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Chapter oneThe First Word: "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."
By: Bishop John E. Keehner
Welcome to the Golgotha Lenten Study. I’m so grateful that you are here and can meditate upon the final words of Christ whether in a group at your parish or on your own. It is my sincere hope that during this season of Lent, each of us are brought closer to the heart of the Father through his son, Jesus Christ. Please know of my prayers for each of you!
+Bishop Keehner
Reflection
“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Jesus speaks these words from the cross as he endures suffering, rejection, and abandonment. In this beautiful prayer to the Father, Christ’s concern does not reside within himself, rather he turns his focus on us. This moment reveals a love that does not condemn but invites us to a mercy that reaches beyond the depths of our own brokenness and sinfulness.
Although sin separates us from the Father, it will never be the final word unless we allow it to. Over and over, we are invited to return to the mercy of the Father, not in fear but in the confidence of his unwavering love for us. No matter how far or lost we are, the Father’s mercy is always close if only we just ask. He never grows tired of forgiving us, so we should never grow tired of seeking it when we need it most. It is through this act of forgiveness from the Father that mercy becomes real for us. It is where we allow ourselves to be seen, healed, and restored back into his love. Christ’s prayer from the cross invites us to look honestly within our own hearts at our own need for mercy, forgiveness, and the desire to begin again.
As we enter into the Lenten season, we are invited to open our hearts more fully to the Father’s mercy. How might we receive it today? How can we allow Christ’s prayer from the cross to enrich and transform us?
Chapter One Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter One Reflection Materials
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Chapter twoThe Second Word: "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
By: Elizabeth Kelly
Getting to Forgiven
Some years ago, a woman told a lie about me that caused some serious harm and was tremendously painful to bear. After many months had passed, out of the blue, she sent me an email, something along the lines of “If I hurt you, I’m sorry.” We’ve all gotten these: the non-apology, apology. It was, I thought, cowardly, and did very little to repair the damage that had been done.
On the other hand, I’ve received some very sincere and blessed apologies, too. One from a dear friend who years earlier had done something that needed forgiving. By the time he got around to asking for forgiveness, I had long since forgiven him, but I will never forget the sense of freedom that was unleashed in him in naming the offense, claiming it before me, and asking for forgiveness. Such joy it brought to us to see God’s grace at work flowing freely between us and further cementing our friendship with one another and with the Lord we both loved so dearly.
This Lent has me thinking about the tricky and nuanced work of forgiveness; that is, where I need to ask for forgiveness. Where do I need to make real amends? Where is it not enough to name it in the confessional, but instead to shrug off all cowardice and pride, name my offense in plain language without excuses to the one I have harmed, and ask for their forgiveness? Have I done all that I am able and obligated to do in order to help facilitate forgiveness in the one I have wounded?
Before the Altar
I love—and occasionally dread—the passage in Matthew where Jesus tells us most plainly, “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother and then come and offer your gift” (5:23–24). I find these verses to be an excellent and effective examen before Mass. And I confess that on more than one occasion, this passage has turned me around before receiving Communion in a most unworthy condition.
Of course, getting to forgiveness is not always a perfectly tidy, linear operation, and I am not advocating for scrupulosity. Sometimes our hurts flare up long after we’ve sincerely forgiven someone, revealing another little corner of resentment that still needs to be swept out. It does not mean that our apology was somehow flawed if someone we’ve harmed has not yet forgiven us, or not forgiven us fully, or needs to forgive us again. We forgive in layers, working out our “seventy times seven” along an often bumpy and unpredictable road.
Sometimes our apologies are not received in the moment we offer them. That’s all right. True and worthy apologies don’t have an expiration date. A heart can “catch up” so to speak at a later time, and I want to hope for that in another.
If you tend toward an exaggerated scrupulosity, maybe you don’t need to pray about this. For my part, I am more tempted to diminish my sins and their damage. For those like me, let’s not waste any opportunity to be reconciled with those we have hurt. Let’s resolve to trust in the power of God’s grace and beg his clarifying love to flow freely mending all our soul-fissures where it will.
