Dear Gladys, Here’s a thought experiment for you: imagine that you are lying in bed dying from cancer.  You can’t sleep because of the pain.  Suddenly St Peter appears to you at the foot of the bed.  He’s looking right at you, as if waiting for you to say something.  What would you say?  Seriously, think about it.  What would you say? That scene actually happened to today’s saint, and what she said holds a lesson for us all.  When she spotted St Peter she immediately asked him, “Are my sins forgiven?”  As always, the words reveal the heart.  As this young widow (she was widowed after only one year of marriage, after which she determined to consecrate her life completely to Christ, even though she was wealthy, beautiful, and well respected; everyone tried to dissuade her – her doctors even said that if she didn’t marry again she would grow a beard – but to no avail; she heard the call of a bridegroom they could not see), so as she lay dying of breast cancer, her concern was the state of her soul.  She was a consecrated woman, well along on the road to holiness, yet she recognized that she was a sinner, and she deeply regretted the offense her sins had caused her Lord.  She had probably been asking forgiveness for her spasms of selfishness even while she lay there suffering, and so the first words out of her mouth when St Peter appears ask whether she has pleased her divine husband or not. What a lesson!  We so easily focus on the state of our bodies, or our emotions, or our relationships, or our careers, oftentimes completely ignoring the state of our souls.  Our friendship with Christ is a real friendship, and when we go along living selfishly and comfortably, it pains him.  Galla knew this, but do we? Oh.  I am sorry.  Have I been raving again?  Do forgive me.  I have completely ignored the question you asked in your note.  The name you are looking for is Michael Campbell – that’s the grandfather on our mother’s side, so it would be your great grandfather.  I think he came over to South America originally and made his way north.  Let me know what your research uncovers.  In the meantime, count on my prayers. God bless, Uncle Eddy Uncle Eddy

Dear Fran, You’ll never become a mature Christian (or a mature person, for that matter) if you don’t learn to control your emotions.  I don’t mean eliminate them; I don’t mean repress them; I mean control them, train them, the way you control a powerful horse with a bridle and bit.  Some people tend to get angry easily, some people tend to get sad easily, some people tend to be giddy all the time – whatever our tendency is, we all need to learn balance, maturity, and self-control.  Otherwise, we can never become docile to the Holy Spirit (because he often asks us to act on principles that go deeper than emotions), and without that docility, we get stuck in spiritual infancy.  Today’s saint is an example of almost every Christian virtue, but the pivotal point in his journey towards holiness came when he mastered his emotions. You are probably familiar with the story of St Francis – most people know more about him than about other saints.  He was from the central Italian town of Assisi (still one of the gems of Europe, by the way, I hope you get a chance to see it some day), the outgoing and fashionable son of a successful cloth merchant.  He cared little for business and less for studies, and dedicated himself wholeheartedly to having a good time with his friends and enjoying the luxurious pleasures that his plentiful pocketbook easily supplied.  As he grew to manhood, he became enchanted with the chivalrous ideals of his age, and did his best to embark upon a career as a knight.  But sickness intervened, as did the interior nudging of divine grace.  He aborted his plans to go off and fight in the wars, and returned to his normal life, but God was at work in his heart, and he was fast falling in love with the heavenly kingdom.  He didn’t know where that love affair would lead him, but he recognized early on that it required him to discipline his hitherto self-indulgent tendencies.  At this juncture, he was riding one day through the plain beneath Assisi when he encountered a leper whose disease was so advanced that the mere sight of his horrific sores violently repulsed Francis.  He recognized immediately that this was not a mere chance encounter.  Gathering what strength he could to overcome his repugnance, he dismounted and approached the beggar.  The poor man stretched out his disfigured hand to receive an alms, and Francis gave him one.  At the same time he embraced the leper and kissed him.  He had successfully mastered his feelings of revulsion in order to perform a Christian act of charity.  Thus began the incomparable and immortal (he founded the Franciscan Order) career of the saint whom history unanimously calls “the closest image of Christ after Christ himself.” Believe me, my young niece; I know how difficult it is to build up that kind of self-dominion.  You can’t do it alone, in fact.  But you are not alone – God is the first one ready and waiting to help you.  Stay close to him in prayer and by reading the Gospels and visiting him in the Eucharist, and he will strengthen you for the hardest of fights – the battle against the tyranny of your own unruly emotions. Prayerfully yours, Uncle Eddy

Dear Zeke, You probably feel so frazzled because you aren’t taking any time to spend alone with God in reflection, prayer, and silence.  If you don’t make a point of doing so at least every week (better to do it for a little while every day, but you can work up to that if you need to), who will?  If your life is to be harmonious, full of the beauty that God wants for you, you need to make some space for him to work with – just like the flute can make such sweet music because of the hollow space inside it.  If solitude and silence rank towards the top of the saints’ list of priorities, it’s for a reason.  You ought to learn from their example.   Take today’s saint, for instance. He was a devoted disciple of another saint, the wonderworking St Hilarion, who founded a beloved and revered monastery in Palestine, where Hesychius first met him and studied the spiritual life under his guidance.  When the monastery in Palestine got too crowded, Hilarion sneaked away to Egypt with his young apprentice.  His fame preceded him, however, and his miracles continued to increase his popularity.  In hopes of a purer retirement from the noise and bustle of the world, Hilarion secretly departed Egypt and sailed to Sicily.  Hesychius was crushed.  He felt that he still needed the close guidance and attention of his spiritual master, and so he sought him up and down the coastlands of the eastern Mediterranean.  Finally, while he was in Greece, he heard rumors of a holy man who had appeared on Sicilian soil, and who performed marvelous miracles.  Much to the younger saint’s delight (and benefit), they were reunited, and from then on continued together their pursuit of perfect solitude and silence.  Wherever they went their example and wisdom encouraged Christians and inspired young men and women to give their lives wholly to Christ.  Soon Hesychius began to act as Hilarion’s envoy, visiting his brother monks back in Palestine and checking up on other groups of disciples.  By the time Hilarion died, Hesychius had been thoroughly schooled in sanctity.  He inherited Hilarion’s worldly goods (a few clothes and a book of the Gospels) and accompanied his master’s body back to the first monastery he had founded in Palestine, where he eventually passed away as well. These two humble monks are the rule rather than the exception: time spent in prayerful, quiet reflection (always in accordance with one’s state in life – i.e. a family man would be off track if he spent five hours a day in the chapel, and a priest would be off track if he spent all his waking hours at his desk) fosters interior peace, joy, and union with God.  When you feel overly stressed or frazzled, the first thing you should do is check up on the quality of your quiet time. God bless, Uncle Eddy