Spiritual Warfare – Beth Cotter

The Red Candle

Going to adoration as the Easter Triduum begins on Holy Thursday is an experience like no other in the Church.

It’s the night when Jesus institutes the Holy Eucharist, the source and summit of the Christian life. It’s the night when Judas betrays Jesus for 30 silver coins, then hands Him over to the enemy after identifying him with a kiss.

Thus marks the beginning of the end of the God Man’s life on earth.

As I contemplated the events that were about to unfold, I realized this visit to the Blessed Sacrament was unlike every other day of the year. Because in a matter of hours, that tall red candle that signifies Jesus’ true presence would be extinguished. And for the next 36 hours or so, Jesus would be gone from the tabernacle—because he was going to the tomb.

Of course he wouldn’t go to the tomb before dying a death thats brutality defies human comprehension. He wouldn’t go before breaking out in a blood sweat or before being denied three times by the man who would be our first pope. Nor would he go before being the victim of hatred and vitriol spewed at him by Jewish rulers. Surely their actions indicated they must’ve been overtaken by evil in those moments as they demanded His punishment be one reserved for the most hardened of criminals. And Jesus wouldn’t go to the tomb before being crushed under the weight of every sin that would ever be committed by the whole of mankind, past or present.

It was with that knowledge that I found it difficult to leave the sanctuary. I knew what was about to happen and I didn’t want to leave Jesus.

Or maybe I didn’t want him to leave me.

So I stayed an hour, then another. Oh how accustomed I’ve become to His presence—oh how I seek out the glow of the red candle that assures me of our Lord and Savior’s presence: body, blood, soul, and divinity.

And it was going away. Jesus was going away.

In those moments, I realized my own need to walk the way of the Cross. For there is no other way this side of Heaven. And sometimes a person just longs for it to be over, don’t they? To just skip the part with all the suffering and get straight to the good stuff—the resurrection. Heaven.

But as Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI said, we weren’t made for comfort, we were made for greatness.

With that in mind, I re-adjusted my thinking and promised Jesus I would walk with Him. That I’d see it through. By walking with Him, I can learn how to carry my own crosses.

And when the glory of Easter morning finally arrives, I can re-live the words of the angels at His tomb: He is not here, for he is risen. And I can rest in the reassurance that his passion wasn’t an end. It was only the beginning.

Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.

Acknowledging the Golden Calf

One of this week’s daily Mass readings was a familiar one found in Exodus 32. As the story unfolds, Moses is on the mountain chiseling out the 10 commandments, while the Israelites are down below, getting rather antsy.

Whenever I heard this story in the past, I suspected these people were taking advantage of Moses’ absence. While the cat’s away the mice will play, am I right?

The priest’s homily, however, turned that notion on its head and gave me a brand new perspective.

As he posited, far from being mischievous kids out looking for trouble, what if the idol—the golden calf—was not something they’d ever intentionally planned on? That, instead of yucking it up while Moses was away, they were mired with worry and fear, anxiety and uncertainty.

Perhaps they were riddled with thoughts like, Why isn’t Moses back yet? How long will he be gone? Will he ever come back? And if he doesn’t come back, then what?

As they waited around plagued with woe-are-we thinking, those fears and insecurities prompted the Israelites to look for some form of comfort, security, and certainty. They longed for something—anything to help them cope with their reality. Enter the golden calf.

And this is the part that brings the story out of Exodus and into the 21st Century world, reminding us that the Word of God is very much alive.

How often do we become anxious or fearful, scared or angry? How often do we look for a way to ease that pain, in whatever form it takes? And much like the Israelites, instead of turning to the Divine Physician, we turn to our own golden calves.

Maybe we doom-scroll or mindlessly waste time to avoid something we don’t want to do. Or we eat or drink in excess, searching for comfort in that second slice of cake. Maybe we throw ourselves into work or live at the gym. Perhaps we sleep the day away or binge-watch every season of The Office. Ah, and one of my go-tos: the I’ll-do-it-myself attitude of individualism, because God must not realize how important such-and-such is. The -ism words and -holic words could go on and on.

