Sunday, April 5, 2026
Acts 10:34a, 37-43
Colossians 3:1-4
John 20:1-18

Good morning and happy Easter wishes on this day that has fallen back to a winter feeling. Over these last few days, our liturgical lives have experienced a disruption. Mass was earlier last Sunday because we had a procession. On Thursday, Mass was in the evening and there was another procession. Friday’s quiet mass was non-existent. Last night, we had a beautiful liturgy, but one that was far from normal.

Jesus was a great disruptor. As written in the Acts of the Apostles, Jesus went about doing good and he healed—and advocated—for the oppressed. He disrupted the status quo.

And so it was that Mary Magdalene’s life had been disrupted. She had been a faithful follower of Jesus, but the last few days had been tumultuous. Jesus had been arrested and he died after suffering brutally. His body had been placed in a tomb and she was left in utter disruption. All that she believed and hoped for and dreamed about had been turned upside down. We have all had our lives disrupted by our own illness or disability, by deaths of loved ones, or the state of our country and the loss of simple decency. In these instances, our baseline normal was disturbed for a while.

Mary Magdalene turned her disruption into some sort of time to mourn, to grieve, to find solace in being close to the one she loved. She decided to visit Jesus’ burial site. Sometimes just standing there, remembering, gives a new hope. But that tomb was disrupted—big time. There was no body. Mary left the gravesite, fetched the men who returned with her and perhaps they remembered what Jesus had often promised. But the men left and Mary took a second look—maybe hoping that there had been a huge mistake. As she turned around, another person was standing there. They engaged in a brief conversation and Mary realized it was Jesus, her friend, her teacher, her mentor. One can only imagine this disruption! The emotions of the last week had been so intense. The two spoke briefly and he commissioned Mary to “go to the others” and tell them that you have seen me.

Mary’s life was disrupted once more. Sadness turned into happiness. She had been chosen to share the good news. It’s what we do with disruption that matters. Mary Magdalene did not let disruption paralyze her. We need to remember that. All week we recalled important moments of the disruptor Christ. Today, in this celebration of the resurrection, may we regard our own disruptions as opportunities for growth and possibility. And then, true to the message of Jesus, let us reach out and share these new learnings as our gifts of hope and love.

 

Saturday, April 4, 2026
Genesis 1:1 - 2:2
Exodus 15:1-2, 19, 20-22
Baruch 3:9-15, 32-4:4
Romans 6:3-11
Matthew 28:1-10

The Easter Vigil – an in-between time, a thin place, a vigil that marks the moment between the actual death of the human Jesus AND a totally unique and unexpected inbreaking of new life.

The pattern of the whole paschal mystery is borne out repeatedly in creation. Scripturally, we have God encountering chaos and, with a powerful word, bringing forth order and abundant life – that is all seen as very good!

Interweaving the scientific perspective, evolutionary cosmologist Brian Swimme says, “The explosion of a star is the primary revelation of God's love. The star dies — its final act of generosity — and in that gift, life in the universe is born. The Paschal mystery is woven into the very fabric of the universe.”¹

We see this pattern of the paschal mystery repeatedly in our lives. We are in a time when many precious sisters, friends, and family members are passing on to new life. There is deep sadness over our loss, and, at the same time, gratitude for their lives, and eventually, a new relationship – since we know and trust that we are still connected, though in a different way.

Just like for the two Marys at the tomb in today’s Gospel. They went to anoint Jesus’ body. They had no hope beyond caring for the body of their beloved friend and guide. But they were open to see the unexpected. The guards were not prepared for what they saw and they became as if dead. They could not take in this new life, this new possibility, this presence of the divine before them.

But the women could. They heard unbelievable news that Jesus has risen. They didn’t understand it, but in the midst of their fear they also experienced the joy of hope, and they went forward in spite of all logic. And because they believed, they saw – they saw the risen Jesus – they saw a possibility that was unimaginable only moments before. They were welcomed, loved, and sent forth to preach.

