Monday Morning Catholic 9-8-25

Suffering Is Inevitable

This week, I stumbled upon the story of a saint that, at first glance, felt shocking and even a bit absurd—but it’s led me into deep reflection and meaningful conversations iLabout holiness and prayer.

St. Simeon Stylites is famous for spending most of his life standing on a pillar in constant prayer. Initially, I thought it was ridiculous. Why would the Church honor someone who became such a spectacle? He was famous for… doing nothing.

Maybe it struck a nerve because I struggle so much with doing nothing. The hardest thing for me is to be still—to sit without accomplishing something.

But Simeon wasn’t doing nothing.
He was praying.

Still, it sounds unfathomable. Why choose such extreme isolation? What kind of life is that? Could that really be what God wants?

And yet, in his extremity, we see something profound. God does want us to desire being with Him always. He wants us to seek Him beyond the distractions, to rely on Him completely, and to pray without ceasing in thanksgiving and praise. Jesus calls us to be all in.

But we’re not angels. We have bodies—needs, limitations, weaknesses.

Just by standing, St. Simeon suffered. His legs developed tumors. He was exposed to the elements, battered by the raw power of nature. Even in his total commitment to live in God’s presence, his suffering was unavoidable.

That’s something we can take from his story: suffering is inevitable.

In fact, my initial confusion about St. Simeon began to make more sense when I considered how many martyrs suffered simply for believing. Their witness reminds us that faith often comes with a cost. 

It’s not easy to sit with this truth. I don't like dwelling on the discomforting reality that life, no matter how faithful or righteous we are, will involve pain and sorrow. I prefer to live in the light of God's blessings.

But Jesus didn’t live a life free from suffering. He endured verbal abuse, physical pain, and extreme torment—even to death.  The crucifix, the central symbol of our Catholic faith, is a reminder of suffering—and yet I often overlook what it truly means.

Jesus showed us and told us to take up our cross and follow Him.
That’s not a metaphor.
It’s the only way.

Of course, it’s easier said than done. I might say I’ll pray through my pain, or tell someone else to pray in theirs—but do I really surrender in my suffering? Do I stop, rest, and be with God in those moments?

Honestly, I’m usually just thinking about myself—feeling sorry, begging for relief.

But I’m not alone in my suffering. None of us are.

All around us, people are suffering—whether now or eventually, we’ll all face trials. And God, in His mercy, has given us saints to remind us how to endure.

Today is the canonization of Carlo Acutis. I’ve been inspired by this boy saint for years. He would be my age. He lived in our time. He was tempted by the same distractions we face.

How beautiful that his story will now be one our children grow up reading—a story of a boy who wasn't afraid of suffering, and who used his short life to spread the miracles of God through the internet.  He inspires me to learn more about my faith, and to share it with my family and students. In a way, he feels like a patron for this very endeavor—using the internet to uplift, evangelize, and strengthen others in their faith.  

The internet connects us to the global Church. And the more we use it to share truth and hope, the less alone we feel in our suffering.

Stories of martyrs and other saints, like St. Simeon, can encourage us by showing that our suffering has the power to inspire others. Thousands flocked to see St. Simeon and sought his intercession, and after his death, his pillar became a popular pilgrimage site—inspiring others to turn to prayer. Saints teach us to turn to God in all seasons of life—both the good and the bad. Their unwavering faith in the face of adversity challenges us and calls us to something greater. We aspire to follow their example and find encouragement in their witness.

If you’re going through something hard right now, I hope you find peace in knowing this:

You are not alone.
You haven’t done something wrong.
This pain isn’t the end of your story.
And Jesus is with you—always.

——Lizz

I’ve found that whenever I take the time to read the Mass readings beforehand, something stirs more deeply in me during the liturgy. My heart is more attentive, more open, and I find that I understand the Word with greater clarity and connection. It helps me enter into the Mass more fully and be more present to what God is saying.

Is Christ Your First Love?

That question often rises in the quiet of prayer: Do I make Christ the absolute priority of my life? Not one among many, not even first in a ranked list—but everything. The center, the source, the end.

Today’s Gospel (Luke 14:25–33) is one of those hard messages. The kind that stops you mid-sentence. The kind where Jesus doesn’t soften the blow—He just speaks plainly, with the fire of truth. This is the Jesus who challenges. The Jesus who refuses to be watered down or comfortable. He tells us, quite bluntly, that to follow Him, we must renounce everything. Even our closest relationships. Even our very selves.

A Personal Memory: Independence Over Everything?

I remember an activity from a retreat I went on as a teenager. We had to rank a list of values in order of importance: God, family, independence, love, success, and so on. At age 17, I put independence first. I figured that if God gave me free will, then the best way to love Him was by choosing to—freely and intentionally. I saw it as a mutual relationship, not forced. So for me, independence came first, God second, and family third.

Now, looking back, I’m not sure I had the full picture—or that I do even now. But I was trying to express something true: that God, in His love, gives us free will so that our love for Him can be real. He doesn’t force our hearts. He invites, He calls, but He never coerces. That’s the beauty and the risk of free will: it allows for authentic love, but it also allows us to turn away.

At 17, I probably didn’t have the theological language for it, but I sensed that love for God couldn’t be just about obligation or fear or pressure. It had to be a choice. And that’s actually very much in line with what the Church teaches. God desires our “yes,” but He waits for it. He created us with the capacity to say no—so that when we say yes, it’s a real act of love.

Loving God isn’t about checking a box or following rules just because we’re told to. It’s about responding freely to the love He has already poured out for us. It’s a relationship. And like any real relationship, it can’t be one-sided or mechanical. It has to come from the heart.

I remember adults struggling with that same activity, especially parents. Many moms had a hard time putting anything above their children. And I get it—after having kids of my own, stories like Abraham and Isaac hit differently. It’s no longer just a lesson from the Old Testament; it’s personal, and uncomfortable.

And on top of that, we live in a society where faith, especially Catholic faith, is often misunderstood or outright rejected. We live in a world that praises self-fulfillment, and material success—where faith is seen as outdated, and where putting God above all else can make you look foolish or even offensive. Being a practicing Catholic today means being willing to stand apart. It means being open to ridicule, rejection, or isolation, even from people you love. It means making hard decisions that don’t always make sense to the world around you.

To say that God comes before everything—even your children—isn’t easy. But that’s the radical call of discipleship. Not because God wants us to love our families less, but because when we love Him first, we learn how to love everyone else rightly. Still, that kind of clarity doesn’t always come naturally, especially in a culture that often teaches the opposite.

The Call to Radical Discipleship

If we are to be true disciples of Christ, we must surrender everything—our comforts, our attachments, —and follow Him with undivided hearts. He asks for everything, because He desires to give us everything.

The path is not vague. It’s sacramental. It’s virtuous. As my priest reminded us, the best way to put Christ at the center is through full participation in the sacraments and a life rooted in virtue—especially charity, prayer, chastity, humility, and obedience.

Christ at the Center, All Else in Order

Paradoxically, it is only when Christ is our all that we become truly present to others. When He is our center, our relationships are no longer burdens or idols—they become reflections of Him. We love better when we love through Christ. We serve our families more fully when we serve Christ first. We become better spouses, parents, children, and friends—not in spite of our discipleship, but because of it.

When our lives are centered around Jesus, every part of our lives fall into its true order and purpose. 

—-Mary