It seems as if we are always looking for ways to renew ourselves, our surroundings, and the way we do things—especially at the beginning of a new year. And while it might not always be easy, renewal is good for our lives because it opens us up to new possibilities, just like those empty calendar pages. Each day, we are given a chance to renew ourselves and our lives based on the choices we make. 

Last October, the Franciscan family experienced its own renewal with the formation of the new Province of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The establishment of the new nationwide province, which has been in process for a while, brings together friars from across the country. This historic moment provides the Franciscans with possibilities, adventures, and challenges—much like the beginning of a new year. 

Please pray for the friars as they gather in a new way to continue their mission of spreading the message of St. Francis to all. 

In October 2023, Franciscans from a number of US provinces gathered  to become one.
Now they are discovering new ways to live out the spirit of St. Francis. 

Shortly before his death,  St. Francis of Assisi said to his fellow friars, “Let us begin again, for up until now we have done nothing.” 

It was a call for the friars to continue spreading the message of the Gospel as they had been, but it was also a call to continually seek new ways in which to do so. Now, 800 years later, the friars, known in their humility as the “lesser brothers,” are still seeking ways to answer that call. 

In that spirit, about 700 Franciscans of the Order of Friars Minor (OFM) from several US provinces from across the country came together last October to unify and become the Province of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The unification officially took place during the friars’ Synodal Chapter of Unity, held in Kansas City, Missouri. In establishing the new province, Minister General Brother Massimo Fusarelli installed Brother Lawrence Hayes as the province’s first provincial minister and Brother Mark Soehner as the provincial vicar. Seven councilors were also installed. 

Their job, says Brother Lawrence, is “to be stewards of the vision, animators of the brothers, and guardians of the fraternal care of each brother.” That vision, he says, is “how best to live out the Gospel of Christ in fraternity, in minority, in the United States at this time.” 

The name of the new province—Our Lady of Guadalupe—was a perfect fit and the desire of the friars, says Brother Lawrence. “Mary has always been the spiritual director of the order. Also, Our Lady of Guadalupe is the patroness of the Americas,” he says. “It reflects our desire to stand with, to work with, to serve with, to learn with and from the poor and the marginalized. I think having the name Our Lady of Guadalupe is a reminder that God chooses the lowly ones, just as Mary chose Juan Diego. So, in a sense it reflects the minority of the friars minor.” 

The friars of the new province hail from 26 states, the District of Columbia, and 16 countries. 

A Long Process

According to a press release announcing the event: “The unification comes at a time when the world has a deep hunger for St. Francis’ values—his courage as a peacemaker, his compassion for all people and all of creation, and his concern for the poor and the marginalized—all expressions of his profound love for Jesus Christ.

Franciscan friars have devoted their lives to carrying on this legacy through their service to others. Their synodal Chapter of Unity also happened at a time when Pope Francis has been leading the global Catholic Church in refreshing its identity and mission for this era.” 

But this has not been a quick or hasty process. “It is something that has been talked about for years and years,” says Brother Lawrence. “What motivated it, realistically speaking, was the decline in the number of Franciscan friars and, with that, a desire to preserve our ability to have a variety of ministries. If you have a pool of guys and you expand the pool, you can still have a variety of ministries.” 

Other factors, he says, were a desire to have a more national voice as Franciscans and wanting to reduce the number of friars engaged in internal ministry, such as serving on each individual province’s leadership team. 

Brother Jack Clark Robinson, a Franciscan historian and storyteller, says the discussion about unifying the provinces began in 2012 when Brother José Rodríguez Carballo, OFM, the minister general at the time, gathered the provincial leadership to discuss the current state and future of Franciscan life here in the United States. 

“[The following year,] the provincial ministers of the provinces accepted the report and its recommendation for a referendum among all the friars about the possibility of ‘coming to the table’ to consider the restructuring of their fraternal governance in the United States to allow and encourage renewal by a better allocation of their resources,” says Brother Jack. 

It wasn’t until May 2018, though, that “after much study, deliberation, and discernment, the majority of the provinces voted to seek the suppression of their existing provinces and the establishment of one new province to incorporate the friars who had belonged to them,” he adds. 

