Year B – 6th Sunday of Easter

On Agape Love

(Acts 10:25-26, 34-35, 44-48; 1Jn.4:7-10; Jn.15:9-17)

We all need love, don’t we? So many of us dream about it, write about it, sing about it, read about it, talk about it, work for it and cry over it.

Many years ago, teaching English, my most popular lesson was on the language of love. The students were so fascinated by the words we use for love that they didn’t want to go home.

This desire for love is deeply embedded in us all. We’re all made to love, and we all need to be loved. We can see this in our families and friends. If they feel unloved, we know they’re unhappy. If we feel unloved, we are unhappy.

Where does love come from? St John the Evangelist tells us: it comes from God. Love isn’t something God does, however. He is actually love itself (1Jn.4:7-8). And because we’re all made in God’s image and likeness, we, too, are meant to live lives of love. Not sometimes, but always.

Church tradition tells us that St John was still preaching well into his 90s. When he was too frail to walk, he was carried into church, and every week he gave the same sermon: ‘My dear children, love one another’. That’s all he said.

One day, someone asked him, ‘Master, why do you always say this?’ John replied: ‘Because that’s the Lord’s command. And if that’s all we do, it’s enough.’ [i]

This command to love is in John’s Gospel today, and it immediately follows Jesus’ Parable of the Vine and Branches, which we heard last week. Clearly, love is the fruit Jesus wants us all to produce.

But what kind of love does he mean? The Bible mentions four different kinds and in Greek, each has a different name. [ii] Storge (‘Storjay’) is family love. Eros is sensual and passionate love, and Philia is close friendship or brotherly love.

Agape (‘Aga-pay’), however, is the supreme kind of love and the one Jesus calls us to. It’s holy love. It’s the way Jesus loves his Father, and the way God loves us all.  John uses the word ‘agape’ when he says that ‘God is love’ (1Jn.4:8).

Agape love is selfless, like Jesus humbly washing the feet of his disciples (Jn.13:1-17).

It’s unconditional, like the way that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God (Rom.8:38-39).

It’s merciful, like the way the Father warmly welcomes his Prodigal Son, despite all his foolishness (Lk.15:11-32).

And it’s sacrificial, like the way Jesus accepts a painful death on the Cross instead of abandoning us.

Agape love is serious love. St Teresa of Calcutta understood it well. She saw the face of Jesus in everyone she met, and she cared deeply for the sick and dying in the streets of Calcutta. It was hard work, but by staying close to Jesus she always received the graces she needed to keep going.

During World War One, a soldier asked his commanding officer for permission to go into ‘No Man’s Land’ to rescue a badly wounded friend.

‘You can go,’ said the officer, ‘but it’s not worth it. He’s probably dead already and you’re risking your life.’ 

The soldier did go, and somehow managed to retrieve his friend. They both tumbled back into their trench. Watching this, the officer said to the soldier, ‘I told you it wasn’t worth it. Your friend is dead, and you’re badly wounded’.

‘But it was worth it, sir,’ the soldier said.

‘How do you mean, “worth it”? Your friend is dead,’ the officer said.

‘Yes, sir,’ the soldier replied, ‘but it was worth it, because when I got to him, he was alive, and he said to me, ‘Jim, I knew you’d come.’”

Agape is selfless, unconditional, merciful and sacrificial love. It seeks nothing in return.

This weekend, as we celebrate Mothers’ Day, we are deeply grateful to our wonderful mothers, not only for giving us life, but also for giving us so much Agape love. Let’s close with Rudyard Kipling’s short poem Mother o’ Mine (1891):

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

May we, too, truly live lives of Agape love.


[i] St Jerome, Commentary on the Letter to the Galatians, 6:10.

[ii] C.S. Lewis explains these terms in his book The Four Loves, Harcourt, Brace: New York, 1960

Year B – 5th Sunday of Easter

On the Great Vine

(Acts 9:26-31; 1Jn.3:18-24; Jn.15:1-8)

In 1768, two years before Captain Cook found Australia, the English landscape architect Capability Brown planted a grapevine at Hampton Court Palace in London. [i]

Today, 253 years later, the Great Vine (as it’s known) is the oldest and largest grapevine in the world. It measures 4 metres around its base, its longest arm is 36.5 metres long and it’s still producing plenty of good fruit. Why? Because it’s lovingly trained, trimmed and nourished every year.

