God’s mercies never cease, nor compassion ever fail. They are renewed every morning, so great is God’s faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23
Dear Friends,
Welcome to the new generation of Lavish Mercy. The first generation, which comprised nearly ten years of material, has been archived for future use. For those who have been with me over the past decade, thank you. For all newcomers, you are very welcome.
God’s Mercy creates, enthuses, invites, and sustains all of us. As I reflect on that gift in my own life, I enjoy sharing those reflections with you. I try to post about every 7-10 days.
I hope you find spiritual nourishment in this blog. All my reflections and artwork are free for you to use and reproduce in any way you wish. The only remuneration I request is that we pray for one another, and do our best to be Mercy in the world.
God bless us all, Sister Renee Yann, RSM
For the legal part: I am a Sister of Mercy, and this is my personal blog. The opinions within are mine and do not (necessarily) reflect those of any community to which I belong.
In the mid-1940s, while the world was at war, a young Jesuit named Daniel Lord wrote a series of little books about the saints. If you are a Catholic of a certain age, you may remember those colorful illustrations peeking from parish book racks or classroom shelves.
I loved these mini-books. In my pre-teen years, I read them over and over, imagining how I might align my life to some of their stories so that I too might become a saint!
I had favorites that I wanted to imitate, and others whose challenges I definitely preferred to avoid. The stories of the martyrs like Sebastian (of the arrows) and Catherine of Alexandria (of the torture wheel) fascinated me, but did not invite my imitation.
Canonization of St. Elizabeth of Hungary – Sándor Liezen-Mayer
Instead, I thought I might like to be like Elizabeth of Hungary, a queen who carried food to the poor in her luxurious apron. Or maybe like Francis Xavier, who went to the far reaches of the Orient to share the Gospel. Unfortunately, I think I was more attracted by their attire and travelogues than by their call to holiness.
Still, those stories shaped my budding spirituality and left me with a challenge that has endured for eight decades. The challenge? You are called to be a saint. What will your story be? How will that call unfold in your life?
All of my early “storybook” saints led heroic lives. Their stories were full of drama, pathos, and astounding courage – just what a young person craves. I fed on their inspiration to make my early commitment to a faith-directed life.
It was only later that I embraced the quiet saint, Thérèse of Lisieux. She hadn’t attracted me when I was young. Maybe I felt we had nothing in common because I was tall, and she was “Little”. Who knows why a teenage mind chooses one hero and not another?
But in my early twenties – when teenage wishes slowly become grounded hopes and vivid imagination assumes the shape of everyday realities – I was a young nun. And I needed models to teach me the transformation from untested self-confidence to grateful responsibility.
It slowly dawned on me that holiness might be measured less by courageous deeds than by selfless love. As daily scriptural prayer revealed humility’s essential role in holiness, I remembered that little chapbook page about Thérèse.
Later, as I read her autobiography, I realized that although her life was simple, her spirituality was richly complex. She experienced spiritual delight and darkness, each in profound measure. Humble and self-effacing, she was nonetheless fierce in her love, faith, and trust in God.
Meditating on her, I didn’t see a physically delicate, sweet woman who died too young.
I saw a woman on fire with life and with God, whose soul burned so brightly because surrender to grace kept its flame vibrant.
I saw a brilliant, though simply educated, mind placed in the service of an even more dazzling soul.
I saw an acute assessor of humanity reach beyond the obvious for God’s sometimes shrouded presence in every person.
I saw a martyr who, unlike Sebastian, never bled. I saw a missionary who, unlike Xavier, never sailed.
I saw a saint whose “Little Way” might work for most of us who lead ordinary, “little” lives.
Thérèse didn’t live long enough to show us what “The Little Way” would look like when it had aged like fine wine. Those of us who loved Daniel Lord’s books in the 1940s and 50s are tasked with that witness – in a world still at war; in a world still longing for humble mutuality and spiritual courage.
Today, on her feast day, I pray: Dear Little Flower, please help us on our “way”.
Music: God Is Not In the Sky. Look Inside You. – Interpretation of Rumi
Today we celebrate the Feast of the Archangels, three of whom are mentioned by name in Scripture: Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael.