Merciful Jesus, your grace can never be exhausted. Help me to look at my sins honestly, and with courage, to ask simply and without excuses for forgiveness where it is most needed. Amen.
For more of the author's works, visit Elizabeth Kelly's website at LizK.org.
Chapter Two Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Two Reflection Materials
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Chapter ThreeThe Third Word: "Woman, here is your son"..."Here is your mother."
By: Elizabeth Kelly
The Mission of Mary
My prayers go with you as move through our Lenten study, that the Lord is unleashing new and refreshing graces in this holy season.
This week, our hearts turn toward Mary at the foot of the Cross.
When I was coming back into the Church in my late twenties, Mary was a bit of a stumbling block to me. I didn’t have enough education to make a distinction between worship and veneration, for example, and though I respected the Blessed Mother, I cringed at the way she had been portrayed so often: a pale, passive, perfect Madonna. I thought, there has to be more to Mary than that. Looking back, my ignorance is embarrassing.
And Mary was exceptionally patient with me in bringing me slowly and surely into a greater understanding of her role. I had a real breakthrough moment on a writer’s retreat one weekend, we were given this creative exercise: we were to envision a door, behind which our creative gifts would find their place and flourish. The door was a three-day journey away. The assignment was to tell the story of those three days.
As I began the exercise, I could not envision a door but sensed instead a precipice of some kind, high atop a mountain draped in heavy fog. I couldn’t see the precipice, but I felt it there, hidden in the dense clouds that were drifting down to overtake me. This precipice was drawing me to it, as if a rope were tied around my waist and pulling me up, but I was frightened to yield to the pull. I also sensed that I was not alone; Jesus and Mary were with me. We huddled together to discuss our course, and I told them I was afraid to begin the journey, that I couldn’t see but one step ahead of me because of the fog. Jesus said with complete authority, “Follow me. I know the way exactly.” He turned and took off up the mountain. Startled and bit panicked, I looked to Mary as if to say, “Where’s he going so fast?” She smiled and said, “Keep your eyes on him, and I’ll be right behind you.”
When I start after Jesus, it is as if my feet barely touch the ground. Soon we are moving so quickly, so surely and with such great agility that I am filled with exhilaration. The desire to keep up with Jesus draws me forward. He is nearly flying up the mountain, his eyes fixed ahead of him, seeing through the fog what I am unable to see, and he moves over the rocks without one misstep. I am aware of strength in my legs and of a quiet, unnamable strength that calls no attention to itself supporting me, carrying me up the hill. Mary, trailing behind us is so quiet, that I sometimes think we have lost her. But when I turn around the check, there she is, smiling and urging me to “just keep your eyes on Jesus.”
Mary’s life, her message, and her meaning have never been anything different from that—a beckoning to fix our eyes on the Shepherd, who knows the way exactly. This is Mary at the Annunciation: “Yes, fill me with your purpose.” This is Mary whose spirit rejoices, “Great things he has done for me!” This is Mary who pondered in her own heart, “And a sword shall pierce your own soul too.” This is Mary at Cana: “Do whatever he tells you.” And this is Mary at the foot of the cross: keeping her eyes on Jesus even to the end.
Our Lady of Sorrows, we pray for the grace to, like you, keep our eyes on Jesus. Amen.
This article was adapted from Kelly’s award-winning book, 50 Reasons I Love Being
Catholic. For more of the author's works, visit Elizabeth Kelly's website at LizK.org.
Chapter Three Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Three Reflection Materials
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Chapter FourThe Fourth Word: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
By: Elizabeth Kelly
The Iconic Prayers of the Church
This week as we meditate on one of the most important lamentations of all time, “My God, why have you forsaken me,” it might help us to think about the Psalms and some of most traditional prayers of the Church and reflect on why they are effective.
Into the Inner Room
When Jesus went into the desert to pray, he didn’t take his prayer journal and some good spiritual reading. We might guess that his prayer was steeped in recollection of the Scriptures, a perfect dialogue with the Father he knew so well. When the disciples asked him to teach them to pray, he gave very clear, very simple instructions: in the Gospel of Matthew he says “go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret…your Father knows what you need before you ask him” (6:4-8). In the verses that follow he gives us the Our Father, quite possibly the most widely recognized, most oft-repeated prayer in the world.
