22^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Oh Lord It’s Hard to Be Humble…

Readings: Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29; Psalm 68:4-5, 6-7, 10-11; Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24a; Luke 14:1, 7-14

Dear sisters and brothers, as sometimes happens, our readings today remind me of a song. It’s an old country number by Mac Davis. And the chorus goes like this:

Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way. I can’t wait to look in the mirror ‘cause I get better looking each day. To know me is to love me. I must be a hell of a man. Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble but I’m doing the best that I can.

Don’t be mistaken, sisters and brothers. Of course I know that I’m far from perfect in every way. And I’m definitely not getting better looking each day. But, even with all my flaws, I have to agree with Mac Davis that it is truly hard to be humble. Don’t you think so?

For one thing, it’s difficult to know what exactly it means to be humble. What at first looks like humility can often turn out to be something very different. For example, if I am unable to accept a genuine compliment because I don’t think very highly of myself, that’s not humility. It’s just low self-esteem. And neither is it true humility either, if I criticize myself on purpose, just so I can hear others disagree and tell me how wonderful I am. Humility is not a hook that I can use to fish for flattery. Humility is not about falsehood. It’s about the truth.

Even so, our readings remind us that humility has to do with lowering ourselves in some way. Humility involves lowering ourselves by first recognizing that all the good things in our lives are blessings from a generous and loving God. As the first reading reminds us: humble yourselves the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God. And not only does humility involve lowering ourselves before God, it also involves lowering ourselves before others. As Jesus tells his listeners in the gospel today, to be humble means to be willing to take the lowest place. And this is far from an easy thing to do, especially today, when it often seems that our very survival depends on our being able and willing to fight tooth and nail for the highest places. And what does it mean for me to take the lowest place if I am already unemployed, with a family to feed? Does it mean that I should somehow do less than my best to secure a job?

Which leads us to a second reason why I think it’s hard to be humble. It’s hard not just to know what humility is. It’s also hard to figure out when exactly to be humble. It’s difficult to know when we should lower ourselves before others. Consider, for example, what Jesus does in the gospel. Notice how several verses are missing from our reading, which jumps from verse 1 to verse 7. In verses 2 to 6, a man appears who has a sickness called dropsy. And Jesus challenges those with him at table: Should he heal this man even though it is a Sabbath day? Everybody keeps silent, probably because they think that it is unlawful to do so. Still, Jesus heals the man and sends him on his way. Was Jesus being humble? Was he lowering himself? Not before the Pharisees he wasn’t. But Jesus stood up to the Pharisees only so that he could lower himself before the one who needed healing. He challenged the first in order to show compassion to the second. And by doing this, Jesus teaches us that there is a right time and a wrong time to lower ourselves. The difficulty lies in distinguishing one from the other.

And, in order to do this, in order to know when is the right time to lower ourselves, it is important for us to face a third difficulty. Not only must we consider what humility means and when we should be humble, we also have to ask ourselves why we need to be humble. Why should we even bother to lower ourselves before others? Why not just rush for the highest places like everybody else?

It may at first appear that our readings are proposing a purely practical answer to this question. Why should we lower ourselves before God? According to the first reading, it is so that God will show us favor. And why should we take the lowest place before people? According to the gospel parable, it appears that it is only so that we can then be raised to the place of honor. But is this true humility? Or does it not resemble the kind of tactic used by the person who criticizes himself in order to fish for compliments from others? Consider also what Jesus tells us in the second half of today’s gospel. When we hold a lunch or dinner, we are to invite those who cannot invite us back – the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind? Why? According to Jesus, we will be repaid at the resurrection. But is this the only reason why we should invite all these people? Just so that we can be repaid? Is there no other reason to be humble, no other reason to lower ourselves?

