IWD 2025 Accelerate Action

I am not going to give a warm and positive spin on boys and men being respectful towards women, because that’s not always the case and that is the truth. Veritas. I am a female. I am a mother. I am an educator. These are all the qualifications I have to say what I’m going to say about the importance of International Women’s Day in society not just in school. Twice I have had the opportunity to engage in research about the importance of the female voice, so what I say stems not just from my own experience but from the voices of many women of varied ages. Let me stipulate first, I believe in the value of all-boys education, my son graduated from an all-boys school and I think he emerged all the better for it. I do not believe in the boys club that still exists in society. It allows and encourages all sorts of disrespectful and threatening behaviours, especially when undertaken in pairs or groups – pack behaviour. The week of International Women’s Day is an opportunity to shine a light on actions that limit that club from negatively impacting women. Often it is immature behaviour that a good man or good boy would never undertake on his own, so we need to remind ourselves, remind our boys and men that actually – it’s not funny. We have laws about violence, but I’m talking about the insidious masked behaviours that hurt and for which women have limited social recourse. The humiliating and belittling comments. They may seem inconsequential, but they matter. I speak from the premise that men are essentially good and do not mean to harm. But they do. It can be in those little things, those moments of disrespect that a mate may laugh off, and people will ignore, except the one humiliated. Women matter. Every woman matters. Not just the ones that cook your dinner, or feed your ego, the ones who stand up to you, the ones who disagree with you, who see the world through a different lens. Every woman on every continent. This week I’d love to see action that accelerates this change – so no woman is the victim of banter again.

Living the Beatitudes

A Reflection on This Week’s Gospel

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. (Luke 6:20)

The Beatitudes are not comfortable words. They never were. They flip our expectations upside down, shaking us out of the world’s logic and into God’s. Luke’s version is even more disruptive than Matthew’s, stripping away spiritualized interpretations and speaking bluntly: Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry. Blessed are those who weep. Not “blessed will you be,” but blessed are you now.

These words are hard to hear because they challenge everything we’re told about success, happiness, and the good life. In a world that celebrates comfort, control, and achievement, Jesus calls us to look instead at those who have nothing—and to see them not as objects of pity but as bearers of divine blessing. The kingdom of God belongs to them.

And then come the woes. Woe to you who are rich, who are full, who are laughing now. It’s easy to gloss over this part, to soften it, to say, “Well, surely He doesn’t mean us.” But what if He does? What if Jesus is not condemning wealth or joy but warning us about where our hearts are attached? What if He’s inviting us to loosen our grip on security and privilege, to step closer to those who live without them—not out of charity, but out of solidarity?

Christians are called to live the Beatitudes, not just admire them. To cultivate a social environment where success is measured not by prestige, but by kindness, humility, and justice. To create spaces where human beings know they are valued not for what they achieve, but simply because they are beloved of God.

So, what does that look like this week? Maybe it’s choosing to sit with a friend or neighbour who feels isolated. Maybe it’s pausing in the rush of the day to truly see the colleague who is struggling. Maybe it’s noticing where our own comfort keeps us from stepping into another’s pain. The Beatitudes are not a checklist—they are a way of being in the world, a way of seeing, a way of loving.

Jesus calls the poor blessed. Do we?

Let’s be the kind of community that does.

Freedom vs being a Tool.

We love freedom. Be yourself. Speak your truth. Live unapologetically. But here’s the rub: what happens when your unapologetic truth steamrolls someone else’s dignity? Being you should not damage someone else being them. It’s a bit of a conundrum.

I have the right to do anything,’ you say—but not everything is beneficial. No one should seek their own good, but the good of others. (1 Cor 10:23-24)

So sayeth St Paul. Translation? Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Christian freedom isn’t about doing whatever we want—it’s about using our freedom for others, not against them. Bonhoeffer says, ‘Being free means being free for the other.’ In other words, real freedom isn’t self-indulgence, it’s self-giving.

Don’t get me wrong—this isn’t a call to become a doormat (I would never EVER advocate for anyone to be a doormat). Jesus spoke truth, challenged injustice, and lived boldly. Yet he did so with love at the center, not ego. Pope Francis backs this up in Fratelli Tutti, warning that unchecked individualism breeds division, while freedom with responsibility builds community.

So before we make that comment, dominate a conversation, make a choice that impacts others or take that stand, maybe we should ask: Am I using my freedom to build up or just to make noise?

Because freedom isn’t about holding back—but it’s also not about being a walking loudspeaker with no volume control, ‘full of sound and fury signifying nothing’.