My point: there is a temptation to imagine that one must master a certain school of prayer or vein of spirituality in order to pray well, when the truth is if one were to spend a lifetime praying just one clause of the Our Father alone in the quiet privacy of one’s room that would be a life well-spent indeed. In a radio broadcast years ago, Pope Francis emphasized, for example that the first word is “Father.” He goes on to say that “without feeling that word . . . you cannot pray.”
It is the disposition of heart, the intimacy of the relationship, not the originality nor the sophistication of the words, that captures heaven’s attention.
An example. Some years ago one of my brothers-in-law was killed in a plane crash. This was a crash that my nephew, who was 13 at the time, survived. He spent 16 long hours on the side of a mountain in Alaska waiting for a rescue crew while the lifeless body of his father—and several others—lay nearby. At one point he jumped from the plane’s wreckage in order to flag help and help other survivors. His ankle was shattered practically beyond repair. Needless to say, it was an event that will mark the rest of his life with pain and the kind of courage of heart that such trials invoke in good men.
Since then he has had numerous surgeries to repair various injuries and in one of the last, my sister made a special request. She told the surgeon that she needed to be in the recovery room when her son woke up because coming out of anesthesia, he always relived the crash. He would wake up crying for his father and saying, “Dad, please don’t be dead!”
My parents, grandparents to this precious young man, were made aware of this. The week before my nephew’s surgery they decided between just the two of them to offer up their time in adoration for him, and that this time, he would wake up from this surgery thinking of something really happy, that he would wake up laughing and singing.
My parents, now 92 and 97, take their prayers lives very seriously and they have been praying together for as long as I can remember, morning, noon, and night. Their prayers are very simple, the iconic prayers of the Church, the rosary, various novenas, the rote devotions so favored and embraced by their generation—and they are powerful. I have learned from them the wisdom, influence, and strength of very traditional prayer.
When that surgery was completed, the surgeon entered the recovery room with a big smile and told my sister, “Boy, he’s a happy kid. Coming out of surgery laughing and singing.” Laughing and singing.
My parents had a private chuckle between themselves and heaven and only much later conveyed that story to me.
In the mysterious design of God’s creation, our prayers do not sway an unchangeable God, but we are given some share in, some way to participate in the ebb and flow of the created order around us. What an extraordinary gift.
The iconic prayers of the Church—the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, for starters, those that grow straight from Scripture—are more than enough to enter into that gift, the mystery of prayer, this conversation with the Holy One—because they have been spoken by heaven itself, set into the eternal word of God. What better author could we consult when asking how to pray?
If you are struggling for an entry point to improving your prayer, start with a clause or two of the Our Father, “your kingdom come, your will be done.” Simple, slow repetition in a quiet place can be launching pad enough for true spiritual transformation and conversion.
Nota bene: They have also been known to produce laughter and singing and joy in the most unlikely, most dire of circumstances.
As ever, you remain in my prayers. I look forward to seeing you on March 22 at 7 p.m. for our live discussion on “Fear in the Life of the Christian.” I hope you will join us.
For more of the author's works, visit Elizabeth Kelly's website at LizK.org.
Chapter Four Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Four Reflection Materials
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chapter fiveThe Fifth Word: "I thirst."
By: Carolyn Klika Catino
Opening Prayer
Heavenly Father, we come before You with open hearts, aware of our wounds, our losses, and the burdens we carry. Help us to see that our suffering is not meaningless, that You walk with us in every trial, and that through the Cross, pain can be transformed into grace. Teach us to unite our struggles to Your Son’s suffering, so that even in hardship, our hearts may grow in faith, hope, and love. May Your Holy Spirit give us courage to offer our pain to You, trusting that You are at work in ways we cannot always see. Through the intercession of Mary, our Mother, guide us to embrace Your redemptive love. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
A Story from the Journey
As a young girl, Elizabeth often wrestled with a question that many of us face: if God is good—and I know He is—then why does He allow suffering? She thought about how Jesus allowed His own mother and apostles to suffer, and how He endured His own trials. There had to be a purpose, and it had to be good—but in the middle of her own suffering, it was hard to see how.
