How does this incredible experience of God have expression in a person’s life? Always it leads us to some kind of communion with others. An experience that has some shared vulnerability. A participation in something we call “church.” A group of people who are “called out” of the System/Empire/World where “might makes right,” or, “the one who has the most wins,” or “over-identification with a title, a role” are the organizing values.
 
The church is a group where people are experiencing the love of Christ shared in sacrament, a ritual feeding of the Word and Eucharist that lead to developing a community of brothers and sisters who know they are Loved, Called—and Given. That group follows Jesus to extend that love into the world in ways that lead to the betterment of all. No pressures on getting others to join. People join by attraction rather than promotion. 

When our churches become the place where everyone wants to “hang out” because in this community we experience that incredible love of Christ, it naturally leads to giving it away. How to do that depends on the Spirit’s inspiration, the real needs that beg for recognition, and the creativity that comes forward in that community, prompted by the Spirit of the Lord, to heal a weary, waiting world.

The Nativity message from our founding bishop, Bishop Sharon Hart

Dear ones,
What strikes me most about the Christmas story is that it begins with a paperwork error. It starts with a census—a distant emperor counting heads for the sake of taxes—and Joseph and Mary trudging toward Bethlehem because a Roman clerk decided that’s how registration works. There is a profound irony here: a tedious, impersonal bureaucracy becomes the very vehicle that places them in the right place at the right time. If we are honest, there is no historical record of this census; Roman historians were meticulous, and an empire-wide event of this scale would have left a paper trail. Furthermore, Rome wanted people counted where they lived and paid taxes, not wandering back to ancestral villages. But this is one of the reasons why I am a part of a Contemporary Catholic community rather than a literalist one: we recognize that Luke is writing theology dressed as history, using the census as a literary device to show that the "machinery of empire" unwittingly serves purposes far beyond its own comprehension.

Frank Capra understood this same pattern. In his classic film, It’s a Wonderful Life, he wasn’t documenting a true story; he was working in allegory. When the camera moves through the stars as prayers rise from Bedford Falls, he is using mythic language to convey a truth that reportage cannot touch. Both Luke and Capra understood that fiction can often be the most effective vessel for the Truth. If we step back from biological debates regarding the Virgin Birth and look at the symbol of the manger, we see that the Divine enters the world through the most vulnerable door possible. It isn't a military conquest, but a baby born to a teenager in an occupied country, laid in a feeding trough. George Bailey’s journey mirrors this in reverse. Instead of divinity entering human limitation, a human is extracted from his life to see the world without him. Neither story asks us to believe in literal biological anomalies or literal wings; they ask us to recognize those moments where ordinary consciousness breaks open to reveal hidden dimensions of meaning.

In both narratives, our instincts about power are completely subverted. Every human instinct says power belongs in a palace, yet the Gospel writers choose a barn—cold, smelling of animals, and aggressively insignificant. George Bailey, broke and desperate on a bridge on Christmas Eve, is in his own version of that stable. At his absolute lowest, he is standing on sacred ground, realizing that his "Building and Loan" was the humble vessel through which a community was saved. Even the announcement of this grace skips the elite and goes to the "night shift"—shepherds considered ritually unclean and socially invisible. This is the core theological claim: revelation comes to the margins, and divine intervention often waits until human resources are completely exhausted.

We see this communal response again in the arrival of the Magi, who represent wisdom traditions from outside the "approved" circle. In Bedford Falls, we see a local version of the Magi as Sam Wainwright wires money from London, Violet Bick brings her savings, and the ordinary citizens of the town offer what they have. They aren’t royalty, but they are following a star of recognition and solidarity. Standing in opposition is Mr. Potter, who functions exactly like King Herod. Both represent entrenched power threatened by a new way of organizing community, and both fail because the alternative—collective love—proves more resilient than they could imagine.

There is a beautiful theological term for this called kenosis, or "self-emptying." Just as the Divine empties itself into the constraints of humanity, George Bailey empties himself year after year, setting aside his dreams of travel to help others find a home. Both follow the spiritual logic that fullness comes through relinquishment. We are not here to argue about historical censuses or the physics of angels; we are here to practice seeing differently. Both stories refuse easy escapes—the baby in the manger will eventually face betrayal, and George Bailey still has to deal with a missing eight thousand dollars and a predatory Potter. What changes is not the circumstance, but the capacity to see redemptive meaning within it. The star over Bethlehem and the ringing of Clarence’s bell both point to the truth that heaven’s light shows up exactly where we’ve learned not to look. We are invited to trust that our small, ordinary lives are part of a pattern of meaning much larger than we can perceive.

