Nicholas Hardesty

May 23, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

Did you ever have things not go as you planned?

Maybe as a little kid you made great summer plans with a best friend only to find out that friend was moving away. Or, many years later, you scrimped and saved up a nest egg only to have it emptied because you lost your job. You planned your dream European vacation only to learn you can’t leave the country because someone you love developed a serious illness. You were headed to Damascus to imprison Christians only to find yourself knocked down to the ground and blinded. Saul was not planning to convert to Christianity, but God has a way of detouring our lives and interrupting our plans to invite us to embrace His plan for our lives instead.

If you want to make God laugh, make plans. That expression comes to mind often when I find my organized, type-A day getting turned upside down and backwards. It happens more in my work for the Church than it ever happened in my work for a bank and a commercial insurance carrier. It’s the nature of the Church job I think: small staff, jack-of-all-trades, no one else is on staff to do it, and most importantly, it’s a job that revolves around people. When people interrupt my plans, I try to turn from feeling inconvenienced to looking for the opportunity God has placed in my path to do His will.

Conversion is an on-going thing; every priest and theologian will tell you that. Part of conversion is letting God break our spirit of independence and self-reliance so He can use us to do His will. St. Maximillian Kolbe, in his consecration to Mary, talks about wanting to be an instrument for the conversion of souls. We can’t become that instrument if we have rigid plans that won’t allow us to be played.

An instrument, for instance a piano, doesn’t make music on its own. It doesn’t depress the keys in chorded harmonies or press the pedals to lengthen a beautiful note. A piano is docile and only plays the notes that are struck. It cannot sound out with notes of its’ own choosing, it simply waits for the musician to play it as he or she wills. God is the musician who can create a beautiful melody in our lives if we become the willing instrument that conforms to His playing.

Interrupting our plans doesn’t always mean God drops a new plan immediately into place for us. As with Saul, He can abruptly derail us with an extended waiting period. Saul waited three days to be cured of his blindness, but then waited another three years in the Arabian Desert before Barnabas came to search him out to finally go on mission for the Lord. God often prepares His instruments with periods of waiting before they begin their missions or reach their promised destinations. Our plans are interrupted very suddenly but then we might sit idle, not understanding what just happened.

We are in good company when we wait, some of our greatest ancestors in the faith waited. Noah waited through 40 days of continuous rain and then five more months more for the flood waters to recede. Abraham and Sarah waited for 25 years for the heir that God promised. Moses waited for 40 years in the desert to enter the Promised Land — and then wasn’t allowed to go in because of his pride. Joseph, the son of Jacob, spent two years in prison waiting to be released of false charges.

What does waiting do for us? Waiting prepares us by breaking our own will, shaping our character through adversity, and developing a depth of faith in us that is needed for the exceptional work God has planned for us. The next time things don’t go as you planned and you find yourself waiting, look through a new lens and try to find what God is preparing for you. You might even say to Him, “You are doing something new, Lord, what is it? Show me what you are preparing for me.”

Things don’t always go as we planned. Sometimes, God makes them go so much better than we could ever have imagined on our own.

Birgitt Hacker

May 15, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

The Cincinnati area witnessed an insane sunset recently. Outside of the Eucharist, sunrises and sunsets are the things that make me feel closest to God. They always make me feel like He’s doing something just for me. I know, it’s silly. Sunsets can be seen by literally anyone who can look out a window. But, for some reason, they still feel intensely personal.

This sunset in particular took place the first week of May, which is Mental Health Awareness month. I was on my way home from my weekly coronavirus grocery shopping trip. I had had a particularly bad day mentally. I only got out of bed to go to the grocery that evening. I don’t even really know where I found the strength to do that, but it was definitely a nudge from the Lord.

As I was about to get on the highway, I saw a rainbow. When I turned onto the ramp, the peach color in front of me seemed to crash into dark gray clouds that slowly rolled into a dusty blue on the other side of the four lanes. Each moment of that sunset overwhelmed me more than the last, and I could hear Jesus say, “Just wait, I’m not done yet.” Every turn was a different shade, some were bright pink and others were dark and stormy. Every now and then I’d catch that rainbow in my side mirror.