That’s the metaphor Jesus uses in John’s Gospel today. He’s speaking to his disciples just after the Last Supper, and he knows it’s his last chance to teach them, for soon he’ll be crucified.

Jesus warns his disciples that great trials are coming, but they must stay strong in the faith. ‘I am the vine, God is the vinedresser and you are the branches,’ he says.

Through our Baptism, each of us is joined to Jesus. We become branches of his vine, but we need to stay connected to him and keep drawing nourishment from him if we are to grow and thrive.

This is what happens to Paul in today’s first reading. After persecuting the Church, he receives the Holy Spirit at his conversion (Acts 9:10-21) and he becomes an incredibly powerful and fruitful branch of Jesus’ vine.   

As Christians, we, too, are expected to bear fruit. After all, that’s what grapevines are supposed to do. But if a branch produces nothing, there’s a problem. It’s either dead, diseased, or poorly connected to the vine, and the vinedresser needs to cut it off.

Indeed, even if a branch is healthy and bears good fruit, sometimes it still needs to be carefully trimmed to make it stronger and more productive.

This is an important lesson for us. Jesus is saying that even if we are good Christians, God will still cut us back occasionally to help us become stronger and more fruitful.

In other words, we need to see our hardships through the eyes of faith. Our sufferings and trials may be painful, but God is using them to shape us and help us become better people (Heb.12:4-11).

And here’s another insight. Richard Leonard says that we might claim to be Christians and go to church every Sunday, but if the fruit we produce is bitter or poisonous; if we are unforgiving, unjust and uncaring, then we cannot claim to be on the vine of Christ’s love.

If this is the case, he says, then we desperately need the gentle hand of the vinedresser, who only wants to see us produce the yield he knows we are capable of achieving.

But here’s the point: God won’t judge us simply by our words or by the public face we put on. He’ll judge us by our acts of kindness, compassion and love. [ii] For ‘it’s by their fruits you shall know them’ Jesus says (Mt.7:16).

So, what are these fruits? Paul tells us: they are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Gal.5:22). These are the fruits we can expect to produce if we stay connected to Jesus.

And how might we stay connected? By truly loving God and each other; by being actively involved in the life of his Church, and by making time for daily prayer and reflection.

La Dolce Vita (Cineriz, 1960). Italian 4 - Foglio (53" X 77.25").. | Lot  #86314 | Heritage Auctions

Let’s close with the story of Frederico Fellini’s classic movie, La Dolce Vita (1960).

The film opens with a helicopter carrying a statue of Jesus across Rome, followed by a second helicopter carrying a writer named Marcello. Marcello was raised as a country boy, but wants a ‘sweet life’ full of excitement, so he moves to the big city.

There, he finds himself seduced by the seven deadly sins, and he becomes disconnected from his roots. He loses his faith and all his hopes fade into emptiness.

As the film ends, there’s a powerful scene where Marcello is alone on the beach, looking down at a large dead fish washed up on the shore. Cut off from the sea and its source of life, that fish has died.

Fellini ends the movie there, leaving us to make the connection between the dead, decaying fish and the empty, faithless and cut-off Marcello.

12 Fillini ideas | film stills, juliet of the spirits, film

Some people today are like that fish on the shore; they are like Marcello who has lost his faith. They are branches that have separated from Jesus’ great vine, thinking they can go it alone.[iii]

But as Jesus tells us, ‘Whoever remains in me, and I in him, bears fruit in plenty. But cut off from me you can do nothing.

‘Anyone who does not remain in me is like a branch that is thrown away – he withers.’


[i] https://www.winealchemy.co.uk/the-great-vine-the-worlds-oldest-grapevine/

[ii] Richard Leonard SJ, Preaching to the Converted. Paulist Press, NY. 2006:170-171.

[iii] William J Bausch, Once Upon a Gospel. Twenty-Third Publications, New London CT. 2011:134.