Throughout the Christmas season and the coming year, let us remember that the sacred is often hidden in the ordinary—in the "Building and Loans" of our lives, in the small kindnesses we offer, and in the moments when we feel we have the least to give. May we embrace our own vulnerability as a doorway for the Beloved’s presence. Let us trust that our lives ripple outward in ways we cannot see, weaving a tapestry of redemption that spans from the hills of Bethlehem to the streets of our own towns. May our eyes see the light shining in the dark corners of our world, and give us the courage to show up for one another, believing that every life is indeed a wonderful life! Amen.

All Blessings,

++Sharon
​

From St. Anthony's Messenger

​The custom of setting up a Christmas crib in one’s home—not simply outside a church—reinforces the personal challenge represented by the Incarnation. The Incarnation changes everything in human history. We become different people because of it. In Francis’ day, many thought first of Jesus dying on the cross and only later about his birth in Bethlehem.
Popularizing the crib reminded people of the great love that led to Jesus’ becoming one of us without compromising his divine nature. After that celebration in Greccio, participants could well have said, “This changes everything!” We could admire Jesus’ birth as a historical moment that becomes more distant with each passing year, or with Francis’ help, we can see it as an ongoing event and act accordingly. —Pat McCloskey, OFM

As we celebrate this day, here is a meditation I found that answers the question “What kind of presence will the world need from us in the years to come?” It is by Rev. Cameron Trimble


"We sense that in the future the Earth will bear more wounds than ever—burned forests, rising seas, displaced peoples, grieving species. The world will need healers of the Earth—those who see creation not as a resource to be exploited, but as sacred kin to be honored and protected.

We will need prophets of simplicity—people who live with open hands in a clenched-fist world, who embody the truth that joy is not in accumulation, but in deep connection.

We will need bridge-builders and peacemakers—those who know how to stay present across difference, who choose communion over control, who embody humility in a culture obsessed with being right.

We will need companions of the poor and marginalized—not as rescuers or heroes, but as fellow travelers. We will need people who understand that dignity doesn’t come from status or wealth but from our shared humanity and sacred worth.

And perhaps most of all, we will need teachers of joy and beauty—those who laugh freely, grieve deeply, and see God in the ordinary. They will know that delight is a form of resilience.

These aren’t just Franciscan callings. They are human ones. They are the contours of a spiritual life grounded in humility, joy, simplicity, and solidarity—qualities found in many traditions, but illuminated here with Franciscan light.

The old stories of control, domination, and separation are crumbling. In their place, we are being invited to remember a deeper truth: that we belong to one another, that the Earth is alive, and that love is still the most powerful force we’ve ever known.

The Franciscan charism offers a pattern, a melody line in a larger symphony of sacred living. It’s a witness we need—not necessarily to become Franciscans (although that is a good option), but to become more fully human.

Let us take up that call—not in robes or rules, but in reverence and relationship.

The future doesn’t just need new systems. It needs new souls.

We are in this together."




Which of the five invitations—healer, prophet, bridge-builder, companion, teacher—calls to you most deeply in this season of life?

How might you express humility, simplicity, or joy in your everyday choices?

What spiritual traditions, stories, or practices remind you of your place in the sacred web of life?



Today, listen for the part of the invitation that speaks to you most. Don’t force it. Let it find you.

Maybe the Earth will call you to tend her—by walking, planting, weeping.

Maybe simplicity will whisper in your habits—asking you to unplug, declutter, release.

Maybe a fractured relationship will offer a chance to build a bridge, even a small one.

Maybe joy will tap you on the shoulder, inviting you to sing aloud or notice a dandelion.

The future is not only shaped by what we build. It is shaped by how we walk.

Let’s walk with reverence, humility, and love.

Let’s walk the way the Franciscan spirit teaches—soft-footed, open-hearted, deeply rooted.

May we find joy in the journey.

Let us pray:

You who are present in sparrows and street corners,
in silence and song,
in friars and freedom-dreamers,

Teach us how to walk gently.
Make us healers of a wounded world,
bridgers of divides too long ignored,
companions to those we’ve forgotten,
singers of joy that can’t be silenced.

