Mary Marrocco

My mother was an eager learner, but with little patience for pretence. She’d recount her dismay at asking a school teacher about the dogma of the Trinity, only to be shut down by being told: “It’s a mystery,” as if to say: "You can’t ask or learn about this; you must accept it without question." This she could not do, because she loved God. Her mind never gave up but always went further, equally willing to learn from her little children’s questions and from the lectures of her Basilian professors. (She appreciated having studied with professors of the calibre of Fr. Henry Carr). She delighted in learning, listening and talking about the mystery of the Trinity.

As we can readily observe, it’s not Good Friday that needs to be proclaimed to the world but Easter Sunday. We all know about suffering, death and violence; no evidence is required. But the good news needs to be made known: that forgiveness has trumped cruelty, love has triumphed over death and the apparent victory of evil has become a tool in God’s hand to give us life eternal. Evil is revealed to be like smoke that vanishes in the breeze or wax that melts in the fire (Psalm 96).

“Why can’t my spouse and I understand each other?” Even in the dearest of relationships, we might feel we can’t understand our husband, daughter, father or friend. 

A young woman, Suzette, became used to inventing explanations for being late for school. She was ashamed to tell the real reason: frequently, she had to take a detour, because she thought she’d glimpsed a certain type of vehicle and was afraid to see or be seen by the occupant. Just the idea of seeing a certain person who had harmed her, and who drove such a vehicle, made her so anxious she had to change her daily course. 

Touch anyone and you touch grief, the grief of losing someone beloved. There’s grief, and there’s the grief born of a tragic death such as from suicide. Socially, and even as a Church, we often don’t know how to respond.

Once, in a public place, I overheard a couple of men talking as they walked along behind me.

The deep-down goodness of the “average” person gives me awe. No wonder the psalmist, even after experiencing the worst human beings are capable of, exclaims: “you are gods, children of the most high, all of you” (Psalm 82:6). For, as Jesus reminded His hearers when quoting this verse (John 10:34), we’re capable of receiving the very word of God. When we lose everything else, we must hold on to this truth.

Walking down a city street, I overheard a real estate agent talking with a prospective buyer about a house on the street.  “And when that stone church on the other side gets made into a condominium, the home value will go up,” she reasoned to her customer. 

In a parish discussion — a mini-synod, you might say — we had a roundtable talk about whether people would return to Church once pandemic restrictions ended. One young participant saw it this way: “If the Church has something people need, why wouldn’t they return?”

There are moments when the ground beneath us shakes, and we get a shocking glimpse of our failing in love.