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.

Relentless Compassion

I heard this term recently. It was a quality attributed to my brother who works in a cancer hospital, helping those who face significant medical challenges, especially in their last weeks. ‘Relentless’ was absolutely a term I would see in him, but for the first time I heard the term ‘relentless compassion’ and whilst the two words sit somewhat uncomfortably adjacent each other, they are indeed an apt descriptor.

As Christians we are called to show compassion, there are so many reminders in Scripture and Church Teachings, compassion is everywhere in the Christian landscape. Perhaps we are, at times, complacently compassionate and need to find that grit that drives relentless compassion.

What would relentless compassion look like on you?

Opportunity

In preparing a prayer for a session focused on Saint Mary of the Cross MacKillop, I reflected on her industrious efforts to create opportunity for those who were not naturally afforded it in society at the time. Education opens doors, and not all were receiving one. In drawing parallels to today I thought about the way in which we judge, assume and limit each other. I remembered a video shown by a colleague at a previous place of a woman with a physical disability playing a fiddle with amazing skill. I wondered how much harder she had to battle for the opportunity to play because others saw a limit rather than her capacity. Will we ever get this fixed in society so that we all have opportunity? Or will we need more Mary MacKillops to emerge willing to do a lot of hard work so that opportunity knocks on more doors?

Empowerment

It’s a big word – empowerment – but it is the one that leaps out at me when I think of the significance of fathers in the lives of daughters, or indeed children. We need fathers who not only protect and provide, but those who empower children to be the wonderful person that lies in the depths of their soul.

Empowerment, from a Catholic perspective, is deeply rooted in the belief that every person is created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:27). This means that each child carries within them the divine spark, a unique reflection of God’s love and creativity. The role of a father, then, is not merely to guide or provide for his children, but to help them recognize and nurture that divine potential within themselves.

What is empowering? To be given opportunity is one of the key elements. To be encouraged. To be able to fail. Opportunity. Encouragement. Freedom. These 3 things really underpin the gift of empowerment. In the Gospels, we see Jesus empowering those around Him, especially those whom society overlooked or marginalized. He saw their worth, encouraged their faith, and gave them the freedom to follow Him, even if it meant stepping into the unknown.

While all children need to be empowered to be fully human and the best they can be, we especially need our daughters to feel this gift in their hearts. As Catholics, we believe that Mary, the Mother of God, was the first to be empowered in a profound way—when she accepted God’s will and became the mother of Jesus. Her “yes” was an act of immense courage and faith, and she stands as a model for all women of what it means to embrace one’s God-given potential.

I remain remarkably inspired by the TED talk by Ziauddin Yousafzai on his remarkable daughter, you may have heard of her, the one who won a Nobel Peace Prize (just a little award)! Malala remains one of my heroes of our current age and I will always be in awe of her abject courage and strength. Listening to her father gave me rich insight into how this young girl emerged as a force ready to confront the Taliban.

This being said, we need to empower greatness, bravery, insight, intelligence, kindness, and compassion—virtues that reflect the heart of God. In doing so, we must also be vigilant not to empower apathy, cruelty, selfishness, or greed, which lead us away from our true selves and from God. In their unique role, parents and caregivers have the incredible responsibility and privilege to shape the souls entrusted to them, guiding them to reflect the light of Christ in the world.

Discipleship

What does it mean to be a true disciple? To really follow Christ?

There are so many versions of Christianity on this planet. We find one, are born into one, choose one – sometimes all in one lifetime. So many versions of this one significant person as we aspire to be more like him in our daily interactions, growing and evolving in grace and dignity.

History tells us that discipleship does not limit our capacity to fail. It is a cycle of aspiration, failure and resurrection. The one thing that seems to be common (although it looks vastly different) is prayer. How can you be a disciple without prayer?

So, therefore, in trying to be a good disciple we should look at our own prayer life. Find inspirational writings to motivate, listen to the silence and move our feet that our lungs take in the air that surrounds us all. Without oxygen our human bodies fail – without the spirit what happens to our soul? How do you take this in? What is the air that sustains your soul?

To whom do we listen?

In the readings this weekend the responsorial psalm, gospel acclamation and gospel all reference sheep and shepherds.

‘The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.’

Shepherds ensured that their sheep were well-nourished and protected. They made sure the health of the sheep was attended to and the sheep were free to live a comfortable life. To be a shepherd in the time of Jesus, was a humble job, but necessary for the community. Sheep were a valuable resource and needed protecting. They were also known to blindly follow other sheep, and so the voice of the shepherd was really important. This leads to the Gospel Acclamation:

My sheep hear my voice; I know them and they follow me.

We hear so much noise in our daily lives. Some randomly appears in our vicinity, but some we seek out. In our scrolling we put ourselves in a position where people that perhaps we would never search for, gain access to our minds as we listen to their ramblings. Often the words we take in do not bring us any growth or learnings, simply they eat away at our goodness and health, making us question what we know deep within. Is this because we are forever looking for a connection that we think is missing? First, we need to connect with ourselves, before any other bond can be formed and strengthened. Without direction, we are indeed like sheep without a shepherd, mindlessly following and friending with little to no discernment.

So important to be known. A lot of the issues in our world, especially with regards to how we view ourselves, is bound up in the sense of loneliness – that no-one really knows us. God knows us. We forget that sometimes. It is important to keep that memory fresh and to let it sit in the space within we often call our heart. There is a comfort there, in that thought. A peace.

For there to be peace without, there must be peace within.