the ground, the tears forming in her eyes burning them. How could this be the last year?! she thought grumpily. How could Father do this to me?

By chance, the sensitive teenager looked up, and she met eyes with the figure of Jesus, hanging on the crucifix on the wall just upstairs. Crucifixes were commonplace in her home - it was nothing new to Thérèse. But in that moment, Thérèse felt all of her tears recede, and she found herself simply in awe of the self-sacrificing G’D whom she worshiped. 

I can be like that, Thérèse thought. I can be like Jesus.

Standing up slowly, Thérèse ran downstairs, setting her coat on a nearby chair. Her shoes were filled to the brim with candy and little gifts. Celine was sitting on the ground by the hearth, and Mr. Martin was just walking into the room from the kitchen, holding a mug of tea in his hands. Upon seeing the face of her father, Thérèse ran up and threw her arms around him, leading him to a chair so he could watch the girls unwrap their many presents. Celine smiled to herself from the hearth, knowing all was well between them. In her own heart, she could sense the change in her sister, and she noticed it persisted all through their unwrapping session.

Celine would later come to understand, through the memoirs of her little sister, what exactly had transpired on the staircase in the early hours of that particular Christmas morning. And Thérèse, through her diary, would touch the world, teaching them to sacrifice their own needs and wants through her Little Way. What began on that staircase would continue on for the rest of her twenty-four years, and not a day would go by in her life as a Carmelite nun in which Thérèse would not thank G’D passionately for allowing her heart to be opened to Him. 

Thérèse’s “Christmas Conversion”, as she termed it in her memoirs, is an excellent example to us, future saints, that something so metamorphic can come out of an ordinary circumstance. If Jesus can touch the heart of an 1800s catastrophizer melting with emotion on the stairs of her home, what can Jesus not do for us - or rather, what would He not do for us?

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Clare

“I’m sorry, Mother Clare,” one of the younger nuns said as she pulled the back of her hand away from Clare’s burning forehead. “You are simply too sick to attend Mass tonight.”

“But Sister Annunciata,” Clare protested. “It’s Christmas Eve! No sickness will keep me from the Eucharist!”

“Mother Clare,” Sister Annunciata said gently, “you are so frail. I don’t think you will be able to even get over to the Church. Our Lord understands your sickness and will comfort you here.”

“But Sister-” Clare objected, but Sister Annunciata shook her head. 

“Please, Mother,” Sister Annunciata begged. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Clare clasped the wooden rosary beads in her fingers even tighter and sighed. 

“Yes, Sister,” Clare agreed. “I will do what you ask.”

Sister Annunciata smiled her bright, Christ-filled smile and kissed Clare on the forehead before closing the door of Clare’s dark cell. Clare laid down in bed, her fingers twisting around her rosary beads. Why must I be sick now? Clare wondered sorrowfully. What could the Lord wish to accomplish with this?

Suddenly, a great light illuminated her room, as if the sun itself had been dropped from the sky and had settled in her cell. Clare threw a hand over her eyes, which were burning from the brilliance. A few seconds later, Clare’s nose began to tingle. There was something…beautiful…in the air. She pulled her hand down and her ears were instantly met with the piercingly beautiful sounds of a choir. In awe, Clare looked around her. The ceilings above her head were vaulted, soaring up to heaven, and there were vibrant colors everywhere. It was the Basilica of Saint Francis, the most beautiful church she knew of - but how was she there? 

Unable to answer these questions herself, Clare’s focus was drawn to the marble altar, where the priest was standing, leading the congregation in the Sign of the Cross. Clare made it with him and with the people, forgetting her questions and immersing herself in the mystery of the Mass. 

The Mass was absolutely beautiful, and Clare had almost completely forgotten that she wasn’t really there when suddenly, right when the priest passed, everything in the room fell away, and there was only darkness and silence.

At first, Clare was frightened. Where was she? Where was the bright, beautiful church she loved so much? As her eyes focused in the dim light, she began to take in sounds. She could hear the faint lowing of cows somewhere near to her. Her eyes set themselves upon a light a little ways away. Interested, Clare moved closer and stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she saw the people. 