Different Perspectives, Same Excitement

For the friars, the unification will open up a whole new look at life and ministry. However, for the younger friars, who have gone through initial formation with members of other provinces, the move has not been such a huge step. 

One of those friars is Brother John Boissy. Talks of unification began shortly after Brother John joined the order in 2015. 

“Having formation with guys from other provinces and getting to know them throughout the process can make it much different for younger friars than it does for some of the older ones. For me—and probably others around my time in formation—it kind of feels like we’ve already been living as one together,” says Brother John. 

_{Minister General Massimo Fusarelli and Provincial Minister Lawrence Hayes of the Province of Our Lady of Guadalupe share a brotherly embrace after Brother Lawrence is installed as provincial minister.}

Brother Joe Schwab, who has been a friar for over 45 years, is equally excited about the possibilities the new unified province brings. “Ministries will change,” he says, “because our basic outlook has now been developed into a focus on being part of a Franciscan movement rather than as a province relatively separated from other provinces in strategy, planning, and commitment.” 

The change “encourages us to get to know each other better, because we were not normally working together in ministries,” adds Brother Joe. “I find it exciting to think that I could live and work in any part of the country.” 

Brother John agrees. “It opens up potential to go to a wider variety of places, but also to do other types of ministry. Now you can collaborate with a wider variety of friars and expand into different areas that weren’t necessarily possible before,” he says. 

Making Connections

But with that opportunity for the friars to meet each other on a larger scale comes its challenges. The sheer expanse of the new province is daunting, going from Boston to Santa Barbara and Mississippi to Alaska. 

“One of the challenges for us as friars is to feel we belong to something that’s tangible. And part of that will be getting to know one another more than we do now,” says Brother Lawrence. In that spirit, one of the new initiatives in the province is to encourage friars to move around and participate in gatherings outside of where they live.

“I think the more we get to know brothers, the more we’ll feel at home with the new province, the more we’ll recognize how gifted we are with friars from different legacy provinces. There’s such a wealth of talent and spirituality and spirit among us. It’s simply a matter of discovering the gift that is already there—the gift that we are,” he says. 

Brother Jack believes that the proactive work of the friars is important. “The great blessing to the friars themselves, to the order, and to the Church in the United States in creating this new province at this moment is that the friars have—under the guidance of the Holy Spirit—taken charge of what is happening rather than simply drifting along.” 

New Ways to Minister

Headquarters for the new province are in Atlanta, Georgia, but Brother Lawrence says the friars have a desire to do much more in the area than just house their administrative offices there. 

“We’d like to be involved in direct ministry,” says Brother Lawrence. “We have a number of friars who are looking at what possibilities exist for friars” in the area. “Where are the needs?” and “How can we serve?” are the questions the friars are asking, he says. 

On a more national scale, Brother Lawrence says the friars will be growing into new ways to minister. There are a number of ideas that have surfaced, he notes, such as ministries on the US-Mexico border and even the idea of a band of itinerant preachers who would travel and minister in various ways, such as retreats. And a new priority in the province, he says, will be finding ways to respond to the ecological crisis, especially in light of Pope Francis’ latest ecological apostolic exhortation, Laudate Deum (Praise God). 

Overall, though, he believes that whatever those ministries turn out to be, the future impact of the friars and their ministries will be humble and local. “I think we will have an impact where we are. And I think it will be an impact for the good, because we strive to be a band of brothers that tries to live inclusivity, nonviolence, concern, and compassion for those who would normally be excluded. I think we will be messengers of the joy of the Gospel. I think we’ll try to do that wherever we are and try to make a difference,” he says. 

Working with Others

Citing the recent synod of bishops and Pope Francis’ call for synodality, Brother Lawrence says that the friars will need to collaborate more with the laity and the larger Franciscan family. The friars also will have to understand that while at one point they could do it all by themselves, they can no longer do that, nor do they need to. 

“There are lots of wonderful groups and organizations doing great work,” says Brother Lawrence. Some of those organizations, he points out, may be outside the Catholic Church. “I think the question is, ‘How can we collaborate more with men and women of goodwill who are already doing good things that we can join with?’ We don’t have to be in charge. 

