Deacon Peter

Love in Any Language

(Acts 14:21-27; Rev.21:1-5; Jn.13:31-33a, 34-35)

In his novel Smilla’s Sense of Snow, Peter Hoeg says that the Inuit people of Greenland have a hundred words for snow. [i]

They have words for light, wind-blown snow; drifted snow; powdery snow, crusted snow, wet snow, slushy snow and many more.

A hundred words is an exaggeration, I’m told; however, they do have dozens. Why so many? It’s because these hardy people have long relied on clear communication for their survival. The subtleties of ice and snow can mean the difference between life and death.

If such clarity is so important in Greenland, then why do we have so few words for Love in English? Surely love and human relationships with all their complexities are just as important in our society.

In English, we do have a few words for some aspects of love, like affection, fondness and tenderness, but we usually use only one word – Love – to express almost everything, like ‘I love my wife, ‘I love my dog,’ ‘I love food,’ ‘I love my father,’ and ‘I love music.’ They all mean very different things.

When there’s no word for something, it becomes quite easy to ignore it. And when our vocabulary is limited, it can be hard to clearly communicate, or even recognise, our own feelings and intentions.

Slogans like ‘Love is love’ are largely meaningless without clarification. It’s like saying that ‘food is food,’ when we know that there are important differences between various foods.

Sanskrit has 96 words for love, including Anurakti (passionate love), Anuraga (intense love for God), and Sneha (maternal love). The Sami people of Scandinavia have over 200 such words. And Greek famously has four key words: eros, philia, storgé and agape, which we sometimes borrow in English.[ii]

Eros is passionate, romantic love (Song 1:2-4). Philia is friendship or brotherly love (Heb.13:1). Storgé (Stor-jay) is family love (Rom.12:9-10). And Agape is the most profound kind of love. It’s the selfless and unconditional love that Jesus demonstrates when he feeds the hungry and heals the sick, and especially when he sacrifices himself on the Cross.

This is the love Jesus speaks of in today’s Gospel, when he tells us to love one another. It’s what St John means when he says that God is love (1Jn.4:8).

In the early 1920s, Jesus regularly appeared to a Spanish mystic, Sr Josefa Menéndez, in France. With the authorisation of Pope Pius XII, Jesus’ messages have since been published in her book, The Way of Divine Love. [iii]

On 28 November 1922, Jesus told Josefa what he means by Love:

‘I am all love!’ he said. ‘My heart is an abyss of Love.

‘It is Love that created man and all that exists in the world to serve him. It is Love that impelled the Father to give his Son for the salvation of man lost through sin.

‘It was Love that made a very pure virgin, almost a child, renounce the charms of her life in the Temple, consent to become the Mother of God, and accept all the sufferings that divine motherhood was to impose on her.

‘It was Love that compelled me to be born in the harsh, cold winter, poor and deprived of everything.

‘It was Love who hid me for thirty years in the poorest and most total obscurity and the most humble work.

It was Love that made me choose solitude and silence, to live an obscure existence and voluntarily submit to the orders of my Mother and my adoptive father. For Love could see a future vision of many souls who would follow me and take delight in conforming their lives to mine.

‘It was Love that made me embrace all the miseries of human nature. For the Love of my heart saw even further. It knew how many souls in great danger, helped by the actions and sacrifices of many others, would find life again.

‘It was Love that made me suffer the most shameful mockeries and the most horrible torments… to shed all my Blood and to die on the cross to save man and redeem the human race.

‘And Love also saw in the future, all the souls who would unite their sufferings and actions, even the most ordinary ones, to my sufferings and blood, to give me a great number of souls!’

Just as every snowflake is different, so there’s a world of difference between one kind of love and another. God’s extraordinary self-sacrificial love simply cannot be equated with anyone’s love for ice-cream.

So, when you say you love someone, what does that mean?

And if you say that you love God, what do you really mean?

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[i] Peter Hoeg, Smilla’s Sense of Snow, Picador Modern Classics, New York, 2011

[ii] C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves. HarperCollins Religious, London, 2012.

[iii] Sr Josefa Menendez, The Way of Divine Love, Must Have Books, 2023.

Mum Shirl

(Acts 13:14,43-52; Rev.7:9,14-17; Jn.10:27-30)

Ever since Jesus first revealed himself as the Good Shepherd, countless people have tried to follow him by guiding, protecting and nurturing other vulnerable souls.

Some of these good shepherds are widely known, like Mother Teresa and St Francis Assisi, who gave up everything to care for the poor, the sick and the outcast. And Florence Nightingale, who helped wounded soldiers and transformed the nursing profession.

Other shepherds are less well-known, but no less good. Like ‘Mum Shirl’, who devoted her life to caring for poor, lost and homeless indigenous Australians.

Mum Shirl was born Coleen Shirley Perry in Cowra, NSW, in 1924, into a large and very poor family. Because her parents were cattle drovers, she was raised by her grandfather, who taught her to ‘first love yourself, then spread it around’.