Our readings contain a deeper reason. Notice, for example, what we heard in our second reading. Here, the writer invites us to compare two different appearances of God. The first is God’s appearance to the Israelites on Mount Sinai. The second is to us on Mount Zion. In both cases God lowers God’s self in order to show mercy to the people. But notice how the second lowering far exceeds the first. In the first, God spoke in a voice that still frightened the people, such that they begged that no message be further addressed to them. Then, in the second, God speaks in a different, far more accessible, far more approachable voice. God addresses us in the blood of Christ the Son, which speaks more eloquently even than the blood of Abel. This is the same blood of which we will partake at this Eucharist, the blood that sings of a love more powerful even than death. What then do we find here in this reading, sisters and brothers, if not a moving description of a humble God? One who is willing to lower God’s self even to the extent of shedding blood upon a Cross. And the reason why God does this is to raise us up. In the words of the response to the psalm: by lowering God’s self, God has made a home for the poor. Here, sisters and brothers, we find the deeper answer to our question. Why should we be humble? Why should we lower ourselves? We do so for no reason other than that this is what our God has done and continues to do for us. Like children who love nothing better than to imitate their parents, we are called to humility because we are sons and daughters of a humble God.

Sisters and brothers, it is indeed hard to be humble. But are we truly doing the best that we can?

21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Who Made You?

Readings: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 117:1, 2; Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13; Luke 13:22-30

Picture: cc Virginia Zuluaga

Dear sisters and brothers, have you ever seen people shopping for designer goods – say, maybe a Ferragamo bag or a Coach wallet, something like that. Maybe you even buy such things yourself. They’re very costly, aren’t they? And not only are they costly, but these days fakes are also very common. And I don’t mean an obvious imitation. Like a bag that says FerraBamo, for example. These days, fakes can look very authentic. So how do you know that you’re getting your money’s worth? How do you make sure that what you’re buying is the real deal?

A good way is, of course, to buy directly from the designer store. But then there are those of us who don’t want to pay the full price. So we go elsewhere, looking for bargains. And that’s when you have to be especially careful. What do you do? You check the product very carefully. You examine the zipper, for example, and the rest of the material. You make sure that the item bears all the marks of the designer. What are you really doing? Whether consciously or not, when you give the product the once over like this, you’re really questioning it, aren’t you? Where do you come from? You ask. Who made you? And you will only buy the thing if the answer is Ferragamo and not Ferradamo.

We find something similar in today’s gospel. Here, Jesus tells a parable about people trying to gain entrance into the kingdom of God. Unfortunately, not everyone is admitted. Not unlike a shrewd buyer of designer goods, Jesus chooses only a certain kind of people to enter the kingdom. Like goods that are guaranteed by a designer store, the people the Lord chooses are those who enter through the narrow gate. And when others try to get in after the gate has been closed, he tells them something very interesting. I do not know where you are from, he says. Even when these people tell him that they’ve spent much time in his company, even though they claim to have listened to him teach in their streets, Jesus says he doesn’t know where they are from. It’s as though, like the shopper looking at a fake product, after giving them the once over, the Lord turns them away because he does not recognize in them any mark of the designer. He doesn’t know who made them.

Some of us may still remember the old Catechism, which presented its lessons in question-and-answer format. Who made you? was the first question. To which the answer was God made me. This is our belief as Christians: that, even though our parents gave us birth, we owe our existence ultimately to God. Who made you? God made me. And yet, isn’t it also true that our birth is but the beginning of a much longer manufacturing process? Although God may have been the one ultimately responsible for putting us on this earth, through the choices we make, we somehow play a part in shaping our own lives. As someone once said: what we are is God’s gift to us. What we become is our gift to God.

But this doesn’t mean that we can do whatever we like. Like designer goods, our lives will be of a certain quality only if they are shaped according to the designer’s directions, only if they bear the mark of the Lord. Isn’t this the problem with the people in Jesus’ parable? Instead of following the Lord by entering through the narrow gate, they have led lives according to their own design, such that the Lord does not recognize his mark on them. He does not know where they are from, who it is that made them.