Year B – 4th Sunday of Easter

On the Shepherd and His Donkey

(Acts 4:8-12; 1Jn.3:1-2; Jn.10:11-18)

Today, on Good Shepherd Sunday, we celebrate our divine Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ.

What’s the mark of a good shepherd? It’s that he truly loves his sheep. He cares for his whole flock, and each individual sheep, even when it’s dangerous to do so. 

This is very different to the hired hand. As Jesus himself tells us, a hired hand only works for the money, and he’ll abandon his flock when a wolf appears. But the Good Shepherd has no greater priority. His flock is his life.

We all know how faithful our Good Shepherd is, don’t we? He is the One who rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and died for his flock soon afterwards.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/65/Private_Simpson%2C_D.C.M.%2C_%26_his_donkey_at_Anzac.jpg/220px-Private_Simpson%2C_D.C.M.%2C_%26_his_donkey_at_Anzac.jpg

Now, there’s another good man with a donkey we should remember, because today is also Anzac Day. Every Anzac Day, of course, we remember with deep gratitude all the servicemen and women who sacrificed their lives for our country. [i]

This other man with a donkey is the legendary Private John Simpson. [ii]

John Simpson was born in England in 1892, into a poor family of 8 children. When he was young, he helped support his family by working as a donkey-lad during the school holidays. In those days, children paid a penny for a donkey-ride, and Simpson used to walk with the animals and look after them.

In 1909, at the age of 17, Simpson joined the British Merchant Navy. When his vessel reached Australia, he jumped ship and went to work in the cane fields of Queensland, and the gold mines of Western Australia.

Then, in 1914, soon after WWI began, he joined the Australian Army’s 3rd Field Ambulance as a stretcher-bearer.

As soon as he and the other Anzacs landed in Gallipoli in 1915, they were attacked. And just as a shepherd carries wounded sheep on his back, Simpson quickly started carrying injured soldiers back to the beach.

The next morning, he found a donkey. He called it ‘Murphy’, and for the next 24 days Simpson and his donkey shared the burden of carrying wounded soldiers to safety. They worked day and night, rescuing over 300 men, ignoring the bullets and shrapnel all around them.

Then, on 19 May 1915, aged just 22, John Simpson was shot in the back and died. [iii]

Simpson was a cheerful young man. He often sang and whistled as he worked, and he carried his pet possum in his slouch hat wherever he went.

He never fired a single shot, though; he never killed an enemy soldier, and all who knew him said he was a good man ‘to have beside you when the whips were cracking’.

Mustering the Troops: Amazing colourised photos of Gallipoli

Neither John Simpson, nor his donkey, ever received a military award. Yet they surely represent the pinnacle of heroic goodness and noble sacrifice. [iv]

Jesus tells us that there’s no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (Jn.15:13). Why does he say this? It’s because genuine love, freely and unconditionally given, invariably involves some form of sacrifice. 

The deeper the love, the greater the potential sacrifice.

Like the Good Shepherd who laid down his life for his sheep, John Simpson set aside his self-interest and his personal comfort to look after the needs of others. And just like a good shepherd, he carried lost, wounded and frightened men to safety.

Today, we are reminded that many people around us still need the love and protection of a good shepherd. There are lots of wolves prowling around in our world today, and many people are vulnerable.

That’s why today is also the World Day of Prayer for Vocations, when we are all asked to pray for our modern-day priestly shepherds, and to consider whether we, too, might be called to shepherd others.

So, here’s the question: are you being called to serve as a good shepherd, by being kind, compassionate and merciful to others, just like Jesus?

Are you being called to help rescue the lost, the wounded and the frightened, just like Private John Simpson?

And are you being called to the priesthood, diaconate or religious life?

Whatever our calling, each of us can surely do something meaningful to help those who struggle. What might that be?

Jesus has set the example.  Now it’s our turn.


[i] Anzac Day is the solemn day of remembrance of all the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps soldiers who fought and died for their country. Each year it occurs on 25 April, the anniversary of the Gallipoli Campaign, their first engagement in World War One.