Shirley suffered from severe epilepsy, for which she could not get medication. This disrupted her schooling, so her grandfather taught her instead. She could not read or write, but did learn to speak sixteen Aboriginal languages.

She helped to raise her nine brothers and sisters, however the authorities disapproved of their situation and sent them all into state care. In one of her first battles against injustice, Shirley successfully fought for their return.

At sixteen, Shirley met and married a professional Boxer, Darcy Smith. Her first child died in childbirth during an epileptic fit, and she went on to have a second baby. However, fearing her own epilepsy, she placed this child into care.

In the mid-1930s, Mum Shirl’s family moved to Sydney, and one of her brothers was sent to prison. She often visited him and when he was released she continued to visit his friends, encouraging them, supporting them in court, and helping to find their families.

It was here that she got her name, ‘Mum Shirl.’ Whenever she was asked to explain her connection with the prisoners, she always replied, ‘I’m his mum.’ The prison authorities valued her tireless work and gave her access to any prisoner she wanted. The courts also placed countless children in her care.

She lived on a pension, because her epilepsy made a steady job impossible. However, she opened her Sydney home to anyone seeking shelter, including alcoholics and the homeless.

She also managed to rent houses for single mothers, and she helped to establish many important services, including the Aboriginal Legal Service, the Aboriginal Medical Service, the Aboriginal Children’s Service, the Aboriginal Housing Company and a detoxification centre.

From the moment of her birth, Mum Shirl’s life was one of tragedy and hardship. She suffered poverty, poor health and pain, but she never gave up.

What sustained her was her deep faith in Jesus Christ, and the love of those who encouraged and supported her, like her grandfather. She said that her gratitude to those who supported her through her epileptic seizures gave her a deep compassion for others.

By the early 1990s, she had helped to raise over sixty children, and she had improved the lives of countless homeless and disadvantaged Australians.

The Church was always important to Mum Shirl. She received her faith from her grandfather and from her mother, who some called the ‘Mad Roaming Catholic.’ And one of her favourite saints was St Martin de Porres, who devoted his life to serving the downtrodden in Peru.

She played an active role in parish life, and served as an advisor to the Archbishop of Sydney. And in 1998, just before she died aged 73, she was declared ‘one of Australia’s living treasures’ by the National Trust.

Today, on Good Shepherd Sunday, Jesus tells us that he’s the Good Shepherd who does three things for his sheep: he knows them well, he protects them from harm, and he leads them to eternal life.[i]

This describes Mum Shirl’s life. She knew her people well, she did whatever she could for them, and she gave them hope.

Mum Shirl lived by Jesus’ words: ‘I was hungry and you fed me; thirsty and you gave me a drink; naked and you clothed me; sick and you cared for me’ (Mt.25:35-40).

And she listened very carefully when Jesus said, ‘I have come to give liberty to captives and sight to the blind…’ (Lk.4:16-21).

She was a very Good Shepherd, doing whatever she could.[ii]

In what way are you a Good Shepherd to others?

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[i] The parable of the Good Shepherd is the only parable in John’s Gospel.

[ii] Coleen Shirley Smith (with Bobbi Sykes) Mum Shirl: An Autobiography, Heinemann Publishers, Richmond Victoria, 1981.

The Big Fisherman

(Acts 5:27-32,40-41; Rev.5:11-14; Jn.21:1-19)

Fish was popular in Biblical times, especially among those living near the Sea of Galilee. It was an important part of their diet, culture and economy. Indeed, the Gospels mention fish more often than meat.

One person who made a good living from fishing was St Peter. Church tradition tells us that he was a big man and a strong leader, and along with James and John, he ran a large fishing business (Lk.5:7,11; Mk.1:20; Jn.21:1-3).

Peter came from Bethsaida (which means ‘House of Fishing’). Bethsaida grew enormously during the reign of King Herod Philip. As the demand for fish grew, Peter’s business grew, too.

You might recall that in Luke’s Gospel, soon after Jesus began his public ministry, he approached Peter on the shore while he was cleaning his nets, and he invited him to become a disciple (Lk.5:1-11).

Interestingly, most of Jesus’ disciples fished. Today’s Gospel hints that seven of the twelve were fishermen: Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Thomas and Nathaniel (Jn.21:2,3).

But why choose so many fishers? It’s because the skills you need for fishing are very similar to those you need to be a good apostle: both need to be disciplined, obedient and prepared to learn (Mk.1:18; Lk.5:5-6). Both need to work well with others (Mt.13:47). And both need to be strong, courageous and patient, especially when the work is tough, and the catch is poor.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is again on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. It’s after his resurrection, and his disciples are out fishing. They’ve worked all night and caught nothing, so Jesus calls out, telling them to cast their net on the starboard side. When they do so, they catch 153 big fish.

This is Jesus’ last miracle before his Ascension.

The disciples then excitedly return to shore, where Jesus prepares them a hearty breakfast of bread and fish on a charcoal fire.