It’s just like Francis’ crèche! she thought, her eyes settling on three figures centered in the little cave she had found. There was a man, his fingers clutching the staff at his side, and a young woman, whose eyes were resolutely fixed on the child in her arms. Clare put a hand to her gaping mouth and knelt down, leaning herself against the stones that made up the border of the young couple’s refuge. 

Is this what heaven is like? she asked herself. She was perfectly content to sit there and watch her Messiah sit in the arms of his adoring parents for all eternity.

Just as suddenly as the image had come, everything evaporated and there was only darkness. Clare stood up and looked around her. There was no vantage point, nothing for her to grasp - and Clare was afraid. 

Clare felt pressure on her shoulder, and instantly she was consumed in a divine peace. Her eyes detected a bright light around her. And turning slowly, she met eyes with her Messiah. He held the Eucharist in His hands, ready to give it to Clare. Tears of joy began to form in her eyes as she dropped to her knees.

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“Mother Clare!” a voice called distantly. “Mother Clare!” 

Clare’s eyes opened and she looked around. She was back in her convent in Italy, far from the cathedral, from Bethlehem, from heaven. She took in the sounds of her sisters running up the stairs, excited to see their leader who was too sick to attend Mass with them.

Sister Annunciata burst into the room, followed by Sister Isabella, Sister Lucia, and Sister Ginevra. 

Sisters Isabella and Lucia stood around Clare’s bed, while Sister Annunciata placed herself at Clare’s feet and Sister Ginevra knelt on the floor, taking Clare’s hand in her own.

“We really, truly missed you, Mother,” Sister Ginevra said sweetly. “It was such a beautiful Mass.”

“I am so happy you were able to be there, my sisters,” Clare told them with a radiant smile. 

“I wish you could have been there too, Mother,” Sister Isabella said. “You would have really loved it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sister!” Clare exclaimed, taking sorrowful Sister Isabella’s hand. “Don’t worry. The Lord took care of me.”

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Francis

It was a dark Christmas Eve in the year 1223, and hundreds of townspeople had gathered outside a local cave to watch a man give a demonstration. They held flickering candles and wore many layers to protect from the merciless cold. The man who led the demonstration was a poor religious of average height, his hair shaved into the tonsure style, and he wore no shoes. He appeared to be a dirty outcast to anyone from outside the small town of Greccio, but everyone there knew and loved him. So who was this well-loved friar, and what had he gathered the people for?

Francis had just come to Greccio from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. It had been a long, exhausting journey of 1984 miles there and 1984 miles back, but Francis had never been more inspired. He considered the journey, no matter how long and perilous it was, to be the most important physical journey of his life, and he had returned to his beloved Italy a changed man. His love for Jesus, especially for the Christ Child, had swelled while visiting Bethlehem, and now Francis wanted to do something to honor the humble earthly beginnings of the Messiah to replicate his life-changing experience for others who could not make the long journey to see Bethlehem. 

And so Francis had an idea. Covertly, away from the eyes of the people, he began to prepare a Christmas surprise for them. He found a cave a ways from the city and began to stock it with oxen and donkeys and hay. He crafted a manger and found people to represent the people present at the birth of Christ. Finally, it was ready!

Francis showed his work to his brothers first before sending them out to tell the townspeople of the exciting event that would transpire the next day in the cave outside their town. People were at first confused, but when they heard Francis’ name, they became excited, wondering what the radical friar would do next.

The turnout was exceptional, and as Francis exited the cave from the last-minute preparations, he instantly thanked G’D at the sight of the people, waiting to see. Francis nodded to them, and let them come forward to see his Christmas scene, which he had toiled so hard on. Francis pulled out the Biblical account of the birth of Christ from Saint Luke’s Gospel and began to read in a loud voice, so all could hear and reflect on the incredible event of Christ’s birth. 

“Now it happened that, while they were there, the time came for her to have her child,” Francis read, “and she gave birth to a son, her first-born. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger because…”

At that moment, Francis paused reading and went to kneel in front of the manger. The people, singing songs of praise, craned their necks in order to see what Francis was doing. 

Francis could not believe his eyes. There, in the manger, lay a small child - a baby! - sleeping. Instantly, Francis gently took the child into his arms and began to cry. Everything around him melted away, and to Francis, there was only the Christ Child in his arms. 

