Dr. Karla J. Bellinger

Jan 28 2025

God, Give Me Strength!

He stares at the ground. A spider creeps toward his sandal and then scurries away. This morning in the dark, his chest is heavy. There is so much more that he wants for them, but they don’t get it. The bickering, the hard-heartedness, the self-absorption—it weighs him down.

Images flow across his mind: his disciples striving, competing, “Who is the greatest?” Wanting his favor. Wanting to look good. Wanting to be the best. His brain is tired. They just don’t understand. His spirit is low. What more can he do? It feels as though all of human history has been burdened by this kind of hardness of heart, this continual “no” to an orientation toward goodness. He sees that this mission to bring abundance and light—it is not going to end well. He told his friends that yesterday for the first time. They were not listening. Is this world worth pouring out his life for? Is it worth the cost?

A smell of bread floats through the air. Someone is up before the dawn. Someone has the courage to start this day anew, no matter what yesterday brought. The aroma brings him back to childhood: the bread his mother baked, the joy on Joseph’s face as they broke the warm loaves together at the family table.

He remembers yesterday’s touch of the little boy’s fingers on his forearm. The child had smiled at him while the adults were arguing. The Father must still trust in the human race: God keeps creating children, starting anew, believing once again. The memory of the child’s innocence gives him courage. He can give his life for this child. He will give his life for this child.

The Bread of Life raises his chin from his hand and stands. It is a new day, to be lived for God alone.

Consider/Discuss

Discouraged. Disheartened. Bent low. Do you ever have mornings like that? Or days like that? What little things or memories does God give you that get you moving, pick you up, give you courage, and keep you going?
One of the great slave spiritual hymns has the refrain, “I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more.” What kind of sadness does God feel when seeing our human hard-heartedness? What is one thing that I can do differently today to help create a world that doesn’t “grieve the Lord no more”?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, I know that you gave me feet. But they aren’t moving this morning. I know that you gave me a brain. But it’s not awake yet. I know that you gave me a heart. I can feel it beating. There are days like this one when it feels as though nothing is happening within me. I don’t even feel that I can pray. But I know that you love me today, too. Maybe you had days like that as well? Whatever I’ve got, I hand it to you. It’s not much, but it’s me. Here, Lord, here it is.

Jan 28 2025

The Road Ahead

Every time that the rain is beating down hard, I am reminded of a family camping trip. We had pitched our tent in the clouds of Mt. Mitchell in North Carolina, the highest point in the eastern U.S. After four days of soggy living, a thunderstorm was predicted. We all agreed, “Enough! Let’s go get a hotel!” As we drove down the mountain, the rain poured. Fog thickened. The sky blackened. The windshield wipers swished as fast as they could go. It didn’t matter. We couldn’t see in the dark. We couldn’t pull over, for there were only guard rails and cliffs. It was scary. We could not see where we were going.

In today’s Gospel, Peter is high on a mountaintop when he declares, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Then Jesus tells them that he is going to Jerusalem to suffer and be killed. It was like a deep fog descended: Peter could not see the road ahead. In fear and uncertainty, he shouted out, “Noooo!!!! That will never happen to you!” Peter loved Jesus. He cried out “no!” to that prediction of grief and disruption. His windshield wipers didn’t work—he had no idea where the road was. The uncertainty of it blinded him with fear.

You and I, we can also be happily driving down the mountaintops of life when suddenly, out of the blue, a fog descends: a shutdown of the world in a pandemic; an internal “Whoa!” to a diagnosis of cancer; a sudden self-doubt that makes us unable to function . . . and the windshield wipers won’t work. And we have no idea where the road is or what lies ahead.

What are we to do about the uncertainty? Jesus calls us to a deeper response. He whispers, “Move over. Let go. Let me drive.”

Consider/Discuss

Peter found out that his very human answer, his outburst of fear and uncertainty, was not Jesus’ answer. What did Jesus do with Peter’s protectiveness? Jesus did not leave him to his own understanding. He said, “You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” How does Jesus want to transform our human understanding as well?
Our tendency is to clutch the steering wheel when the fog gets thick; we cling tighter when we cannot see the road; we tense up when the windshield wipers won’t work. How does Jesus stretch us to let go when he says: “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it”?

