"Bless the Lord, Oh, my Soul."

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,

my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed:

the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name"

(Luke 1:46).

Our Lady of the Streets

Mary's soul proclaimed the greatness of the Lord. From the depths, from the very core of her being, a voice resounded to praise God and rejoice in His Holy Name. This was neither a momentary spiritual high, nor passing excitement over the Good News of the Annunciation; this was the fundamental recognition that eternal salvation had, by means of God's grace, entered into the world through her own body.

My kids didn't realize it, but on this past summer's mission trip to Williamson, West Virginia, they incarnated Mary's Magnificat. It wasn't just by their words and actions that they brought the love of Christ into to the world; something had clearly stirred deep within their souls, leaving an unmistakable sign of the presence of the Lord.

The mission trip was not unlike any other church trip: teens from a rather affluent area travelled ten hours by van to spend a week serving an Appalachian community. Our teens welcomed the opportunity to step outside of the North Shore "bubble" and into a coal-mining town hidden in the mountains where the McCoys and Hatfields once feuded, and were eager to meet the other teens who would be joining us from a Lutheran Church in Minnesota.

As soon as the trip began, the teens began bonding with one another over Fazoli's pit stops, goofy car games, and group chats. When the work projects started, they dove right in without complaint or hesitation. These young people were eager to give unto others, and were thirsting for something to shake them from their daily lives.

Well, that "something" came during the closing worship service of the very first night. The site leaders picked up their guitars and projected song lyrics onto a screen, while teens from the Lutheran group put their arms around each other and swayed back and forth, singing every word to every song. 

Our group, on the other hand, stood in place with their arms crossed and nervous glances that begged, "Do we really have to do this?" As hard as they tried to guess the lyrics, anyone could see that they were incredibly uncomfortable. Then again, with lyrics such as, "Heaven meets Earth in a sloppy, wet kiss," who could blame them?

As the end of the week approached, one of the site leaders shared with me that our last night's worship service would involve a foot washing ceremony, in which the youth ministers and leaders would wash their teens' feet.

Oh, boy.

As he explained how it would be such a moving service, during which almost everyone would cry, all I could think of was how miserably awkward our teens would feel. Our parish can hardly get enough adults to participate in our Holy Thursday Mass' foot washing ceremony! If these kids could just barely get past kumbaya-swaying to cheesy praise and worship songs, how in the heck would they let me (or anyone else) wash their feet? Yikes.

As always, the kids proved me wrong. As soon as the lights dimmed and my fellow chaperones and I began washing our teens' feet, tears started flowing. Not superficial, forced tears; real, flowing, almost-bawling tears from just about every teen in our group. Later that night, the tears continued to flow as the teens shared how the trip changed them. Kids whose parents were under financial strain realized just how blessed they truly were. Some found friendships they never expected to make. Others who weren't too sold on the whole "Jesus thing" had found their faith. The friendship, compassion, and love pouring out in our small group was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed.

The kids didn't just have fun, or "check off" their service requirement for the following year. They may have come on the trip for various reasons (one fessed up that his dad forced him on the trip for service credit), but what they found was a metanoia, or profound change of heart. Like Mary, what they experienced reverberated deep into their souls. Indeed, Christ had truly come into them, and flowed out through their hands and into the world.

As amazed as I might have been by my teens, I was still well-aware of the fact that they aren't perfect. They totally vandalized the other church's vans with car markers and had unsuccessfully planned to sneak out well past "lights out" on the final night of the trip. Little buggers. Even more, once the pressure of academics and athletics sets in with the new school year, it will only get harder for them to remember the immense blessings they received on this trip. As much as I'd like to imagine that every one of these kids will stay close to Jesus for the rest of their lives, I realize that it's highly unlikely they'll all trod in the footprints of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta (I'm not that naïve).

Regardless of how zealously they continue to practice the faith and good works that they each learned on the mission trip , one thing remains: for one week of their teenaged lives, Christ came into their hearts with an unmistakable, abundance of grace.

"For I have set you an example,

that you also should do as I have done to you" (John 13:15).