Dr. Karla J. Bellinger

Jan 24 2025

Crumpled with Grief, Returned to Dust

The Passion story in Mark does not point to her. Was she among the crowd of women? As we zoom in to that group, we see a woman whose eyes never leave the cross. She pushes back her scarf to reveal a face red from weeping. Her eyes brim with love. We cannot see it from the outside, but what happens to the heart of a mother as she watches her son die?

She looks at his bleeding hands. Her heart beats faster. Within her chest, it feels as though the muscle of her heart has been pounded into mushy meat, and she remembers: she remembers his fingers caress her hair when he stood behind her as a little boy. Her chest hurts. As he flexes his feet to push his body upward so that he can breathe, she remembers. She remembers the tiny heel that kicked off his swaddling clothes. Her chest hurts so hard that, like him, she can hardly breathe.

A man runs up to offer Jesus a drink. Her son lifts his head. His eyes search for hers. Those eyes always so full of love are now wrenched with agony. Even beneath the pain, she can feel his deep tenderness for her. How can he be willing to do this? The crown of thorns slips lower onto his brow. A crown of thorns encircles her heart, a heart so engorged that the crown constricts and tightens, like a ring constricting a swollen finger: a lifetime of mutual love, given away.

He cries out. He breathes his last. A sharp stab pierces her heart. Her knees give way. She crumples to the ground. She cannot look as they take his body down from the cross. No words come from her mouth. It is finished.

Consider/Discuss

We might prefer to imagine Mary as the serene, tall woman of Michelangelo’s Pietà rather than a crumpled woman collapsed in grief on the ground. Either way, tears in prayer can be God’s gift for healing.
Antonín Dvořák wrote his choral piece Stabat Mater after the death of two of his children; listen to the full orchestral version online and allow yourself to be immersed in the deep sorrow of that father. Find a moment this week to weep with God over the death of Jesus and the struggles of this life.
In this final week of preparation for Easter, listen anew to the story of how Jesus suffered and died. Follow St. Ignatius’ way of interpreting the scriptures, reading and then putting yourself into the scene of the passion of Jesus. What do you see? What does it feel like to be there?

Living and Praying with Word

Jesus of the Cross, sometimes the sorrows of this life make our knees give way and we crumple to the ground. In the dirt, we can feel so heavy that we cannot look up. In the dirt with us, there are many mothers and fathers who have gazed upon the dying of their sons and daughters. On the cross, your body was weighed down when you took our pains upon yourself. We can feel so crumpled on Good Friday. We have not yet gotten to Easter. We cannot lift ourselves from the dirt. Have mercy on us, O Lord. We cannot do this on our own. And we pray for those who are crumpled in the dirt with us. Come and be with us this day.

Jan 24 2025

Sweet Mystery of Life—and Death

Martha cried out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” What had she been thinking and discussing with Mary during the days of her brother’s illness and now after his death? Surrounded by friends, she did not find the one friend that she was looking for—he who had the ability to help. She may have whispered, “Jesus, where are you? Where are you right now when Mary and Lazarus and I so need you?”

Have you ever been in a situation in which someone who could have chosen to help you would not? Someone who is in a position of authority—who you thought had your back and did not? The betrayal cuts deeply, causing anguish, high blood pressure, anger, grief, hurt, and sleepless nights—in short, a crisis of trust in the one who could have helped, but did not. Where was he/she when I needed him/her?

We don’t always know why things work out as they do. Human beings let us down. Sometimes it feels as though God lets us down— our prayers are not answered as we expect. These are our personal crucifixion moments. We may later see clearly why things happened and God is glorified; these are resurrection moments. Sometimes we never know why, and life and death remain a mystery.

In today’s story, the Lord did finally show up. Then he quaked with grief. Jesus wept. For the sake of his friends, he called Lazarus out of the tomb. It was personally perilous for him to do so. But out of love, he revealed his power. At the same time, he was about to take the pains of the world upon himself. When he saw his friends’ grief, did that reveal how much they would suffer from his upcoming death? No wonder he trembled.

