On Ordinary Times

Dec. 12, 2025
By Lucia A. Silecchia

If there is ever a time when the difference in perspective between children and adults is stunningly clear, it is during the four weeks of Advent.

As Advent begins and its weeks stretch ahead, children will say, with a sigh of impatience, “Four whole weeks to Christmas.” My younger self did too.

Adults, looking at the exact same calendar are more likely to say, with a much deeper sigh, “Only four weeks to Christmas.” My older self does too.

Through the eyes of a child, the days of December drag on, with a slow march toward the glory of Christmas – a march filled with excitement and joyful expectation. Through the eyes of adults, however, Christmas arrives in a flash and flurry of activity, and the fleeting days of Advent can go unnoticed because they pass so quickly. Cynics will say that the excited joy of children comes more from the coming of Santa than of Savior. Maybe that is true. Indeed, my younger self would acknowledge mixed motives.

Yet, there is more. There is something to be learned from the joyful, unencumbered anticipation that children have as they wait, wonder and hope.

They seem, simply, to be more ready than adults. Certainly, some of that is because life’s responsibilities have not yet taken a toll. They have less to do to prepare for Christmas in a season when much adult labor is spent preparing Christmas celebrations for them. They seem less distracted and freer to anticipate all that is to come.

A child counts the days. A child notices when decorations first come out. A child notices when a creche goes up and rejoices when the figures in the nativity scene move closer to the manger. A child notices when the Jesse trees in their churches start to fill up. A child counts the number of candles that are lit on the Advent wreath – not with fear that the number of days to Christmas is dwindling but with anticipation that what is to come is closer. With special joy, a child notices that on Gaudete Sunday, the rose candles offer hope that the wait is almost over.

A child anticipating Christmas seems to understand, more than I do, what it means to wait. Yes, they enjoy the festivities leading up to Christmas. But they also have a single-minded focus on Christmas itself. To adults, so often, it can seem as though Advent is a season of events that can exhaust us before Christmas arrives, leaving us with the feeling that Christmas is over before the Christmas season has even begun.

A child longing for Christmas will never say, as I do, that last Christmas seems like it was yesterday. A child is unlikely to wonder how the year went by so fast because, in the temporal economy of childhood, time moves more slowly, and last Christmas seems like an eternity ago. Perhaps that is why each Christmas seems so special.

The children in my life teach me much about what it means to wait with joy, and wait with readiness. They are not distracted by all that they think needs to be done before Christmas. Instead, they are ready to welcome the birthday of Christ with simple joy, uncomplicated excitement, and the knowledge that something special and awesome – in all senses of that word – is about to happen.

I cherish the events leading up to Christmas. The traditions, celebrations, time with loved ones and special occasions fill my calendar and my heart. Yes, they also keep me busy. But, this season, I hope to wait for Christmas a little bit more like my younger sisters and brothers in faith. I hope that the distractions and busy-ness of December do not make my heart hope that Christmas can wait until I am ready for it. My ancestors in faith spent millennia eagerly awaiting the birth of Christ. The ancients who came before me, and the young who come after me did not and do not spend their days hoping for delay and more time until that silent, holy night. They want no unnecessary distance between themselves and the night that brings the “thrill of hope” when “a weary world rejoices.” They know how to anticipate that extra-ordinary time.

Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at The Catholic University of America. "On Ordinary Times" is a bi-weekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at [email protected].

Nov. 17, 2025
By Lucia A. Silecchia

Recently, I have been the frequent, unwilling viewer of an interesting advertisement.

In short, the advertisement begins by presenting the modern catastrophe of a family ordering dinner delivered to their home and discovering, to their horror, that each member of the family wants a different type of cuisine. To the rescue is the delivery app touted by the ad. It can save these poor people from the need to compromise, find consensus, or suffer the heavy burden of having to accommodate the wishes of a parent, sibling or child in any way. Instead, the app allows everyone to order favorite foods from favorite restaurants from the convenience of a single order. Presumably, the food all arrives together, no one has to share, and gastronomical peace reigns in the household. What struck me at first was how different this scene was from the family dinners of my own childhood!

Yet, on further reflection, I found the ad to be a sad commentary on community life. That community may be the family, as depicted in the ad, or a parish, a neighborhood, a marriage, a group of friends, or a collection of colleagues, to name but a few of the communities in which we may find ourselves.

I doubt that any profound social commentary was intended in the advertisement. Nevertheless, it suggests that having to compromise, consider the wishes of others, or sacrifice anything to serve the interests of others is somehow a nuisance to be avoided. It suggests that it is possible for everyone to have his or her way, and that the simple pleasure of a shared common meal is not worth the effort and sacrifice.

A family, or a group of friends will not fall apart if pizza, Buffalo wings, fast food burgers and burritos are all delivered to the shared table and all dine together, yet individually. But does this reflect the attitude that it is a good thing to be ever able to have what we want without understanding that there is a simple beauty in putting our own wishes aside out of love for others?