But how does one enter through the narrow gate? How does one follow the designer’s directions? If it isn’t enough just to go to church every Sunday, what more is required of us? We get some hints of an answer from the rest of our readings.

In the first reading, for example, we find God sending out people to gather the nations into God’s kingdom. And these people who are sent are told to do one thing. They are to proclaim the Lord’s glory especially to those who have never heard of the Lord’s fame. Or, in the words of the response to the psalm, they are to go out to all the world and tell the Good News. Although this may seem like what the people in the gospel claim to have been doing, there is an important difference. It’s possible to spend time with Jesus and even to listen to his teaching only for the sake of our own selfish interests. I may go to church only because my girlfriend goes too, or only because there is something I need the Lord to do for me. I may preach the Word so that people may think highly of me. I can do all these things for my own glory. But what the people in the first reading are sent to do is to proclaim God’s glory, not their own. To allow ourselves to be shaped by God, we need somehow to make the praise of God the center of our lives, as Jesus did. And you can only really praise someone if you have experienced the person’s goodness. Authentic praise can spring, for example, out of gratitude – gratitude for all the good things that God has done, and continues to do for us, gratitude especially for the love that God has shown us in Jesus Christ our Lord.

And yet, life is not just filled with bright moments. It is also sometimes covered in shadow. Can we continue to be grateful, can we continue to praise God at such times? According to the second reading, the answer is yes. Even in times of trial, it is possible to continue giving glory to God if we learn to see such difficult times as moments of discipline. It’s difficult for us to do this because we often connect discipline with punishment. When something bad happens, we may immediately ask ourselves, Why? What have I done wrong? Why is God punishing me? But discipline does not have to be the result of guilt. Athletes in training discipline themselves even though they may have done nothing wrong. The point of the second reading is that it is possible to praise God in dark times, when we learn to see our trials as opportunities for growth in the ways of God. This is how we enter through the narrow gate as Jesus did. Both in good times and in bad, it is possible for us to allow God to shape us. Through praise and through discipline, it is possible for us to come to bear the mark of the Divine Designer: neither the brand of Coach nor of Ferragamo, but the mark of the Cross of Christ.

And we do this even more effectively when we allow praise and discipline to meet, when, in our gratitude for all the good things that God has done for us, we praise God by reaching out to help those who may be experiencing God’s discipline. Isn’t this especially important in these days when massive flooding has displaced thousands in Pakistan, even as, here at home, many others continue to suffer the effects of unemployment and homelessness.

Sisters and brothers, when we examine our own lives on this 21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time, whose mark do we see? Who is making us, today?

Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

We Have Lift-Off!

Readings: Revelation 11:19a, 12:1-6a, 10ab; Psalm 45; 1 Corinthians 15:20-27a; Luke 1:39-56
Picture: cc Nasa's Marshall Space Flight Center


Dear sisters and brothers, have you ever seen a rocket being launched into the sky? Probably many of us have watched it on TV, or in the movies, or seen pictures of it in the newspapers. Can you imagine what it must be like to observe it in person? Can you imagine what it must feel like to be deafened by the roar of the explosions, and to witness the incredible sight of thousands of tons of steel being blasted into the heavens in a great crimson ball of fire and smoke? And then to hear the words, Houston, we have lift-off? Can you imagine what it must be like? In addition to the feeling of wonder and awe that such a marvelous thing could be possible, we would probably also experience a sense of excitement and exhilaration. It’s as though the rocket carries our hopes and dreams with it as it rises into the heavens. And, as we watch, we may wish that we too could go along for the ride.

But isn’t it true that, in order for the rocket to fly upward, there must first be an opposing force directed downward? The rocket is blasted into the heavens only because hundreds of tons of rocket fuel is first set on fire, and the force that is produced by the explosion is then directed downward onto the earth. Most of the rocket is really a container for this fuel. Which is why, especially if we’re watching from a distance, it’s difficult to see the rocket itself because of all the fire and the smoke. We can only follow its flight upward by carefully watching the flames that are emitted from its tail.