Consider/Discuss

Every person has foretastes of death and resurrection in this life. In difficult moments, how have you (or have you not) identified with Martha’s whisper, “Where are you, Lord?”
In bleak moments, we may be tempted to give ourselves (and others) glib answers that do not satisfy or are suspect or hollow, shallow answers like “God wanted another angel in heaven” or “Well, it was God’s will.” Or . . . How does that artificial certainty belittle the mystery dimension of God and life? How else could we respond more truly to the puzzlement of betrayal and/or grief?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, I hope you don’t mind the honesty, but sometimes it feels as though you aren’t showing up. We need you. We believe that you are the Resurrection and the Life; help our unbelief. Give us the strength to cling tightly to your steadfast love when life bears down hard. Most of all, thank you for taking our pains upon yourself. Ezekiel’s dry bones give us hope in this parched valley. We look forward to the day when you bring us to a new and fresh life, good and gracious God.

Jan 24 2025

The Cross: A Harvest of Life

When I taught first graders in religious education class, there was a simple test in the book. It said, “Jesus died because __________ .” The correct answer was “he loves us.” The first graders could spit out that answer. But they looked at me with questions in their eyes, as in, “My mommy loves me; is she going to die, too?” They didn’t really get it. As Lent draws near to its close, I have been wrestling with the meaning of the cross, too. I can spit out that same answer, but I am not sure that I really get it either.

Still pondering the cross, I go out to the garage where my garlic is hanging. In early spring, winter-stored herbs and garden produce dream of becoming more than food. I have to watch carefully, for potatoes want to sprout eyes and onions hope to develop shoots. As I slice the garlic, I see little green centers that wish to become leaves.

Jesus knew that a grain of wheat also desires to get into the ground and grow. He uses that grain as an analogy for himself. But the gardener in me asks, does the wheat actually die?

I looked up the Greek word that Jesus uses here for “die.” This “die” does not mean to go out of existence. It means to be separated, apart from the realm where you have been. Jesus knows that the season has come for him to be separated. The Word who became flesh cannot stay in this earthly realm. He has to go. He prepares his friends for that. Like the wheat and the garlic in early spring, he gives himself away. I am still wrestling with that. But somehow and for some reason, Jesus is willing to become something more for us.

Consider/Discuss

What happens to Jesus’ grain of wheat and my garlic cloves if they don’t get eaten or go into the ground? They rot. Onions become shells of skins. Potatoes turn wrinkly and bluish with mold. Garlic gets soggy and soft and smells even worse. There comes a season when a plant is designed by nature to give itself away to nourish. What does that mean for us?
This most famous of Jeremiah’s passages says that God will write his law on our hearts and we will be God’s people and he will be our God. How does/ doesn’t Jesus’ self-sacrifice give you a stronger sense of belonging to God?

Living and Praying with the Word

Jesus, when you were here on earth, you prayed with loud cries and tears to the one who was able to save you. Yet you were willing to offer yourself to the Father to become our Savior. That sort of blows my mind. I don’t understand it, but I thank you. Someday, when we are together, show me how much that cost you and what “because I love you” means.

Jan 24 2025

Led by the Light

In some places in the U.S., flowers are blooming and the sun is shining: spring has come. Here at my house in the Midwest, it is still late winter. This particular week in March is when I plant my tomatoes and my peppers in my seed room. I suspend bright lights two inches above the flats to keep them warm. Where light glows, the plants spring upward when they germinate. Did you know that seeds with no light will grow in any direction—sidewise, upward, or upside down?

Similarly, people in nursing homes or hospitals, having only artificial lightbulbs, can lose track of the natural rhythms of night and day. Third-shift workers may experience that same disorientation. The body does not know when it is dark and when it is light.

I recall a disoriented time in my life at seventeen. The world felt directionless. Was there was a purpose to anything that I did? I remember thinking, as we sped down the interstate, “If I opened the door and fell out of this car and died, nobody would really care.” I had a vague sense of God’s care, but that love was like a weak light bulb far away.