Authentic Witness

Beyond Whitewashed Words

There’s a peculiar sting when someone says all the right things but means none of them. It’s a hollow echo, a performance of virtue rather than the substance of it. And yet, Jesus names this dynamic with unflinching clarity:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness.” (Matthew 23:27)

A striking image, isn’t it? The surface gleams, but underneath, there is only decay. This isn’t just about religious leaders of the past—it’s a sharp critique of any of us who choose appearance over truth, who mistake performance for discipleship.

In an age where carefully curated words can gain applause, and virtue signals can masquerade as virtue itself, the call to authenticity becomes even more urgent. Authentic faith does not rest in eloquence or outward alignment with the “right” causes. It is found in the slow, often unseen work of transformation—where words match actions, where integrity replaces pretense.

St. Catherine of Siena, never one to soften the truth, reminds us: “Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.” Ah but my dear inspirational St Catherine, setting the world ablaze requires more than beautifully spoken ideals; it demands an inner life that burns with real conviction. In this secular age where relativism infiltrates our communities of faith and waters down our focus, where is this inner awareness and truth?

The question for us, then, is simple yet piercing: Do our words reflect the deep reality of our hearts, or are we merely painting over stone?

Because faith, when real, does not need to be performed. It simply is.

Leaving the Grave Behind: A Liberation Theology Reflection for the First World

What entombs you?

I am Catholic but I really love contemporary Christian music. There are so many various bands whose prayerful tunes fill my heart with hope. In the Hillsong song So Will I (100 Billion X), the lyric “If You left the grave behind You, so will I.” It is a line that has called to me and I found it returning to my thoughts over and over again. It’s a triumphant reminder of resurrection power—the ultimate liberation from the tomb of death. But this begs a question for those of us living in the so-called First World: What entombs us?

This question invites us to reflect on the places in our lives where we remain trapped, stagnant, or blind to the freedom Christ offers. But in the First World, where abundance often overshadows scarcity, identifying our tombs can be deceptively difficult. When physical poverty isn’t at our doorstep, what is the poverty we face? What entombs us today?

The Poverty of Isolation

We live in a hyperconnected world, but loneliness is epidemic. Social media promises connection and can be such a useful tool to prompt global connection, but in our localised lives often leaves us feeling more isolated and inadequate. We scroll endlessly, consuming curated versions of other people’s lives while retreating deeper into our own echo chambers. This isolation entombs us, not only from others but from ourselves, as we spend too much time taking in created images of others rather than reflecting on the eyes that stare back from the mirror every day.

The Poverty of Meaning

In a culture obsessed with productivity, many of us struggle to find meaning beyond our achievements. The drive for success becomes a tomb of endless striving, where our worth is measured by grades, promotions, cliques or financial milestones. The deeper truths of life—faith, relationships, purpose—are buried beneath the noise of busyness. We sacrifice rest, reflection, truth and connection for a sense of accomplishment that often feels hollow and at times numbs.

The Poverty of Excess

Ironically, one of our greatest First World struggles is abundance. Consumerism entombs us in cycles of acquisition and dissatisfaction. The more we accumulate, the less fulfilled we feel. Our closets are full, but our souls are empty. The poverty of excess leaves us numb to gratitude and blind to the true value of things. It turns us inward (but not in a good way), focusing on what we can gain rather than what we can give. We buy and buy and then buy some more …

The Poverty of Apathy

Perhaps the most insidious tomb in the First World is apathy. We are bombarded by news of global suffering, climate crises, and social injustice. The sheer volume of need can feel paralyzing, leading us to disengage rather than act. Apathy whispers that someone else will step up, that our small contributions won’t matter. It entombs our compassion and keeps us from living out the Gospel mandate to love our neighbors as ourselves. Apathy is death to compassionate action, it is a dangerous tomb indeed. It is difficult. We are hard-wired to care but somewhere down the road of life we have become numb. Where is our empathy and our inclusivity in a world fractured by violence and evil? Why are we so afraid to let our hearts break in sadness at the suffering of others?

Liberation Theology: A Call to Resurrection

Liberation theology reminds us that Christ’s resurrection is a call to action, not just a historical event. In the First World, our poverty may not be material, but it is no less real. Christ invites us to leave the tombs of isolation, meaninglessness, excess, and apathy behind. He offers us a resurrection of purpose, community, and generosity. It is a priceless privilege of hope.

