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It's a Feria, 4th Class, with the color of Green. In this episode: today in Church History: "October 22, 1962 — Vatican II Begins Debating the Sacred Liturgy", the meditation: "The Imitation of Jesus Christ", today's news from the Church: "Cardinal Zuppi: The Reassuring Face of Modernism", a preview of the Sermon: "What Does It Mean to Forgive?", and today's thought from the Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre.
Have feedback or questions about the DD or our other shows? [email protected]
It's a Feria, 4th Class, with the color of Green. In this episode: the meditation: "A Difficult Law", today's news from the Church: "The Cardinals Who Have Lost Their Way", and today's thought from the Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre.
Have feedback or questions about the DD or our other shows? [email protected]
It's the Feast of St. John Cantius, 3rd Class, with the color of White. In this episode: the meditation: "The Forgiveness of Injuries", today's news from the Church: "Cardinal Roche Rules Out Any Return to Freedom for the Traditional Mass", and today's thought from the Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre.
Have feedback or questions about the DD or our other shows? [email protected]
Saint Luke is traditionally remembered as a physician, a companion of Saint Paul, and the author of the third Gospel. But what makes him especially interesting is how differently he tells the story of Jesus compared with the other Evangelists.
For one thing, Luke wasn't writing primarily for a Jewish audience.
Matthew constantly points back to Old Testament prophecies, showing how Jesus fulfills the promises made to Israel. Luke certainly does that too, but he writes with a particular concern for the wider Greek-speaking world. His Gospel emphasizes that Christ came not only for Israel, but for every nation.
And he tells us something unusual right at the beginning.
Luke opens his Gospel almost like a historian. He explains that he has investigated the accounts handed down by eyewitnesses and carefully arranged them for a man named Theophilus, so that he can know the certainty of what he has been taught.
That's quite different from Mark, who launches almost immediately into John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness.
Luke also gives us stories we wouldn't have without him.
The Annunciation.
The Visitation.
The shepherds at Bethlehem.
The finding of Jesus in the Temple.
In fact, much of what Catholics know about the early life of Our Lord and the Blessed Virgin comes from Luke alone. Ancient Christian tradition has even suggested that Luke learned some of these details directly from Mary, although Scripture doesn't explicitly tell us that.
Then there are his parables.
The Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, and the Rich Man and Lazarus are all found only in Luke. Notice what they have in common: mercy, repentance, wealth, poverty, and the surprising ways God turns human expectations upside down.
Luke is especially attentive to people society overlooks.
Women appear prominently throughout his Gospel. So do the poor, tax collectors, Samaritans, and sinners. His account repeatedly shows Christ seeking people whom others have dismissed.
And Luke's story doesn't end with the Resurrection.
He also wrote the Acts of the Apostles.
That's a fascinating detail because Luke effectively gave the Church a two-volume history. His Gospel tells what Christ did during His earthly ministry. Acts shows how the risen Christ continued His work through the Apostles and the Holy Ghost.
Together, those two books make up more than a quarter of the New Testament.
There's also an old tradition that Luke painted the first image of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Several famous icons, including ones venerated in Rome and the Christian East, have been attributed to him, although those artistic attributions cannot be historically verified.
That tradition is fitting, though.
Luke's Gospel has given Christian artists some of their most beloved scenes for nearly two thousand years.
Without Luke, we would know far less about Bethlehem, Our Lady's early experiences, the mercy of Christ, and the beginnings of the Church.
Saint Luke the Evangelist, faithful historian of Christ and herald of God's mercy, pray for us.
Saint Richard Gwyn was a Welsh schoolteacher who had a remarkable talent for getting under the skin of the authorities. He was intelligent, stubborn, deeply Catholic, and apparently had a sense of humor that even imprisonment couldn't take away.
He was born around 1537 in Montgomeryshire, Wales, and received an excellent education, studying at Oxford and Cambridge. Eventually he returned to Wales, married a woman named Catherine, and became a schoolteacher. Together they raised a family while England and Wales were undergoing enormous religious changes.
Under Queen Elizabeth I, attendance at Protestant services was compulsory, and Catholics who refused could face heavy fines and imprisonment.
Richard refused.
He believed the Catholic Mass and the authority of the Pope were worth defending, even when doing so threatened his livelihood and his family.
Eventually, he was arrested.
The authorities tried several ways to make him conform. On one occasion, Richard was taken to a Protestant church and placed in front of the pulpit so he would have to listen to the sermon.
Richard had other ideas.
According to the traditional accounts, he began rattling his chains so loudly that nobody could hear the preacher.
When ordered to stop, he reportedly replied that he was making noise because he didn't want to hear what was being preached.
That didn't improve his relationship with the authorities.
During his imprisonment, Richard continued writing Welsh religious poetry, much of it defending the Catholic faith and criticizing the religious policies of the government. His verses are among the most interesting surviving examples of Welsh Catholic resistance during the Reformation.
And he wasn't imprisoned for just a few weeks.
Richard spent years in confinement, separated from his wife and children, repeatedly pressured to abandon his faith.
Eventually he was charged with treason, largely because of his refusal to accept the religious settlement and his defense of Catholic authority.
At his trial, Richard defended himself with the same sharp wit that had made him so troublesome in prison. When witnesses offered contradictory testimony, he pointed out the inconsistencies and refused to pretend the accusations were true.
He was condemned anyway.
On October 15, 1584, Richard was taken to the marketplace in Wrexham and executed by hanging, drawing, and quartering.