Elizabeth realized that suffering comes not only from our own sin or the sins of others, but also from the brokenness of the world—natural suffering, accidents, and the effects of a fallen creation. Yet God still permits it, even in the Passion of Jesus.
One image that God gave her to understand the value of redemptive suffering is a simple coffee grinder. You put the beans in the top, turn the crank, and open the drawer to find ground coffee. God has a sort of “grace- making machine” like that. When we offer Him our suffering, He takes it, turns it through His infinite wisdom, and transforms it into grace for our good and the good of others. That image helped make clear how important it is to offer her pain to God rather than hold it in bitterness or despair.
As a college student in Spain, Elizabeth remembered seeing a store window with an image of Jesus and the words, roughly translated: “Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to collaborate with You in the salvation of the world.” That stopped her in her tracks. “How could I participate in the salvation of the world?,” she wondered. She didn’t fully know yet, but it sparked a fire in her to find out and live that calling.
She saw this lived out most vividly in her own family. Her mother, for forty years, went to daily Mass and prayed the rosary, offering her sufferings, losses, and even painful medical conditions for her father, who had been in rebellion against God. It was a slow, arduous offering, day after day, year after year. And yet, just days before his death, her father experienced a miraculous conversion. It seemed sudden, but it had been decades in the making—the grace from a quiet, faithful collaboration with God through suffering.
That experience taught Elizabeth that suffering, when offered to God, is never wasted. It can be transformed into grace, healing, and even salvation—for ourselves and for those we love. It is a mystery we still cannot fully comprehend, but she saw its truth: God uses our pain, united with His Son, to bring about something greater than we can imagine.
Today’s Teaching
When we ask, “What good is pain?” we’re asking a deeply human question. Suffering shakes us, humbles us, exposes our limits, and reminds us how fragile life is. Yet even in dark places, the Lord offers a sacred invitation. The cross we never wanted—the one placed on our shoulders without consent—can become the place where our weakness meets Christ’s strength. When we unite our suffering with His, our pain is no longer meaningless. It becomes redemptive. Jesus did not avoid the cross; He entered it fully, transforming what seemed like defeat into the greatest act of love the world has ever known.
In our struggles, Christ is not distant. He walks beside us, carrying the heavier end of our cross. He knows betrayal, abandonment, loss, and the agony of feeling alone. Our wounds—even the ones we hide—can become windows for grace. When we bring our pain to Jesus, suffering becomes a path of intimacy, compassion, and unexpected strength. The cross, once a symbol of heartbreak, becomes the place where God’s mercy meets our endurance—and hope is born.
The Church’s Wisdom on Redemptive Suffering
The Catholic Church teaches that uniting our suffering to Christ’s gives it true spiritual power. The Cross didn’t just redeem us, but suffering itself. “By his passion and death on the Cross, Christ has given a new meaning to suffering: it can configure us to him and unite us with his redemptive Passion.” — CCC 1505. Pope St. John Paul II adds: “In the cross of Christ not only is the redemption accomplished through suffering, but also human suffering itself has been redeemed.” — Salvifici Doloris, 19
This is the mystery of the Cross: God transforms what we cannot bear into what will ultimately heal us. Suffering united to Him becomes a channel of mercy, hope, and spiritual growth. Suffering that once seemed pointless can now participate in the work of love itself. When we offer our pain in union with Christ—for our healing, for others, or simply in trust—it becomes prayer, grace, and amazingly, even a quiet participation in the salvation of the world. There’s not much better news than that!
Reflection Questions for the Heart
1. In what ways has suffering revealed God’s presence or compassion to me? When have you experienced God’s presence most deeply in the midst of suffering?
2. How does viewing your pain through the lens of Christ’s cross change the way you see it?
3. How might unoffered suffering be turned into a prayer or a source of connection with Christ?
Closing Prayer
Lord Jesus, thank You for meeting us in our pain and showing us that suffering can become a path to holiness. Help us to trust that You can transform our grief, our disappointments, and our losses into grace for ourselves and for others. Give us the eyes to see Your presence in our trials, the courage to offer our pain to You, and the patience to let Your work unfold in Your time. May our hearts be filled with hope, peace, and the quiet joy of knowing that even in suffering, we are never alone. We entrust ourselves, our families, and all those we love to Your mercy. Amen.