Now we know all reality did not change at that moment. The oppressive Romans would still be in charge for many years, and persecution of those who followed Christ would begin. But, in a sense, everything did change – this is the moment the reign of God which brought hope began in a new way – a way that gave people courage, a way that gave people the ability to see the deeper divine reality of all creation, a way that inspired people to strive toward the fullness of the reign of God.

We are still in that thin place – a place of liminality between the presence of the reign of God that Jesus announced and its fulfillment.

And we are called to continue the journey, much as the women in today’s Gospel did.

We understandably may feel fear, and we can also feel joy in the trust of the ultimate promise and goodness of God.

Our current situation in religious life and in our Congregation can be quite dauting at times. We may feel sad at what we are losing and fearful of what will become of us. But like the women at the tomb, we also remain open to the unexpected, to God breaking in where we never imagined, and we can witness to joy in all the service and love that we have given and received, and still do, knowing that there is an eternal aspect to all we have lived.

The suffering of our world is excruciating for so many and brings us deep sadness. At the same time the paschal mystery tells us not to despair, to be bearers of God’s reign in our own circles, to see and name those who are striving for good, and there are so many, and to know that, just as things can collapse into chaos, so can they rise to justice and goodness – with our cooperation and the Spirit’s inspiration.

We and all of creation live in the Paschal mystery of the Easter Vigil. We know the suffering of Good Friday, the lost feeling of Holy Saturday, and we know the joy of the promise of resurrection – we know it in Christ, and we have tastes of it in our lives and in our world. We remain open to and watchful for the marvelous and unexpected inbreaking of God each day. We may have moments of fear, but we go forth in joy! Alleluia!

 

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¹ https://www.ciis.edu/news/explore-mystery-cosmic-christ

 

Friday, April 3, 2026
Isaiah 52:13 - 53:12
Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9
John 18:1 - 19:42

Is Jesus dead or alive? If he is dead, the gospel tells us something about his life. If he is alive, Jesus speaks to us today through the gospel. He speaks to us as clearly as he spoke to Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, calling her by name, sending her forth to partner with him in a new way to proclaim the Good News to all.

Is Jesus dead or alive? If Jesus is alive, what is he saying to you and me through this Gospel as we follow Jesus today?

In John’s passion narrative, we see Jesus opposed by religious leaders and the political forces of Imperial Rome, who squelch his mission to establish God’s reign of love, justice and peace. With his arrest and public execution, he is crushed in agonizing defeat. The victorious cries of “Hosanna in the Highest,” quickly became “Crucify him! Jesus hangs naked on the cross, crucified between two criminals. As our first reading states, “so marred was his appearance…. despised and rejected by others.” The betrayal of Judas, the denial of Peter, and the flight of his disciples intensifies his unbearable suffering.

Jesus on the cross, reveals the excruciating reality of human suffering that none of us can escape. Too many are crucified today: those suffering violence and discrimination based on race, religion, ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation, those suffering domestic abuse, those on death row, those suffering war and poverty, forced to migrate from their homes, those in the throes of injury, illness, and death. The Earth, too, is crucified by global environmental devastation. Jesus on the cross shows us a God who joins us in our suffering, a God who welcomes us with outstretched arms, a God who renews our perseverance to make God’s cause our cause for the redemption of Earth community.

Jesus on the cross, crying out “I thirst,” reveals a God, thirsting for our wholeness, thirsting for friendship with us in intimate union. Jesus reveals a God who patiently listens to us, receiving the sour wine of our grief, anger, shame, and self-deprecation. God thirsts for our healing and our renewed commitment to make the world a home where all are welcome as Emmanuel: God with us, God in us.