And to watch carefully is also what we need to do today, as we celebrate this great feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Like a rocket rising gracefully into the sky, today Mary is lifted up body and soul into heaven. And we need to watch carefully – with the eyes of our minds and our hearts – if we want to share in the joys of her flight. For, as we all know, the bible does not tell us what happened to Mary when she came to the end of her time on this earth. The bible does not give us any description of Mary’s Assumption. How then do we know that this is what happened to her?

We know because, although the bible does not describe her flight from earth to heaven, it does tell us about the crucial role that Mary played in bringing heaven down to earth. In a sense, our readings help us to appreciate the rocket’s upward rise by showing us the flames being emitted from its tail. In the gospel, for example, we are reminded of how Mary brings heaven to earth by first consenting to become a mother. In agreeing to carry Jesus in her womb, Mary allows herself to become something like a container for rocket fuel. For consider what the second reading tells us about Jesus, the fruit of Mary's womb. As in Adam all die – and so are buried in the depths of the earth – so too in Christ all are brought to life – all are raised to the heavenly heights. Like the fuel that, when ignited, drives a rocket into the sky, the fiery force of Christ’s life, death and resurrection is what propels us all into heaven. And it is Mary who carries this propellant in her womb. It is Mary who directs its power onto the earth.

We see her doing this in today’s gospel. Even before she actually gives physical birth to Jesus, Mary is already sharing him with others by going to the aid of her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. We’re told that Mary set out… to the hill country… It was not an easy journey. But she undertook it in haste, for the sake of her cousin. And at the sound of Mary’s greeting both Elizabeth and the as yet unborn John the Baptist are filled with the Holy Spirit. Mary endures an arduous journey to bring Christ to her cousin. And this is but one of the many trials that Mary had to undergo to bear Christ to the world, to bring heaven to earth. Later, she would also have to give birth to her son in the discomfort of a stable, to flee with him by night into Egypt, to lose him for a time in the Temple in Jerusalem, and then, years later, to watch him suffer a cruel death on the Cross. Not unlike the rocket that crumbles and collapses even as the force from the exploding fuel pushes it heavenward, such are the trials undergone by Mary our mother. And these sufferings of hers recall to us the image of the woman in the first reading, the one who wailed aloud in pain as she labored to give birth, as she struggled to bring heaven to earth.

But what was it that enabled Mary to endure these terrible trials? How was she able to bear and to bring the awesome power of her Son’s dying and rising to the world? It is Elizabeth who reveals Mary’s secret to us. Elizabeth calls Mary blessed because she believed that what was spoken to her by the Lord would be fulfilled. God told Mary that her Son was to be the Savior of the world. And Mary believed it. So strong was her belief that she was willing to receive Jesus into her womb as an unwed mother, and, years later, to have his lifeless body placed in her arms after it had been taken down from the cross. So great was her trust, that even in the midst of her trials, she is able to sing a beautiful song of praise to God. My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord… And not just Mary’s soul, but also her body: Mary’s whole being is a song of praise, a Magnificat to the Lord.

Such then is the brilliance of the flames that fly from the rocket that is Mary’s life on earth. Her whole existence had but one purpose: to bear Christ to the world. And if rockets can fly into space by shooting flames onto the ground, is it not reasonable to believe that Mary was assumed into heaven because she first helped to bring heaven to earth?

But that is not all. There is something about the Feast of the Assumption that goes beyond even a rocket’s flight. Although we may feel excited by it, unless we are astronauts, or multi-millionaires, it is not very likely that we’ll be able to take a ride in a rocket, at least not in the near future. But things are different with the Assumption. For today’s feast is not just a celebration of Mary. As the scripture scholars tell us, the woman in labor that we find in the first reading represents more than just the Blessed Virgin Mary. She also stands for the Church. She represents you and me. Like Mary, we too are chosen to be carriers of rocket fuel, bearers of Christ to the world. Like Mary, we too are called to put our trust in God, to bear our trials for love of others, and so to be assumed into the heavenly heights. And isn’t it especially important for us to hear and to answer this call today, when even in a place like Santa Barbara – a place as close to heaven on earth as one can get – the newspapers continue to speak to us of homeless people dying in the streets?