Jesus says to us: “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28–30
Chapter Five Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Five Reflection Materials
This week’s reflection is written by a special guest author, Carolyn Klika Catino, a Catholic Divorce Ministry Coach and founder of Abounding Joy Ministry.
As a certified Divorce Healing Coach, Carolyn Klika's passion is working with individuals and couples to heal their hearts and restore their relationship with God, their loved ones, and themselves. Her work with struggling relationships and hearts, even at the point of despair shows that with God, there is always hope for healing and restoration.
To learn more about Abounding Joy Ministry and resources for separated and divorced Catholics, visit www.aboundingjoyministry.com or www.scdiocese.org/divorce.
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Chapter sixThe Sixth Word: "It is finished.”
By: Elizabeth Kelly
There’s still time to finish well
At about this point every year in Lent, I’ve grown a little weary, maybe a little lax on my Lenten resolutions. Last weekend’s record snow fall was no help. My dear husband, God bless him, spent Lord’s day blowing and shoveling to near exhaustion. Furthermore, last weekend it was below zero; this weekend it will reach nearly 70 degrees. The world is a sloppy soup and I’m ready for this messy part of spring to be done with. I’m ready for a little Easter glory. It can be a temptation at this point in these forty holy days to throw in the towel and just coast until Holy Week. But as our chapter this week reminds us, there’s still time to finish well. There’s still time to, as my brother would say, “leave it all on the course.”
Lord, redeem my past!
I once had a wonderful neighbor who recently died at 100 years old. Her children, ten of them, faithfully took turns living with her so that she might remain in her own home until she was 98. I would occasionally chat with one of her older sons who frequently stayed with her for days at a time in his retirement. While I watered my flower beds, he would sit on his stoop and have a smoke and sometimes lament his youth. By his account, he was a wild kid and a bit of a worry to his parents. He clearly regretted that. One day I simply said, “But you’re here now, caring for her, and that’s what matters.” He looked up from his cigarette, smiled at me and said, “You’re all right, kid.”
Even St. Teresa of Avila had her “prayer to redeem lost time.” I pray it often:
Source of all mercy! . . . While recalling the wasted years that are past, I believe that You, Lord, can in an instant turn this loss to gain. . . I firmly believe that You can do all things. Please restore to me the time lost, giving me Your grace, both now and in the future . . . Amen.
When I am tempted to imagine that my past—or even my Lent—is irredeemable, I think about my neighbor’s son and about my brother’s encouragement. Whatever kind of Lent—or life—you’ve had to this point, our God is still the source of all mercy and perfect restoration. There’s still time to leave it all on the course, to finish strong. I’ll join you.
As ever, you remain in my prayers. I look forward to seeing you on March 22 at 7 pm for our live talk on “Fear in the Life of the Christian.” Is it possible that fear has a role to play in the life of the faithful? I hope you will join us.
For more of the author's works, visit Elizabeth Kelly's website at LizK.org.
Chapter Six Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Six Reflection Materials
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Chapter SevenChapter Seven Reflection (PDF Version)The Seventh and Final Word: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."
By: Bishop John E. Keehner
It has been a joy to have each of you join this Lenten study. As we approach the most Holy Triduum, let us keep Christ’s last words close to our hearts, especially the ones that stood out to us most. I pray that each of you have been brought deeper to the heart of the Father and trust in his unwavering love for you. May you know the mercy, hope, and peace this Easter season. May God bless you!
+Bishop Keehner
Reflection
How fitting that both the first and last words of Jesus on the cross lead us directly to the Father. His final words, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” reveal a humble and confident trust in the Father. As easy as it could have been, Jesus does not protest or attempt to flee the suffering experienced on the cross. Instead, he rests completely in the faithfulness of the Father by offering himself in total surrender.