Unlike the synoptic gospels, where the women following Jesus stand far off in the distance, barely visible, John’s gospel, places the women front and center at the foot of Jesus’ cross. The three Marys, with the beloved disciple, courageously stand by Jesus. Jesus looks tenderly upon his mother Mary as she embraces his suffering, her heart ripped open in grief. Can we even imagine the searing soul exchange that passed between them? You may recall, that according to John’s gospel, Mary initiated Jesus’ public ministry at the wedding in Cana when she said to him, “they have no wine,” and then to the attendants, “do whatever he tells you” (Jn 2: 3-5). Now she stands by him in his final hour when he consummates his mission by freely laying down his life for us all. Out of abiding love for his mother, Jesus entrusts her care to his beloved disciple.

As I reflected on Jesus, gazing lovingly at his mother, I recalled Mary’s annunciation story when she encountered the Angel. She was only a teenager, living in Palestine under the perilous military occupation of Rome. She responded to the Angel’s invitation with a bold yes to God, yes to a call she could not possibly comprehend, yes to the risk of being publicly exposed to the religious sanction against unwed mothers, yes to a vision of a mission for herself and her little boy that would scatter the proud and gather the humble, bring down the powerful from their thrones and lift up the lowly, that would fill the hungry with good things and send the billionaires away empty (Lk 1:51-53), her yes to a life that jeopardized her safety and the safety of her son.¹

Jesus’ total yes to God held high on the cross echoes Mary’s yes. Jesus’ gift of self in love of God and neighbor honors Mary’s self-gift to God. As Rachael Held Evans writes, “Before Jesus fed us with the bread and wine, his body and blood, Jesus himself needed to be fed, by a woman. He needed a woman to say: ‘This is my body, given for you.’ Jesus and Mary call us to do likewise.

After Jesus states, “It is finished,” and breaths his last, John’s gospel is the only gospel to recount that the soldier pierced Jesus’ side with a spear. Then in the presence of his mother and the small community gathered at the foot of his cross, Jesus gives birth to something new as blood and water flow from his pierced side. From the side of Christ, the Church is born with the proclamation that all people pass with Christ from death to new life. Now 2000 years later, we the Christian community stand at the foot of the cross in dark times when evil once again is having its hour. Our challenge, in the words of Ilia Delio, is to “Stay the course of love in a world that resists love, fears love, and rejects the cost of love.” Jesus on the cross proclaims that love does not end in death. Rather, love never fails!

Today, in our Good Friday liturgy, we will venerate the cross of Christ. We venerate the Cross to honor God’s saving commitment to our earth community. When we venerate the cross, we are called to commit ourselves to self-giving love. As followers of the Crucified and Risen Christ, we are lifted up on our own crosses daily. Father James Wallace says it this way, “To venerate the cross is to sign ourselves as a people who are committed to the dying and rising with Jesus alive today for the life of the world.”

 

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¹ "Mary's Wholehearted Call" by Rachael Held Evans

 

 

Thursday, April 2, 2026
Exodus 12:1-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-15

One of the most common things I hear these days is the sincere wondering and worry of how we can put an end to the fear, the violence, and the overall destruction of Earth community that is happening daily.

Sometimes, it feels so overwhelming.

One response we have is that we gather in public spaces, bringing our signs – creative, imaginative messages – expressing the hope that change will happen. Or joining in prayers for the good of our world.

We are connecting with one another, we are grieving together, we are seeking to form a community intent on bringing the fullness of Divine Love into our world.

Jesus spent his life doing this very same work – forming a beloved community, tending to the weary and brokenhearted, healing the sick, offering community and hospitality to all – making known to all the presence of the Holy One.

Jesus, as he pursued his mission, ran into the same challenges as we do today. Yet he persisted in Love.

In our Gospel reading tonight, Jesus realizes his time was coming to an end. He knew it was time to turn over his mission to those he loved. He gifted them with a model to be carried forward.

He washed their feet. And in that one simple act, he startled them. He shattered cultural norms. He made space for Divine Love to transform our world.

Then, he invited them – he invited us – to do the same.

We now continue his work, his mission, in our time. We do what is needed to create spaces for Divine Love to enter our world. We reach out to neighbors. We continue to gather with our signs in public spaces, filled with hope and belief that change will happen.