Living and Praying with the Word

Jesus, you are the Christ, the Son of the living God! As we exult in you, we feel sunshine filling our souls. Then the fog descends, and anxiety and fear threaten to overwhelm us. You have asked us to share your cross. That can feel a little scary. We don’t want more pain. And sometimes the windshield wipers won’t work, and we cannot see where we are going. Yes, we will get up and carry our cross and help you change the world in just a moment, but for now, Jesus, just be here and hold us.

Jan 28 2025

The Lord Keeps Faith Forever

My dear young friend, I write this to you from the middle of the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic. Have you graduated now? Are you in the first few weeks of medical school as you planned? When you read this, hopefully the pandemic crisis has passed.

Today, the sun comes up. The sun goes down. The birds sing. The buds on the trees, as this is being written, swell in early springtime. The garlic grows. Life goes on.

While all around us changes.

What can I say to you about today’s story of the healing of the deaf man? Jesus groans at the restriction, the brokenness of this earthly life. Then he shouts out, “Be opened!” as in “Make it flow!” and power flows into that deaf man’s ears and he can hear. And the Gentile crowds are amazed!

I also want to see the broken healed. I want to be astonished beyond measure, to be struck with a sudden “Wow!” faith—not a blasé “Well, that’s kind of interesting” faith—shaken to the core by what Jesus is doing.

I want that kind of healing to flow right now.

As I write, people are praying their rosaries in Italy, struggling to breathe, dying alone. A student of mine lost both of her grandparents in one day. A newly pregnant woman develops a sore throat and she is afraid for her baby. Is everything going to be all right? Will we recover?

The people of Israel were beaten down. Isaiah prophesied: “Say to those who are frightened: ‘Be strong, fear not! Your God is coming.’” We are beaten down, too. We are hemmed in by earthly brokenness. Jesus, send your power to flow into us! We want to be healed.

Trust is not easy. We cannot manufacture conviction as a psychological “strong feeling.” Come, God of Jacob, and let the grace to trust flow into us.

Consider/Discuss

The pandemic/economic breakdown revealed to us how much of life is not under our control. This can be a source of anxiety. Anxiety can cause us to turn to prayer, to turn to God. Anxiety can also cause us to turn away from a God who doesn’t seem to be intervening, at least not in the amazing ways that Jesus did when he cured the sick. As you went/got through the time of the pandemic, how did/does your faith respond? What graces did God give you? How are you different today?
What happened to your pre-COVID plans? Has everything turned out the way that you hoped that it would? If so, God be praised! If not, then God be praised as well? How do we trust in God, no matter where life takes us?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, as we read the scriptures, we see people who have been oppressed for centuries. Yet they still hold fast to you, believing that you keep faith forever. On this day, give us the eyesight of centuries, for this day is not looking so good. Show us what we can do today for the world in which we live—whether to forgive and reconcile, to aid those who are hurting, or pray for those who struggle alone. In you we trust. Protect us from the blame and hate and finger-pointing that cause division. Bless this world with a strong dose of your peace.

Jan 28 2025

Wash Up and Wake Up!

Have you ever been relaxing in a nice hot shower when suddenly you got blasted with cold water? Someone started the washing machine, turned on a hose, flushed, and—unexpectedly—liquid icicles stream from the shower head. It wakes you up!

That’s what Jesus did to the Pharisees in today’s reading. They were comfortable with their purification rules. Washing hands mattered to them—they washed when they woke up. They washed before eating. They bathed once a week before the Sabbath. That washing set them apart from others in their day. (They probably smelled better than the Romans and the Greeks as well.) They were comfortable with their nice balmy shower. Then Jesus startled them up with a blast of cold water. They cried out, “What? Your disciples don’t wash?”

Jesus didn’t say, “Don’t wash.” He said, “Don’t be satisfied with external washing only.” In the Beatitudes, he also said, “Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God.” Clean is good.