Strip away what is false,
strengthen what is true,
and shape us into people who live
not for praise,
but for peace.

Amen.


Have a holy, blessed day. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

Peace and all good blessings,
Br. Christopher  celebrate this day, here is a meditation I found that answers the question “What kind of presence will the world need from us in the years to come?” It is by Rev. Cameron Trimble


"We sense that in the future the Earth will bear more wounds than ever—burned forests, rising seas, displaced peoples, grieving species. The world will need healers of the Earth—those who see creation not as a resource to be exploited, but as sacred kin to be honored and protected.

We will need prophets of simplicity—people who live with open hands in a clenched-fist world, who embody the truth that joy is not in accumulation, but in deep connection.

We will need bridge-builders and peacemakers—those who know how to stay present across difference, who choose communion over control, who embody humility in a culture obsessed with being right.

We will need companions of the poor and marginalized—not as rescuers or heroes, but as fellow travelers. We will need people who understand that dignity doesn’t come from status or wealth but from our shared humanity and sacred worth.

And perhaps most of all, we will need teachers of joy and beauty—those who laugh freely, grieve deeply, and see God in the ordinary. They will know that delight is a form of resilience.

These aren’t just Franciscan callings. They are human ones. They are the contours of a spiritual life grounded in humility, joy, simplicity, and solidarity—qualities found in many traditions, but illuminated here with Franciscan light.

The old stories of control, domination, and separation are crumbling. In their place, we are being invited to remember a deeper truth: that we belong to one another, that the Earth is alive, and that love is still the most powerful force we’ve ever known.

The Franciscan charism offers a pattern, a melody line in a larger symphony of sacred living. It’s a witness we need—not necessarily to become Franciscans (although that is a good option), but to become more fully human.

Let us take up that call—not in robes or rules, but in reverence and relationship.

The future doesn’t just need new systems. It needs new souls.

We are in this together."




Which of the five invitations—healer, prophet, bridge-builder, companion, teacher—calls to you most deeply in this season of life?

How might you express humility, simplicity, or joy in your everyday choices?

What spiritual traditions, stories, or practices remind you of your place in the sacred web of life?



Today, listen for the part of the invitation that speaks to you most. Don’t force it. Let it find you.

Maybe the Earth will call you to tend her—by walking, planting, weeping.

Maybe simplicity will whisper in your habits—asking you to unplug, declutter, release.

Maybe a fractured relationship will offer a chance to build a bridge, even a small one.

Maybe joy will tap you on the shoulder, inviting you to sing aloud or notice a dandelion.

The future is not only shaped by what we build. It is shaped by how we walk.

Let’s walk with reverence, humility, and love.

Let’s walk the way the Franciscan spirit teaches—soft-footed, open-hearted, deeply rooted.

May we find joy in the journey.

Let us pray:

You who are present in sparrows and street corners,
in silence and song,
in friars and freedom-dreamers,

Teach us how to walk gently.
Make us healers of a wounded world,
bridgers of divides too long ignored,
companions to those we’ve forgotten,
singers of joy that can’t be silenced.

Strip away what is false,
strengthen what is true,
and shape us into people who live
not for praise,
but for peace.

Amen.


Have a holy, blessed day. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

Peace and all good blessings,
Br. Christopher  ​

Having our gathering today. Please pray for an inspirational and heart-felt time where we can renew our commitment to this life we have chosen.

Our Br. Jay Solanus entered his novitiate during the weekend. His church joined in the celebration. Here are some pictures from the prayers and the blessing he received today.

​August 11th is the Feast Day of St. Clare. Here is a little bit about her.

One of the more sugary movies made about Francis of Assisi pictures Clare as a golden-haired beauty floating through sun-drenched fields, a sort of one-woman counterpart to the new Franciscan Order.

The beginning of her religious life was indeed movie material. Having refused to marry at 15, Clare was moved by the dynamic preaching of Francis. He became her lifelong friend and spiritual guide.

At 18, Clare escaped from her father’s home one night, was met on the road by friars carrying torches, and in the poor little chapel called the Portiuncula received a rough woolen habit, exchanged her jeweled belt for a common rope with knots in it, and sacrificed her long tresses to Francis’ scissors. He placed her in a Benedictine convent, which her father and uncles immediately stormed in rage. Clare clung to the altar of the church, threw aside her veil to show her cropped hair, and remained adamant.