This evening, we follow the sign given by Jesus to us. It is a simple sign. Walter Brueggemann calls it "the drama of the towel"¹ that fills the space between us.

In mirroring Jesus, may we grab our towel this evening, becoming foot washers in our world. For even small acts such as these can spark a quiet revolution.

 

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¹ A Way Other than Our Own: Devotions for Lent by Walter Brueggemann, 2017

 

Sunday, March 29, 2026
Isaiah 50:4-7
Philippians 2:6-11
Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

About three weeks ago, PBS had a promotional fund raiser using the album of Barbara Streisand called Timeless. The title struck me as so appropriate. I think most of us would agree that Barbara Streisand is timeless, as well as her songs. What does it mean to be timeless? One definition is “not appearing to be affected by the passage of time… Enduring… Does not change as the years go past.”

Once again we gather in worship to tell and listen to the timeless story of Palm Sunday, which begins the week of the timeless narratives of Holy Week. However there is one caveat. As the French-American essayist Anaïs Nin wrote, “We do not tell stories as they are. We tell them as we are.” We are not the same as we were last Palm Sunday and Holy Week. Even if we go back to Ash Wednesday and recall Jesus saying to us, “I think I know you. Got some time to catch up?” And yes, these 40 days of Lent were the acceptable time. Hopefully we have come to know Jesus in a deeper way.

So the story of Jesus, the triumphant entry, the donkey, the palms, is timeless. The story hasn’t changed but we have. What do we hear, notice, feel about this day different from before because of where our life has been since the last Gospel narration? Because of where our world has been?

This is a week of contrasts. We begin with joy and end with pain and sorrow. Within the liturgy itself today, we hear of people shouting and acclaiming Jesus as king. And the following reading is the pain of the Passion, and then we have everything in between those times. It’s sort of like the bookends of our lives: joy and sorrow.

I wonder, as Jesus rode on that donkey amid the crowds, if he didn’t have the thought as in the musical Hamilton, “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story, …my story?”

Is it not us? Is it not us so many years later who share this timeless story with family, friends, co- workers and strangers we meet this Holy Week, asking ourselves how will we live our lives faithful to the memory of God’s love?

It’s interesting that Matthew ends the Passion narrative saying, “So they went with the guard and made the tomb secure by sealing the stone.” That’s where we are going this week: to the cross, to the tomb, where we let go of what has given our life meaning and value.

Our dreams will be shattered into fragments of cold and gray. Our palms left behind on a dusty road. Something deep inside of us will be shattered, waiting to be put together so we can tell the timeless story once again with the passing of time into another year.

 

Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph
Sunday, December 28, 2025
Preaching by Sister Patty Harvat, OP
Sirach 3:2-14
Colossians 3: 12-21
Matthew 2:13-23

On this feast of the Holy Family, we remember that Jesus was born into a family – the author Diana Butler Bass writes, “Mary and Joseph’s new family, the family of the people of Israel, and the human family. This child, who knew memory and celebration and family and probably bittersweet relationships, too, is the One whom Christians believe embodies God with us. Yes, God is with us – with our memories and hopes, our sorrows and fears.”

Might these be the thoughts of so many of our families throughout the world today? Very reminiscent of our Gospel today.

Matthew writes quite a story about this newly formed family of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus. Life is off to a rocky start for them: Fleeing to Egypt to avoid Herod, then an angel telling Joseph to go to Israel, but fear drives Joseph to a new and foreign place, Nazareth, where he has to find a new place to live and establish new relationships. This is a story of displacement and upheaval.

What appropriate words to describe the reality of our world these years: Displacement and upheaval. And we see how in the midst of all that happened centuries ago – and what happens yesterday, last week, a month ago – God’s faithfulness never fades, never disappears. We read that Joseph had dreams, just like Ernesto, Miguel, Fatima, and Ingrid today have dreams. Dreams where fear is warded off and confidence bestowed upon the dreamer. The angel says to Joseph, “Rise, take the child and his mother and flee to Egypt.” And then later the angel says, “Rise and take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel.” Those dreams are repeated today. All we need to do is substitute a different name for the country being fled from.