“As [the friars] discern together our priorities, our future, our path forward, I welcome the ability to do that with women, with laity, with the Secular Franciscans, with Poor Clares,” says Brother Lawrence. “I look forward to doing that. We need it.”

What do an American civil rights icon of the 1960s and an Italian mystic from the 13th century have in common? More than you might think. 

In a 2021 letter to the Rev. Bernice King, daughter of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Pope Francis wrote, “In today’s world, which increasingly faces the challenges of social injustice, division, and conflict that hinder the realization of the common good, Dr. King’s dream of harmony and equality for all people, attained through nonviolent and peaceful means, remains ever timely.” 

This wasn’t lip service to a fallen American icon. At his talk before the United States Congress in 2015, Pope Francis singled out Dr. King—along with Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and President Abraham Lincoln—as ideal representations of the American people. 

Born the son of a preacher and a choir director on January 15, 1929, Dr. King championed civil rights for Americans of color through nonviolent means until his assassination in April 1968. An American civil rights activist and an itinerate 13th-century Italian mystic might have little in common, but the spiritual principles laid by Francis of Assisi 800 years ago clearly took root in Dr. King’s mission. 

As we celebrate his life and his life’s work in January, these famous quotes show an uncanny understanding of the Franciscan spirit. 

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” Dr. King drew upon Matthew 5:43–45 when he gave his “Loving Your Enemies” sermon in 1957 in Montgomery, Alabama, but much of it could have been written by Francis himself. The civil rights movement was in motion by then, and Black Americans faced mounting aggression. 

In fact, even after the Civil Rights Act was signed into law by President Lyndon Johnson in 1964, people of color faced poll taxes, literacy tests, and other forms of psychological or physical intimidation. But Dr. King insisted on social change through nonviolent protest. 

In his own time, St. Francis of Assisi saw political unrest and a brutal caste system. Born into a family of means, he shed his wealth for a life of radical simplicity, for which he would be known. But he was a saint with a tireless capacity for love as well: love of the natural world and all its inhabitants. And with that, he recommended that his early brothers go into the world with the same interminable love. 

“The friars are bound to love one another because our Lord says, ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you’ (Jn 15:12). And they must prove their love by deeds, as St. John says: ‘Let us not love in word, neither with the tongue, but in deed and in truth’” (1 Jn 3:18). 

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” While Dr. King was incarcerated in April 1963, he penned his famous “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” And though he never deviated from the path of nonviolent resistance, he could, at times, lose patience when he was met with resistance—even among fellow clergymen. Dr. King was a prophet, not a saint. 

Though the central theme of the letter is about countering racial injustice with love, Dr. King covers a lot of bases in 7,000 words. He rails against the civic lethargy of Black clergy as well as White clergy who “stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities.” He also reminds us that God is the true keeper of history. Grace will always side with the righteous. 

In recognizing injustice, he had a kindred spirit in St. Francis. In the valley just below Assisi, lepers were kept out by city walls, and those who suffered from the disease rang bells to make their presence known. One major step in Francis’ conversion was his meeting with a leper on the side of the road. Rather than recoil, he embraced him. From then on, he lived his life in solidarity with those on the periphery. 

He recalled the incident, writing: “When I was in sin, the sight of lepers nauseated me beyond measure; but then God himself led me into their company, and I had pity on them. When I had once become acquainted with them, what had previously nauseated me became a source of spiritual and physical consolation for me. After that, I did not wait long before leaving the world.” 

“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” Dr. King employed several tactics to both further his mission for Black Americans while also dismantling White separatism. Among them was religion. In a 1964 speech in St. Louis, Dr. King reminded us that division among races isn’t just immoral. It’s unholy. As a preacher, he would rely on his religious acumen to remind Americans that we are all imperfect children of a perfect God—essential members of one body of Christ. 

There is scriptural support for that position. The Gospels are awash with references to the unity of God’s human family. “So we, though many, are one body in Christ and individually parts of one another” (Rom 12:5) is but one example. 

On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in August 1963, when King gave his famous “I Have a Dream” speech, he longed for a day when “the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.” Historians differ on whether that dream was realized. 

