On Possibility

Many have heard the phrase that “nothing will be impossible with God”. These revered words spoken in Luke’s gospel by the angel Gabriel to Mary are particularly present to us at Christmas time when we reflect on the birth of Jesus. Gabriel tells Mary that her cousin Elizabeth who was thought to be past her child-bearing years is already in her sixth month. Gabriel offers this information to Mary as a kind of “proof” of God’s power and God’s plan for her. Gabriel assures Mary that there is nothing God cannot do. Many will nod in agreement that since it is written in scripture that all things are possible with God then, it must be so.

Yet, for many of us our sense of possibility has diminished in our lives. We feel our lives have been defined, our fate sealed. We rarely consider how powerful our Creator is. Our belief in the boundless creativity of our Creator has been challenged by our disappointments and set-backs. Somewhere along the way we decided how powerful God is for us. Over time, we set limits on how much God can give us or help us and we in turn decide how much we can give and how much we can help ourselves and others.

This has certainly been true in my life. I am so sure I know what I am capable of – what I can accomplish and what is beyond my grasp. Indeed, if all I had to depend on was my own petty strength my assessments on my abilities would probably be accurate. I am reminded how powerful our Creator is as I reflect on the miraculous birth of Jesus. I think about the words spoken to Mary by the angel Gabriel “nothing will be impossible with God.” I notice that Gabriel says with God not for God meaning that when we act with our Creator all things will be possible for us.

The significance of my life has not been settled. My life is not a “done deal” rather it’s more like a work in progress. Everyday I have the opportunity to care for and cherish all that I hold dear. Everyday I have the opportunity to be the person God created me to be. With God, the possibilities are infinite.
The miraculous birth of Jesus - God becoming flesh - is my “proof” that God’s creativity and love is limitless and beyond my understanding. When I pause to reflect on this truth, the possibility that God can mend my strained relationships, comfort me in times of sorrow and inspire me to help others seems, well, entirely possible!

Theresa Wiss,
Director of Youth Ministry

What I Really Believe

I watch what I do to see what I really believe.

Belief and faith are not just words. It's one thing for me to say I'm a Christian, but I have to embody what it means; I have to live it. So, writing this essay and knowing I'll share it in a public way becomes an occasion for me to look deeply at what I really believe by how I act.

"Love your neighbor as yourself," Jesus said, and as a beginner nun I tried earnestly to love my neighbor — the children I taught, their parents, my fellow teachers, my fellow nuns. But for a long time, the circle of my loving care was small and, for the most part, included only white, middle-class people like me. But one day I woke up to Jesus' deeper challenge to love the outcast, the criminal, the underdog. So I packed my stuff and moved into a noisy, violent housing project in an African-American neighborhood in New Orleans.

I saw the suffering and I let myself feel it: the sound of gunshots in the night, mothers calling out for their children. I saw the injustice and was compelled to do something about it. I changed from being a nun who only prayed for the suffering world to a nun with my sleeves rolled up, living my prayer. Working in that community in New Orleans soon led me to Louisiana's death row.

So, I keep watching what I do to see what I actually believe.

Jesus' biggest challenge to us is to love our enemies. On death row, I encountered the enemy — those considered so irredeemable by our society that even our Supreme Court has made it legal to kill them. For 20 years now, I've been visiting people on death row, and I have accompanied six human beings to their deaths. As each has been killed, I have told them to look at me. I want them to see a loving face when they die. I want my face to carry the love that tells them that they and every one of us are worth more than our most terrible acts.

But I knew being with the perpetrators wasn't enough. I also had to reach out to victims' families. I visited the families who wanted to see me, and I founded a victims’ support group in New Orleans. It was a big stretch for me, loving both perpetrators and victims' families, and most of the time I fail because so often a victim's families interpret my care for perpetrators as choosing sides — the wrong side. I understand that, but I don't stop reaching out.

I've learned from victims' families just how alone many of them feel. The murder of their loved one is so horrible, their pain so great, that most people stay away. But they need people to visit, to listen, to care. It doesn't take anyone special, just someone who cares.

Writing this essay reminds me, as an ordinary person, that it's important to take stock, to see where I am. The only way I know what I really believe is by keeping watch over what I do.

Sr. Helen Prejean, C.S.J