Seasons of blessing flow upon us like a nice warm shower. Times of trial, on the other hand, wake us up. Hardships can be more than a sudden blast of icy water. Sufferings can rip us apart. Our true character is revealed in times of trouble; we can no longer bask in ease.

Jesus calls us to a cleanliness that is deeper than soaping our shoulders in a warm shower. Jesus asks us to allow the Holy Spirit the Sanctifier to flood us, to purify us, to wash us from the inside out: as St. James says, to do justice, to walk blamelessly, to be doers of the word and not hearers only, to care for widows and orphans, to keep ourselves unstained by the world. Clean is good. Jesus says, “Be holy.” Nothing less.

Consider/Discuss

What? Don’t wash your hands? In our world, “Wash your hands” messages are still everywhere. Yet in the ancient world, hand washing and other hygienic practices were rare. It wasn’t until the nineteenth century that a Hungarian doctor discovered that washing his hands between treating new mothers increased their survival rates—he was considered to be an oddball. How does this passage strike you, that Jesus’ disciples didn’t wash their hands? How much knowledge about disease transmission do we take for granted?
Holiness—where have you seen goodness and kindness in ordinary life, a robust “doing” of the word rather than “just talking about it”? Who do you know whom you’d consider a “clean” or “pure” person as St. James defines it, by the way that person treats others?

Living and Praying with the Word

Holy Spirit, you are the one who sanctifies. You are the one who makes us pure. You are the source of our holiness. Wash us clean. Scrub out the gunk that blocks your love from flowing through us. This world needs your strength and your power. The world in which we live needs your goodness and your care. We cannot do this on our own. Sanctify us for this task.

Jan 28 2025

The “We” of Life

Excitement is in the air. It is the season of freshman move-in weekend at the University of Notre Dame, where I teach. New friends, new campus, and new experiences begin a whole new chapter in a young person’s life. Beneath the exuberance, there is also worry in the air: Will I fit in? Will I find a solid group of friends? Will I miss my family? Fear of rejection is well-buried amid the sea of smiling faces. Projecting self-confidence is mandatory here.

As I look around at the fresh faces, perhaps a few are asking, “What about my faith?” Parents of deep belief may ask, “Will my child walk out of here in four years with his/her faith strong(er)?”

I have seen yes. I have seen no. Most of the undergraduates I teach in my prayer class are last-semester seniors. They still project confidence. But from their written reflections, beneath the smiles, they have struggled with anxiety and depression, broken relationships, an insufficient self-reliance, the death of friends and grandparents and sometimes the loss or deadening of faith. Others whom I do not see in prayer class have simply walked away.

Jesus asks, in today’s reading, “Will you also go?”

Peter answers, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Notice his very small two-letter pronoun: “We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.” We. I have seen yes—students who are healthy and flourishing in faith at the conclusion of their college experience. They have found “we” of some sort: brothers and sisters who support each another when life pulls them under, those with whom to rejoice and praise and exalt God. Context matters. When you’re eighteen, you’ve got life under control. Until you don’t. College years are not easy years. God grant these fresh faces the humility to seek out the context of “we.”

Consider/Discuss

There is a pervasive but largely unspoken grief among those who believe: the faith that means so much to us does not matter to those whom we love. Brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews—they have walked away. This living God who is our center, this Jesus of Nazareth who has made our lives worth living, this Holy Spirit who bubbles within us and brings us such peace— we cannot share that richness with those who do not believe, or with those who find us naïve and simple for believing. Find a friend in faith and speak that unspoken grief to each other. Sometimes we move away from a context in which we have been loved and supported and we cannot figure out what is the matter with us. Having friends matters to our health and flourishing. If you are missing friends, how can you find some? If you are awash in friends, how can you reach out to someone who is new and lonely? How can we strengthen the “we” of faith in the context in which we live?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, we pray for those who are making transitions in life at the end of summer—kindergartners going to school for the first time, new freshmen in high school and college, and those who are moving to a new place. Grant them friends of faith, an environment in which they are loved, and a context that glorifies you. Jesus, Bread of Life, you nourish us with yourself. You fill us with everlasting life, your everlasting life, even here, even now. To whom else can we go?