Centuries before, as Francis of Assisi lay dying, he prayed that his early followers would continue his mission but always lead with love. All roads, he understood, begin and end there. “Because I am not able to speak much because of my weakness and the pain of my illness, I make known briefly my will and intention to all my brothers present and future,” he said. “Namely, that as a sign that they remember me, my blessing, and my testament, they always love one another as I have loved them and do love them.” 

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” Dr. King had reason to despair—and behind closed doors, he might have. But he kept a brave face in public. This quote from February 1968 illustrates a kind of hopeful realism with the civil rights struggle: Battles are often lost, though the war will surely be won. 

Hope, in fact, was the bedrock of his work. “If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps moving,” he said that same year. Two months later, he would be murdered in Memphis. A kindred spirit, St. Francis drew strength from one source: God. As his order grew and became unwieldy, Francis sought solitude to pray, yet he understood that he wasn’t, ultimately, in charge. This must have given him a measure of hope. 

“Be my rock of refuge, a stronghold to give me safety,” he wrote. “For you are my hope, O Lord. On you I depend from birth; from my mother’s womb you are my strength; constant has been my hope in you.” 

“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: What are you doing for others?” In this century of excess, could we give up all material comforts and live among the poor? It was just as unthinkable in Francis’ day. Nevertheless, he shed his worldliness and embraced Lady Poverty, “a fairer bride than any of you have ever seen,” he told a childhood friend. 

To renounce his father’s wealth and live among the poorest was not only an act of defiance against his inheritance, but an act of charity fueled by grace. Solidarity with the poor, for Francis, was an act of love. He coached his brothers to do the same: “And to this poverty, my beloved brothers, you must cling with all your heart, and wish never to have anything else under heaven.” 

Though a true intellectual, Dr. King kept his words and his ideals grounded in everyday Christian principles. He was a son of God first, a citizen of the country second. Therefore, Gospel-infused charity was the true heartbeat of his beliefs. He wrote and spoke widely about not only political inequality in America but also the country’s need to end poverty, illiteracy, racial violence, and exclusion. Nobody should be refused a seat at the table. 

The questions Dr. King asked his audience in that Montgomery, Alabama, speech in 1957 still resonate: What are we doing for the least of us? How are we bettering the lives of others? In what ways can we work for justice, to counter hate with love, to work for peace? 

Decades later, he awaits an answer.

Sidebar: The Pope and the Preacher

When Pope Francis spoke before Congress during his US visit in 2015, he highlighted four people who symbolized the best of what the country has offered the greater world: Dorothy Day, who embodied a spirit of service; Thomas Merton, whose spiritual hunger governed his life; President Abraham Lincoln, the great defender of liberty; and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a champion of equality.

Pope Francis praised the slain civil rights leader for daring people of color in this country to dream big. “That dream continues to inspire us all. I am happy that America continues to be, for many, a land of ‘dreams,’” he said. “Dreams which lead to action, to participation, to commitment. Dreams which awaken what is deepest and truest in the life of a people.”

Could the pope give such a speech today before our two bitterly divided political parties? Would his words be dismissed as “woke”? In that speech he called Americans to our better angels—as the 16th president did—and to rise to the challenge of loving those on the margins.

Pope Francis closed his speech with: “It is my desire that this spirit continue to develop and grow, so that as many young people as possible can inherit and dwell in a land which has inspired so many people to dream. God bless America!”

As we enter this controversial presidential election year, I am reminded of election night in 2012. I was in my second year of novitiate with the Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia and attending a formation event that brought together Franciscans in initial formation in our Franciscan family. Tensions were high that Election Day: Mitt Romney was the Republican candidate, and Barack Obama was the incumbent. Though it may be difficult to remember now, this election divided our country. 

Franciscans are unique when it comes to such moments of division—we span the spectrum of labels. Whether you name it conservative, liberal, or something else altogether, Franciscans come as a hodgepodge of eclectic characters across the political continuum. As election results were reported that November evening in 2012, we sat together, both parties in the same space. There was excitement, empathy, sadness, and support all mixed together in a room that could easily be divided. We spent the rest of the week praying, eating, sharing, and having fun together. We were simply together. 