Now, this meal is very Eucharistic. Why? It’s because the bread reflects Jesus himself, who we know is the Bread of Life. And together with the fish, it reminds us of Jesus’ many teachings and miracles which involve fish and bread, including his feeding of the multitudes (Mt.14:13-21; Mk.8:16-21).

But why does Jesus serve fish instead of wine? Well, this fish is the fruit of the disciples’ labours and it’s central to their identity and culture, so it binds them together in communion.

But Jesus also loves to make people think, and he recognises the deep symbolism of the fish. The letters of the Greek word for fish, Ichthus, summarise our Christian faith. I (iota) stands for Jesus, X (chi) for Christ, O (theou) for God, U (upsilon) for son, and S (sigma) for Saviour.

So, in Greek the letters read: ‘Iēsous Christos, Theou Uios Sōtēr’, which in English means ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour’.

And of course, in inviting these men to become his disciples, Jesus’ plan is to make them ‘fishers of men’ (Mt.4:19).

Later on, during the Roman persecution, the fish became a secret symbol of the Christian faith, and in the second century, the Latin theologian Tertullian described Christians as ‘little fishes’ led by the ‘Big Fish’, Jesus himself.

Both the bread and the fish in today’s Gospel therefore point to Jesus, who is the spiritual food we need for eternal life.

Now, while the disciples are on that pebbly beach eating their breakfast, Jesus is aware that Peter hasn’t forgiven himself for the mistakes he has made, like publicly denying him three times.

But Jesus knows that there’s much more to him than this, so he gives him a chance to undo the past and begin again. Jesus turns to him and three times asks, ‘Do you love me?’

Each time Peter replies, ‘Yes, Lord’.

The other disciples are looking on, and they hear Jesus say to Peter, if you really love me, then ‘feed my lambs’ and ‘take care of my sheep’.

They witness Jesus asking Peter to lead his Church, and as we know, he goes on to become the first Pope.

Peter was a big man who was headstrong and sometimes made mistakes, just as we do. However, he also had a big heart and a healthy dose of humility, and this allowed him to grow and mature.

With God’s grace he rose to Jesus’ challenge. He changed his career by becoming a fisher for men. He also became a shepherd, caring for Jesus’ flock of sheep.

Peter teaches us that failure is never final.

New life always awaits us if we truly believe in Jesus Christ.

Josefa Menéndez, Mystic of Mercy

(Acts 5:12-16; Rev.1:9-13, 17-19; Jn.20:19-31)

25 years ago, in April 2000, Pope St John Paul II canonised Faustina Kowalska and established the second Sunday of Easter as Divine Mercy Sunday. This is what we celebrate today.

St Faustina (1905-38) is the humble Polish nun who most people associate with Divine Mercy Sunday. Jesus appeared to her many times and gave her a vision of himself as the ‘King of Divine Mercy’ wearing white, with rays of white and red light shining from his heart.

Jesus told her that the world won’t find peace until it starts trusting in his mercy. ‘My Heart overflows with great mercy for souls, especially for poor sinners,’ he said. ‘If only they could understand that I am the best of Fathers to them and that it’s for them that the blood and water flowed from my heart…’ (Diary 367).

He also said, ‘The greater the sinner, the greater the right they have to my mercy… Whoever trusts in my mercy will not perish, for all his affairs are mine and his enemies will be shattered at the base of my footstool.’ (Diary 723)

Jesus’ messages have been published in St Faustina’s diary. However, she is not the only person Jesus spoke to about his Divine Mercy. He also appeared to Josefa Menéndez in France in the 1920s.

Josefa was born in Madrid, in 1890, the first of six children to devout Christian parents. She had her first Holy Communion when she was 11, and that’s when she decided to become a nun.

At 20, she tried to join a convent, but her mother refused to allow it. Josefa’s father had died in an accident and money was short. So, she worked as a seamstress until she was 30, and then she joined the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Poitiers, France.

Sr Josefa was a simple nun who had little education, no formal theological training and never learned to speak French. However, she enjoyed working quietly, sewing, cleaning and looking after the sacristy.

Jesus was drawn to her humility and for nearly four years, until she died in 1923, he often appeared to her. He asked her to be an apostle of his goodness and mercy. ‘The world doesn’t know my mercy,’ Jesus said, ‘and I want you to help make it known.’

He taught Josefa to be humble, obedient and loving in every little thing she did.

‘Love doesn’t just consist in saying, ‘I love you, O my God!’ he said. ‘No, love acts because it loves, it does everything by loving. I want you to love in this way, in work as well as in rest, in prayer and consolation as well as in sorrow and humiliation, proving this love to me constantly by your works, for this is love.’

Jesus invited Sr Josefa into his mystical heart, and in return she offered Jesus her life to console his wounded heart and to save souls. He said to her, ‘See how my heart is consumed with love for souls! You too must burn with the desire for their salvation. I want you to go deep into my heart today and make reparation in union with it. Yes, we must repair!’