Sisters and brothers, on this Feast of the Assumption, are we ready for lift-off?

4^th Sunday in Easter (C)  

Good Shepherd Sunday

Choosing A Life-Stylist

Readings: Acts 13:14, 43-52; Psalms 100:1-2, 3, 5; Revelations 7:9, 14b-17; John 10:27-30

Picture: cc Reuben Whitehouse

Dear sisters and brothers, the story is told of a tourist passing through a small town, who decided that he needed a haircut. After walking around a bit, he discovered that the town had only two barbers, each of whom operated his own shop. The two barbershops were located directly across the street from each other. As he walked by them, the tourist saw that the shop on the left was very messy – there was hair all over the floor. And not only did the barber who worked there look harassed, he also had a very bad haircut. The shop on the right, however, was just the opposite. Not only was the place tidy and the floor spotless, the barber inside the shop looked cheerful and relaxed. He also sported a very stylish looking hairdo. After making these observations, the tourist quickly made up his mind. He entered the shop on the left – the messy one – and asked for a haircut. Sisters and brothers, do you know why he did that? Would you have done the same?

To be honest, I probably would have gone into the other shop instead. And the reason is that, in making my decision, I would have been listening to a voice in my head telling me that a good barber should have a good haircut and a clean shop. But our tourist was listening to another voice, one that was telling him something different. First, if the barber on the left looked harassed and his shop was dirty, it might well be because he had many customers – a sign that he did good work. Also, assuming that barbers don’t cut their own hair, and bearing in mind that there were only two barbers in the town, it was very likely that these men cut each other’s hair. Which meant that their hairstyles were an indication not of their own skill, but that of their competitor’s. All of which goes to show that when you are choosing a barber, it’s very important to carefully distinguish the voice or voices you are listening to.

And if this is true of choosing someone to style your hair, isn’t it even more true if you are choosing someone to shape your life? Today, perhaps more than ever before, many of us enjoy a wide range of lifestyle choices. But how do we make these choices? What voice or voices do we listen to? Which life-stylist do we end up choosing?

These are among the questions that our readings invite us to ask ourselves on this Good Shepherd Sunday. For what is Jesus doing in the gospel today, if not presenting himself to us as the best life-stylist we can ever hope to have? Even more than a good lifestyle, to all who choose to follow him, to all who allow him to shepherd them, Jesus promises eternal life. They shall not perish. Of course, this sounds very attractive. But there is also something about this that is very surprising, even deeply shocking.

What image comes to your mind when you think of a good shepherd, someone whom you are likely to choose to help you shape your life? The people of Jesus’ time had a very particular image in mind. Shepherd was a word that they used to refer to their king. And the greatest of all their kings was, of course, David, who though he was small of stature, was mighty enough to slay the fearsome Philistine, Goliath. And yet, consider the image of the shepherd in the second reading from the book of Revelations. It is true that here we find ourselves in the throne room of a great king, someone who, we are told, will lead the people to springs of life-giving water, where God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. But notice also how this shepherd king is described. Even more surprising, even more shocking, than the messy barber with the bad haircut, here we find a shepherd who has become a sheep. Not just any sheep, but a lamb – the weakest and smallest of sheep. And not just any lamb, but a lamb that has been slain, one whose blood has been shed for the life of the sheep. If this image doesn’t unsettle us, it’s probably because we have grown too familiar with it. We’ve forgotten what it means to follow this shepherd who is also a slaughtered lamb.