‘Mirror of Perfection’ 

This witness provides our country with a concrete example of what life could be if we chose dialogue over division. I do not pretend that real problems do not exist, nor do I believe the separation and division are unwarranted, but I do believe that with no cross-conversation, community is not possible. 

Pope Francis, in an address in 2014, spoke of unity by saying, “It means knowing how to listen, to accept differences, and having the freedom to think differently and express oneself with complete respect toward the other, who is my brother or sister.” 

Our own Franciscan tradition speaks deeply to the idea of unity through community. In St. Francis of Assisi, the Mirror of Perfection, written by Brother Leo, we are told the story of Francis waking up the brothers in the middle of the night to sit for a meal with one brother who cried out in hunger. Francis made it abundantly clear that it was “great necessity and charity [that] compelled” him to do what he did “out of love for [their] brother.” Francis went on to say, “Let each one provide his body with what it needs as our poverty will allow.” 

This act of compromise came from a place of love without loss of identity or values. He wasn’t asking all the brothers to bend to the need of a single brother; he was asking that judgment be set aside so that each may have only what they needed. He was simply acknowledging differences. It seems the divisions of our time have caused us to lose the ability to make room for differences due to strict adherence to laws over compassion—something Jesus often warned the Pharisees against. 

Collaboration, Dialogue, Transformation 

So, yes, I believe the Franciscan charism can save the world, but only if we act authentically from that call to community and wrestle with the challenges that come with it. Many members of our Franciscan family are already doing this work, but it needs to be shared widely. 

The Franciscan Federation, of which I am the executive director, has been engaged in a multiyear transformation process to broaden the membership beyond the sisters and brothers to include Franciscan organizations and all who identify as Franciscan. I am deeply aware of the challenges and communication needed to do such transformative work within a single organization. It will take all of us to transform the world. 

A terminated pregnancy at 17 haunted this writer for decades until she found forgiveness and freedom in God.

Fifty years ago, I believed a lie that transformed my world in ways I never thought imaginable. After a decade of disruption, as the ’70s rolled in, I donned the bell bottoms and big flower print dresses and proudly waved the flag for the women’s rights movement. I loved every bit of the movement, and though I was too young to vote, I was on board with everything they espoused.

I grew up in a large Italian Catholic family in Cincinnati. Everyone in my family was loving and caring, and we had a lot of fun. I was a very strong-willed child, primed to take on the world and get things done as I entered high school. I had just turned 17 when I entered my senior year.

High school was a blast! I met a boy, and we “fell in love.” We engaged in a relationship—knowing it was wrong but believing the fact that we cared about each other made it OK. But something was wrong. I knew it, but I wasn’t sure what. I made a doctor’s appointment, believing there was no way I could be pregnant. It was 1972. The fight over Roe v. Wade was in the headlines almost daily, and I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

“You’re about eight weeks pregnant,” the doctor announced. The moment I heard those words, I began wavering. My world started spinning out of control, and confusion set in.

A friend had suggested I go to Planned Parenthood because they’d be able to help me. I can still see that dingy little office in my mind. I was a 17-year-old kid when I walked into that clinic, had the exam, and they confirmed I was pregnant.

“We want to help you,” they said. “You need to understand you don’t have a choice. You won’t graduate from high school. You won’t be able to get an excellent job. Your family will be upset. You don’t have any choice.”

Those words echo in my mind to this day. Planned Parenthood helped me set up the procedure at their clinic in Manhattan. Abortion was not legal in Ohio then. I set the plan in motion, determined to take care of this issue.

Troubled and Alone

My boyfriend and I went to downtown Cincinnati to get a ticket for a flight to New York City. I told only a few friends because I needed their help with planning. I bought a ticket to New York City, set up the appointment for the procedure, and then started planning everything with my friends. I stayed overnight at a friend’s house, got up early the following day, and my boyfriend took me to the airport. I told my mom and dad I would be out shopping all day. I gave lists to my friends who went shopping for me. Talk about strategizing to connive my way through an ordeal—at 17!