Commenting on his Passion, Jesus explained how he feels at every Eucharist and he asked her to help him carry his Cross, in reparation for the ingratitude of so many. 

‘All I want is the love of souls,’ he said, ‘but they respond to me with ingratitude. I want to fill them with my graces, but they pierce my heart. I call them, but they run from me.’

Sr Josefa agreed to link her suffering with that of Jesus, and she also offered to unite all her simple, loving actions with his heart.

Jesus asked her to surrender herself completely to his divine will: ‘I have no need of your strength,’ he said, ‘but of your abandonment.’

Every word Josefa recorded from Jesus is consistent with the messages Jesus gave St Faustina Kowalska and St Margaret Mary Alocoque (1647-90) about his sacred, loving heart. They also align with the essence of St Therese of Lisieux’s autobiography and the Gospel itself.

Pope Pius XII authorised the publication of Josefa’s book The Way of Divine Love, and in 1947, the process for her beatification began.

Today, on Divine Mercy Sunday, the message for us is simple but profound: Jesus wants the world to understand that he is the God of love, mercy and forgiveness, and he wants everyone to return to him.

‘Let them come to me!’ he says. ‘Let them throw themselves into my arms! Let them have no fear, for I am their Father.’ [i]

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[i] Sr Josefa Menendez, The Way of Divine Love, Must Have Books, 2023.

Our Four Deaths

(Acts 10:34, 37-43; Col.3:1-4; Jn.20:1-9)

Christ is risen! Alleluia! Happy Easter!

Every year the Church’s greatest celebration is Jesus’ resurrection. But how do we know that Jesus really rose from the dead? There are many reasons, but here are three:

Firstly, it’s significant that all four Gospels say that women were the first to witness the empty tomb. In ancient times women weren’t allowed to witness anything. It was illegal. Had the resurrection been faked, women would never have been mentioned.

Secondly, it’s significant that there had been no forced entry into the tomb, and that Jesus’ linen wrappings were left lying on the floor. If Jesus’ body had been stolen, his wrappings would have gone, too.

Thirdly, and most importantly, what really points to Jesus’ resurrection is the change in the disciples’ behaviour. Previously, they had been grieving and frightened. That’s why they locked themselves inside the Upper Room.

But once they see Jesus return, their lives are utterly transformed. Nothing – not the threat of gaol, torture or even death – could stop them from spreading the good news.

This is how we can be sure that the Resurrection really happened. But what does it mean for us today?

Jesus’ resurrection is significant, because it’s the foundation of our Christian faith. It proves that Jesus is God and that everything he’s been saying is true. As St Paul says, ‘If Christ had not been raised, then our preaching has been in vain, and your faith is in vain’ (1Cor.15:14).

But we know that our faith is not in vain. Easter tells us that there is always hope, even in our worst moments, because if Jesus can survive the most terrible suffering, then we can too. He teaches us that any trials we might have are temporary and that God always works for the good of those who love him (Rom.8:18; 2Cor.4:17).

Indeed, Easter is the guarantee of our own resurrection. As Jesus says to Martha at Lazarus’ tomb: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live even though he dies’ (Jn.11:25-26).

Now this is really important. If you think about it, we all die many deaths during our lifetimes. We all suffer losses of some kind, as well as transformations and transitions where something in us dies. However, we too can have our own ‘mini-Easter’ where new life always follows.

The theologian Michael Pakaluk tells us that Christians typically die four deaths. [i]

The first is baptism. Baptism is a form of death because it represents the death of sin, the end of our former self, and our new birth into the life of Christ.

In a very personal way, our Baptism mirrors Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection.

Our second death occurs when we embrace our chosen vocation, either the married life or a single life devoted to God. In 1981, Pope St. John Paul II wrote that marriage ‘takes up again and makes specific the sanctifying grace of baptism.’ What he meant is that on our wedding day we must die to ourselves as single individuals, and be reborn as an interdependent couple. [ii] 

Our third death occurs when we have children. Every parent knows how devastating the birth of a first child can be to their way of life. For the sake of our children, we die to ourselves; we make great sacrifices for them. And while this means the end of one kind of life, it also means the beginning of a new life as a parent, with all the joys and heartaches that brings.

And finally, the fourth death occurs at the end of our mortal lives. For the faithful Christian, this is where we really can be confident of our own resurrection.

I recently chatted with a friend about this, and he said, ‘What? Only four deaths? What about all our other endings and beginnings?’

He was right; we do experience many other deaths. We leave our childhood behind; we lose friends; we change careers; our dreams die, and so do the people we love.

But that is never the end of the story. Thanks to Jesus Christ, we can all have many mini-Easters where we get to live again.

So, here’s the good news: Jesus Christ has conquered death, and now death is simply part of the rhythm of life, as new always follows the old in our journey towards eternal life.

Thanks to Jesus, darkness and death are now replaced by light and life.

