At the beginning of Lent, my husband and I lost a pregnancy. It was the deepest, most rattling grief I have ever felt. I wanted nothing more than to be angry at God, to slam a hymn book against the back of the pew or to scream in guttural mourning into the nave of an empty church. Every time my prayer turned to anger, however, the image of a compassionate healer crept gently into my mind. It was as if God was saying, “You have every right to be angry. Take your time. When you’re ready, it is possible to heal.”

I longed desperately for a woman’s voice to come from the pulpit, a voice that could empathize with the sorrow that only a woman’s body can carry, a voice that, very likely, will not be validated in the Catholic Church during my lifetime.

I have found myself returning to similar emotions over the last few weeks. As the wounds of the clergy abuse scandal continue to come into sharper, more disturbing focus, my anger at the system that perpetuated it boils. It has been hard to find words that truly express the disgust and grief that came from reading only a fraction of the grand jury report.

The temptation for many, including myself, has been to say a loud, resounding enough and walk away. And yet, the weekly readings following the report have challenged me to see a God who is also angry in the face of injustice and who responds to the needs of people in pain. Last week, we encountered Christ dismantling the broken, hypocritical institution of his own faith tradition and calling the Pharisees to accountability. Today, we hear that God, “comes with vindication” to save the suffering from their ailments and “secures justice for the oppressed.” We are reminded in James not to let ourselves become partial to the one in our midst who is dressed in fine cloth, but rather to show equal dignity to each person who crosses our path.

It seems necessary now, more than ever, to have more voices welcomed to the pulpit, voices who are not of the cloth, who do not wear the cassock or the collar. It is time to hear from lay women and men, the non-ordained religious, people who are married, perhaps—if we’re getting radical here—even from children.

This is our ephphatha moment. God invites us to be opened to voices who do not have a platform and to trust the wisdom of God that speaks to and through our restless spirits. For me, this means writing a weekly reflection on the week’s readings, a rogue homily that offers a lay woman’s perspective. For others, the call will look different. I invite you to some time this week to discern how God is calling you to be opened to the possibility of a new Church.  It is only through our willingness to respond to this ephphatha moment that the deaf among us will hear and, hopefully, respond to the signs of our times.