[ii] John Simpson was born John Kirkpatrick, in South Shields, England. He joined the Merchant Navy under his original name. But having jumped ship when his ship arrived in Newcastle, Australia, he thought it wiser to use his mother’s name Simpson when he joined the army.

[iii] http://www.smh.com.au/national/behind-the-anzac-myth-of-john-simpson-kirkpatrick-and-his-donkey-at-gallipoli-20150505-ggu8rz.html

[iv] http://blog.perthmint.com.au/2015/04/17/simpson-the-man-with-the-donkey-a-hero-that-knew-no-fear/

Year B – 3rd Sunday of Easter

On Telling our Story

(Acts 3:13-15, 17-19; 1Jn.2:1-5; Lk.24:35-48)

Ever since the first cavemen sat around log fires, people have loved stories.

Stories are powerful. They help us understand who we are and where we come from. They help build strong families and communities. They can teach and inspire, and they can heal.

After the Rwandan genocide, many therapists went to Rwanda to help damaged and abused souls. They took with them many new techniques, but it was only old-fashioned storytelling that seemed to heal their wounds. As the Rwandan men and women sat together and told of their sons and daughters and the horrors they endured, healing and forgiveness took place. [i]

Why do stories resonate so deeply? It’s because we’re all made in God’s image. Our heavenly Father is the greatest storyteller of all. Our world is his story; we are his characters. And his Scriptures are filled with legendary tales about famous men and women and God’s remarkable love for us.

Jesus, the Word himself, is certainly a storyteller. He uses parables to reveal things ‘hidden since the creation of the world’ (Mt.13:35). And he clearly understands the power of story to convey profound suffering, love and wisdom.

Our reading from Luke’s Gospel today immediately follows Jesus’ walk to Emmaus. After the two disciples recognise Jesus in the breaking of the bread, they rush back to Jerusalem to tell everyone.

While they’re telling their story, Jesus enters the room and says ‘Peace be with you.’ They’re all stunned; he must be a ghost! But Jesus shows them his wounds, and he explains that his passion, death and resurrection were all part of God’s plan. Everything written about him in the Scriptures, he says, had to be fulfilled.

‘You’re my witnesses,’ Jesus says, ‘you must tell the world.’ We find the same message is in Isaiah 42:8-10 and Acts 1:8. Jesus wants his witnesses to spread the news.

Why? It’s because Jesus’ presence is always a blessing to be shared. The world needs him.

In Luke 12:49, Jesus says, ‘I have come to bring fire to the earth.’ That’s exactly what happens after his resurrection. Christianity spreads like wildfire because of the convincing testimony of his witnesses. His disciples had a story to tell and they told it, even when it was dangerous to do so.

Today, it’s our turn. If Jesus has touched our hearts and lives in some way, we have a responsibility to tell others (1Pet.3:15-16).

How, then, might we do this, especially in this challenging, secular age?

A good way to start is quietly. In subtle ways let others notice that we follow Jesus. Let them see our Christian symbols – the ones we wear and carry, and those we display in our homes. Let them witness us praying and going to Church. Let them know about our Christian values and our happiness because Jesus loves us.

Then, when the time is right, share your story. In your own way and in your own words, let others know about your journey to conversion. How did you discover Jesus? Did he help you through a tough time? Did he answer a prayer? Did you learn a valuable lesson? How does Jesus speak to you? And what difference does he make in your life?

Your story doesn’t have to be dramatic, like St Paul’s journey to Damascus. It might even be simple, like St Therese of Lisieux’s.

But we all have a story to tell. And after sharing your story, leave the results to God. He’ll take care of what follows. As St Teresa of Calcutta used to say, our duty is not to be successful; it’s only to be faithful.

Pope St Paul VI once wrote: ‘Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it’s because they are witnesses.’ [ii]

Today, we are Jesus’ witnesses, and each of us has a story to tell.

Let’s close with a story.

Centuries ago, a rich sultan in Baghdad gave a banquet in honour of his son’s birth. Every guest brought expensive gifts, except a young sage who came empty-handed. He explained to the sultan, ‘Today the young prince will receive many precious gifts, jewels and rare coins. My gift is different. From the time he’s old enough to listen until his manhood, I’ll come to the palace every day and tell him stories of our Arabian heroes. When he becomes our ruler, he’ll be just and honest.

