Monday Morning Quarterback Catholic 8-11-25:
Our Favorite Quotes This Week:
Do not be afraid! –St. John Paul II
“Love is circumspect, humble, and upright, not soft, not upright, not intent upon vain things; is sober, chaste, stable, quiet, and keeps a guard over all the senses.” Imitations of Christ, Book III, Chapter 5: The Wonderful Effects of Divine Love –Thomas a Kempis
Things We Were Reading this week:
True Devotion to Mary with Preparation to Total Consecration by Saint Louis de Montfort
Favorite Scripture Passages we read this week:
Matthew 14:22-36
Hebrews 12:1
Exodus 14:14
Reflection on Leviticus 23: Finding Meaning in Repetition—Lizz
Today at Mass, we read from Leviticus. I’ve always found this book of the Bible challenging — hard to read, harder still to relate to. Today’s passage (Leviticus 23:1-37) focused on God instructing Moses on how the Israelites were to celebrate various feasts. Over and over, the message repeated: hold a ceremony, give an offering, refrain from work. The repetition almost annoyed me at first — but then I paused and thought, Wait, if God is repeating Himself, it must be important, right?
In Jewish tradition, these commandments are taken very literally. But as modern-day Catholics, how are we called to respond to the same plea from God? This question struck me. If He said it over and over, He must be asking us to really listen. So I’m trying to stay more attentive when I notice repetition in Scripture. It might not look exactly the same today, but how can I still live out what God is asking of His people?
1. Celebrate Him
The first call is to come together and celebrate. As I’ve grown into the roles of wife and mother, my husband and I have been intentional about celebrating our faith as a family. We blend traditions from both of our upbringings and enjoy exploring new ones — especially inviting friends and family to join us during holidays. We want our boys to grow up with memories of faith-filled celebrations that are joyful, meaningful, and expected.
But life is busy. It takes effort to weave our faith into everyday routines. I can look back and see times I did better than others. It’s easy to make excuses. And yet, we’re incredibly blessed — especially here in Cincinnati — with so many beautiful churches and faith-filled opportunities. Often, we just forget to take advantage of them.
Mary and I were so inspired by the families we saw at the shrines during our recent trip. We came home with a renewed desire to make visiting holy places a regular part of our lives, and to include our kids and husbands as well. As I write this, we’re getting ready to visit St. Meinrad Archabbey in Indiana on our way to see friends. I’m genuinely excited to continue adding holy stops to our travels — there are so many close by!
What’s one thing you could add to your family’s routine to celebrate your Catholic faith more intentionally?
2. Offerings and Sacrifices
The second theme in Leviticus is offering and sacrifice. As a mom, you’d think this would come naturally — I’m constantly sacrificing something, right? But honestly, I’m quick to complain. A sibling argument, an offhand comment from my husband after a long day, the relentlessness of summer days with the boys — all of it wears me down.
But what if I could transform these daily annoyances into offerings for God? Instead of whining or snapping, what if I saw them as tiny acts of love, given freely?
Help me, Lord, to remember: I can get through these small trials. Without suffering, there is no peace. Without Your suffering, we could not long to enter Your glory. Help me to offer these moments to You — as humble sacrifices.
3. Rest — Do No Work
This one might be the hardest for me: rest.
I’ll never forget a dinner I had with Mary this past winter. She looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Why are you so unable to just do nothing?” She has a gift for asking the questions I need, even when I don’t want to hear them. Her challenge hit hard. I admitted it terrified me — the silence, the stillness. When the noise and distractions fall away, I’m left alone with my thoughts, my fears, my doubts.
But I took her challenge. Just five minutes. I tried it the next day. I think I cried, but I did it — and I realized I could do it. That first step helped me see that silence isn’t so scary after all.
Since then, I can’t say I’ve mastered rest or silence, but I’m no longer afraid of it. It’s gotten easier. On our trip, some of my favorite moments were the quiet ones: sitting in Adoration, in a garden, even just being still in the car. Yes, there were tons of laughs, but I found peace in the pauses too — and I think I would’ve missed that if I hadn’t learned to rest.
Earlier this week, I read Exodus 14:14:
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
That verse washed over me like a deep breath. As I prep for a new school year and the never-ending to-do lists pile up, I hold onto that reminder: Be still. God repeats it over and over — in Leviticus, in the Gospels, throughout Scripture. Rest. Do no work. Be still.
That’s where we find Him.
So, where is God calling you to pause, to celebrate, to offer, or to be still? Maybe it’s in your home, at the dinner table, during a car ride, or in five stolen minutes of silence before the day begins. He’s asking — again and again — not because He’s repetitive, but because He’s loving.
He knows we need the reminder.
Tears of St. Lawrence and Charity—Mary
Evening time, when most are tucked into slumber, every August, I find myself wandering—restless—until I’m still enough to look up and see the tears of St. Lawrence light up the sky.
The Perseid meteor shower has always signified the dying of summer for me. As a child, a teen, and a young adult, I’d lie on the dunes of Lake Huron in Ontario, Canada, the rhythmic crashing of waves from the Great Lake interrupting the stillness of night, yet offering its own kind of comfort, as I waited for shooting stars to light up the dark.
The Perseids always marked a shift—the quiet signal that summer, as I knew it, was coming to an end.
This year is the first time I learned that the Perseids are also known as the “fiery tears of St. Lawrence.” And no doubt, I’ll spend these final days of summer—before heading into teacher in-service days—gazing skyward again, searching for those fiery tears through the haze of city light.
Today, I was fortunate to attend Mass at a church named after St. Lawrence—on the feast of St. Lawrence. Eight altar servers, two deacons, and a priest processed in, setting a reverent tone that marked the importance of this third-century deacon’s memorial feast.
It came as no surprise that the homily centered around St. Lawrence’s legacy—and a call to us, as 21st-century Catholics, to evangelize charity.
Evangelize charity.
As a cradle Catholic, a Catholic school student, a religion teacher, and a student of theology, I must admit: I had never fully considered evangelization in terms of charity. I’ve always believed in being a servant leader, doing acts of charity—serving through doing, not necessarily speaking.
Charity—love—is the highest of the virtues, alongside faith and hope.
Embarrassingly, I realized I’ve never truly considered that we’re called to live the virtue of charity not just through actions, but by becoming visible signs of God’s love. To be a witness. To live an authentic life of Christian love that draws others to Christ.
What I had overlooked in my understanding of evangelization is this: you can evangelize through action, not just words.
For most of my life, I’ve associated the word evangelize with something priests or more educated, “holier” people were supposed to do.
And, growing up in the 1980s, my understanding of evangelization was further clouded by the negative examples of televangelists—loud, performative, and often manipulative—who distorted what that word should really mean.
i’ve never hidden my Catholic faith. I don’t shy away from it. But I’ve always leaned on being a witness rather than speaking like one—letting my actions speak for those who’ve left the Church, or who are angry with it, or have never belonged to it at all. I thought that meant I wasn’t evangelizing.
And yet, the homily reminded me: we are called to radical charity. To evangelize that charity.
The early Christians were known for their charity—especially to the outcast, the poor, the unseen. When St. Lawrence was ordered to surrender the treasures of the Church, he brought forward the poor, the crippled, the forgotten. These, he said, are the treasures.
The priest asked us:
What are we willing to do for Christ?
Are we proud to say we are Roman Catholics?
Do our actions reflect that identity?