This Christmas miracle, born from the mind of Saint Francis, is a practice still widely used today. This is the origin of the nativities you see in your home, which are brought forth from boxes and put in prominent places for all to see. So even if you cannot travel to Bethlehem, as many of us cannot, you can still treasure the events that happened there through a scene, carefully replicated from one crafted by Saint Francis just under eight hundred years ago!

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Lucy

At the crack of dawn, Kateri opened her eyes, looking around the room. It was a dark winter’s morning and the sun was not yet up. At first, Kateri considered falling back to sleep, mentally groaning at the thought of losing sleep before school. But when her eyes settled on the white robe that was draped over her wooden desk chair, Kateri jumped out of bed with a passion. It was the thirteenth of December, and Kateri had a mission of love that not even the coldest Wisconsin winters could keep her from. 

Careful not to wake the sisters that shared her room, Kateri changed from her warm pajamas into the thin white robe that she had set out the night before. Quickly tying a sash around her waist, Kateri grabbed the little wreath from the desk and dashed out of her bedroom on tiptoes. 

The oven clock read 5.52am when Kateri arrived at the foot of the stairs. Mother was busy in the kitchen making breakfast for the children to eat before they got ready to go to school. 

“Good morning, Saint Lucy,” said Mother cheerily, planting a kiss on Kateri’s cheek. Kateri smiled and looked around the kitchen for the sweet bread she had delicately prepared the night before, long after her younger siblings had gone up to bed. Kateri 

went over to the counter and grabbed her tray, piling the little loaves of sweet bread onto it. Mother set a pitcher of hot chocolate onto the tray beside the buns and Kateri added four little mugs. Nodding at the assemblage of warm breakfast treats, she readjusted the wreath atop her head and trekked back up the stairs to the bedrooms of her siblings. 

After knocking on the door to the boys’ room, Kateri opened it. The sleepy eyes of her younger brothers, Ambrose and Joseph, immediately lit up as they saw their older sister coming to greet them with breakfast in bed. After serving the boys, Kateri moved on to her own bedroom, where her younger sisters Zelie and Gemma were fast asleep in their bed. Opening the door, light flooded into the room behind her and she went to wake up her sleeping sisters. 

“Good morning, guys,” said Kateri with a smile. “I brought you breakfast!”

Zelie and Gemma reached for their early morning treats with squeals of delight. This was what made Kateri want to continue doing it every year - beyond the seemingly everlasting tiredness that was involved in waking up before the roosters, there were always jolly smiles to look forward to, and Kateri would never trade those for the world!

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Can you imagine a time when it was illegal to be a Christian? In a faraway country called Italy, a long time ago, it was. The Italian Christians, however, were a fierce bunch, not afraid of what earthly rulers would do to them if they decided to follow Jesus, so they held Masses in secret and supported each other under cover of darkness. Many Christians were even killed because they believed in Jesus! But even with the threat of death over their heads all the time, the Christians did not stop loving Jesus and sharing the Good News with those who had never heard His name. They were fearless people, unafraid of death, because they knew that death was the way to meet the man they honored more than the most powerful king - Jesus!

One of these fearless people was a young woman named Lucy. She promised Jesus that she would never get married and consecrated her life to the service of the suffering Christians who were in deep trouble with the leaders of their country. When she was only twenty years old, Lucy’s acts of kindness towards Christians in danger were discovered by the government and she was put to death. She died when she was still very young, but she was inspiring to the other Christians, and soon her story spread. Eventually, Lucy became one of the first saints honored by the Catholic Church because of her bravery and compassion for Christians. 

One of Saint Lucy’s most famous kindnesses began underground, but eventually spread all over the world. Lucy would bring food and prayers to the Christians hiding underground in the catacombs wearing a wreath of candles to light her way. Now, on her feast day, girls and boys all over the world participate in pageants and processions, or wake up their siblings with warm breakfast treats, just like Kateri’s story!

Even though we are no longer we are not facing death for Jesus in America, we can still look to Saint Lucy as an example for how we should act towards people who are being persecuted. We don’t have to stop celebrating Saint Lucy when the sun sets on her feast day - we can celebrate it all year ‘round through our kind works towards others! Saint Lucy knew Jesus was inside of every person. Let’s follow her example and see people not as objects, but as Temples of the Holy Spirit!