As Catholics, we are invited to make this same act of surrender to the Father. When things in our lives feel uncertain, it’s a natural inclination to want to control or fix the situation. The complete loss of control can make us become angry or distrusting towards the Father’s will. Jesus teaches us in his final moments that total surrender is not a weakness but an incredible act of faith. Surrender is a conscious and deliberate choice to trust the Father at all times, but especially in moments we feel hopeless. When we place ourselves completely into the hands of the Father, we make room for Him to transform our hearts and let his grace work within us.
As we meditate upon the final prayer of Christ to the Father, let us allow this prayer to become our own - a prayer of total surrender, trust, and hope: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Chapter Seven Reflection (PDF Version) Chapter Seven Reflection Materials
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Jesus Christ Our Hope: Easter as the Refuge of the Restless Heart
Pope Leo XIV, General Audience, December 17, 2025
Dear brothers and sisters,
Human life is characterized by a constant movement that drives us to do, to act. Nowadays speed is required everywhere in order to achieve optimal results in a wide variety of fields. How does Jesus’ resurrection shed light on this aspect of our experience? When we participate in his victory over death, will we rest? Faith tells us: yes, we will rest. We will not be inactive, but we will enter into God’s repose, which is peace and joy. So, should we just wait, or can this change us right now?
We are absorbed by many activities that do not always leave us satisfied. A lot of our actions have to do with practical, concrete things. We have to assume responsibility for many commitments, solve problems, face difficulties. Jesus too was involved with people and with life, not sparing himself, but rather giving himself to the end. Yet we often perceive how too much doing, instead of giving us fulfilment, becomes a vortex that overwhelms us, takes away our serenity, and prevents us from living to the fullest what is truly important in our lives. We then feel tired and dissatisfied: time seems to be wasted on a thousand practical things that do not, however, resolve the ultimate meaning of our existence. Sometimes, at the end of days full of activities, we feel empty. Why? Because we are not machines, we have a “heart”; indeed, we can say that we are a heart.
The heart is the symbol of all our humanity, the sum of our thoughts, feelings and desires, the invisible center of our selves. The Evangelist Matthew invites us to reflect on the importance of the heart, quoting this beautiful phrase of Jesus: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Mt 6:21).
It is therefore in the heart that true treasure is kept, not in earthly safes, not in large financial investments, which today more than ever before are out of control and unjustly concentrated at the bloody price of millions of human lives and the devastation of God’s creation.
It is important to reflect on these aspects, because in the numerous commitments we continually face, there is an increasing risk of dispersion, sometimes of despair, of meaninglessness, even in apparently successful people. Instead, interpreting life in the light of Easter, looking at it with the Risen Jesus, means finding access to the essence of the human person, to our heart: cor inquietum. With this adjective “restless”, Saint Augustine helps us understand the human being’s yearning for fulfilment. The full sentence refers to the beginning of the Confessions, where Augustine writes: “Lord, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you” (I, 1,1).
Restlessness is the sign that our heart does not move by chance, in a disordered way, without a purpose or a destination, but is oriented towards its ultimate destination, the “return home”. The authentic approach of the heart does not consist in possessing the goods of this world, but in achieving what can fill it completely; namely, the love of God, or rather, God who is Love. This treasure, however, can only be found by loving the neighbor we meet along the way: brothers and sisters in flesh and blood, whose presence stirs and questions our heart, calling it to open up and give itself. Our neighbor asks us to slow down, to look them in the eye, sometimes to change our plans, perhaps even to change direction.
Dear friends, here is the secret of the movement of the human heart: returning to the source of its being, delighting in the joy that never fails, that never disappoints. No one can live without a meaning that goes beyond the contingent, beyond what passes away. The human heart cannot live without hope, without knowing that it is made for fullness, not for want.
Jesus Christ, with his Incarnation, Passion, Death and Resurrection, has given us a solid foundation for this hope. The restless heart will not be disappointed, if it enters into the dynamism of the love for which it was created. The destination is certain, life has triumphed, and in Christ it will continue to triumph in every death of daily life. This is Christian hope: let us always bless and thank the Lord who has given it to us!
Easter Reflection (PDF Version)