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[i] Michael Pakaluk, ‘The Four Deaths’, The Catholic Thing, March 30, 2022. https://www.thecatholicthing.org/2022/03/30/the-four-deaths/

[ii] St John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio, n.56. https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_jp-ii_exh_19811122_familiaris-consortio.pdf

Silent Embrace

(Is.50:4-7; Phil.2:6-11; Lk.23:1-49)

(Thanks to Fr Don from The Word This Week, here is a podcast discussing today’s homily:)

Many of us struggle with silence. We are so used to noise that we think we cannot live without music, TV and other sounds, including our own voices.

Yet, in our hearts we know that’s wrong. Pope Benedict XVI once observed: ‘We are no longer able to hear God – there are too many different frequencies filling our ears.’ [i]

Silence is not emptiness; it’s an invitation to go deeper into our lives, and most especially into our relationship with God. This is a message we can take from the harrowing story of the Passion of Christ.

Jesus suffers the cruelest of abuse: betrayal, false accusations, insults, imprisonment, mockery, theft, beatings, scourging, crucifixion and even a stabbing. And how does he respond? He is silent. He doesn’t even complain.

What would you have done? Would you not have screamed, kicked, cursed, argued, struggled and done everything else you could to defend yourself? Jesus doesn’t even try. Why?

Some people think that silence in the face of adversity and injustice is weakness, but it’s much more complex than that.

All through his public ministry, Jesus encourages silence. He often invites his disciples to ‘come away’ with him to a quiet place (Mk.6:31; Mt.11:28). He knows how important it is for them to refresh and refocus by spending quiet time in prayer (Ps.46:10). And he knows that when we clothe ourselves in silence, like his Father, we are close to heaven.

In his own silence, Jesus isn’t being weak or even passive-aggressive. He is actually communing with his Father, drawing on the strength he needs to understand and endure his terrible ordeal (Jn.10:30).

He knows how healing and strengthening a silent embrace can be. 

How different we are from Jesus when we suffer. We writhe and squirm; we grumble and complain, and sometimes we agonise over those we think are responsible. And yet we don’t even consider resting quietly in God’s loving embrace.

For many of us, our most precious moments are when we’re being lovingly caressed by someone special – perhaps a parent, grandparent, friend or lover. A warm hug, wrapped in silence, can be a profound moment of safety and comfort that strengthens and heals.

This is what God offers us.

Sometimes our prayer might seem fruitless, as though nothing is happening. But prayer is not telling God what we want. Rather, it’s about accepting his loving embrace in deep faith and trust. And it’s accepting that whatever God does, or doesn’t do, for us is ultimately ‘for our good’ (Rom.8:28) because he truly loves us.

Jesus faces all his sufferings in silence, because he completely trusts his Father. He is always in close communion with his Father (Jn.8:28-29), and his first responsibility is to always do his Father’s will before anything else: ‘The Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing’ (Jn.5:19).

Indeed, the Blessed Virgin Mary does the same thing. She suffers mightily when she sees Jesus carrying his Cross, and when she sees him suffer and die. She is in agony at the sight of her dead son’s body. And how does she respond? She is totally silent.

She, too, is in God’s silent embrace.

In his book In the School of the Holy Spirit, Jacques Philippe writes that the Spirit of God is a spirit of peace, and he speaks and acts in peace and gentleness, never in tumult and agitation. He can only penetrate our spiritual consciousness if we have within ourselves a calm zone of silence and peace. If our inner world is noisy and agitated, the gentle voice of the Holy Spirit will find it very difficult to be heard. [ii]

Our challenge is to find that calm zone deep in our hearts, and to stay there.

Silence is not emptiness.

St. Teresa of Calcutta understood this well. She often said, ‘Silence is the seed of prayer. Prayer is the seed of faith, and faith is the seed of service.’

Everything begins with silence.

The more we embrace silence – the more we rest in the loving arms of God – the closer we’ll get to him.

And the more we’ll live the life our hearts desire.

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[i] http://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/homilies/2006/documents/hf_ben-xvi_hom_20060910_neue-messe-munich.html

[ii] Jacques Philippe, In the School of the Holy Spirit, Scepter Publishers Inc., Strongsville OH, 2007:37.

Immaculée’s Story

(Is.43:16-21; Phil.3:8-14; Jn.8:1-11)

(Thanks to Fr Don from The Word This Week, here is a podcast discussing today’s homily:)

In 1959, Joseph Gitera, a politician from Rwanda’s Hutu tribe, called for the elimination of the country’s Tutsi minority. [i]

This began a long process of dehumanisation that in 1981 led to the Blessed Virgin Mary appearing in the small town of Kibeho, warning that if the people didn’t change their ways, blood would flow.

Sadly, they didn’t change, and in 1994 almost a million Tutsis were massacred.

During this time, a woman named Immaculée Ilibagiza hid with seven others in her pastor’s tiny bathroom, measuring just 0.9m x 1.2m (3’ x 4’). In absolute silence and terror they hid for 91 days.