The Holy Family was born out of displacement and upheaval. But it was also born out of dreams, dreams that transformed fear into trust.

Dreams that “Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly, as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another, singing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.”

Let us pray not for ourselves, but for the minds and hearts of those displaced families:

O God, you keep them waiting for the right time in which to discover who they are, where they must go, who will be with them and what they must do. And in all this, you keep them. Through hard questions with no easy answers; through the patience and the dreams and the love of others, you keep them. For you are Faithful Still.¹

Amen.

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¹The Iona Community Worship Book, 1991, Wild Goose Publications.

 

Thursday, December 25, 2025
Preaching by Sister Lorraine Réaume, OP
Isaiah 52:7-10
Hebrews 1:1-6
John 1:1-18

As many of you know, the Congregation placed billboards around our county this summer with three words: "Love is Kind," from 1 Corinthians. We wanted to put positive and encouraging words out into the world as a counterbalance to so many divisive and cruel words we are hearing.

At this year’s city display of hundreds of themed Christmas trees, we continued the "Love is Kind" theme with our Adrian Dominican Tree. A number of Sisters here made hand-designed ornaments with more encouraging words. The tree also offers passers-by little “Kind bars” to take and eat.

Someone even made a front license plate with the "Love is Kind" design and gave them to a few of us. I don’t have the attachment that enables me to put it on the front of the car I drive, but I intended to get one. Yet something made me hesitate. I am embarrassed to admit this, but I thought, “If I have those words on my car, I’d better be really mindful of being kind wherever I go, and of driving kindly.” I would need to be sure to enflesh the words.

Because words matter. Words matter. Words shape our reality. Words are meant to be true.

As Dominicans, as people of the Word, as Gospel women whose identity is to preach good news, what we say and do matters.

Wonderful Dominican preacher and teacher Ann Garrido says we have experienced a year in which "words have been gravely abused.” She says that “the abuse of language is moral in nature. It violates what John has proclaimed [in today’s Gospel]. Our God has chosen to come among us as ‘Word.’"¹

I recently came across a powerful example of using words toward God’s purposes. One of our Associates sent me a video – it was of 24 different Lutheran pastors in Minnesota speaking out in support of their Somali neighbors who we know have been targeted. They repeat, “no one is garbage,” “every neighbor is beloved.” Just like Isaiah in our first reading, one says, “God gives us the boldness to proclaim from the mountain tops: every human being is God’s beloved.” They speak of their strong experience of community and say they want “to protect the miracle of people living in peace.”²

Words can destroy and words can build up. The true Word, emanating from before the beginning of time sustains all things, holds the cosmos, comes from the bosom of the divine creator bringing life and love.

And just to help us get it, to help us understand the message, that Word took on human flesh and dwelt among us, showing what it is to live as a human being with grace, with truth, with love. That Word was Jesus.

Scripture Scholar Donald Senior, CP, tells us that John "...reaches back into the vastness of the universe before creation and time began, into the very life of God, and there finds the ultimate origin of Jesus (Jn 1:1-18). The 'word' spoken by God, a word that perfectly expresses God’s love, arches into time and creation and takes flesh. Jesus’ life and ministry began in the timeless love of God for the world.” ³

That Word, that cosmic Christ, still reverberates with love for all, still invites us into deep communion with all creation, still calls us to generosity, to love, and to be and speak words that are true, are healing, words that make for peace, words that are kind.

This day, when we celebrate that the eternal Word took on human flesh and dwelt among us, take some time to think about what words you are being invited to enflesh for yourself, for all those around you, and for our world.

May the Word be with you.

Merry Christmas!