A family needs those who will do household tasks they do not enjoy, out of respect for others living under the same roof. A marriage needs partners who will sacrifice their own wishes for the good of the couple. A group of friends thrives when its members do not insist on getting their own way when making plans or sharing burdens. A parish lives at its best when its members understand that music style, Mass schedules, Christmas decorations and renovation projects cannot be tailored to the individual wishes of all, but reflect decisions made for the community as a whole.

We are not meant to live alone – nor to live with others in ways that do not require the grace of sacrifice.

As the holy seasons of Advent and Christmas beckon, many of us will have frequent opportunities to gather with the communities tat we hold dear, and to share special times together with them. These are the times that will be sweeter if we assume that they will also be filled with opportunities to serve each other, put the needs of loved ones before our own, and seek ways to bring joy to others.

Certainly, there are some healthy boundaries that can be necessary when anyone's good natured generosity is exploited.

But the holy days to come are replete with examples of those who knew that in giving to others they received. In the example of the Holy Family, at the heat of the season, there is a model of those who lived their small community in that great love that we seek to know and show.

We may also have more mundane opportunities to order food together, select a Christmas movie to watch, decide how to decorate our homes, and plan the Christmas traditions we will celebrate, and with whom we will celebrate. In these seemingly insignificant things, we will also have the opportunity to live out the love that can fill all of the communities of our ordinary times.

Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at The Catholic University of America. "On Ordinary Times" is a bi-weekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at [email protected].

Oct. 2, 2025
By Lucia A. Silecchia

If most people were asked to describe a “typical” or aspirational Thanksgiving celebration, they would likely describe a scene such as that portrayed in Norman Rockwell’s iconic 1943 painting, “Freedom From Want.”

This painting is frequently reproduced at this time of the year, and it is widely familiar. It depicts a pair of beaming grandparents at the head of a dinner table. Grandpa is formally dressed in a suit and tie, while Grandma is wearing an immaculately clean apron and bearing a perfectly cooked turkey. The family table is set with beautiful dishes. All members of this multi-generational family glow with joy as they gaze at each other or at the turkey-bearing grandparents with peace and love. No signs of family tension, divisive political debates, distracting electronic devices, or paper plates at this table! The winds of war swirling around the world in the 1940’s did not intrude on this tableau of happy family life. The picture captures an ideal vision that many have of this beautiful holiday filled with celebrating family and expressing gratitude for all of our blessings.

“Freedom From Want” formed part of a quartet of pictures that Rockwell drew to portray the “four freedoms” that President Franklin D. Roosevelt referenced in his 1941 State of the Union address. In its companion pieces, “Freedom from Fear,” depicted parents tucking their sleeping children into bed. The children slept peacefully and free of fear, while the father of the family held in his hands a newspaper filled with headlines announcing the horrors of the war years. In “Freedom of Speech,” Rockwell presented the image of an ordinary man dressed in his work clothes, confidently standing up to speak his mind at a town hall, even though he was surrounded by a sea of other participants in business suits far more elegant than his own garb. Finally, in “Freedom of Worship” Rockwell sketched a collage of people, all dressed differently with their eyes closed and praying to God in their own ways.

But, it is “Freedom from Want” that is the most widely known of these pictures. It proposes the Thanksgiving to which many aspire -- and that many find intimidatingly perfect. For those whose grandparents are no longer at the heads of their tables, whose family gatherings are fraught, whose tables are not laden with abundance, and whose circle of loved ones is painfully small or missing, Thanksgiving might be tinged with sentimental longing. This can overshadow the beauty of the gratitude that this holiday is intended to celebrate.

There is another, less famous Norman Rockwell painting that captures the beautiful simplicity of Thanksgiving in a way that can be better appreciated by those whose Thanksgiving celebrations might be a little less than perfect or those who seek the deeper spiritual side to the day. “Saying Grace,” a 1951 Rockwell painting depicts a simple, crowded diner with no tablecloths, no fine dishware and no fancy furniture. At a small, crowded table for four, two young men sit on one side of the table, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, wearing rumpled clothing that may indicate a wild evening the night before. They are glancing somewhat furtively across the table at two other characters who are the focal point of the picture. A woman wearing simple clothing and a young boy in her charge are sitting close to each other. Their heads are bowed in prayer as they say grace and express their gratitude for the simple meal that sits on the trays in front of them. In this private moment of prayer in a crowded diner, they seem oblivious to the crowd that surrounds them, while in various ways the other patrons steal glimpses of the prayerful pair, not sure what to make of this moment.

This painting, to me, perfectly expresses the simple, joyful hope of Thanksgiving. Yes, the blessings of family, friends and feast are parts of the holiday that I anticipate so eagerly and for which I am counting the days.

But, there is something peacefully comforting about “Saying Grace.” It is a reminder that Thanksgiving is still Thanksgiving even when or if it lacks the trappings we hope it will have. It is a reminder that it is gratitude that is the reason for this celebration. It is a reminder that God is the center of this day, whether our observance of it is picture perfect or perfectly simple. It is a reminder that the grace of giving thanks is the heart of Thanksgiving – and a blessed part of our ordinary time.


Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at The Catholic University of America. "On Ordinary Times" is a bi-weekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at [email protected].

Oct. 13, 2025
By Lucia A. Silecchia

Pope Leo XIV recently released the first extensive document of his papacy, Dilexi Te, an Apostolic Exhortation on love for the poor.

Almost immediately, pundits responded, some thoughtfully and others with partisan “hot takes” that pulled a mere line or two from the document to illustrate how it aligned perfectly with their viewpoints. Others turned immediately to critique, while others seemed to praise provisions that they liked while ignoring those they did not.

This did not surprise me. I have taught courses in Catholic social teaching, and understand the instinct and temptation to view this teaching through political frameworks, ordering it to the “sides” we are used to taking. Yet, this exhortation warrants more. As an Apostolic Exhortation, Dilexi Te is less formal than an encyclical letter.

Yet, “exhortation” is an interesting term. Its root means “to encourage” or “to urge.” Dilexi Te is, therefore, encouragement or a summons to action. It is, in Pope Leo’s words, a summons to “appreciate the close connection between Christ’s love and His summons to care for the poor.”

In reading Dilexi Te and seeking to appreciate this “close connection,” three things challenged and -- as an exhortation should -- encouraged my heart most deeply.

First, the opening line, “I have loved you,” encourages prayerful reflection. It is traditional to name papal documents with the Latin translation of their opening words. Hence, Dilexi Te is simply the translation of the short sentence which launches the exhortation. Yet, these four words (or two in Latin’s efficiency!) convey a profound truth both fundamental to Christianity and largely unfathomable. To know that God says, “I have loved you,” can take a lifetime to ponder. Dilexi Te encourages readers to center their lives and relationships on this truth and to draw from it the inspiration for the love that should motivate care for those who are living with poverty.

Second, Dilexi Te encourages readers to see that many of our sisters and brothers live in poverty, and that this can take many different forms. Certainly, it includes material poverty. Yet, Dilexi Te encourages a broader view. It invites readers to see that deep poverty can afflict those who suffer from many deprivations, including the sorrows of being “socially marginalized,” lacking “means to give voice to their dignity and abilities,” experiencing “moral,” “spiritual,” or “cultural” poverty, being weak or fragile, or lacking “rights,” “space,” or “freedom.” Acknowledging poverty this broader way invites and encourages us not to see “the poor” as merely “others” but to recognize
that, in some way, each of us will know poverty sometime in our lives. To know this is to know deeper solidarity with those whose suffering might otherwise seem distant and easier to ignore.

Third, in what may be its most challenging, yet encouraging section, Dilexi Te presents an extensive history of the Church’s service to the suffering. The challenge embedded here is for each of us to join our ancestors in faith who lived lives in so many ways of loving service. They recognized, as Pope Leo explained, that “[n]o sign of affection, even the smallest, will ever be forgotten, especially if it is shown to those who are suffering, lonely or in need.”

Pope Leo described the service missions of the earliest deacons of the Church, who served those in need. He then pointed to some of the earliest Church Fathers – including the familiar Saints Ignatius of Antioch, Justin, John Chrysostom, Ambrose and Augustine -- who taught, vehemently, about serving the poor and seeing how intimately intertwined are love of God and love of neighbor.

This cannot remain mere theory. Pope Leo continued by describing how care of the sick and suffering has, through the centuries, been close to the heart of the Church. This has been accomplished both through the leadership of well-known saints, but also through the
love of so many religious woman who labored anonymously through the ages to offer “comfort, a listening ear, a presence, and above all, tenderness,” to those in their care. Pope Leo spoke of the generous hospitality offered by those in monastic life, under the guidance of those such as Saints Basil the Great, Benedict of Norcia and Bernard of Clairvaux. He spoke of leaders who established religious orders to minister to those who were captured and suffering imprisonment – and of their followers, whose names may be remembered only by God. He also highlighted the ways in which religious orders such as the Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians and Carmelites embraced poverty for the sake of bringing others closer to God.

At length, Pope Leo spoke of orders founded in more recent centuries to offer education as a particular way of assisting those in need. He again acknowledged the often-under- appreciated work of women religious who devoted their lives to this, recognizing knowledge as both a “gift from God and a community responsibility.” In a similar way, he acknowledged the labors of religious orders who cared for those who migrate, and those who ministered to “the poorest of the poor.” He also acknowledged those who lived lives in service to persons living with disabilities of all kinds.

This journey through the centuries is not merely a history lesson. It is an invitation to see this radical caring love as integral to our faith.

Because Dilexi Te is a new document from a new pope, it will get much attention. But, more than attention, it deserves reflection on what it tells each of us -- not others – to do. And, at its heart, it encourages us to love others as God has loved us, in all the days of
our ordinary times.


Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at The Catholic University of America. "On Ordinary Times" is a bi-weekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at [email protected].