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Nicholas

Nicholas was hurrying through the streets of Myra, browsing the town’s handful of shops and markets for vegetables. The kindhearted bishop of Myra knew that in the winter, vegetables were scarce, but knowing that fact didn't stop him from perusing the stands at the market, making sure his suspicions were true. 

Nicholas’ eyes caught on a slew of carrots sitting atop a wooden table. He walked over and began to inspect the vegetables under the cautious eyes of the woman manning the market stand. As he was looking the healthy, fire-colored carrots on the table, his ears caught on a conversation going on a few paces over. 

“Did you hear about Mustafa’s daughters?” one woman asked. “It looks as though he will have to sell them off, since he cannot pay the appropriate dowry.”

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” the other woman replied with a sigh. “Mustafa has never had much money at all.”

Upon hearing the words of the women near him, Nicholas’ mind fell deep into thought. He knew Mustafa as a good, honorable man, even though he was not a Catholic and did not attend Nicholas’ church. He knew Mustafa would be eternally grieved if his daughters were not with him, especially knowing they were working as slaves. Nicholas’ heart was saddened by the women’s revelation, but he did not know what to do. 

“Bishop, are you going to pay for those carrots?” the shopkeeper asked, pulling Nicholas from the world of his thoughts and back onto the chilly Myra street. Nicholas nodded absentmindedly and pulled a pouch full of gold coins from his pocket, extracting one and handing it over to the shopkeeper. As the woman wrapped up the carrots and handed them to Nicholas, he had an idea. What if he were to go to Mustafa’s house and give the money to him? 

No, he thought. He didn't want Mustafa to know it was him - Nicholas was a very humble man. As he walked through the winding streets with an armful of carrots, Nicholas pondered how he would deliver the money to Mustafa without the kind man knowing it had been the bishop of Myra. If he left it outside, it might be stolen. He could throw it inside…but there was no guarantee the windows would be unlocked. 

Nicholas was deep in thought for the rest of the evening. After a while, he decided to put some coins in a bag and walk over to Mustafa’s house to see if, perhaps, G’D had left a window open for him. Praying all the way, the timid bishop asked G’D to provide a way for him to leave the money safely with the family.

As he approached the house, he peeked through the window. No one was in their living room except for the three daughters, who were sleeping on a cot under the window. He tapped the window to see if it would open, and by the grace of G’D, it did! Relieved, Nicholas looked for a place to drop it. He couldn’t leave it with the girls - they would wake up, and he didn't want them to see him standing there. Nicholas’ eyes caught on their wet shoes, drying off by the fire. 

I’ll throw them in there! Nicholas thought. Carefully, he tossed the bag towards the shoes. Nicholas, however, was bad at aiming and instead the bag hit the side of one of the shoes and fell to the ground. The coins spilled loudly out of the pouch, covering the floor with gold. With a gasp, Nicholas hurried to the side of the house so as not to be seen. He heard the sounds of Mustafa coming out of the back room, and the jolly noises of the girls, exclaiming at their good fortune. Happily, Nicholas listened to the sounds of the girls and their father, crying and laughing together at the sight of the precious coins. Nicholas instantly lifted his face to the heavens and thanked G’D for allowing him to help the family in need. 

Nicholas’ generous actions have inspired the whole world, both religious and secular, to call Christmas the “season of giving”. Nicholas’ example of generosity can inspire you too on your road to sainthood!

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar

Everyone has seen the Nativity scenes that are commonplace for a wide range of time, sometimes from Thanksgiving weekend until early February! And everyone knows about the Magi, sometimes called the “Wise Men”, who travelled to see the Christ Child because they saw the star and knew it to be a sign of the coming Messiah. We know their gifts to the baby and His parents - gold, frankincense, and myrrh - and we even sing songs about them, such as the ever-popular “We Three Kings”. But even though these wise kings are so standard, I beg to ask - how well do we really know these three men? 

In truth, no one truly knows who these three men really were. Their stories are shrouded in mystery and myth, and the only “facts” we know about them really aren’t facts at all, but are more pieces of legends fashioned without a known source. 