During this time, an interior voice kept telling Immaculée, ‘Open the door, end the torture! They’re going to kill you anyway.’ While another voice said: ‘Don’t open the door. Ask God to help! He can do anything.’

One day, she promised God: ‘I don’t know everything about you, but I will continue to seek you. I will never doubt your existence again.’

She asked the pastor for a Bible, and began reading it. She learnt about Jesus and God’s love, and even started praying the rosary. Every day she prayed 27 rosaries and 14 Divine Mercy chaplets, and as she prayed, she started to feel a deep sense of peace.

However, she couldn’t accept Jesus’ command to forgive, and in the Our Father she struggled to say, ‘as we forgive those who trespass against us,’ so she left these words out. But another voice said to her, ‘…Our Lord’s prayer is not man-made. Jesus himself said those words, and he can’t make mistakes.’

It was then that for the first time she understood the meaning of surrender, and she felt God telling her, ‘You don’t have to know how to do it all on your own. Give it to me.’ She agreed to say the full Our Father, but prayed that God would teach her how to forgive.

As the weeks passed, Immaculée came to realize that holding onto anger, hatred and bitterness would not bring healing or peace. But it was only when she read Jesus’ words, ‘Forgive them, Father, for they don’t know what they’re doing,’ that she truly understood what forgiveness means.

Jesus was telling her, ‘The people who are trying to kill you don’t get it – they don’t consider the consequences that will come to them… Being like them won’t change anything. Learn from me!’ she recalled.

She realized that people can always turn from hate to love with God’s grace – just as she had. ‘I knew then that I’d spend the rest of my life praying for people who are on the side of hate,’ she said.

After three months, the slaughter stopped and Immaculée emerged as a new woman. But she needed God’s grace to accept that so many had been killed, including her parents, brothers, cousins and friends.

Yet, through it all, God had never left her: “I felt that he was holding me tight and telling me: ‘The journey of your loved ones is over here on earth, but your journey is not over yet… What is in your power is how you chose to live your life, however long it may be.’”

Immaculée later met with other survivors and she even personally forgave those who had killed her family – she had grown up with some of them.

‘I know the pain and damage of unforgiveness,’ she says, ‘So I plead with you: dare to forgive. Hold on to God, pray the rosary, read the Bible, go to Mass… There is so much joy, so much freedom in forgiving. Dare to do it!’ [ii]

All through Scripture, God frees people from impossible situations, making things new again. He frees the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, he heals the blind, the lame and the deaf, and he brings Lazarus back to life.

And in today’s Gospel, Jesus gives new life to a desperate woman. Some Pharisees bring her to him, saying, ‘Teacher, this woman was caught in a terrible act of sin. The Law of Moses says she should be punished by stoning. What do you say?’

These men aren’t interested in her; they only want to trap Jesus. But Jesus knows what they’re up to. He says that whoever is without sin should throw the first stone.

They must have felt ashamed, because they all leave, one by one. In the end, Jesus forgives the woman and says, ‘Go, and from now on don’t sin anymore.’

She must have been overjoyed, because she, too, is given new life.

Today, so many people feel trapped by sadness, disappointment, sin and fear. They can’t move forward. But they forget that God works wonders with broken people.

God does amazing things when we open ourselves up to him.

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[i] Kennedy Ndahiro, ‘In Rwanda, We Know All About Dehumanizing Language’, The Atlantic Magazine, April 2019.

[ii] Immaculee Ilibagiza, Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust, Hay House, Carlsbad CA, 2006.

The Prodigal Son in the Key of F

(Jos.5:9-12; 2Cor.5:17-21; Lk.15:1-3, 11-32)

(Thanks to Fr Don of The Word This Week, here is a podcast discussing today’s homily:)

According to Charles Dickens, the greatest short story ever told is Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son. It’s a tale of loss, hurt, forgiveness and love, and it’s so well known that it’s refreshing when someone approaches it in a new way.

That’s what Todd and Jedd Hafer have done in their book Mischief from the Back Pew. They’ve given us another version of this story, which they call The Prodigal Son in the Key of F. Here it is, with a few modifications. [i]

Feeling footloose and frisky, a feather-brained fellow forces his fine father to fork over his share of the family finances. He then flies off to foreign fields and fritters away his fortune, feasting fabulously with faithless floozies and fickle friends.

Fleeced by these foolish fellows and facing famine, he finds himself feeding farmyard animals. And feeling famished and frail, he feels forced to fill his frame with frightfully filthy foraged food.

‘Phooey,’ he figures, ‘My father’s flunkies fare far fancier.’ After fuming feverishly, the frazzled fugitive faces the facts frankly. Frustrated by failure and filled with foreboding, he flees the foreign farmyard back to his family. From faraway, his fretful father sees this phantom fugitive’s familiar form framed on the far horizon. He flies to him and fondly flings his forearms about him.

Falling at his father’s feet, the forlorn fellow affirms, ‘Father, I’ve failed and fruitlessly forfeited my family’s favour.’ But the faithful father forestalls further flinching and flags his staff to fetch the finest fatling and fix a feast for all.