When I got home I stood in the middle of the driveway of my apartment complex, staring over the hill thanking the Lord because it was exactly what I needed that day. Of course, as soon as I said that, my typical self-talk started: about how it’s silly to think that God would do something like that for me and it’s silly that I would complain about my day.

I know, I have it so much easier than most people. There’s so many sufferings that go on in the world that I cannot fathom. We are taught to be grateful for what we have and while that’s great and admirable, I think we are also allowed to desire our silliest dreams and we have a right, even a duty, to pay attention to how we feel mentally.

As I stood there in my driveway, I realized that the personalization of this particular sunset was in the boldness of the colors. The way the peach was so abruptly halted by the dark storm clouds reminds me of my mind. The storm clouds that dissolve into a soft blue, the random rainbow and thunder that make no sense, they reflect how I feel all the time. And it was the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen.

My blog posts are released on the 15th of every month, and on this month, the 15th is the feast of St. Dymphna, the patron saint of mental health. The hardest part of your mental health journey can sometimes be how polarizing it feels. Chances are not everyone understands or even agrees with your decision to look deeper into the crevasses of your mind. Even people who are your cheerleaders in other parts of your life might just not grasp this part.

And that brings in another element, one that I admire St. Dymphna for: her forgiveness to those who don’t understand. “Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.” Often the burden you carry is placed on you from generations passed. I think there’s an overall consensus among millennials to “stop the cycle”. But it’s still taboo.

I walked into therapy last week, saw two people I knew on my way in, and immediately felt so ashamed. I’m the young adult minister, I should have it together, right? On the way out of therapy I saw someone else that knows my whole family! Surely they’ll think I’m the crazy child. Which is silly, since we were all there for the same reason! If I saw any of those people at a general practitioner’s office, would I have felt the same way? Of course not. So I try to halt that self-talk immediately.

I should feel empowered that other people are on a journey like mine. We should know that we are not alone! That the Body of Christ not only continues in the waiting room of a psychologist’s office, but it is strengthened there.

This subject is so hard for me to talk about. Like many of you, mental health was not taken seriously when I was growing up. But, if I had stumbled on an article from a girl a few years older than I writing about her journey, or if I had found a site like The Catholic Woman that shares personal stories of female Catholics from every walk of life, if I had known about St. Dymphna, then I think that would have made all the difference.

The shame I feel speaking about this is real, but I won’t let it rule my life any longer. You are not alone, you are seen, you are heard, you are loved by a Father so unconditionally. And your Father wants you to dream for a future that seems impossible. Because He will go to the ends of the earth to grant the desires of your heart. He loves your dreams, and He loves the complexity of your feelings. He desires to help guide you through them, not to be ruled by them. He gave you patrons like Dymphna to be a beacon of hope.

I pray that you would reflect on your emotions, that you would accept that ‘feelings’ is not a bad word, that you would be an advocate for those suffering in silence, and that you would dream dreams that seem impossible until they’re not.

And that you would believe that your Father makes beautiful sunsets just for you. And He’s not done with you yet.

Sarah Rogers

April 22, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

Recently, I got an unexpected call from a dear friend who was praying her daily rosary. She invited me to pray a decade with her on the phone. After catching up on who was home from college and everyone’s health, we mentioned our intentions and began the Third Sorrowful Mystery together. I was touched, I was lifted up, I was filled with grace by this simple call and short prayer time together.

After sleeping on it, I made it my goal to call five people to pray a decade of the rosary with on the phone, and low and behold, I ran out of decades. Being a resourceful Catholic with plenty of devotions to choose from, I called five more friends to pray a decade of the Divine Mercy Chaplet. When those ran out, I started praying some plain old Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s.

Of course, during those calls we talked about all things Covid-19, including how stressful it is to wipe, disinfect, and eliminate every possible little droplet of the virus that we may have come in contact with during our necessary trip to the grocery store or gas station. We are hyper-vigilant, hand sanitizer at the ready, disinfectant wipes in every room, scouring surfaces and nooks and crannies that could potentially contain this invisible, evil, enemy. What the eye can’t see has us all nervous and anxious, and willing to make any sacrifice to stay safe from it.

