faith

Michael’s Mission

/ marycserafino / 2 Comments

“I think my big brother’s name is Michael.”

I remember confidently sharing this deep secret with my childhood friend at the age of 11 years old. We were stargazing on a camping trip, laying on our backs in a giant field. Staring at the millions of twinkling lights in the sky seemed to bring heaven closer to earth – including the longing I had in my heart to know my brother.

Outside my immediate family, no one knew I had a big brother. Inside my family, this baby was the “miscarriage before Mary.” I knew my mother lost a baby a year before I was born and that, in the great Mystery of Life and Death, this baby’s life made way for mine. Inside my heart, I was sure that baby was a boy and that his name should be Michael.

It was a relief to share this with my friend as such a young age. I had only just been baptized into the Catholic faith, and life and death were things I was coming to discover to new depths. My friend confided that her mom also lost a baby before she was born and that she, too secretly called him Michael. If there was any question that we should be friends, that similarity sealed the deal.

As years passed, the memory of little Michael was faint yet always present. As two more little siblings went to be with God, my awareness to the proximity of Heaven grew and I became aware of the place given to them in the presence of God. The meaning in Michael’s life continued to grow in my heart and I was sure I was getting to know him better.

Soon, I began to ask for his intercession specifically in situations when I was alone or in pain. “Michael, be a big brother to me” I would pray. And he would.

Michael wasn’t the figment of my imagination: Michael was real, and he had a mission. I knew it – after all, I am his sister! I’m pretty sure Michael’s mission is to be with those who are lonely and in pain. (I think he had something to do with sending Ian my way some years ago!) Michael’s life on this earth was swift and unknown to most, but his life eternal is one that connects to the Father. Maybe he is supposed to connect you, too!

I believe that the Lord has a mission for every child He takes to His heart before or after birth. In the aftermath of grief that accompanies the loss of a child, I have found time and time again a small bud of hope growing from their life – a mission for the Kingdom of God. I have witnessed their mothers, my friends, rise in their grief, asking to know their child’s mission. I firmly believe that the mother is given a special intuition to know what that mission is and to call that child by name in the Presence of God.  

Now, when I pass cemeteries where my friends’ babies are buried, I call out to them as the little friends they are, asking them for a favor or just offering a “hello.” My own life is made better because of theirs, and I admire their mothers for embracing the hard to keep their children’s mission alive in their hearts, homes, and the world.

If you have lost a child, I offer you my deepest sorrow and join you at the foot of the Cross. With you, I pray to know this child’s unique mission.

If you are feeling alone or in pain, I offer you the intercession of my big brother Michael.

Do not be afraid to make your child known: we need them and the unique way they are called to show us the Face of God.

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To learn more about the mission of a child lost to miscarriage, check out this prayer:

Prayer to Know the Mission of My Child Lost to Miscarriage

The Shortest Pilgrimage: Navigating the Tension Between the Cross and the Empty Tomb

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Pilgrimages hold a special place in my life. Give me a sacred destination that allows for contemplation, prayer, and time spent with fellow travelers and I’m hitting the road before you can pack a snack.

My love for pilgrimage has taken me to sweet neighborhood shrines in my own town to long and hard walks through the Adirondack mountains, sandstone caves, and the Camino de Santiago in Spain with its brisk 25 kilometers walk per day. On a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, one holy site where Jesus called James and John required me to swim to the sacred spot along the banks of the Sea of Galilee. That was a refreshing twist to the concept of pilgrimage!

While there are many pilgrimages I’ve taken in this life, there is only one that matters.

That pilgrimage is from the cross to the empty tomb – from Calvary to the Holy Sepulcher. It is the shortest pilgrimage I’ve ever encountered, and yet, it is the hardest. I didn’t count the steps between the two, but if I had to guess, I’d say the distance is only that of a couple hundred feet. When I knelt on the ground and put my hand on the rock of Calvary where the blood of Christ was shed, I was aware that several of my friends knelt around the corner in the very place where he rose from the dead. Suffering and joy; bliss and pain; gratitude and grief; life and death – all under the same roof.

In God’s great salvific orchestration, He saw fit to place death within sight of life, joy within sight of pain, and suffering in the shadow of peace. They are so close together that they are even covered by the same roof of worship.

This pilgrimage is one we are all familiar with and encounter on an often-daily basis. There is tension on this journey that we often struggle to justify, and we are very good at trying to escape one location for the other (especially to “skip to the good part”).

The “both/and” teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas is true. In short: it is possible for two things to be true at the same time, even when they seem diametrically opposed to one another.

The juxtaposition of the cross near the empty tomb is often deeply felt in our lives. Are there moments in your life when you feel pain for yourself and joy for a friend? Or perhaps you are grateful for a gift and grieving a loss at the same time? Just as the cross is not invalidated by the empty tomb, so are our sufferings not invalidated by simultaneous joy. God wants both – and. When God died for us on Calvary and rose again just steps away, He invited us to a journey of a lifetime that speaks of a righteous dissonance.

