This page will have a variety of resources produced in the Diocese and parish for your use during Lent.
For many Catholics, Lent is primarily a time to give up something or to engage in more good works. While not denying that these can be meaningful, author and theologian Tim Muldoon believes that Lent is ultimately about internal change—that is, realigning our wills with God’s will by taking on the heart and mind of Christ. Join Muldoon for a webinar in which he’ll demonstrate how a daily conversation with God, inspired by the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, can remove obstacles to grace and lead us to a deeper love for God and the world. Removing Obstacles to Grace This Lent
A Webinar with Tim Muldoon Monday, March 3, 2025 2:00–3:00 p.m. central (UK time 8-9pm
Reserve my seat. >
This webinar will be recorded. All registered participants will receive the video link after the event.
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Part of the experience of desolation is the sense that God is distant from me. I can’t feel a strong sense of God’s presence. I feel spiritually abandoned and alone. I say the “sense” of God’s absence or the “feeling” of being abandoned by God because faith assures me that God never abandons me. If God did so, I would cease to exist. God is always near, always watching and loving me—always acting for the good in my life. But I don’t always feel that divine love. I can’t always sense God’s presence in my heart.
This unhappy sense of dryness in prayer is not unusual among people of faith. Jesus himself cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” The psalmist speaks of his soul as “a dry and weary land.” (Psalm 63:1)
I am truly in the depths of desolation not simply when I experience dryness in prayer but also when I have lost the sense of hope and faith that this will ever change. In desolation, I am drawn to question not just this moment but my entire relationship with God. I will begin to wonder if my whole experience of God is just a sham, something I made up in my head. I will question the existence of God, or at least the existence of my friendship with God. I remember once, during a particularly dry retreat I was going through, telling my retreat director, “I’m not sure that I really know how to pray.” I could tell that the director was laughing inwardly at this comment; from his more objective point of view, he knew how silly this doubt was. But in my heart the false spirit had me convinced that my years and years of prayer were nothing but an imaginative exercise—an intellectual fantasy.
—Excerpted from God’s Voice Within by Mark E. Thibodeaux, SJ
Following Jesus into the Desert
After my baptism, I returned daily to the river and watched. When John said, “Behold the Lamb of God,” we applauded. Some danced. Some jumped into the water and splashed each other like children.
People were so busy celebrating that they didn’t notice Jesus head toward the desert. I wondered why he left and followed.
He walked for an hour and then stopped. I stayed back, hesitant to disturb him. He stood still, eyes closed, and tilted his neck so the sun could fall fully on his face. The hands at his sides slowly rose. I became self-conscious. Was I intruding? I went home.
Days passed, and I wondered about Jesus. No one had seen him. More days passed, and I decided to return to the desert. I don’t know what I hoped to find.
Somehow my wanderings led me to Jesus, who sat with his chest to his knees. He looked thin and tired. His lips were dry and cracked. I stayed back. Had he been praying all this time? I can barely sit through a synagogue service. What self-discipline this man had! And what was he thinking about as he sat there? Did he love solitude so much? Or was he waiting for an answer that was slow in coming?
I wanted to imitate him, so I started praying at a distance. I became aware of stiff limbs before I realized that much time had passed. As I gazed at a full moon, I felt famished. I wanted the comfort of my own bed. What was I doing out here? Why didn’t I leave?
A thought occurred to me: “Yours is a useless life. What you do doesn’t amount to anything. You don’t amount to anything.”
I chewed on this idea for a moment. As fear mounted, Jesus turned. He knew I was there. My mind raced. A voice inside accused me: “You don’t belong here. Leave. You are interfering.”
I wanted to run. But Jesus’ eyes contradicted my inclination. I stayed. It was then that I noticed Jesus sweating profusely. Was he going through a battle of his own? His hands were clenched in prayer, and I followed his example.
“God, I belong to you,” I prayed. “I want to follow your plan, but I don’t know what that is. Show me.”
The image of the ill neighbor I care for flitted across my mind. Then I remembered my mother, who lives with us. I do matter, and it’s a temptation to think I don’t.
“Give me courage,” I prayed. “Give me patience and a kind word when I am exhausted.”
I closed my eyes. Peace overtook me. The next thing I knew, sun was warming my cheek. I had fallen asleep in the desert. As I stretched my stiff muscles, I looked around. Where was Jesus?
I began wandering and looking for him. Why was I seeking him? I should be home. I should be… I caught myself in this thought.
“Be kind to yourself. Test your thoughts.”
I heard a voice and turned to see Jesus. “We’ve had a lot to think about out here, haven’t we?” Jesus smiled. “Let’s head back. We know what we need to do now.”
As we walked together, he talked about his own temptations. And he invited me to talk about mine. When we reached my house, he thanked me. He thanked me!
“I know you’ll accompany me again,” he said. “Not into the desert, but into your busy life of service. This is love, my friend.”
He turned up the road, and I went into my house to receive a puzzled look and a reminder that the roof needed fixing. “And your mother has been calling for you.”
When I go now to my inner room, God my Father, Creator of my inmost self, I go with ashes on my forehead and in my soul for what I have done and for the little love I return to You. Is it repentance enough that I accept as mine the burden laid on all of us by all of us? May I embrace as my own and offer to You the sufferings of the world that invade my day— the child in terror, the man without work, the woman wrapped in oppression and disdain? Let me feel the grief that weighed like lead on Jesus’ heart and know His unyielding love for me. Amen. —Joseph A. Tetlow, SJ
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Resources
Stations of the Cross
Stations of Cross will be led each Friday after 10am Mass during Lent.
For those who want an online experience Ann Milner is recording a number of sets of Stations which will feature below.
Lent Week 1
Click here for video
Stations Lent Week 1
For an audio file click here Stations Lent Week 1 audio
Lent Week 2
Click here for video Stations Lent Week 2
For an audio file click here Stations Lent Week 2 audio
For a printed sheet click here 2021 Stations Set 2 Handout v2
Lent Week 3
Click here for video Stations Lent Week 3
For an audio file click here Stations Lent Week 3 audio
For a printed sheet click here 2021 Stations Set 3 Handout
Lent Week 4
Click here for video Stations Lent Week 4
For an audio file click here Stations Lent Week 4 audio
For a printed sheet click here 2021 Stations Set 4 Handout
Lent Week 5
The Vatican website gives a short account of the history of the Stations
of the Cross, stating that three saints of the Middle Ages (Saint
Bernard of Clairvaux Saint Francis of Assisi and Saint Bonaventure)
prepared the ground on which the devout practice was to develop. They
were not always in the form that we are now used to, for example
historians record at least four episodes chosen as the «First Station ».
The liturgy that we now know today was first recorded in Spain in the
first half of the seventeenth century. So the liturgy has varied over
the ages and today we pray a set of stations from The Scriptural
Stations of the Crosscreated by members of the Anglican Church of the
Redeemer, Jacksonville in the US.