 

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¹https://discerningdeacons.org/es/possibilities-for-christmas-preaching/

²In Support of Somali Neighbors on Vimeo

³Senior, Donald. Jesus: A Gospel Portrait (New York: Paulist Press, 1992, p.27)

 

Wednesday, December 24, 2025
Preaching by Sister Elise D. García, OP
Isaiah 9:1-6
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-14

 

This is the night we have been anticipating, waiting for, in hopeful expectation through the weeks of Advent. It is the night of the inbreaking of Divine light into our lives. It is a night we relish each year in stillness and renewed wonder – astonished by the unexpected particularity of God becoming one among us. “God’s infinity dwindled to infancy,” as Gerard Manley Hopkins so memorable writes.

One particularity we are just awakening to, as we step back into deep space and time, is God’s dwindling to infancy right here in our common Earth home. This ordinary yet extraordinary particularity is reflected in Christmas cards that depict our wondrous blue-green planet against the inky darkness of space. Our imaginations can picture our Earth home orbiting the outer edge of the Milky Way galaxy – one of trillions of galaxies in an expanding cosmos that emerged out of nothingness. It was sparked into being nearly 14 billion years ago by the same Divine light that incarnated as human flesh some 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem.

As we hone into the particularity of the Divine inbreaking that Luke narrates in his Gospel, we see that is fraught with peril. The Divine child is born into a time of empire to an unwed teenage mother. It is a cold winter’s night in Judea with no room at the inn. She finds shelter in a dark stable smelling of manure and warmed by the bodies of barnyard animals. She and her fiancée, already exhausted having traveled for days as migrants from Galilee to Judea, were following an imperial decree to become documented in the town he descended from – Bethlehem, in the house and family of David. In his narrative, Luke depicts no other women in the scene to help her through the hours of painful labor to bring this firstborn child into a dangerous world.

Such is the inbreaking of Divine light – into an obscure planet in the vastness of space and in a lowly manger at a time of peril.

The revelation of this Divine inbreaking is equally unexpected. It comes to poor shepherds tending to their flock in the fields outside of Bethlehem. An angel appears, shining with the glory of God – and terrifying them.

According to Luke, the angel calms their fears by delivering the good news that on this day a Savior, Jesus, the Christ, was born. The angel says that the sign by which the shepherds would recognize this Savior is a child bundled in a manger – in a feeding trough for animals.

Luke then tells us that a multitude of heavenly host join the angel, giving glory to God in the highest heaven and on Earth peace.

There is an enduring hopefulness to this Christmas Eve story that arises from its particularities:

• From the humble and ordinary character of those chosen to bring the Divine light into being – and of those to whom the good news is revealed.

• From God’s coming into human flesh, embraced by the warmth and smell of other forms of Earthly animal flesh.

• From the circumstances of the Divine birth taking place “in a land where imperial might holds sway.”¹

These are enduring signs of God being with us, at all times and in all circumstances. Especially in times that are perilous, like the one we are in now where imperial might seems to hold sway – with enormous suffering for millions of innocent people and for our whole beloved Earth community.

It is on nights like this that we are invited to look into the vast depths of time and space that have brought all of us into this present moment. Through that deep lens, we are invited to view the particularity of that one moment in time and place more than 2,000 years ago when the abiding light of Divine love appeared in our world, calling each of us from that day forward into the fullness of our being as bearers of that Christ light for the common good of all.

It was on a night like this, on Christmas Eve of 1914, that British and German soldiers – in trenches across from each other on the Western front at the start of a brutal world war – somehow felt the transformative pull of that call.

It started with Christmas carols – Silent Night/Stille Nacht – in English and in German echoing across the front. The sound of shooting ended with voices raised in song. On some parts of the front, soldiers ventured into no-man’s land, recovering the dead bodies of their friends and then exchanging food, tobacco, caps and buttons with those they had earlier in the day fought. Some soldiers wrote letters home about having played soccer with each other that night, before the brutal war resumed the next morning.

What child is this – that would summon such a response?