The young sage kept his word. When the prince was at last made sultan, he became famous for his wisdom and honour.

To this day, an inscription on a scroll in Baghdad reads, ‘It was because of the seed sown by the stories.’ [iii]


[i] https://chuckdegroat.net/2012/10/03/why-telling-our-stories-matters-leaving-egypt-bonus-track/

[ii] Evangelii Nuntiandi n.41 http://www.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_p-vi_exh_19751208_evangelii-nuntiandi.html

[iii] William J Bausch, Touching the Heart. Twenty-Third Publications, New London CT. 2007:8.

Year B – 2nd Sunday of Easter

On a Drop in the Ocean

(Acts 4:32-35; 1Jn.5:1-6; Jn.20:19-31)

We often hear about God’s grace and mercy. But what do these two words – mercy and grace – actually mean?

In his book From Superficial to Significant, David Chadwick answers this question in a story about his son. He once asked the boy to do something, but he refused: ‘I won’t do it!’ Chadwick asked him again, but he still wouldn’t budge, so he sent him to his room.

Later, Chadwick went to talk with him. The boy looked up tearfully and begged not to be punished. He didn’t want to receive what he knew he deserved.

Chadwick’s heart was deeply moved by his son’s contrition. He didn’t punish him. Instead, he hugged him and asked if he knew what he’d done wrong. The boy nodded yes, and asked for forgiveness.

Seeing God's Grace and a Judge's Mercy in Real-Time – Ministry Village at  Olive

Chadwick forgave his son. That was mercy: he didn’t give him what he deserved.

But he also took his son out for ice cream. That was grace, because he gave him what he didn’t deserve. [i]

Max Lucado has a shorter explanation for mercy and grace. Mercy, he says, gave the Prodigal Son a second chance. But grace gave him a feast (Lk.15:11-32).

In John’s Gospel today, the fearful disciples are in the Upper Room, fully aware that only two days before they had betrayed and abandoned Jesus. Then Jesus enters the room saying, ‘Peace be with you’. They are stunned, so he says it again, ‘Peace be with you.’

There’s no blame or retribution; only mercy and love.

Then Jesus gives them a remarkable grace. He says, ‘As the Father sent me, so I am sending you.’ Instead of punishing his disciples, Jesus commissions them to share his merciful love with all the world. ‘Receive the Holy Spirit,’ he says. ‘Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.’

With these words, Jesus gives his disciples the power to forgive sins. He creates a way for everyone – everyone, including you and me – to leave our sins behind and start afresh.

Saint Faustina

In 1931, Jesus appeared to a humble nun, Sr Maria Faustina Kowalska, in Poland. He was concerned that too many people are unaware of God’s loving heart, and in several visits until her death in 1938, he revealed to her the secrets of his Divine Mercy.

Jesus said that he will pour out a whole ocean of graces upon those souls who approach him for mercy.

The soul that goes to Confession and receives Holy Communion, he said, will receive complete forgiveness of sins and punishment. And this mercy is available even to the greatest sinners.

Jesus also asked for an image to be painted of him wearing white with rays of red and white coming from his heart. And he said that that he wanted the Sunday after Easter to be celebrated as the Feast of his Divine Mercy. [ii]

Lent and Easter Icons: Divine Mercy Icon | Monastery Icons

In the year 2000, Pope St John Paul II canonised Sr Faustina and established this special feast day, which we celebrate today. On that day he said: ‘Today my joy is truly great in presenting the life and witness of Sr Faustina to the whole Church as a gift of God for our time. By divine providence, the life of this humble daughter of Poland was completely linked with the history of the twentieth century … In fact, it was between the First and Second World Wars that Christ entrusted his message of mercy to her.

‘Those who were witnesses and participants in the events of those years and the horrible sufferings they caused for millions of people will know well how necessary was this message of mercy,’ he said. [iii]

Mother Angelica, the Poor Clare nun who founded the Eternal Word Television Network (EWTN), had a good explanation for God’s divine mercy.