This virus isn’t the only invisible enemy that confronts us daily, lurking around every corner, waiting for the chance to infect us. Another one, Satan, the accuser of the brethren, the father of lies, “prowls about like a roaring lion seeking someone to devour” (1 Pet 5:8). Why haven’t we been just as relentless with him, wiping out every little droplet he sprays across our world with his sneezes of pride, hatred, and accusation?

Social media, the news, and our elected officials remind us every day of Covid-19. But no one talks about the devil much anymore. I wonder if we have forgotten how infectious he is, and have settled into thinking that he’s no concern of ours. We don’t think anymore about how he hangs in the air, polluting the surfaces of our televisions and media, infecting us with his lies and his subversion of everything that is good, true, and beautiful.

While hand sanitizer and bleach keep germs at bay, perhaps it’s time for us to grab our rosaries, our Bibles, our holy water, and our prayer cards and start keeping our spiritual enemies at bay. After all, as Jesus was certain to remind us:

“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Mt 10:28)

This doesn’t mean that we should grow lax in our response to the virus. It just means that we have yet a far deadlier enemy that we cannot underestimate. There is no better time than now, when human lives are literally at stake, to vanquish both enemies as quickly as possible.

Jesus has given us everything we need so that the enemy we can’t see can be defeated. Our great vanquishing weapon is grace. Every day Christians are coming up with creative ways to receive this grace and share it with others:

Go to your parish’s drive-through Confession.
Start that prayer habit you’ve always known you needed to do but never took the steps to actually implement.
Offer to pray with people over the phone or through a quick Zoom meeting.
Have food delivered to your neighbor.
Walk the streets of your neighborhood and pray for every home and family.
Heal your broken relationships.
Call up your estranged brother and say, “I’m sorry.”

Let’s use this virus, a deadly physical enemy, as a reminder of an even deadlier spiritual enemy, and then get to work securing for ourselves and our communities a victory that lasts forever: the victory of heaven, where there will be no more sickness, suffering, disease, death, or evil of any kind.

What a glorious day that will be!

Birgitt Hacker

April 17, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

Holy Week, Triduum, Easter — it’s been a lot to reflect on this year, and a whirlwind of emotions. Our Lord was marched into town like a King, captured, beaten, tortured, killed, GONE, and then risen. And we didn’t get to participate in any of it in the way we normally would. I wonder if this is how the apostles felt: scared, uncertain, and unable to do anything.

Well, everyone but Peter. Peter seems to bust into a lot of the readings within the Triduum and Easter and assert himself as a main character, with his bold accusations and righteous anger. I love Peter, I feel akin to him. When Jesus tries to wash his feet, Peter is so dramatic: “Lord, You will never wash my feet.” Can you imagine telling the Lord you will never let Him do something for you? My gut reaction is, “No, I would never tell my Lord that.” But, I do it every day! I believe other things or other people will do things and fulfill things for me that only my Savior can fulfill.

Then Peter goes to the opposite extreme: “Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.” And Jesus basically says, dude calm down! “Whoever has bathed has no need except to have his feet washed…” Peter can’t just listen to the small promptings, it seems. He must go above and beyond what Christ is asking — which is impossible.

What Peter doesn’t understand at first is the deeper meaning behind the simple actions Jesus is asking for. At the end of the reading Jesus says, “If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet. I have given you a model to follow…” See, Peter? It isn’t about clean feet and hands, it’s about service to others. Jesus often has to put Peter in his place and bring him out of his own head to show him what He really means. And boy oh boy does Jesus have to do the same to me.

If the story ended here, we would probably think of Peter as a punk. But we know the end of this story: Jesus rises from the dead and then He raises Peter, from the shame of denying Jesus to his place as Rock and Shepherd. Over a charcoal fire Peter is given the chance to affirm his love of Jesus, not once but three times. Unlike Judas, who gave in to despair, Peter answers the call to repentance and restoration.