Such are our golden calves. And I’d dare say most of us never intentionally set out to create these calves, but alas here they are.

During this season of Lent, maybe God asks us not to burn our idols but rather look to the pain that we’d have those idols mask. To sit in silence with God and work through our human frailties—our pain—with him. To seek healing through the Divine Physician rather than masking our symptoms with distractions.

And as we walk through that fire, may our great God through which everything is possible melt our idols and transform them into offerings.

Sign of the Times

Have you ever wondered what the shortest books of the Bible are? That’s precisely where I found myself this morning as I flipped over to the Letter of Jude in honor of his feast day today. (Side note: he shares this day

with Simon the Zealot!)

The sole chapter of the Letter of Jude contains 25 verses. (Spoiler alert: it’s the fifth shortest of the Bible.) Though his 491 words are few, they pack a punch.

In fact, they’re equally as significant in 2024 as they were 2,000 years ago, as he writes of licentiousness and unnatural vice, of godlessness and wordliness.

“Woe to them!” he says, speaking of their fate.

Clearly his words are a warning, lest we too go down the path of the evil one.
But his letter goes a step further. He doesn’t just strand us there with the bad seeds. but rather tells of how to respond—how to maneuver times of great turmoil:

“But you, beloved, build yourselves up in your most holy faith; pray in the holy Spirit.
Keep yourselves in the love of God and wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life.
On those who waver, have mercy; save others by snatching them out of the fire; on others have mercy with fear,*abhorring even the outer garment stained by the flesh.”

He gave us marching orders. A battle cry, if you will. When the going gets tough, the tough, as they say, get going.

Our calling? To stay in God, to lift up others, to save those we can save. To daily strengthen and stand strong in our faith.

And to remember that nothing is impossible with God.

Saint Jude, pray for us!

#saintjude #patronsaintofimpossiblecauses #saintsimon #onetruefaith #catholicliving #catholicwritersofinstagram #2024election

Patrolling Earth

A recent daily Mass reading told the story of Job, who though an innocent, God-fearing man was pursued by evil. After losing everything and everyone except his wife in a matter of moments, he continued to praise God.

I remember in my younger days how unfair I thought his losses were. They’re still hard to comprehend in the grand scheme of things. But the truth is, there is no fairness on earth.

Which brings me to the first part of the reading. The part just before Job loses everything. Here are verses 6 and 7:

One day, when the angels of God came to present themselves before the LORD, the satan also came among them. The LORD said to the satan, “Where have you been?” Then the satan answered the LORD and said, “Roaming the earth and patrolling it.”

Did you catch that? Roaming the earth and patrolling it. Sobering as it may be though, we tend to think he’s roaming another part of the earth. Certainly not our part of the earth. Right?

But what if, as Fr. O’Doherty pointed out, we were to imagine him roaming down State Route 200 in Ocala? Or St Lucie Blvd in Stuart? Or insert-the-name-of-the-street-you-live-on?

If you look, you can find him—at least his influence—in hatred and vitriol that consume the internet. You can find him in vile lyrics of popular songs. His fingerprints are on human traffickers and in the abortion clinics. Wherever evil exists, so too does the satan.

Is it fair? To the human mind, no. But we do live in the valley of tears, after all.

Which isn’t to say we should live in fear. Not at all. God is the authority over all, including the satan. We should, however, know our one true enemy. We should all be on guard and cognizant of the fact that we’re in a daily spiritual battle between good and evil. And that battle is always taking place whether we acknowledge it or not.

So while the ultimate victory belongs to Christ who has already defeated, though not yet destroyed all the powers of hell, the prince of darkness is also the temporary prince of earth. As his time gets shorter and shorter, evil will continue to ratchet up. It will become easier and easier to see. And the satan will continue to roam and patrol the earth.

St. Michael the Archangel, pray for us!