It is the same child that calls us, this Christmas eve, to enter into the fullness of our being as bearers of the light and love of Christ – for the common good of all – especially in perilous times such as these.

 

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¹Wisdom Commentary: Luke 1-9, edited by Barbara E. Reid, OP, and Shelly Matthews, Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2021 (pp. 63-64).

 

Friday, August 8, 2025
Preaching by Sister Lorraine Réaume, OP
Isaiah 52:7-10
2 Timothy 4:1-8
Matthew 28:16-20

Most of us here probably don’t consider our feet to be very beautiful! Some may have a bunion, or maybe your heels are dry. Your feet might not work so well anymore. No, I don’t think most of us would see ourselves as having beautiful feet.

But what about our messenger in Isaiah? We hear that they have beautiful feet. But think about it. What would a messenger’s feet be like in ancient Israel? Calloused, for sure. Covered in dirt and sand, definitely. Probably pretty scratched up from running through a rough desert landscape.

But yet, they ARE beautiful. Why? Because of what they bring. Because of the message. Because they bring Good News. They announce peace, salvation, hope, and wholeness for all of creation – all the ends of the Earth.

This Isaiah passage is often used on this feast day because it describes St. Dominic so well. We all know that wonderful image of him walking the fields of Europe, carrying his sandals on a pole over his shoulder.

Just think of what his feet must have looked like, journeying all over Europe, barefoot! But they were beautiful because they brought a beautiful message. Remember, this was the time of the crusades, of terrible brutality. Dominic also kept encountering people who thought the body was bad and who devalued our earthly life and creation. They were living a very somber, austere form of life.

But they were drawn to Dominic – drawn by his kindness, his willingness to engage with them, his deep love for them, and by his message of the goodness of God’s creation and God’s love, care, and mercy for all. He brought them joy. He witnessed another way of living than was being practiced by many around them – both the extreme Albigensians and the violent Catholic leaders. Dominic’s news truly was good.

Doesn’t our world today need messengers of good news – messengers who remind us of the sacredness of all creation, who assure us that every single being matters to God, who call us to live out the values of the reign of God, and who assure us that God ultimately holds all in deep love and wholeness?

We need to hear this message, and we need to be this message. Some of us may bring it to those we encounter in our ministries and volunteer commitments. Some may bring it to our families. We can certainly bring the good news to our coworkers and to each other. Every single way we interact can be a preaching, can be good news for someone who is having a hard day, or who is lonely, or who is struggling with grief, transition, or health changes.

I have heard many Sisters say that they were drawn to the congregation by the joy and laughter of the Adrian Dominican Sisters they saw in their schools. There was something attractive in who they authentically were. We are still those same people who are drawn by joy, joy in the midst of challenges and struggles, joy that trusts in the goodness of God.

We never stop being Dominicans, so we are still called, like Dominic, to be preachers of grace. To do our best to let others know they are included and welcome, valued and appreciated, even by something as simple as greeting someone on the elevator or expressing gratitude to a nursing assistant.

It’s not always easy, and sometimes we may not feel up to it. Hopefully at those times, others can be the bearers of good news for us. But the call remains, our commitment to live our Dominican life does not end.

As we celebrate this Feast Day we can renew our own commitment to be preachers of Good News to those we encounter and to our world, trusting that our feet are indeed beautiful.

 

2025 Feast of St. Dominic, Morning Prayer
Preaching by Sister Pat Siemen, OP

Friday, August 8, 2025
Ephesians 3:7-9, 11-12

 

Happy Feast Day, everyone! What a joy to celebrate the life of our humble founder and brother, Dominic Guzmán – a holy man, who I am sure never expected to have such a profound impact on so many lives, spread across so many countries, over these past 800+ years! Little could he conceive that nearly eight centuries after he lived, women and men would still be attracted to his gentle ways, his search for Veritas/Truth, and his joy in living and preaching Gospel values – or that his legacy would end up in the rural corn fields of southeastern Michigan, a place that had been the historic homelands of the Native Meskwaki and Bodewadomi peoples.

