Grief grips us from the inside out. Our hearts break open and our sadness pours into the world. Grief can shatter and numb us.
In today’s gospel, we see two grief-stricken disciples of Jesus, traveling a road together. They are distraught and overwhelmed with grief, so they don’t recognize the stranger who joins them. But the kind stranger stays with them, listens to their story and brings comfort.
When my mother died, our large Irish family lost our anchor and harbor. Like the two disciples, we were wandering on the road of life, filled with doubt and grief.
When some of my siblings and I went to her parish church to plan her funeral, we gathered around the table with Peg, the parish liturgist. She looked down at the funeral planning sheet and said, I am not going to put your mother’s name on this sheet because I can’t yet face the fact that she is gone. Your mother welcomed me into my position as parish liturgist, mentored me and helped me navigate the parish culture. I will always hold her in my heart.
Here was someone else who shared our pain. As we listened to the story of how our mother helped pave the way for Peg to flourish and be successful, we realized that we were not alone in our grief. Her solidarity comforted us.
Our mother’s signature song was the Ave Maria. She sang it with beauty and brilliance. You would hold your breath listening to her sing it. As we continued to plan the funeral and it was time to choose the music, I said, we must have the Ave Maria, but I cannot imagine anyone else singing it.
Peg responded: No one else will sing it. Our parish has an incredible violinist. He will play and we will listen. In the funeral program it read: Margaret Mary sang the Ave Maria her entire life. Today in honor of her, we will listen to the Ave Maria without a vocalist. There wasn’t a dry eye in the church as the prayerful, beautiful, plaintive violin solo surrounded us with our mother’s love.
Jesus walked into the lives of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. He listened, blessed and broke bread with them and as they recognized him, their shattered hearts became hearts of love which were burning within. They were not alone.
The compassionate person walks across the bridge into the life of another saying along the way, ‘you are not alone, I am with you.’
Ilia Delio, O.S.F. Compassion: Living in the Spirit of St. Francis (Cincinnati, Ohio Franciscan Media, 2011)
Susan Naatz
I retired from Creighton University in the spring of 2024, from my position as the senior director of the department of Ignatian Formation and Ministry for Faculty and Staff.
Before Creighton, I worked and served in three Catholic parishes as an educator, director of religious formation, pastoral minister, and counselor.
As a founder of an Omaha Archdiocesan Guatemala mission group called Ixim (Ee-Sheem): Spirit of Solidarity, I continue to help organize and prepare people for mission trips to Guatemala.
My husband John is retired from Creighton Prep High School after serving there for 39 years as teacher, principal, and president. Our beautiful family includes three sons, three daughters-in-law and seven grandchildren.
It has been a deeply spiritual experience to write daily reflections for Creighton’s Online Ministries. Writing about scripture has helped my own personal faith formation journey. But it is when I hear from our readers from all over the world that I receive a tremendous sense of peace and solidarity. I am grateful to all who read our reflections. I experience God through you. Bless you!