As I begin this reflection, I think of a beautiful mural above an altar in our motherhouse chapel. The painting depicts the Christmas scene: Mary and Joseph beside Jesus in his crib. Peeking over a windowsill, barely noticeable at first glance, two winged cherubs observe the holy scene. Something like this Renaissance version:
Adoration of the Shepherds by Guido Reni
As beautiful as such images may be, they can obscure a deeper appreciation of angels in Scripture and in our spiritual lives.
Walter Brueggemann, in a Christmas sermon from 1972, reminds us that the biblical understanding of angels was far removed from the sweet, decorative cherubs that often populate religious art. Angels were messengers—bearers of divine communication. They were agents of God’s purpose, bringing messages that were clear, urgent, and often unsettling. Whether appearing in dreams, visions, storms, inner promptings, or heavenly voices, angels conveyed God’s Will.
Scripture certainly confirms this understanding.
In Revelation 12:7-12 and Jude 1:9, Michael appears as a warrior, confronting the forces of evil and defending God’s people. Growing up in St. Michael’s Parish in Old Kensington, I had a heartfelt devotion to this guardian!
Raphael is a central figure in the Book of Tobit. Disguised as a human guide named Azariah, he accompanies Tobias on a dangerous journey before revealing his true identity in chapter 12. Raphael’s ministry is one of guidance, healing, and protection.
Gabriel, so familiar to us from Luke’s earth-shaking Nativity stories, first appears in the Book of Daniel. There, as later with Mary, he opens hearts and minds to God’s purposes.
Caravaggio: Matthew’s Inspiration
Jesus himself speaks frequently of angels in Matthew’s Gospel. In Matthew 18:10, he tells us:
“See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father.”
In chapters 13 and 24, Jesus describes angels assisting at the end of time in gathering the faithful and separating the righteous from the wicked. As his passion begins, he proclaims that he could summon “more than twelve legions of angels” if he chose to do so.
I think it’s hard to believe in angels because they are spiritual beings. Not many bodily cherubs have floated by me in my lifetime. But I have certainly felt both gentle and earth-shaking nudges in my life to move deeper into the graces God has offered me.
Those nudges were my angels. They did not have wings, or a body, or an accompanying harp. What they had was a message, a call, and sometimes a demand from God. Often, they were at first invisible to me, and to be honest – sometimes annoying – until I did the necessary work of listening with prayerful concentration.
When such angels alight, we do well to focus on their suggestions. Ignoring them won’t make them disappear.🫠
On this windy morning, I draw the years close in warm reflection, grateful for Mercy’s mantle when assurance has ever frayed or ardor cooled – every thread a promise, a hope, a grace!
No, all is not smooth! All fiber isn’t silk! Often, tender weft has knotted, and the Sacred Warp been indistinct.
Yet, telling gaps await their tatting. Even homespun, once braided, bears the Holy Elegance.
I finger Mercy’s threads this holy morning, heart convinced of God’s unfailing promise:
But I will call this to mind as my reason to hope: the favors of the Lord are not exhausted. God’s mercies are never spent; they are renewed each morning, so great is God’s faithfulness. My portion is the Lord, says my soul. Therefore will I renew my hope in God. (Lamentations 3:21-24)
Happy Mercy Day, dear friends. Let us be immensely grateful for one another in our prayers, for Catherine’s courage, for God’s lavish mercy.
Prayer’s many seasons have their unique personalities, each with a Truth and Presence awaiting revelation. These seasons rest not within the pages of a calendar but, like the earth’s axis, in the slow leaning of our hearts toward the Incandescent Face of God.
The soul’s Spring prayer is full of words and the longing to know more of the One Whom we desire. It is offered in the rising light of faith. It is surprised, delighted by response. It blossoms in the delicate pastels of self-revelation.
Summer prayer has a settled cadence. It welcomes warmth, the Spirit’s Fire vivifying a Presence beyond words. It lingers in the Light that intensely teaches Love. It bears Love’s fruit wherever it dwells. It comes whenever the soul finds its summer.
Autumn prayer presses its infinite roots deep into time-tested faith. Like a fecund tree, this prayer unfolds each leaf before Love and awaits Love’s reception. Having come to wisdom, it yields appropriated fruit to the One Who seeded and sustained it. Autumn prayer is a slow falling from consuming color into the radical trust that invites winter prayer.
Winter prayer resides in silence, in the still confidence of reciprocated self-donation. It has become peace, a requiescat of fidelity.