Which is why the experiences of Paul and Barnabas in the first reading are so helpful. They show us what this lifestyle looks like. They remind us that to follow this shepherd, who is also a lamb, we the sheep must be willing to become shepherds ourselves. For it is as shepherds that Paul and Barnabas travel from place to place, proclaiming the Good News to all. The first reading also reminds us that although God promises to wipe away the tears from the eyes of the sheep, to adopt the shepherd’s lifestyle also means we have to accept the trials – and yes, even the persecutions – that can come to us as a result. In the first reading, the effectiveness of their preaching lead to Paul and Barnabas being expelled from the city of Antioch in Pisidia.

But if this lifestyle is so shockingly unattractive, how do we come to choose it? Like that tourist looking for a haircut, the choice we end up making depends upon the voice or voices that we pay attention to. In our world, there are many voices that make a choice for the Good Shepherd look very foolish. Consider, for example, the voice that influences so many of us so strongly today – the voice of consumerism. Listening to this voice leads us to assume, among other things, that a happy life means doing all we can only to avoid trouble and to increase our material possessions. If you have an apartment, work for a house. If you have a Toyota, work for a Lexus. If you have cable, work for HD TV. If you have a Timex, work for a Rolex. In contrast, in the gospel, Jesus tells us that my sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me. And this voice of Jesus the Good Shepherd speaks to us not of consumption but of compassion and care, the same compassion that turned Jesus into a slain lamb, the same care that turned Paul and Barnabas into courageous shepherds.

Sisters and brothers, as you know, in addition to being Good Shepherd Sunday, today is also Vocations Sunday. It is the day when we pray for more good vocations to the priesthood, the religious life, and to lay ministries. And that is, of course, a very good thing to do. But isn’t it true that as much as we may pray for others to find their vocations, we ourselves tend to forget that each of us also has a vocation of our own? As we know, the word vocation comes from the Latin vocare, which means to call. And it is not just priests and religious, not just deacons and lay ministers who are called. Rather, whether we are married or single, young or old, male or female, by the very fact of our baptism, are we not all called to hear the voice of the Good Shepherd, the same voice that continually speaks to us of the need for compassion and care, challenging us to reach out and to shepherd others?

Sisters and brothers, as we celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday, perhaps we need to ask ourselves whose voice are we heeding, which life-stylist are we choosing today?

3^rd Sunday in Easter (C)

It’s a Dog’s Life!

Readings: Acts 5:27-32, 40b-41; Psalm 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11-12, 13; Revelations 5:11-14; John 21:1-19 or 1-14

Picture: cc avidday

It’s a dog’s life!

Dear sisters and brothers, you’re probably familiar with this expression right? It’s a dog’s life! People usually say that when they get the feeling that their lives are not worth living, when, for example, it seems as though they are spending all their time doing only what other people tell them to do, when it feels like they have absolutely no freedom to do what they themselves want to do. How frustrating! Urgh, it’s a dog’s life!

Maybe we all feel this way from time to time. But sometimes, for some of us, the feeling can become so strong that we can’t seem to shake it off. It’s there when we wake up in the morning. It follows us around as we go through our day. And it’s the last feeling we have before we fall asleep at night. We even have a special name for such a situation. We call it a mid-life crisis. But such experiences can hit us whether we are young or old. For what is a mid-life crisis if not a questioning of worth? We look at all the people and activities that fill our lives, and we begin to ask ourselves whether or not they are really worth our spending our whole life on them. Is it really worthwhile continuing to be faithful to my wife or husband, responsibly caring for my kids, and obediently clocking in at that boring job everyday? But even more basic than that, in a mid-life crisis, one questions not just the worth of others but also one’s own worth. Who am I really? What do I stand for? Do I even deserve having a good life? Such questions are not easy to answer. Which is why, many people end up doing rather strange things when such a crisis hits. Some people change their hairstyles. Others change their cars. Still others change their wives or husbands. Urgh, if it feels like yours is a dog’s life, then change it! There’s some wisdom in that, I guess. But does it really work? Does simply trading in your old car or your old spouse for the latest model really make life more worth living?