Tension is not a bad thing, and I think we can sharpen our ability to hold space for it in our hearts. Here are three things we can consider when invited to journey the shortest pilgrimage from the cross to the empty tomb:

  1. Embrace the Unfinished Symphony: In music, tension is often expressed through dissonance. There is a lack of resolve or harmony in a chord or melody that leaves the listener longing for unity, resolve and oneness. The next time you feel tension of two things being true at the same time, try to think of it as the unresolved dissonance in a masterpiece symphony, knowing that the grand finale is yet to come, and allow yourself to long for its fulfillment.
  2. Let Opposites Attract One Another: When I offer catechesis to small children, I never lift up the death of Jesus without also proclaiming the Resurrection. Similarly, when I speak of the resurrection, I always mention His death. The loss of Jesus would be too much to bear without the Resurrection. And the Resurrection would mean nothing without the sacrifice of His love. So it is in our lives: suffering means more when it’s held with joy, and the joy has much more meaning when it’s accompanied by suffering. Let’s not shut one out from the other but let them live together.
  3. Surrender the Unknown to God: When Mary and St. Joseph received the gift of myrrh from the Magi, I can imagine it caused some tension in what a very joyful occasion was otherwise. Myrrh – used for anointing the dead? Mary had to hold the newborn along with this ominous gift. God repeatedly asked her to live in the tension, holding tension in her maternal arms. Like Mary, we cannot let the tension stop us from our walk on the journey to God. There is no way to know why certain tensions exist. God will either surprise us or give us the courage to endure until He’s ready to give us an answer. We can go to Mary for comfort and aid. She understands.

As strange as it seems, the challenge we are given to walk the hardest pilgrimage comes with a privilege that even those who witnessed Christ’s crucifixion did not have – we can see the Resurrection! Our eyes and ears were made to see redemption. When we behold His face in all its glory, we also see His wounds of love. Through this lens, every pilgrimage, no matter how arduous or long, can become a step toward profound intimacy with the divine.

Co-Regulating with God the Father

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“Let me share some of my peace with you!”

It’s a phrase I think of often when accompanying 3-6 year old children in the atrium on their journey with the Lord. It’s not very often, but sometimes, a child will enter the atrium (or have a “moment” once inside) with an unsettled emotion. It could be fear, disappointment, anger, or sadness… But just like the children themselves, all are welcome.

Part of the catechist’s role is to model behavior and be a house of peace for every child, so that they can be free to explore the carefully prepared environment before them and ultimately, come to better know God. The phrase, “let me share some of my peace with you,” is something I think about as I prepare myself to be with the children each week. While this phrase might accurately describe my offering to the child, it is first, a prayer to God: “Lord, share some of your peace with me!”

I’m told that this scenario is not a singular experience in the raising or teaching of children – that parents as well as teachers have an unmistakable gift and challenge to show up for their children from a place of self-regulation. I’ve seen it first hand in my friends who are healthy mothers; they react and respond to their children’s big emotions with such poise and peace that they do not add to confusion, but absorb and deflect it so that the child can be safe to express and navigate the world around them.

Such adults as these offer their children co-regulation. For those not familiar with the term, Jessica Cosby, PhD referred to co-regulation as a means to “connect in such a way… that helps a child’s emotions come, flow, and pass in a way that feels safe and manageable.” Co-regulation is the sharing of one person’s peace with another who’s nervous system is out of control.

Yet, as healthy adults: who is going to help us co-regulate?

That’s where my Sunday morning phrase comes in: “let me share some of my peace with you.” Friends, what if we looked to the Father for our co-regulator? What if we became the child in our innermost identity as sons and daughters?

God the Father wants our emotions. He longs to soothe them and bring them peace. He waits and He welcomes us in our most childlike needs. He makes it possible for us to give our emotions, experiences, and perceptions a home without imposing them on others.

God the Father wants our reactions. He loves them. He treasures them and He knows all about them and how they came to be. Taking time to work them out with Him and know that they have a place in His Heart will afford us the chance to be free to engage in healthy relationships.

Exercising healthy behaviors in relationships (of any kind!) requires us to be self-regulated. Seeking co-regulation with the Father allows us to live from our natural order of life with God: reception first, and then self-offering. We can receive His peace and then offer it to others.

My friends, let’s not skip the first step, but try instead to first receive peace.

This isn’t something we need just for the sake of children! We need this to cultivate all healthy relationships in our lives, whether as parents and teachers or spouses, siblings, or friends. Even the closest, most intimate relationship is not – and should not – be the source of all co-regulation. The Father must always come first.

I saw a mother once receive her crying, angry two-year old daughter with an incredible amount of self-regulation. She offered it to her daughter in such a way that the daughter regulated her reaction to going to bed by angrily sharing her frustration with her mother and then burying her head in her mother’s lap. Her mother acknowledged the frustration, soothed the daughter, and reminded her just how much she loved her. That was all it took. The daughter walked back to bed, dried tears, murmuring something about her stuffed turtle.

We can all be like this mother by first being like the child – not once, not twice, but every single day. This is part of Maria Montessori’s methodology of being the “prepared adult.” She says, “Be a prepared adult, aware of your gifts, blindspots, fears, and needs.” We can prepare for any environment we encounter – works, school, the grocery store, or the dinner table – by offering ourselves to the Lord and asking Him to be our co-regulator.

A Prayer for Co-Regulation with God the Father
My Father in Heaven!

I lay my head on your heart, the source of all love and tenderness. Lend the rhythm of its  beating to my own, so that the emotions inside me may find steady peace. Take my frustration, anger, pain, tiredness, sadness and anxiety and give them space in your Heart, so that I can be fully present to the souls before me and the tasks at hand.

As your daughter, I ask that you share your perfect regulation with me. I know you never tire of my needs and treasure the moments I come to you. Guide my behavior to reflect your peace and give me courage to notice impulsive reactions and respond with self-compassion, choosing to give them over to you rather than giving in to them.

Make Your willpower my willpower. I give all control to you and trust you will strengthen my behavior for good and reflect your light instead of confusion.

You are the Heart of all hearts! Share with me your grace and your peace, in unity with Jesus Christ, your Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.