Dominic Guzmán was born into a relatively wealthy family in 1170. His father was a Regent of the region, entrusted with the responsibility to keep the people of that region of northern Spain safe from invading marauders. His mother, Juana de Asa, came from a well-established religious family in the area.

Last August, I was able to visit Dominic’s birthplace in the little village of Caleruega (population 430) with 50 younger Dominican sisters from Asia-Pacific, Latin America and the Caribbean, Europe, Africa and the United States. One morning for prayer we climbed the watch tower found in the backyard of the monastery – a tower that was built before Dominic was born so that Dominic’s father could see who was approaching the territory.

The view from the tower of rolling hills and rich harvests was quite breathtaking. No doubt its expansive view shaped Dominic’s imagination and experience of God’s creation as good. I imagine this visual experience was formative for Dominic’s later encounters with the Albigensian movement in southern France, as he shared with them God’s goodness as embedded within creation – and persuade them that creation, the body and matter, were not sinful or harmful to one’s spiritual wellbeing, as they then believed as Albigensians. This goodness of creation remains a primary tenant of Dominican life and is a foundation of our Adrian Dominican commitment to care for land and ecological sustainability.

We are told that Dominic was a lover of books and study. This love began when his mother made sure he was mentored by family priests and sent away to school in Palencia, as a child. Thus, it’s little wonder that study is a core foundation of the Dominican way of life. Dominic required his early brothers to not only study theology and the Scriptures, but he sent them to the best of the newly rising European universities to also study the arts and science and philosophy. He wanted his followers to be informed about the developments of the world, and to preach trust in God’s presence regardless of the challenges of the day.

Dominic is often referred to a “preacher of grace.” But his preaching wasn’t only in churches, but rather wherever he found himself in conversation with others: walking together, at meals, or in a tavern late at night. Dominic knew that listening to understand another was a critical part of seeking truth with them.

Although Dominic is credited with founding the Dominican Order (and he pursued this dream until it became a reality in 1216), the original vision for such a movement of preachers came from his dear friend, Bishop Diego Acebo, who was Dominic’s bishop at the Cathedral in Burgo de Osma, Spain. As they traveled on foot on a diplomatic mission to Germany, Diego shared his dream of founding an order of itinerant preachers – as they saw firsthand the opulence and trappings of clergy living in luxury while their people were poor. Dominic immediately shared this vision as they both wanted a church that was humble and poor, and authentic in the ways of Jesus. However, Diego died before this new movement could get started and so Dominic was left to initiate their dream by himself. One can only imagine his grief and disappointment with Diego’s untimely death.

Diego and Dominic envisioned a community of preachers who would be itinerant, humble and educated in the Word of God. These preachers were meant to be engaged in the social, cultural and religious ideas of their time. They lived in a local community, yet were free to go out from it, for the sake of study and for mission. Their primary call was to be bearers of God’s truth and love to whomever they met. They were to be itinerant of mind and thought as well, interested in exploring innovative ideas and boundaries, seeking truth wherever it may reveal itself. They had to learn skills to create and hold space to hear and respect differing opinions and worldviews being offered by others. Not unlike our world today.

It is this ability to seek Truth, with openness and compassion, especially amid confusion, distortion and deliberately-created distraction, which is the grace followers of Dominic and the Christ most need. This search for Truth, done with humility, skill and simplicity, is Dominic’s signature – and our legacy.

The need for seeking Truth, in Love, continues to be needed and relevant in our turbulent world today. As we Sisters, Associates, Co-workers and Partners in Mission say in the words of our Campus’ common Commitment to Mission, we each are “drawn by Love”. This is the same Love that drew Dominic Guzmán to follow his heart in founding the Dominican Order 800 years ago. This Love formed him into a man who grew humbly in God’s love through communal life, contemplative prayer, seeking Truth and always offering a joyful preaching with his life.

Brother Dominic, thank you for gifting us with your joyful presence.