Sixteen days later her sister Agnes joined her. Others came. They lived a simple life of great poverty, austerity, and complete seclusion from the world, according to a Rule which Francis gave them as a Second Order. At age 21, Francis obliged Clare under obedience to accept the office of abbess, one she exercised until her death.

The Poor Ladies went barefoot, slept on the ground, ate no meat, and observed almost complete silence. Later Clare, like Francis, persuaded her sisters to moderate this rigor: “Our bodies are not made of brass.” The greatest emphasis, of course, was on gospel poverty. They possessed no property, even in common, subsisting on daily contributions. When even the pope tried to persuade Clare to mitigate this practice, she showed her characteristic firmness: “I need to be absolved from my sins, but I do not wish to be absolved from the obligation of following Jesus Christ.”

Contemporary accounts glow with admiration of Clare’s life in the convent of San Damiano in Assisi. She served the sick and washed the feet of the begging nuns. She came from prayer, it was said, with her face so shining it dazzled those about her. She suffered serious illness for the last 27 years of her life. Her influence was such that popes, cardinals, and bishops often came to consult her—Clare herself never left the walls of San Damiano.

Francis always remained her great friend and inspiration. Clare was always obedient to his will and to the great ideal of gospel life which he was making real.

The 41 years of Clare’s religious life are scenarios of sanctity: an indomitable resolve to lead the simple, literal gospel life as Francis taught her; courageous resistance to the ever-present pressure to dilute the ideal; a passion for poverty and humility; an ardent life of prayer; and a generous concern for her sisters.

Here is a blessing from St. Clare's second letter to Blessed Agnes of Prague:
What you hold may you always hold.
What you do, may you always do and never abandon.
But with swift pace, light step and unswerving feet,
so that even your steps stir up no dust,
Go forward, the spirit of our God has called you.

​A brief reflection on the Love of Jesus.

In this reflection on "Love one another as I have loved you"taken from the good news according to St. John 13:34, it emphasizes the profound nature of Christian love, urging us to imitate the sacrificial love of the Lord Jesus.

This love isn't just tolerance or superficial affection, but a deep commitment to the well-being and needs of our brothers and sisters, even when it's difficult. It's a call to embody the Lord Jesus Christ's love in our daily lives and interactions with one another,which reflects the way He has loved us and is currently loving us.

look at it this way;

1. The Nature of Christian Love,its Sacrificial and Unconditional.

Jesus' love for us was demonstrated through His suffering and death, a sacrifice that transcends our all of our flaws and imperfections. This type of love should be mirrored in all of our relationships with others, even when they disappoint or hurt us.

It is Beyond Tolerance,
It is more than simply putting up with others; it's a genuine care, a genuine love for their constant well-being and a commitment to their needs.

A New Commandment:
Jesus presents "Love one another" as a new commandment, highlighting its significance and importance as a defining characteristic of His disciples.

2. Imitating Christ's Love:
Reflect upon how Jesus Loved You?

Reflecting on how Jesus has loved us can help us come to the  understanding and the depth and breadth of His love and how we can imitate His Loce in our own lives.

This can involve considering His forgiveness, His sacrifice, and His provision.

Serving Others:

The love of Jesus is expressed through our actions and services to others . We can demonstrate our love for others by actively seeking their well-being, offering them your support, and making personal sacrifices for the benefit of others..

Responding to their Difficulties:

True love perseveres through challenging situations as well as disagreements.

We are called to respond to those who hurt or disappoint us with the  compassion of Christ and His merciful understanding,  always reflecting upon Christ's love for us even in our imperfections.

3. The Impact of Christian Love:

By loving one another as Jesus has loved us, we demonstrate our discipleship and make our faith visible to the world.

Healing as well as Reconciliation:

The love of Christ ,can bridge everything that divides us, it can also heal wounds. The love of Jesus can and will foster reconciliation within the body of Christ.

Transforming Lives:

By totally embracing and embodying the love of Jesus, we hope to experience an amazing transformation ourselves and bring about positive change in the lives of those around us for the glory of God.

In essence, "Love one another as I have loved you" is a Radical call to a deeper and more transformative way of life, it is a  a way that reflects the sacrificial and unconditional love of Jesus and  it will transform the lives of everyone who is willing to embrace it.

We pray to grow in the Love of Jesus, and allow his Love to be the main component for all that we do too and for our sisters, brothers and friends.

Pax et Bonum
Br. Benedict Kelley, OSFM