  1. From Isolation to Community: Reclaim the power of real connection. Share meals, engage in deep conversations, and create spaces where others feel seen and valued. Liberation begins when we break down walls and build relationships. To truly connect you need to know who you are at your core. We need to stop isolating ourselves from ourselves and sit in silence and know.
  2. From Meaninglessness to Purpose: Rediscover the sacred in the ordinary. Find meaning not in what you achieve but in how you live and who you really are—through acts of kindness, service, and faithfulness to God’s call. Get out in nature and marvel at the world in which we are graced to live.
  3. From Excess to Simplicity: Practice gratitude and embrace simplicity. Instead of accumulating, try giving. Let go of possessions, habits, and attitudes that no longer serve you, and make room for what truly matters. People matter. Life matters. Kindness matters. Value what you have and look after things to engage more readily in sustainable practices.
  4. From Apathy to Action: Choose to care. Start small but start somewhere. Whether it’s volunteering locally, advocating for justice, or simply praying for those in need, every action is a step toward resurrection life. Be kind. Daily.

What Entombs You?

The tombs of the First World may not be made of stone, but they are just as confining. They rob us of the fullness of life Christ promises. The good news is that we are not alone in our struggle. Just as Christ called Lazarus out of the grave, He calls us to leave behind whatever entombs us and walk into the light of resurrection. Find the supports you need to stand bathed in the warmth of light and step out of the cold shadow of death.

So, I ask again: What entombs you today? Is it the weight of loneliness, the emptiness of consumerism, or the paralysis of apathy? Liberation theology challenges us to name our tombs, confront them, and embrace the freedom Christ offers—not just for ourselves but for the sake of others.

Because if He left the grave behind Him, so can we. Let us rise together, leaving behind our First World poverty, and step into a life of love, justice, and abundance for all. What will you leave behind today?

Christ has risen, and so must we—risen from our apathy, our comfort, and our graves of privilege. Liberation theology calls us to resurrection solidarity. And in this call, we find not just our liberation but also our purpose. As the song says, “If the rocks cry out in silence, so will I.”

Will you?

Equilibrium

In a world marked by constant change and restless pursuit, the human heart seeks equilibrium. For centuries, spiritual and religious traditions have served as the steady compass guiding individuals and communities toward balance. As a woman, uniquely gifted with the call to nurture life in its many forms, I have encountered in my own Catholic traditions both strength and solace (as well as challenge and hypocrisy)—a reservoir of wisdom that harmonizes the temporal with the eternal.

My lived experience has involved balancing diverse roles: as caretaker, professional, leader, educator and spiritual seeker. This multifaceted reality echoes my understanding of the human person as a composite of body and soul, both yearning for fulfillment. Spiritual and religious traditions have offered me a range tools to integrate these dimensions, transforming the pressures of daily life into opportunities for grace.

For example, the practice of prayer—central to every major religious tradition—grounds us in the present while orienting our souls toward the divine. The daily rhythm of prayer, much like the discipline of the Liturgy of the Hours, fosters an ordered life where time is sanctified. In these moments, we encounter the eternal amidst the transient, finding balance in the midst of chaos. Whilst I no longer follow the structured prayer of my past, I cannot imagine a day without prayer. True, it is often the most challenging times that prompt prayer, but when I think about my day – I realise that my heart and mind are often turned towards the divine in conversation, however brief.

Today, the rapid pace of life often leads to fragmentation—of time, relationships, and purpose. Additionally, society seldom promotes virtue as a pathway to a desired state. Even so, if we think about it, prudence teaches us to discern what truly matters, guiding our choices with clarity; justice calls us to honor the dignity of others, particularly those marginalized by society; and temperance moderates our desires, while fortitude empowers us to persevere through trials. Maybe we need to focus on growing our virtues each and every day.

I would suggest that my Catholic tradition acts as both a mirror and a map. It reflects my deepest longings for wholeness while charting a path toward peace. As a female I have often felt the heavy weight of societal expectations, a burden I would like to see substantially decreased for my daughter and the daughters of her generation, especially as they navigate an increasingly secularised world.

Happy New Year

As time continues we emerge into 2025. Often we start the year with enthusiasm and positive energy, that – let’s be honest – can quickly fade as routine begins and challenges emerge. That is okay. It is good to look to improve, to seek the positive, to strive to be our best self.

It is human to seek inspiration and examples and words of wisdom. Currently, I am reading ‘The Let Them Theory’ by Mel Robbins and finding it insightful for my own approach and ways of dealing with the drama inherent in human interactions.

We need to make sure we give time to considering those who inspire us spiritually. I find myself drawn to Mary, the mother of Jesus, whose “yes” to God’s plan embodies courage, trust, and hope for the unknown. In her response to the angel at the Annunciation—“Let it be done to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38)—we see the ultimate act of faith, a posture of openness to God’s will. For me, as a Catholic woman, her example becomes the lens through which I enter this new year.

Another inspirational woman, St. Teresa of Avila, reminds us, “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours.” This challenges me to ask: How will I embody Christ’s love this year? How will I bring His light into the spaces where darkness lingers?