While the father and former fugitive feel festive, the father’s faithful first-born son is in a field fixing fences. The foreman informs him that a familiar family face has forsaken his foolishness. But this brother finds fault with his father’s forgiveness and favour towards this fraternal fugitive, and his fury flashes.

He’d never faltered, he’d never fled the family farm. He’d forever been faithful. 

‘Forsooth! Father, flee from this folly!’ he fumes. ‘Frankly, it’s unfair. That fool forfeited his fortune!’

But such fussing proves futile. His far-sighted father philosophises that filial fidelity is fine, and the first-born will one day be furnished with the full family fortune, so what forbids fervent festivity? 

‘The fugitive is found!’ the father says. ‘Unfurl the flags, with fanfares flaring! Let fun and frolic follow! For failure is forgotten, folly is forsaken and forgiveness forms the foundation for a fine future.’

Brendan Byrne SJ has described this parable one of the Gospel passages ‘that have truly shaped our Christian identity.’ But what does it mean to be prodigal?

To be prodigal is to be recklessly wasteful. So, who is the prodigal one in this story?

We tend to think it’s the younger son, because he squanders his inheritance. But that’s not all he wastes. He also trashes his father’s love and every other blessing he has, like a secure home and a prosperous future. And he suffers the ultimate indignity of feeding pigs, which for a Jew is utterly shameful.

But the older son is prodigal, too, because he doesn’t appreciate anything he has. He is entitled, self-righteous and judgmental, and he deeply resents his father and brother.

However, to be prodigal is also to be recklessly extravagant, and that describes the father himself, for he freely gives all he has to his sons, even when they don’t deserve it. He lavishly shares his love, forgiveness and blessings, and he even celebrates extravagantly. That fatted calf could feed dozens of people, so his party is likely for the entire village.

This is why the Eastern Orthodox church calls this story the Parable the Loving Father. They emphasise the father because he represents our loving God. 

Now, it’s significant that the prodigal son isn’t given a name, because he represents us all. We are all prodigals. At some point in our lives, we have all turned away from our heavenly Father. We have all arrogantly thought we could succeed in life without God. We have all taken his blessings for granted, and sometimes even expected more.

How fortunate we are that God is so patient with us. He gives us time to wake up and realise what he means to us. But our time is limited, and if we haven’t already, it would be wise for us to come to our senses and return to his merciful embrace as soon as possible.

For sure, if you fancy a fine fulfilling future, then fully focus on our heavenly Father’s love and forgiveness.

The effects will be fabulous!

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[i] Todd & Jedd Hafer, Mischief from the Back Pew: and You Thought You Were Safe in Church, Bethany House, Minneapolis, MN, 2003.

Disaster!

(Ex.3:1-8, 13-15; 1Cor.10:1-6, 10-12; Lk.13:1-9)

Every year, accidents, natural disasters and war bring death, destruction and despair to countless people around the world.

When such tragic events occur, people understandably seek answers, and sometimes they ask, ‘Why did God let this happen?’ Or even ‘why did God make this happen?’

They think that God uses disasters to punish people.

Today, I want to remind you that God is love (1Jn.4:8), and that he does not use disasters to punish us. There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen. The terrible landslide that occurred in Papua New Guinea last year wasn’t God’s doing. It was caused by heavy rainfall.

The fires that devastated Los Angeles recently were caused by sparking power lines, heavy winds and unusually dry conditions.

There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus talks to his disciples about two disasters. The first involves several Galileans who were killed in the Jerusalem Temple. We know what happened because the Jewish historian Josephus tells us about it.

Jerusalem was short of water, and Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, wanted to solve the problem. He planned to build an aqueduct, but didn’t have the money. So, he decided to take it from the Temple. The Jewish people strongly objected, however, and one day a mob gathered to protest.

Pilate gathered his troops and told them to hide clubs under their cloaks. He instructed them to mingle with the crowd and on his signal to break up the mob. When the riot began, the soldiers were ruthless and several people died.

When Jesus heard this news, he said, ‘don’t think that those who were killed in the riot were greater sinners than the others in the mob.’ In other words, there is no connection between sin and punishment in this life.

Jesus then mentions an incident where a tower on the south-eastern wall of Jerusalem collapsed, killing 18 people. Again, he says, ‘do you think they were more guilty of sin than everyone else in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you.’

In other words, don’t think that God deliberately punishes people for their sins.  When someone suffers from some hurt, misfortune or serious disappointment, don’t blame it on God. However, many people do blame God. They blame his anger for tragedies like the Indian Ocean tsunami and the floods in India.

But Jesus says that’s not right, and then in the second half of today’s Gospel, he goes on to explain the nature of God’s love in his Parable of the Fig-tree.  

This is the story of a tree that has produced no fruit for three years. The owner wants it cut down, but the gardener wants to give it another chance. He promises to dig around it and fertilise it, and see if it does better next year.