Which is why, if you think about it, maybe it’s not such a bad thing being a dog. I can’t be completely sure, but I don’t think dogs ever face issues of worthiness. I don’t think they ever ask themselves whether or not their lives are worth living. Things are really quite simple for a dog. If you feed me, I’ll happily obey you. No questions asked. And I’ll even have fun doing it. Unlike humans, dogs don’t have mid-life crises. But we’re not dogs. Like it or not, facing questions of worthiness is an unavoidable, and maybe even healthy, part of being human.

We see as much in our Mass readings on this third Sunday in Easter. Consider for a moment the experiences of Simon Peter and the other apostles. What was it like for them, who had left everything to follow Jesus, only to see him arrested and put to death on a cross? What was it like for Peter, who had denied his Master three times, after having boasted that he would give his life for him? Was it not likely that each of these men were facing deep and disturbing questions of worthiness? Now that Jesus had died, was it really worthwhile to continue walking the way that he had marked out for them? And were they worthy to do it even if they wanted to, they who had so shamefully deserted their Master when he needed them most? Urgh, it’s a dog’s life!

But, unlike many other people going through a mid-life crisis, Simon Peter and the other apostles don’t react by paying a visit to the car dealership. Instead, they go fishing. It’s not quite clear why exactly they do that. Some bible commentators say they were reverting to their earlier occupation. They were returning to what was familiar and safe. Perhaps. But we may also wonder if there may not be another explanation. We may remember that it was while in their boats, on the Sea of Galilee, that Simon Peter and the sons of Zebedee first received their call from Jesus. It was as fishermen that they first fell in love with and had their lives turned around by the carpenter from Nazareth. Follow me and I will make you fishers of people (cf., Mark 1:17). So that, when faced with doubts about this life that they had chosen, isn’t it natural that they should return to the place of their call? Just as when one faces doubts about the person one has married, isn’t it logical to revisit, from time to time, the circumstances in which one first fell in love?

If this is true, then live fish are not the only things that Peter and the other apostles are trying to catch. More than anything else, they are trying to discover again that which makes their lives worth living. And isn’t this also what the Crucified and Risen Christ is asking them about when he shouts to them from the shore of the lake? Children, have you caught anything to eat? More than just inquiring about fish to fill their bellies, Jesus is asking them whether or not they have found that mysterious something that could satisfy their hearts, that sense of purpose and worthiness that could give new inspiration to their lives. Have you caught that? And when their answer is no. Jesus sets out to help them. Not only does he guide them to where the fish are, but he even prepares breakfast for them. With bread and fish, over a charcoal fire, Jesus invites them to a meal that should remind us of the Eucharist that we are about to celebrate, a banquet that fills not just bellies with food, but also hearts and minds with the Holy Spirit. And the effects of this Spirit are seen in the conversation between Jesus and Peter. Not unlike a dog that has just been fed by its Master, Peter finds new motivation to obey. Do you love me… Yes, Lord, you know that I love you… Feed my sheep… Once again, on the shore of the lake, Peter falls in love.

And with that love comes a new sense of worthiness, both of the One who calls and of the one called. It is this same sense of worthiness that the heavenly hosts are singing about in the second reading. Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength, honor and glory and blessing. It is also this same sense of worthiness that Peter and the apostles experience in the first reading. After having been interrogated and beaten by the Jewish authorities for teaching in the name of Jesus, we are told that they left the presence of the Sanhedrin, rejoicing that they had been found worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name. Having been fed at the table of Christ’s love, Peter and the other apostles find new worth in themselves, in the lives they are called to live, and in the One who called them to it. They find new strength to obey. Their mid-life crisis is successfully negotiated.

Sisters and brothers, even if we may, at times, experience crises of one sort or another, we are all called to live not the lives of dogs but truly human lives, lives that are worth living because of the love that God has poured into our hearts through the Crucified and Risen Christ, the same love that we are celebrating in this joyful season of Easter.

Sisters and brothers, on this third Sunday of Easter, perhaps the question we need to ask ourselves is what kind of life are we living today?