Monday in the 5th Week of Easter
What It Looks Like

Readings: Acts 14:5-18; Psalm 115:1-2, 3-4, 15-16; John 14:21-26

If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him…

What does it look like when people heed Jesus’ words and actually begin to love God and allow God to dwell in their hearts? The answer to this question is made manifest in the experiences of the early Church in the Acts of the Apostles. In particular, we see this in the experiences of Paul and Barnabas today. As we may remember, prompted by the Holy Spirit, the church had commissioned them to preach to the gentiles. And they have been faithfully carrying out their mission in the power of the same Spirit. Motivated by love for God and for humanity, they reproduce in their own lives the mission of Christ the crucified and risen Lord. God has indeed made a home in them such that, as Jesus did before them, they speak movingly and act powerfully to bring others into the knowledge and love of God.

And, also like Jesus, they persevere in their ministry even when faced with two formidable obstacles. The first is stubborn opposition even to the point where their lives are endangered and they have to flee for safety to Lycaonia. Here, they meet a second obstacle which, though far more subtle, is no less dangerous. Fleeing from opposition they find themselves face to face with seduction. They are tempted to accept the accolades of the Lycaonians who look upon them as gods. Yet they are wise enough to discern where this temptation will lead. Not only will it do spiritual harm to the people to whom they are ministering, but it will also lead Paul and Barnabas away from their original motivation. To accept the people’s sacrifice is also to allow themselves to be led away from their home in God and God’s home in them. The response to the psalm expresses the firm response of Paul and Barnabas: not to us, Lord, but to your name give the glory…

This, of course, is just one picture of what it looks like when people allow themselves to enter into a relationship of love with God. Today we in our turn are asked to imagine what it looks like in our own lives. What does the mission look like, where do we find the twin obstacles of opposition and seduction, in our workplaces, in our homes, in our church, in our world...? It is important that we consider these questions, for to imagine is often a necessary first step to making real.

How are we being invited to allow God to make a real home with us today?

Friday in the 4th Week of Easter

Removing Splinters…

Readings: Acts 13:26-33; Psalm 2:6-7, 8-9, 10-11ab; John 14:1-6

Some of us have probably had the experience of having a splinter under our skin or a food fragment lodged between our teeth. It irritates. You struggle to get it out. Well, I’ve been experiencing something of that feeling, on and off, since last Sunday afternoon. That was when our parish had its Parish Pastoral Council Meeting. And I beg your patience as I attempt to use this reflection on today’s Mass readings to remove the splinter.

At the meeting, we spent more than half the time discussing the twin issues of how to enforce a better sense of decorum among those who come to our church for Mass and how to make us a more welcoming parish. I do think these are very important issues. And I do remember actually preaching on one of them some time ago. Still, what discomforted me was the approach we seemed to be taking. Do we really help people to be more respectful at Mass and more welcoming towards others by waving a finger at them continually? Was this how those of us who are respectful and welcoming arrived at this happy state? Or was it not rather because we heard and were moved by the gospel? Was it not because something happened within us? The very something that both Paul and Jesus proclaim so passionately in the readings today.

Rather than enunciating certain conventions of dress and codes of conduct to be enforced, both are eager to proclaim a Way to be walked. As Jesus highlights in today’s gospel, this is a Way that transforms hearts that are troubled into hearts that are trusting. It is also a Way that the apostles walked. As Paul tells us in the first reading, they moved from being companions of Jesus to being witnesses. And Jesus even says quite explicitly that he himself is this Way. One moves from being troubled to being trusting when one gradually learns to accompany Him everyday, even as He continues, in our own lives, to journey from Galilee (the place of His ministry) to Jerusalem (the place of His passion, death and resurrection).

Hearing this message proclaimed so powerfully today, one wonders whether it is reasonable to expect that once someone begins walking this Way, issues such as decorum and welcoming might actually begin to address themselves. Could it be, then, that the question we should really be asking is how we might proclaim ever more powerfully the at once consoling and convicting message of Christ, such that those who worship in our parish might find their troubled hearts touched and moved to trust in Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life?