The Letter to the Ephesians calls us from darkness to light: “Live like those who are at home in the daylight.” Jesus touches the blind man’s eyes and he sees. The “light of the world” changes things. He did for me. I hope that he has done so for you.

Yet some may prefer the darkness, Jesus says. Nobody enjoys being directionless, so other directions are marketed to “save us,” to lift us from darkness to light —from football to coffee, yoga, and massage therapy. But can any “thing” truly replace Jesus as Savior, the true light of the world?

Consider/Discuss

Depression and despair are growing in our culture. Suicide and drug use rates have lowered life expectancy. How do we help those we love to transform from a perception of God as “a weak light bulb far away” to the radiant Love who is near? What can we personally do to be Jesus’ light to a world that feels hopeless and directionless?
When have you ever felt like the man born blind? When have you experienced Jesus as the light who brings you out of that darkness? Personal stories are most effective in bringing about transformation. Could you share that story with someone who is feeling as though he or she lives in the shadows?

Living and Praying the Word

Jesus, light of the world, thank you for leading us through dark valleys and out of despair. Like young David, anoint us to follow you wholeheartedly wherever you direct. We want to sprout. We want to grow. We want to bear fruit that will nourish others. Help us to grow always toward your light.

Jan 24 2025

Born Again—from the Inside Out

Nicodemus, the Jewish leader, came to see Jesus at night. He wanted answers. But why did he prefer to come in the darkness and not in the light? Was he was concerned about his reputation, protecting his “street cred”?

Is that what we’re living for— “street cred” or the number of “likes” that we get? Does the number of our social media “followers” determine our worth? “Looking good” is what an older generation calls it. “Saving face” is critical to the politics of many nations.

We do need encouragement. Affirmation is necessary for human growth. But some positives can turn into compulsions. An institution can be overpowered by a fixation on safeguarding its reputation. You and I can be personally overwhelmed by the culture of applause.

A young man once talked to me about how he had gained “street cred” for looking like “a good Catholic boy” at a Catholic college. He got affirmation for attending Mass daily. It felt good. But the Holy Spirit asked him in prayer to start over, to shed that mere living for external approval that had birthed his persona, and to make it new from the inside. He began to focus on integrity, to be reborn from within—not just to look good, but to be good. It felt healthy to start afresh.

Maybe Nicodemus was weary of the posturing that swirled around him. Maybe he came to Jesus because he saw a refreshing grace. Jesus suggested to Nicodemus, “Start over, begin anew.” He extended a hand to help this Pharisee begin again, differently—to come out of the darkness and into the light.

What Jesus tells Nicodemus (and us) in John 3:16, that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,” isn’t just a placard to be displayed proudly at sporting events. By grace, we can start over. The Savior rescues us from living for the external applause of life, and rebirths us from within.

Consider/Discuss

We need affirmation to keep loving and giving and not to get discouraged. But what about the incessant pressures to “look good”? Can an addiction to applause and being liked throw us off balance? What happens to our self-worth when nobody claps? On the other hand, what can happen to our interior equilibrium if too many people applaud us? What kind of inner integrity does the Holy Spirit want to grow within us?
Where do we find the grace to “start over?” Grown-up life is no longer innocent. We have hurt others. We also have been hurt. We ought to be condemned for the deeds that we have done in darkness. When have you (or have you not) experienced Jesus’ hand of forgiveness as he says, “I do not come to condemn the world but to save it”?

Living and Praying with the Word

God of glory, you are fresh, you are new. There are times when this world wearies us with its posturing and demands. On this Lenten day, we turn to you for forgiveness and renewal. Give us the grace to begin again. Help us! As we close our eyes to seek you, the blessed light within, you even more are looking for us and drawing us to yourself. Holy Spirit, turn our hearts toward the goodness that is founded only on your love and your truth. Refresh us so we can be reborn anew this day.