The point Jesus makes is that God is this compassionate gardener, and he’s always patient towards us, even when we don’t do the right thing. He’s not out to punish us.

This is the same message we get from Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son, which is in next week’s Gospel (Lk.15:11-24). A young man commits two terrible sins: he rejects his father and he squanders his inheritance on sinful living. Then, totally destitute, he is forced to return home.

But his father isn’t angry. He is disappointed, but he doesn’t seek to punish his son. Instead, he waits patiently for him to return, and when he finally sees him, the father rushes out to greet him, kisses him and calls for a celebration.

This is what our Father God is like. He is full of mercy and compassion; he is light and not darkness (1Jn.1:5). And he is just like his Son Jesus, who we know is the loving Prince of Peace. ‘The Father and I are one’ (Jn.10:30), Jesus says. He also says, ‘If you really know me, then you know the Father’ (Jn.14:7).

Jesus’ life is all about healing, not pain; it’s about making all things new, instead of destroying them. And as we heard in Psalm 102 today, ‘the Lord is kind and merciful.’

This is our God. He is love itself; he does not cause disasters. There are many other reasons for them, like natural forces, or our own human foolishness and sin.

But God does let these things happen. Why? It’s because he wants us to learn from them. He wants us to let go of our worldly obsessions; to put our faith and trust in him, instead of in things. He wants us much closer to him.

And through Jesus, he teaches us how to respond at these difficult times – with deep patience, profound mercy and compassion, and unfailing love.

Just like God himself.

The Gentle Art of Pole-Sitting

(Gen.15:5-12, 17-18; Phil.3:17 – 4:1; Lk.9:28-36)

In 1924, in a publicity stunt for a new movie, a man named Alvin ‘Shipwreck’ Kelly was hired to sit on a pole outside a Hollywood theatre for as long as he could. He lasted for 13 hours, 13 minutes.

Kelly made a career out of this, but he was an amateur compared to the hermits of the early church. St Simeon Stylites the Elder, for example, climbed a pillar near Aleppo in Syria in the year 423, and there he stayed for 37 years. (His pillar was reportedly destroyed by a Russian missile in 2016.)

It was said that St Simeon knew he could not escape from the world horizontally, so he decided to do so vertically.

Some years later, St Simeon Stylites the Younger (521-597 AD) lived high up another pillar for over 60 years. As a boy, he had learnt about pole-sitting from a hermit named John, and he spent most of his life in prayer and penance atop a pillar near Antioch, in Turkey. He lived on fruits and herbs and said Mass up there, on a raised platform.

God must have blessed these two Saints Simeon, because they performed many miracles, and people came from all over for spiritual advice and healing.

Of course, they weren’t the only hermits to live atop pillars. In the 5^th Century, St Daniel the Stylite did so for 33 years in Constantinople, preaching, praying and giving spiritual advice.

They were called ‘Stylites’ because that’s the Greek word for ‘pillar-dweller’.

But what inspired them to live this way? It was the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration in today’s Gospel.

As Luke tells us, Peter, James and John go with Jesus to the top of Mt Tabor to pray and reflect, and for a brief moment they see Jesus’ clothes turn dazzlingly white, and his face shines like the sun.

On one side of Jesus stood Moses, the great lawgiver, on the other was Elijah, the greatest of the prophets. And out of a cloud, they could hear our heavenly Father say, ‘This is my Son, the chosen one. Listen to him.’

The disciples are utterly amazed. For but an instant, they get to see who Jesus really is – the Son of God – and they are given a taste of the mystical joy of heaven.

Peter wants them all to stay there, but this is an experience that’s not meant to last. Rather, its purpose is to encourage them in their faith, and to help them focus on God’s promise of eternal life.

Having received the endorsement of Moses and Elijah, Jesus then turns towards Jerusalem for his final journey, from Mount Tabor – the hill of light and joy, to Mount Calvary – the hill of sorrow and pain. But of course, his journey doesn’t end there, for it’s followed by the glory of Easter.

This is what drove saints like Simeon and Daniel to become pillar-dwellers. They wanted to go somewhere quiet where they could meditate on the life of Christ and the mystery of their faith.

Living high on a pillar lifted them above the ordinary concerns of everyday life. It symbolised their physical and spiritual elevation towards God. It was a form of penance for their sins. And it gave them a vision: as they looked down towards earth, they could see how empty and passing the things of this world really are.

Every Lent, we are all invited to do the same – to go somewhere quiet to pray, to reflect on our lives, and to strengthen our relationship with God.

And as we do this, it’s worth remembering that heaven awaits those with true faith. Too many of us tend to take heaven for granted, or we simply forget about it altogether. But heaven is something we all need to prepare for, for we will not get there without the mercy of God.

This is a good thing to think about during Lent, as are the traditional spiritual practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

We don’t have to retreat into a desert to do this, or even climb up a pillar or pole.

However, it is important that we find somewhere quiet, away from our day-to-day distractions, where we can reflect deeply on our lives, and think about what we need to do to live a holy, God-centred life.