I stepped on that flight to New York City all by myself and never looked back. I landed at LaGuardia Airport, took a cab to Planned Parenthood, and had the abortion. Though I remember every detail, even the people I met on the flight, I completely blocked my swirling thoughts and emotions out of my mind.

Once I received counseling from Planned Parenthood and a month’s supply of birth control pills, I was on my way to being free. I jumped in a cab, headed back to LaGuardia, caught a flight home, and met my boyfriend, who had all the packages from my friends who had been shopping for me. I came home that night with the packages in my arms, and my mom and dad never suspected a thing.

The next day, a Monday, I woke up, put on my uniform, and went right back to school. I never thought twice about it. I buried that incident so deeply I never wanted to talk about it or think about it—and I didn’t.

The truth was, I was in trouble—17, pregnant, still in high school. My parents would have been horrified and disappointed. The only way for me to process this was to shut down. But I went further. I chose to believe the lies. I chose to believe my family would disown me. I believed I had taken care of the issue. No big deal.

Onward I went, pushing down any regret or guilt. I went through life with an “I am woman, hear me roar” attitude, and no one was going to tell me what to do, especially not politicians in Washington. It is my body and my soul. That is, until 1978.

Guilt Resurfaces

I was married and worked as a nuclear medicine tech in a hospital. We had just bought an ultrasound machine and decided to test the equipment since I was 10 weeks pregnant. The technology was somewhat new back then, and doing ultrasounds on pregnant women was not as prevalent as today.

I was excited to see what this little fetus looked like. And right before my eyes, I saw an intact, fully formed baby. I could see every part of her: her head, her spine, her little behind (stuck up in the air), her arms and legs. My heart leapt for joy, but then, in an instant, I remembered that what I thought was just a blob of tissue when I was pregnant in 1972 was a baby. I was crushed. I buried the simple procedure I had had six years earlier even deeper. I told no one. I never shared this experience with my mom and dad, and I was so racked with guilt and shame—but you would never know that had you met me. You would have considered me a very competent woman.

But I continued to push down the guilt and shame. I told myself I didn’t need to feel guilty about anything. I ended up getting divorced in 1980. I had a successful career and was one of the few women in that career. My father passed away in 1986, and I never told him about the abortion. I continued down the path of doing what I needed to do to take care of myself and, as a single mom, my child.

In 1990, everything changed. I fell in love with a man. He was understanding, loving, and totally understood the burden of guilt that I carried. He helped me move from that shame to being the precious daughter of God that I am. I’d known of God intellectually for years, but I did not know him personally. My world completely changed once I did. I started to understand with my heart who Jesus is and why he came to this earth and died for my sins.

Those were not rote words to me any longer. They gripped my soul. Yet, I continued to believe the lie from within: “You are not worthy. Even Jesus will not love you because of what you did.”

Time Passes

I believed the lie. I believed I could never be forgiven. But I took my faith seriously and started growing as a Christian. I went to church and was involved in small groups. So many Sundays, I would be in church crying because I believed I would never be forgiven. Oh yes, God could forgive me for all the other things I’ve done, and there have been plenty, but this? It weighed so heavily on my heart.

When my daughter was 16, I told her I had an abortion. I felt that she should know as she matured and started dating. I was also sharing with various women’s groups, and I thought it was important for her to hear my story from me. My mom and I had gotten close after my dad passed away. She came to a point where she wanted to know God personally. She and I started doing Bible studies together.

For a moment—and it was just a moment—I thought I should tell my mom about the abortion. Yet, I couldn’t even imagine going through with it. I ignored the pang in my heart again, burying everything, which is what guilt and shame will do. And when my mom passed away in 1996, I felt horrible. I thought the one thing I should have done was ask my mom for forgiveness. But I had to let it go—it would never be.

Mother and Child

One day in 1997, as my daughter was getting ready for college, she and I were sitting at the kitchen table. I took a few moments to share with her about life and things she should know. As I sat across from her, as clearly as I could see my daughter, I had a vision of my mother.

I am not one for visions, and I can hardly ever remember my dreams, but this was as real as anything I’ve ever known. She was breathtakingly beautiful. My mom had been sick before she passed away. But in the vision, she was radiant. Her hair was white and combed back off her face. She was stunning.