I’ll admit, I don’t always answer that call like I should. Sometimes I think, “He won’t take me back this time, I’ve failed too may times.” But who am I to think that my sin is more powerful than the Almighty’s ability to forgive me and love me? Jesus can turn anything into something beautiful. I just have to keep being like Peter.

Sarah Rogers

March 22, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

During this Lenten season we find ourselves amid a new shared adversity that most of us have never faced before. If you’re like me, you’re filled with fears, anxieties, and questions. Why did this have to happen? How long will it last? Will my family be ok? What are you doing, Lord?

In times like this I have to remind myself: God has a plan for each one of us and His plan is good. It tells us that right in the first paragraph of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC). Paragraph #1 says, “God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life.” God made us to share in His own blessed life. Think about that for a minute, that’s amazing! He wants to share His divine life with us by filling us with Himself, His Holy Spirit. He wants us to be close to Him during our lifetime and then He wants us to live with Him in heaven forever.

If God has a plan for us, and His plan is always one of sheer goodness, how can all this hardship help us grow in humility and perhaps some other virtues like patience and trust?

Humility is one of those words that we don’t like to talk about in our secular culture. We think perhaps that it means having low self-esteem, having to refuse any kind of compliment, denying our gifts and talents, being a pushover or not having a backbone to stand up for what’s right. But, humility is none of those things. In humility, we acknowledge that our goodness and worth come from being a child of God and not from our own personal accomplishments. St. Thomas Aquinas tells us that humility is about recognizing the truth about ourselves, which means recognizing both our limitations and our gifts. As we go along in life, we can sometimes forget that everything we have and all the talents we exhibit are all gifts from God. He gives them to us specifically to further the Kingdom of God and to give Him glory. That’s a part of His plan of sheer goodness.

If we view the disruption in our travel plans, our schedules, our dining out habits, our ability to come to Mass, our work, and even our grocery shopping as something that God ultimately intends for our good, then we can approach it differently. Begin with prayer and ask God to help you grow in the virtue of humility and other virtues. There’s no other way to do this, no other place to begin but in prayer. Ask the Holy Spirit: What can I learn from this situation and how can I grow in humility, patience, kindness, trust? Jesus tells us right in Sacred Scripture in Mathew 7:7 that when we ask, it will be given to us, so ask. If you’re having trouble quieting yourself enough to have this conversation with God, start with the Litany of Humility. It’s a powerful prayer that will put your heart in the right place.

Next, accept humbling experiences. Maybe you find yourself on an important conference call for work while your children are home and screaming, and the dog is barking. Accept that humiliation and don’t make excuses about having to work remotely right now. If you are in a long line waiting to buy that much-sought-after toilet paper and you are thinking about what a waste of time it is and how you have so many better things to do, thank God instead for the fact that you were able to find that toilet paper in the first place. If that grocery store line is long, use the wait time to make an examination of conscience and see if a little bit of pride (“I have so many better things to do”) has snuck into your life elsewhere. Did you have something better to do than come to Sunday Mass, or to listen to a person who might be suffering from loneliness, or spend time playing Chutes and Ladders for the tenth time with your toddler?

Humility also involves being obedient to legitimate superiors, in our government, in our church, and in our homes. Romans 13:1 tells us “Let every person be subordinate to the higher authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been established by God.” In humility then, we can submit ourselves to the request to avoid large gatherings and to stay home as much as possible. We can make this obedience an act of humility by following these guidelines – even when we disagree with them or think they shouldn’t apply to us..

As an almost daily communicant, I am truly struggling with the suspension of all public Mass. The moment I read the press release, I cried, and my heart pined to receive Jesus in the Eucharist right then and there. Perhaps God is giving me a chance to grow in humility through this adversity. Am I less than humble in my own perceived piety in coming to daily Mass? Perhaps this is my opportunity to truly unite my longing for Jesus with those who can never celebrate the Mass without fear of being killed or persecuted in some way. How bad do we really have it when we can’t find toilet paper or must stay home a few weeks, when others are forced to go months and even years without Jesus in Holy Communion?