The names of the wise men come from the names of three kings who ruled at the time of Christ’s birth -  Caspar, king of India, Melchior, king of Persia, and Balthazar, king of Arabia. Some accounts claim that they received ordination from Saint Thomas the Apostle and were named bishops. Others state that the three men evangelized all around Europe, Asia  and Africa and were eventually martyred for their faith. 

Because of their inspirational journey from lands far away to visit the baby Messiah, the Church has honored them with a feast day, Epiphany, which occurs each year on the sixth of January. Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas season. Many Catholic families write the initials of the wise men, surrounded by the calendar year, as a blessing on their home and family.

But in between all the tradition and folklore, there is a much broader question to ask - why were the Magi even there at all?

Take a look at any Nativity scene, any image, any play…you always see the same thing - three crowned men holding gifts, often on the older side, always with different colored skin. Through the mismatched colors of skin, we see a very important message - Jesus did not just come for the Jews! He didn't even come only for the Christians, the poor, or the dirty - He came for everyone, from India to Persia to Arabia and beyond! The importance of the three wise men, so essential to a proper Christmas anything, goes further than the gifts they gave or the crowns they wore - it’s about who they represent and how we should approach the Christ Child. We should come to visit Him in our hearts, making lengthy spiritual journeys, honoring Him with our prayers and immaterial gifts, and remembering that Christ accepts us no matter who we are or where we come from. 

The Saints Who Made Christmas: Joseph

How is this even possible? Joseph thought as he sat on the dusty earth. His deep, chestnut-colored eyes would not leave the gentle figure of his infant god. His strong, carpenter arms seemed to have weakened to oblivion when Mary had carefully laid the child there. Perhaps he had expected a strange force to pulse through him, but instead there was only a weight of seven or so pounds. Or maybe he had assumed a fanfare of trumpets would sound at any second, but the only sound that met his ears were the soft coos of the baby before…silence. Could this really be the G’D of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, he thought, so unreservedly exposed to the elements He had fashioned with His own hands?

Joseph chuckled to himself as he realized that the only extraordinary thing about the birth was the arrival of filthy shepherds, completely ecstatic, begging to get their hands on the Messiah in between proclamations of a miraculous visitation by a host of angels. Joseph had been skeptical and defensive, wanting to protect both his wife and his LORD from the sullied hands of strangers, but he soon realized his efforts were in vain as his travel-weary wife trustingly passed off the Son of G’D to the wild men. His eyes still darted alertly to the euphoric herdsmen until he felt a hand grab his gently. He looked down at his wife, who was beaming. 

“Do not worry, Joseph,” she whispered. “G’D has a plan.”

G’D has a plan, Joseph thought. For an instant, he wondered if G’D really did have a plan. His Son was born in a dirty stable, turned away from every inn, tavern, and private home they went to. Before His birth, His earthly mother had been an outcast in her town, scorned for something they could not comprehend with their human minds. The only guests at His birth arrived late, and they were smeared with dirt and hysterical. He had been wrapped in a single layer of linen and before Joseph had grabbed Him, he had been lying in a manger atop a layer or two of thrice-used hay. How on earth could the arrival of their long-awaited Messiah come under these circumstances? Joseph wondered. How does it even make sense?

Joseph pondered the events for the next hour - the message from the angel, the long journey to Bethlehem, how they were turned away at every inn, the arrival of the shepherds, and now, this ever-so-ordinary silence…could this really be the plan of G’D?

Out of the blue, a thought jumped into Joseph’s head. Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense.

Joseph looked back into the eyes of his king, suddenly understanding how he did not understand. Understanding that his incomprehensiveness was okay. Not understanding the purpose, but knowing whatever the plan for the Messiah was, it would be beyond Joseph’s feeble human imagining. 

Joseph looked up through the cave’s opening as the child drifted back to sleep, his eyes settling upon the glittering stars, formed thousands of years ago by the tiny hands currently curled around Joseph’s fingers. 

My G’D, Joseph prayed, how beautiful I know Your plans to be. Give me the wisdom to protect this little child, Whom I know will deliver us. Help me to believe in Your plans, even when I do not understand.

Joseph’s eyes returned to his Messiah, peacefully asleep in his arms. It did not seem right, but it was. The plan of G’D was going to be manifested through His Son, a man…and Joseph couldn’t wait to see what happened next.