Let’s think about Matthew today, on his feast day.
Other than his listing among the Twelve, Matthew is mentioned in the Gospel on only one occasion: his call and the celebration that follows.
Matthew’s call is unique among those of the other Apostles. Most of them found Jesus by word of mouth. Andrew told his brother Peter. Philip went and found Nathaniel under a fig tree. But Jesus himself found Matthew.
Was it by chance, as the story makes it appear? Did Jesus just happen to glance into the tax collector’s room, winking at Matthew? Did Matthew pop up, scattering his coins all over the place, to follow someone he had never seen before?
I think the Gospel hints at a much deeper story.
Here’s how the Baroque master Caravaggio imagined the situation.
If Matthew is the bearded man, as is commonly accepted, the scene, with its pointing fingers, assumes the tone of “Who, me?” But Jesus’s gesture is quite clear – “Yes, you!”. Jesus knew Matthew and wanted him in his company.
And isn’t that how many of us experience our various calls? Of course, God know us – every single one of us, intimately!
And we know that God wants something from us, but maybe we are either unaware, unsure, ungenerous, or unwilling in response. Some of us may stay in those “uns” our whole lives, hiding in the shadows, never fully answering God’s amazing call.
But not Matthew! After the “Yes, you!”, Matthew ran home and organized a banquet to demonstrate his assent. He invited a dangerously mixed crowd of disciples and Pharisees, flirting with potentially contentious conversations. But Jesus turned the muddle into a platform for his mission:
And as Jesus reclined at table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and were reclining with Jesus and his disciples. And when the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard it, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick do. Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners. (Matthew 9:10-13)
Jesus called Matthew as a doorway to those who most needed redemption: the spiritually sick and sinful. He called Matthew to speak Mercy into a world that demanded only sacrifice. He called Matthew because he recognized that Matthew wanted to be called. Otherwise, why was he looking out the door when Jesus passed by?
In our own lives, there is a door in every situation we meet. Through it, Jesus is calling us to a deeper response that speaks Mercy into our world. Can you see him pointing at you?
September 17, 2026 Feast of St. Hildegard of Bingen
How this headline breaks my heart!
What have we done to God’s beautiful Creation? Isn’t it enough that we cannot discipline ourselves on earth to refrain from killing? Now we have a plan to let blood pour into the heavens!
While mourning this development, I realized that today is the feast of St. Hildegard of Bingen. And I thought how desperately we need her inspiration today!
Hildegard, the 12th-century German Benedictine abbess, mystic, prophet, scientist, composer, writer, and Doctor of the Church, had a very different vision of Creation. She saw the whole universe alive with the creative energy of God.
She called that life-giving power Viriditas — “greening.”
“There is a power that has been since all eternity, and that force and potentiality is green!”
According to Hildegard, Creation is not simply something given us to use. It is alive with the presence and power of its Creator. The earth, the heavens, animals, humanity—all are part of a great divine life.
How far that vision seems from our determination to turn even the heavens into another battlefield.
For the Feast of Hildegard in 2022, our late Sister Eloise Rosenblatt wrote a beautiful reflection on this remarkable woman. You may access it here.
Today, I pray that Hildegard’s vision will challenge our leaders’ visionary deficiency. Instead of making the universe an arena for warfare, let the heavens reflect God’s presence within and among us. Let them bring a message of healing to a world already fractured by aggression.
On this feast of Hildegard, let us pray for a world that imagines new ways of spiritual communion rather than spatial war.
In honor of the amazing St. Hildegard, pray Psalm 19 today. May the heavens declare God’s glory. May God’s perfect Law take root in our hearts.
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows the handiwork of the Lord. One day tells its tale to another, and one night imparts knowledge to another.
Although they have no words or language, and their voices are not heard, their sound has gone out into all lands, and their message to the ends of the world.
In the deep has God set a pavilion for the sun; it comes forth like a bridegroom out of his chamber; it rejoices like a champion to run its course.
It goes forth from the uttermost edge of the heavens and runs about to the end of it again; nothing is hidden from its burning heat.
The law of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure and gives wisdom to the innocent.
The statutes of the Lord are just and rejoice the heart; the commandment of the Lord is clear and gives light to the eyes.