Both as individuals and as a parish, how effective are we at proclaiming this message today?

Feast of Ss. Philip and James, Apostles
Divine Submarine

Readings: 1 Corinthians 15:1-8; Psalm 19:2-3, 4-5; John 14:6-14

When we were in the Novitiate – the first two years of training – one of the Fathers used to speak to us about submarines. He wasn’t referring to the Navy. He was talking about how in some places novices were particularly adept at submerging themselves whenever there was trouble, or whenever there was work to be done. He was encouraging us not to be submarines, but to instead be generous enough to volunteer ourselves for work.

Yet, isn’t it true that God sometimes seems rather submarine-like? Precisely at times when we find ourselves in trouble, or when we need help to do some particularly difficult work, God seems to disappear. How are we to continue doing God’s work if we don’t even sense his presence?

Jesus offers us some guidance when he tells Philip in today’s gospel, whoever believes in me will do the same works that I do. In times of trial, if we are to regain our sense of God’s presence and so be strengthened to continue doing God’s work, we need to believe. Paul elaborates on the content of this belief in the first reading. Like the Corinthians, we are invited to keep believing that Christ died, was buried and raised, so that we might have fullness of life. Perhaps more strikingly, we may notice the many times that the word appear appears in Paul's letter. The God in whom Paul is exhorting the Corinthians, and us, to believe is above all a God who appears, especially in the person of the Crucified and Risen Christ.

If one were to cling to this belief, then even when God seems to have submerged beyond our sight, we will spare no effort at seeking God out. Because we believe that despite all evidence to the contrary, God must still be present, we will persevere in begging for the grace to recognize the divine presence. And isn’t it true that many who do this actually find their prayers answered? Even as they cry out to God, they find the very places that were once so painfully marked by God’s absence gradually become permeated with God’s consoling presence.

How is it that the Divine Submarine suddenly chooses to re-emerge? Is it not rather that God has always been present, submerged below the surface perhaps, but present nonetheless, and continually communicating with us. It’s just that when we begin to express our longing to God, we too learn to become more submerged in our daily existence and so begin to recognize the divine presence that never really left us. Instead of merely skimming the surface of life, we learn to live more deeply, more in tune with the God who constantly appears. We learn to believe in the Word who became flesh and died and rose for us. And in that belief, to find the strength we need to do God’s work, to show God’s face to others.

How is the Divine Submarine making its appearance among us today?

Wednesday in the 4th Week of Easter

Memorial of St. Athanasius, Bishop and Doctor of the Church
For Whom Do We Pray?

Readings: Acts 12:24—13:5a; Psalm 67:2-3, 5, 6 and 8; John 12:44-50

This past weekend we celebrated Vocation Sunday and many of us must have been praying for more vocations – a very commendable and important thing to do. Today, our Mass readings offer us an opportunity to reflect a little more on what it is that we do when we pray for vocations. Exactly for what and for whom are we praying?

For the most part, I suspect that our prayer for vocations is primarily an intercessory prayer for a very specific result. We are praying that more people will be set apart and sent by God to commit their lives to the priesthood and religious life. And because many of us are probably not in the position to heed such a call ourselves, our prayer is essentially a prayer for others – that they might be called and that they might respond generously. But is the prayer for vocations truly meant to be solely an intercessory prayer – a prayer for others?

Two interesting points in our readings today would suggest otherwise. The first comes to our attention when we consider that it is not only Barnabas and Saul who are called, but that, before them, Jesus himself has a deep sense of being called as well. As we heard him say in the gospel today: Whoever believes in me believes not in me but in the one who sent me… and what I had to speak was commanded by the Father who sent me. If Jesus himself speaks only what the Father commands him, shouldn’t each of us his followers be doing the same? Whether we be priest, religious or lay, shouldn’t we all be filled with the same sense that, in every circumstance of our daily lives, we too are called to speak only the words of the Father who sends us? Isn’t this something we ought to be praying for when we pray for vocations?