As women, we are often the heart of our families, workplaces, and communities, carrying burdens and joys with quiet resilience. Women are often the carriers of culture and tradition. I pause and contemplate the aspects of culture that I am bound to carry – am I celebrating my own culture in a way that allows it to be passed on to the next generation so that the lessons and learnings of the past enhance the tomorrow that is always on the horizon.

The new year offers a sacred threshold—a chance to leave behind what weighs us down and step into God’s abundant mercy. In the spirit of Psalm 51:10, we pray, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” This is not just a personal plea but a communal one, a call for renewal in our world so desperately in need of healing. It is almost like an annual mini rite of passage – acknowledging the past and stepping into the next stage. What will you leave behind and what will you carry with you?

As I enter this year, I commit to embracing each day as a gift and an opportunity to reflect God’s love. I intend to act with intention as well as compassion, to carve out my own path (whilst listening for God’s navigation) and to be brave – for the reality is – I exist in a world that lacks fairness. With Mary’s trust, Teresa’s boldness, and the quiet strength of so many holy women who have come before us, I step into this new season with hope.

Christmas 2024

Christmas Eve: the church is aglow with candlelight, the air thick with the scent of incense, children abound, life is vibrant and the choir is in song, and the pews packed with people—some regular parishioners, others unfamiliar faces. There’s something uniquely beautiful about this gathering, where everyone, regardless of their spiritual journey, feels the pull of this holy night. For some, this might be the only time they attend Mass all year. And yet, even if their connection to the faith has dimmed, they remember one thing: the Our Father. They may struggle with all the other prayers but the Our Father resounds loud and clear, somehow this is a prayer that we remember, regardless of where we are on our spiritual and religious journey.

The Theology of Invitation

Christmas is the ultimate invitation. At its heart is the Incarnation—God becoming man in the most humble and vulnerable of ways. The birth of Jesus is not just a historical moment; it’s an eternal gesture of divine hospitality. God steps into our world, meeting us where we are, not where we think we should be.

When people, even those who come infrequently, step through the doors of the church at Christmas, they are responding, perhaps unknowingly, to this divine invitation. Their presence is an echo of the shepherds and wise men, who came to see and to wonder, drawn by the star and the promise of something greater. Sometimes that draw is older family members and sometimes it is a memory of a tradition and a connection that lies deep within.

The Power of Memory

In the rhythm of the Mass, the Our Father stands as a bridge. For many, it’s the one prayer they remember from childhood, the words etched into their hearts even if the rest of the liturgy feels unfamiliar. This prayer is a thread connecting them to their past, to their family, and to their faith.

Theologically, this moment is profound. St. Augustine spoke of the Our Father as the “summary of the Gospel.” To pray it is to align oneself with God’s will, to seek forgiveness, and to hope for daily sustenance. Even if someone doesn’t consciously live out their faith daily, this prayer brings them into communion with God and the entire Church. It’s a reminder that grace works quietly and mysteriously in every heart. It is a prayer that connects us all and also connects us to that which is infinitely beyond.

A Moment of Grace

Rather than lamenting the infrequency of attendance, we might instead embrace the opportunity to offer welcome and warmth. The Church, like the stable in Bethlehem, is a place for all. Those who attend Mass only at Christmas are not strangers; they are prodigal sons and daughters, seeking, perhaps without knowing it, the embrace of the Father.

This is why Christmas is so important. It’s not about perfect attendance or memorizing every word of the liturgy; it’s about encountering Christ. It’s about standing in awe of the mystery of God’s love—a love that chose to dwell among us, to walk with us, and to redeem us.

The Hope of Christmas

Christmas reminds us that faith is a journey, not a checklist. For some, attending Christmas Mass is a first step. For others, it’s a brief return. But for all, it’s a reminder of a God who loves unconditionally.

So, let us rejoice in the sight of once-a-year Catholics, dressed in their holiday best, surrounded by family, reciting the Our Father with reverence. In that moment, they—and we—are brought closer to the mystery of Emmanuel, God with us.

May this Christmas, like every Christmas, be a time of hope, grace, and welcome for all. For in the eyes of God, every step toward the manger is a step toward home.

Restored and Re-storied

I heard this phrase recently and it truly captured my attention. At this stage of the year when exhaustion reigns supreme the idea of being restored automatically signals the need for rest and reminds me of the importance of being recharged and refreshed.

To be re-storied is a wonderful idea. We all have a story that connects us to a community or a sense of who we are in this vast canopy of life. What a wonderful thing to take the time to re-imagine that story and find our voice in the narrative anew. It is also a rich and rewarding experience to delve into the story at the core of who we are, particularly as we head into the Advent Season.