So, let’s look at these adversities we face together as a chance to grow in humility, a chance to spend time with family, a chance to rely on God, a chance to read more of Sacred Scripture, and a chance to add more prayer to our daily lives. All these opportunities await us as we commit to meditating on the greatness of God, His plan for sheer goodness, and our complete reliance on Him.

Birgitt Hacker

March 15, 2020 by Nicholas Hardesty

Have you heard about the pandemic? Of course you have, there’s no escaping it. Over the past week we’ve all had to come to terms with our current reality, and everyone has their take: “It isn’t being taken seriously enough.” “It’s being used to cause panic.” “They’re trying to control us.” “They aren’t helping us.” Between all the memes and the guidelines, the political stances and economic impact trajectory, it’s hard to escape this virus from being your every thought, while at the same time resisting being desensitized to its reality.

Honestly, I was trying not to pay too much attention to it. Then it happened— my ministry was impacted, and my Sunday Mass obligation.

Things I’d been planning, praying into, working, and worrying tirelessly for were stripped away from me. “Upset” would be an understatement. Then, they started restricting the way I worship God. Some of us love to hug our friend at the sign of peace, shake our neighbor’s hand and give them a consoling squeeze and smile, some of us love to receive Our Lord on the tongue, some of us need to receive the Precious Blood in order to receive at all (due to dietary reasons). Suddenly we can’t worship the way we want, and some of us are even asked to stay home and not participate in public worship at all.

Personally, I’ve been having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I can’t receive My Lord in the way I feel is the most reverent, and the thought that, in a couple of weekends, I may not being able to receive Him at all is hard to imagine. Suddenly, all those times when I willingly put myself in a position of not being able to receive the Eucharist (because of the state of my soul) become all the more upsetting.

As I pray with this, struggling with what to do, I realize: This is still Lent. And the theme of so many Lenten devotionals, reflections, bible studies, etc. has been, “Into the Desert”. And suddenly I see that Christ is leading me into the desert now more than ever.

We all have our preferred ways of participating at Mass, and how beautiful it is that we can tailor our experiences at Mass to our style, culture, etc. But what happens when that is stripped away with no warning? Well, what happens is Christ still shows up. Christ is still on the altar, extending His reach to us. And, as I fumble through an unfamiliar way of doing things, He shows me how frail and stubborn my ways are, how frail my ministry is.

Young adults (such as myself) are all about meeting people where they’re at, and we do that through community, human formation, and healing. As a culture that’s where we are at and what we need. But as of March 2020, they are at home. So that’s where we will speak to them, in a personal desert. This is not the desert I was expecting, this is not how I had planned to worship God this Lent. I wanted public adoration, Stations of the Cross, bible studies, daily mass, all of it!

But then I think of the Desert Fathers and I am reminded that they were often only able to attend liturgy once a year, yet they are some of the holiest men and women the Church has ever known. I was reading some of their writings and an elder said, “Do not be discouraged if physical sickness comes upon you. Who are you to take offense if your Lord-and-Master wishes you to be afflicted in body? Does He not care for you in every way? Could you live without Him? Resign yourself and beseech God to grant you what is appropriate, that is, according to His Will; remain patiently in your cell, eating charity.”

Eating charity.

I may not be physically sick, but one of my older, or physically weaker brothers or sisters could become sick because of me, and that makes this a moral issue. And I could use some more charity to eat. I think we all could.

We have so many reasons and excuses why we shouldn’t have to do things the way we’re being advised and why we shouldn’t have to change our schedules or habits, but we can’t outrun this any longer. There is no way around this desert, only through.

Picking up your cross and walking may look different than what you’re used to for the next month or so, it may not look like what you think sacrifice looks like, but I think we should do it regardless. I’ve been learning lately that the sacrifices I like to make are often grand and dramatic, while the ones I need to make look smaller or “easier” when in actuality they chip away at my pride. This is a chance for us to truly enter into Lent, just us and Jesus. May we not give in to Satan’s temptations but dismiss them the way Christ did not once, but three times in the desert.

Sarah Rogers