My daughter was sitting right there across from me, asking me what was happening. I didn’t have the words to say. I looked at my mom, and she was looking straight at me. Then she looked down and, in her arms, she was cradling a baby. Her expression radiated love. Then she looked straight into my eyes again, and though she didn’t say a word, it was as though I heard her say, “Look who I have.”

That was all I ever needed to hear from my mom. I knew what she was saying to me. It was so clear. And in seconds, the vision was gone. Yet, I knew what it meant. The minute my mom left her earthly body, she was greeted in heaven by her first grandchild.

Oh, the peace that flooded my soul as I wrote this story 25 years after that vision! It’s as though God pulled back the curtain of heaven and said, “Danise, what is it going to take for you to know you are loved and forgiven?” Indescribable peace—not because of anything I’ve done, but because of the gift of forgiveness I received from God.

From that point on, God tenderized my heart, knocking down the fortress I’d built around my emotions. I opened my heart to the journey God still has me on today. Though I am in my late 60s, I am excited to know more about what God has for me in my life and to know what I can do to help others understand how loving and forgiving God is.

God’s Grace

Everything I do now is geared toward helping people understand that we don’t need to walk in guilt and shame over what we’ve done. Our world says it’s no big deal to have an abortion, but it is. It affects us in ways only our hearts understand. But God loves and forgives us.

Now my whole purpose in life is to help people understand God’s love. To help children understand that love is being kind, patient, and hopeful. When we know how much God loves us, we can love others, despite the fact we may disagree or even get angry with them. God loves us and has forgiven us.

Because of my journey and where I am now, if I can help one child know and understand the power of God’s love, they will not find themselves in such a predicament of making tough decisions. Perhaps my story will help other women not feel the need to walk in guilt and shame. And, most importantly, we know that nothing in this world can separate us from the love of God.

As atrocities continue on both sides of the conflict in the Holy Land, the striking Franciscan vision of a more peace-loving world is all the more needed.

My daughter called me recently to process an experience she had the previous weekend. She had enjoyed a rendezvous with two of her close friends—a Jewish American and a Palestinian American. They met at the home of her Jewish friend’s mother, whose own mother escaped the Holocaust and fled to America. 

The four of them sat together for some hours, trying to process their experiences brought to the forefront since the compounding traumas of October 7 began. The mother, having heard her own mother’s experiences of Naziism in Germany and having experienced anti-Semitism in America, felt acutely the ongoing vulnerability of Jews. The daughter sought to hold a tension: empathy for the Israelis who live in fear of terrorists who want to see them erased, and empathy for the Palestinians who suffer greatly under Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and the blockade and bombing of Gaza. 

My daughter’s Palestinian friend, having recently visited her ancestral homeland in Gaza and spent time with her relatives there, not only felt the accumulating weight of Palestinian suffering after decades of blockade and occupation, but she felt acute fear for the lives of her family in the daily onslaught of bombs. And my daughter, a deeply empathetic woman, felt the pain and deep sadness of her three companions—and her own pain in the midst of a morally and historically complex reality.

The four women did something too rare: they sat with their complexity, shared, and heard honest and vulnerable feelings. They listened across difference to express their own humanity and affirm the humanity of one another. 

My daughter told me about an exchange that especially touched me. After October 7, her Jewish friend’s mother put on a Star of David necklace and wore it at home, because it felt right to express her connection to the Jewish people and their shared history. Before leaving the house, though, she felt it best to take off the necklace. Why risk a potentially violent confrontation with an anti-Semite in these tense times? Then my daughter’s Palestinian friend shared that she also wears a necklace, with a small Palestinian flag, an expression of her solidarity with her people. Since October 7, though, she has sometimes turned her necklace over in public for fear that she might be seen as supporting Hamas or expressing anti-Semitism. She has no desire to add to the trauma of Jewish people.  

Mirroring Behaviors

Israelis and Palestinians have suffered intense and sustained trauma at the violent hand of the other, and each is being retraumatized in unimaginable ways with every passing hour. Each community fears genocide at the hands of the other. Each group fears that the other might at any moment heartlessly murder them, their children, their parents, and their grandchildren and feel justified in doing so. Each feels trapped by the actions of their own governments, and abandoned by the international community.