According to tradition, his final words included a prayer for his executioners and an appeal to God for mercy.
Today, Richard Gwyn is remembered as one of the Forty Martyrs of England and Wales, canonized by Pope Paul VI in 1970. His memory remains especially strong in Wales, where Catholic schools and churches bear his name.
There's something particularly appealing about Richard's story.
He wasn't a bishop.
He wasn't a famous theologian.
He was a husband, a father, and a teacher who refused to surrender his faith.
And when the authorities tried to silence him, he sometimes responded by making even more noise.
Saint Richard Gwyn, courageous Welsh martyr and joyful defender of the Catholic faith, pray for us.
Saint Hedwig of Silesia was a duchess who lived in a castle, raised a family, and had access to just about every comfort medieval Europe could offer.
Yet she became famous for something rather unusual.
She refused to wear shoes.
Hedwig was born around 1174 into a noble Bavarian family and married Henry the Bearded, Duke of Silesia, while still a young girl. Together they governed a large territory in what is now Poland, raised seven children, and became important supporters of the Church.
But Hedwig had very little interest in living like a wealthy duchess.
She wore simple clothing, fasted frequently, and often walked barefoot, even through the freezing winters of Silesia.
Her confessor eventually ordered her to wear shoes.
Hedwig obeyed, in a manner of speaking.
According to a beloved tradition, she began carrying her shoes in her hands instead of wearing them. When questioned, she could truthfully say she always had them with her.
Apparently, even medieval saints could be clever about following instructions.
But Hedwig's generosity was much more than a personal exercise in poverty.
She established hospitals, supported monasteries, helped prisoners, and regularly visited poor families. One particularly interesting practice involved people imprisoned for debt. Rather than simply paying their debts and sending them away, Hedwig sometimes arranged work for them so they could support themselves and their families.
She also took a personal interest in the women serving in her household, helping them obtain education, religious instruction, and suitable marriages.
Her greatest foundation was the Cistercian convent at Trzebnica, established with her husband in 1202. It became one of the most important religious houses in medieval Poland.
And her own family experienced considerable suffering.
Several of her children died young, and in 1241 her son Henry II was killed fighting the Mongol invasion at the Battle of Legnica. The defeat was devastating, and much of Silesia feared further destruction.
Hedwig mourned her son, but according to her early biography, she accepted the news with remarkable faith, entrusting him to God's mercy.
After her husband's death, she spent much of her remaining life near the convent at Trzebnica, where her daughter Gertrude was abbess. Although Hedwig never formally became a nun, she lived simply among the sisters and continued her works of charity.
She died in 1243.
Today, pilgrims still visit the magnificent Basilica of Saint Hedwig in Trzebnica, where her tomb has been venerated for centuries. She remains one of the great patron saints of Silesia and an important figure in both Polish and German Catholic history.
And there's something wonderfully memorable about her legacy.
She had a duchess's wealth, a noble family's influence, and a castle to live in.
Yet people remembered her bare feet.
Saint Hedwig of Silesia, generous mother of the poor and humble duchess of Christ, pray for us.
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Saint Teresa of Ávila is famous for her mystical visions, her reform of the Carmelites, and her extraordinary writings on prayer. But some of the best stories about her reveal a woman who was practical, funny, occasionally exasperated, and remarkably good at handling difficult people.
For example, Teresa once found herself dealing with a nun who insisted she was receiving extraordinary supernatural revelations. Rather than immediately believing her, Teresa suspected the woman might be imagining things. According to an account in her Foundations, she arranged for the sister to eat properly, sleep more, and spend less time dwelling on her supposed visions.
Teresa understood something important.
Not every unusual spiritual experience comes from heaven.
She also had a wonderful sense of humor about her own difficulties. One famous story says that while traveling between convents, Teresa fell into a muddy stream and complained to God about how badly He treated His friends. According to the traditional telling, Our Lord answered, "Teresa, that is how I treat My friends."
Teresa supposedly replied, "No wonder You have so few!"
The exchange is probably legendary, but generations of Catholics have loved it because it sounds exactly like the Teresa they encounter in her writings.
Then there were her adventures in convent administration.
Teresa founded seventeen reformed Carmelite convents, often with almost no money, unreliable transportation, difficult local authorities, and buildings that needed enormous repairs. In her letters, she worried about everything from spiritual formation to whether the sisters had enough blankets.
She was a mystic who could spend hours in contemplation and then turn around and negotiate a property purchase.
One of her lesser-known accomplishments was her insistence that recreation mattered. Teresa wanted her nuns to laugh together, enjoy conversation, and avoid becoming gloomy or overly solemn. She believed that a community unable to live cheerfully together would struggle to grow in charity.
And she was remarkably suspicious of exaggerated holiness.
Teresa disliked unnecessary displays of penance, especially when they damaged someone's health or made life difficult for everyone else. She repeatedly emphasized obedience, common sense, and genuine charity over spectacular spiritual experiences.
There's also a fascinating detail about her death.
Teresa died on the night of October 4, 1582, just as Spain was adopting the Gregorian calendar. The calendar jumped directly from October 4 to October 15, meaning that Teresa's death became associated with the very date on which the Church now celebrates her feast.
She literally died during the disappearance of ten calendar days.
Teresa's greatness wasn't simply that she experienced extraordinary visions.
It was that she combined profound mystical prayer with an astonishing amount of practical wisdom.
She could contemplate heaven.
And then make sure the convent roof didn't leak.
Saint Teresa of Ávila, joyful reformer of Carmel and wise teacher of prayer, pray for us.
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