The fear of the Lord is clean and endures for ever; the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether
More to be desired are they than gold, more than much fine gold, sweeter far than honey, than honey in the comb.
By them also is your servant enlightened, and in keeping them there is great reward. Who can tell how often they offend?
Cleanse me from my secret faults. Above all, keep your servant from presumptuous sins; let them not get dominion over me; then shall I be whole and sound, and innocent of a great offense.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight; O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
Music: The Heavens Declare– by Evan4Christ
This beautiful chant is a worship song sung from the perspective of ancient Israelite Hebrews and the Hebrew Testament Levitical Choir. This song uses various verses from the Book of Psalms as its lyrics.
I think we get too used to things, sometimes – in my case, the phrase “Holy Cross”.
Holy Cross Parish was my first mission assignment as a 21-year-old enthusiastic, clueless teacher. For me, the constantly repeated phrase became bleached of any religious meaning, indicating instead a geographic area, a football team, or a Saturday night dance for teens, blithely described in semi-illiterate phrases such as:
Joe: Where ya’ from? Pete: Holy Cross up on Springfield Ave.
Joe: Who do ya’ play for? Pete: Holy Cross. We won the championship!
Joe: Whata’ ya’ doing Saturday night? Pete: Holy Cross. They got a good dance sometimes.
I never once, at that time, considered the true meaning of the sacred name under which I lived. That amazes me now when I think about it, sixty years later. What a blessing I missed! What an invitation I overlooked! To contemplate the mystery of the Holy Cross while I lived within its mantle! But I think I was just too young and, as I mentioned above, clueless!
God has been patient with me though, accompanying me over the next sixty years to a deeper understanding of the precious gift of the Holy Cross as it reveals its mystery in my life. You, too, are surely aware of this slow revelation in your own experience.
We all know this: life brings crosses to every human being. No one lives without experiencing suffering in some or many forms. It is inherent in our human nature as we stretch for heavenly perfection from the bonds of earthly encumbrance.
God knows this too. And so we have been given the gift of Jesus Christ and the mystery of his Cross to steady us as this truth reveals its gift over the unrelenting course of our days.
Whatever pain our crosses bring us, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual, that pain exposes our heart to the grace of transformation.
The Holy Cross of Christ assures us that our personal cross is not simply an unavoidable suffering. It is our unique pathway into God’s heart and the absolute nature of Divine Love.
We will be tempted to think that loss, failure, incapacity, suffering, even death are terminals where life ends or fails. Rather, by the empty cross of the resurrected Christ, we are convinced that these experiences, when received in faith and open to grace, are the portals to Divine Life.
Our crosses test the strength of our faith, the endurance of our hope, and the depth of our love. The Holy Cross is God’s answer to that test.
On this 25th remembrance of 9/11, I recall the story of the little girl whose mother was trying to explain to her the events of September 11th. This little child could not comprehend how someone, who didn’t even know you, could want to hurt you. Struggling for a solution, she said to her mother, “Mommy, why don’t we just tell them our names?” Her solution is innocent and profound. When we know someone “by name”—when we recognize that they have a family, a history, a dream for the future—it is harder to hurt them. It becomes impossible to treat them as an object of terror and a “casualty of war”.
We all know what it’s like to await the birth of a baby in our families. Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles — they all have suggestions for the child’s name. We try to pick strong, beautiful, sacred names to bless this child’s life with power and grace.
Every person you meet today was once spoken into existence by God’s loving voice. Every person you meet today was once given a name by someone who loved them and had hope for their future. Every person you meet today offers you an opportunity to affirm the power of your own name — because when we are confident and free in our self-understanding, we naturally draw others into a circle of hospitality. And certainly, the opposite is true. When someone constantly treats others disrespectfully – renaming them according to his/her own prejudices – that person is revealing so much about their own lack of self-worth.
That little girl offers us a beautiful suggestion for the dawning of respect: “Why don’t we just tell each other our names?” As we remember the heartache of September 11th, may her innocent wisdom inspire our resolve for peace and justice.
Inspired by Labor Day, I am taking on a real labor!
Beginning tonight, I will be shutting down Lavish Mercy for website maintenance, removing material from previous years to edit for future publication, and redesigning the website for a fresh look.
Lavish Mercy has been up for almost ten years. It’s time for a refresh!
I hope to have everything ready in a week or so. Please be patient and stay with me.