Compared to the fear and agony being experienced every day by people in Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank, the challenges and choices faced by these four women may seem minor. But they pushed back against a phenomenon of war that is too seldom considered and that touches us all. We often speak of the fog of war, but we seldom speak of the contagion of war.

When two groups are caught in a violent conflict, extremists on both sides often engage in mirroring behaviors. One set of extremists presents itself as purely innocent victims and the other as absolute villains; their counterpart does the same. The horrific wrongs of one side are used to justify or excuse virtually any behavior undertaken by the other side, and vice versa. The wrongs of the other side are exaggerated and fabricated; the wrongs of “our side” are minimized and even erased. 

Narratives are shaped that show how the other side started the conflict, leaving “our side” no choice but to retaliate. “We” become brave, misunderstood, and victimized human beings and “they” become dehumanized beasts and monsters: mere numbers in the “collateral damage” that cannot be avoided. Religious texts and tropes are employed to legitimize “us” and delegitimize “them.” God is with “us;” “they” are anti-God. Any regard shown for the human dignity of “them” is interpreted as disloyalty, a betrayal of “us.”

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This narrative creates more extremists who adopt this mirroring behavior. They then pressure everyone on their side to join with them. Gradually, non-extremists in each community who do not participate in this dance of escalating antagonisms face, not one, but two escalating dangers. First, they face the obvious enemy on the other side, and second, they face the more subtle and more intimate enemy on their own side. The obvious enemy from the other side is out to kill them with bullets or bombs. The intimate enemy from their own side is out to test their loyalty again and again by requiring increasingly extremist thinking, and if they fail the test, they face social shame, rejection (or “cancelling”,) and even violence.

And that’s where the contagion of war threatens beyond borders. Around the world, groups seek to “borrow” the innocence and valor of whomever they assess to be most useful, whether the victim or the victor. Through “virtue by association,” they create a cult of innocence that in fact parasitizes the actual suffering of the side they identify with and discounts the suffering of the other side. In seeking innocence, they become the very opposite of innocent. The war of bombs and bullets may stay geographically contained for a while, but the war of words and political posturing spreads like a deadly pandemic, forming a hateful abyss in which society turns on itself.

‘Let Me Sow Love’

As we talked, my daughter and I realized we are acutely feeling this contagion here in the US, in groups considered “left ” and “right.” On one side, criticism of Hamas is intolerable; on the other side, criticism of the Israeli government is intolerable. On one side, to care about Palestinian lives is to support Hamas and its horrors; on the other side, to care about Israeli lives is to support the slaughter of innocent Palestinians. Calling for peace and empathy rather than revenge and dehumanization feels unacceptable. For both sides, this contagion of war becomes a driver of hate. Real fear among real people leads to very real acts of hate against Muslims and Jews around the world. 

These four women resisted this contagion and engaged in the heart-stretching heart-work of listening, humanizing, trying to understand the truths behind the stories being spread in public. They resisted the urge to accept a single story and erase any other story.  If we follow their example, by resisting simplistic good-guy/bad-guy dualisms, by learning to hold deep and painful tensions, by facing all the complexity of reality that we can bear, we begin to see both “us” and “them” as part of a bigger human story, a story full of violence that will only cycle on unless we change and grow .

The very act of resisting the contagion of war is an expression of the change and growth we need.

Yes, this work of peacemaking is hard. But even as we grieve, even as we protest, we need masses of people to do this heart-work. Otherwise, even in fighting the monster, we can become the monster. Even in decrying the violence of one side, we can unintentionally spread the more subtle contagion of war. Where you live, there may not be bombs falling or bullets flying, but this contagion of war is spreading quietly like a virus, from mouth to ear, from words to thoughts, from mind to mind, from heart to heart. Each of us would be wise to guard our hearts from it.

Last weekend, my daughter witnessed friends from communities in conflict moving toward each other, and moving together toward empathy, humanity, and love. As I listened to her, I found myself praying the words of St. Francis, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”