The other point is this. Notice how Barnabas and Saul receive their mission in the first reading. Although there are many stories in the bible of people receiving their calls directly and personally from God, in this particular situation, we see something significantly differently. The mission of Saul and Barnabas is received by the Christian community when it gathers to pray. I want Barnabas and Saul set apart for the work to which I have called them. Important as it is for those individuals who are called to hear and heed it, in this case, it is quite clearly the community that is the prime mover. The community receives the call to send people on mission. It then heeds it by commissioning Barnabas and Saul and sending them off. When we pray for vocations, ought we not also be praying that we, members of the Christian community, might have ears and hearts open enough to discern how God might be calling us to mission? Ought we not also to ask for the wisdom, the courage, and the generosity to identify and to commission those among us who might serve as our representatives, not just for the priesthood and the religious life, but also for other no less important roles of ministry and service? In other words, when we pray for vocations, more than simply praying for others, isn’t it crucially important that we also pray for ourselves?

The next time we do gather to pray for vocations, for what and for whom will you be praying?

Memorial of Saint Joseph the Worker
Walking the Dog

Readings: Genesis 1:26-2:3; Psalm 90:2-4. 12-14.16. R v. 17; Matthew 13:54-58

My family has a dog. It’s a good watchdog. It barks loudly whenever strangers come too near the main gate. But it has one fault. Whenever it’s taken out for a walk – it loves to be taken out – bystanders may be forgiven for wondering if it’s the master who is taking the dog for a walk or if it’s really the dog who’s taking the master for a walk.

This is the image that comes to mind when I listen to our readings on this feast of St. Joseph the Worker. As we heard in the first reading, we’re all meant to be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all living animals on the earth. We are meant to fill the earth and conquer it. And, indeed, we do spend much of our lives striving for mastery. From womb to tomb, isn’t human life one long process of striving for mastery – over our own bodily functions, over our studies, our relationships, our careers and so on? And yet, as scientifically and technologically advanced as we are, don’t we often get the feeling that our lives are running away from us, that we the masters are really being walked by the dog? On a global level, aren’t we still at the mercy of tsunamis and hurricanes, earthquakes and global warming? And there is an even more telling sign of our helplessness.

What does true mastery look like in the readings of today? Notice how it is really God’s mastery that stands out most of all in the first reading. God simply speaks and the universe comes into being. And one wonderful sign of God’s mastery is that God is able to rest. He rested on the seventh day. In contrast, isn’t one of the great afflictions of our society the fact that many of us simply cannot rest. Either we don’t have the time to bring our bodies to a standstill, or, even when we do slow down physically, we are often so anxious about so many different things that we simply cannot lay our minds and hearts to rest. Quite clearly, the dog is walking the master.

In contrast, we are presented, in today’s gospel, with the mastery of Jesus. He speaks with such wisdom and performs miracles of such power that even the people of his hometown are astonished. Where did the man get it all? And, of course, we who are Christian know the answer quite well. Jesus’ mastery comes about because he places God above all else. Jesus is masterful because he acknowledges the mastery of his heavenly Father. We prayed for a similar wisdom in the responsorial psalm: make us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart. The wisdom and mastery we seek is that which flows from a realization of where we stand before the almighty and ever-loving God who created the heavens and the earth.

But the mastery of Jesus is also a gentle mastery. Notice how the gospel passage ends by telling us that Jesus did not work many miracles there because of their lack of faith. This is the same meekness that sees Jesus walking the road to Calvary and onward to the Resurrection. Indeed, it is when he is led to the Cross, precisely when it seems that the dog is walking the divine master, that Jesus manifests the full extent of his mastery over sin and death.

Sisters and brothers, in our daily preoccupations, are we truly walking the dog? Or is the dog walking us?