She loved going to the beach, and although she wore leg braces, she liked getting close to the surf. One day, on a beach in California, a large wave came in and wet her shoes. Then she heard a voice, saying: ‘Angelica, that drop represents all your sins, all your imperfections and all your frailties. Throw it in the ocean’.

Mother Angelica Inspirational Plaque Confirmation Gift | Etsy

She threw it back, and then she heard the Lord say: ‘The ocean is my mercy. If you looked for that drop, would you ever find it?’

‘No, Lord,’ she replied.

Mother Angelica often told people that their sins are like that drop in the ocean.

‘Every day, every minute of the day,’ she said, ‘throw your drop in the ocean of his mercy. Then, don’t worry, just try harder.’


[i] David Chadwick, From Superficial to Significant. Harvest House Publishers, Eugene Oregon, 2017. https://www.harvesthousepublishers.com/books/from-superficial-to-significant-9780736967310 

[ii] https://www.amazon.com.au/Diary-St-Faustina-Mass-Market/dp/1596141107

[iii] http://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/homilies/2000/documents/hf_jp-ii_hom_20000430_faustina.html

Year B – Easter Sunday

On the Life of Stardust

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

Christ is Risen! Hallelujah! This is our song of joy; the foundation of our faith. But how can we be sure that Jesus is risen?

Let’s start with history, and then we’ll look at the science.

It’s important to remember that the Gospels and Epistles aren’t myths. They’re actually historical and eyewitness accounts of Jesus’ life and resurrection (2Pet.1:16).

All four Gospels record that women were the first to witness Jesus’ empty tomb. This is significant, because in ancient times it was illegal for women to witness anything official. If the resurrection had been faked, women would never have been mentioned.

It’s also significant that Jesus’ linen wrappings were left in his tomb. If his body had been stolen, the bandages would have gone with him.

St Paul tells us that after his resurrection, Jesus appeared to over five hundred men and women on one occasion (1Cor.15:6), and over a period of forty days he appeared to many other people as well (Acts:1:3). We also know that Jesus’ resurrected body was touched at least three times (Mt.28:9; Jn.20:17, 27).

And Luke tells us that after walking to Emmaus, Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Look at my hands and my feet. It’s me! Touch me and see; a ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones like this’ (Lk. 24:39).

But what’s truly profound is the way the disciples’ behaviour changed. When Jesus was arrested, they were terrified and went into hiding. But after his resurrection, they changed completely. They came out of hiding and started preaching with incredible courage and passion.

Within 20 years Christianity grew explosively. It spread to Rome and eventually became the official religion of the Roman empire, despite constant persecution from both the Jewish and Roman leaders. [i]

The Empty Tomb Proclaims a Powerful Message - Congregation of the Mission

The philosopher and theologian Peter Kreeft was once asked: ‘If Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, who started the resurrection myth and what profit did the liars get out of their lie?’

This was his answer: ‘I’ll tell you what they got out of it. They got mocked, hated, sneered and jeered at, exiled, deprived of property and reputation and rights, imprisoned, whipped, tortured, clubbed to a pulp, beheaded, crucified, boiled in oil, sawed in pieces, fed to lions and cut to ribbons by gladiators.’

‘If the miracle of the Resurrection didn’t happen,’ he said, ‘then an even more incredible miracle happened: twelve Jewish fishermen invented the world’s biggest lie for no reason at all, and died for it with joy, as did millions of others.’ [ii]

Now, let’s briefly consider the science of the resurrection.

In 2016, Jesus’ tomb inside the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem was opened for restoration. When scientists reached the ‘slab of anointing’, their Geiger counters went berserk and other technical instruments died.

They had been affected by very strong electromagnetic disturbances, which some scientists have connected to Jesus’ image on the Shroud of Turin. [iii] [iv]

And here’s one final insight: the Franciscan theologian Richard Rohr tells us that science is helping us understand that the mystery of the resurrection is the constant pattern of the universe. Things are always changing; nothing stays the same for ever.

Did you know that there’s the same number of atoms in the universe today that there were five seconds after the Big Bang happened some 13.8 billion years ago? Rohr says that these atoms just ‘keep playing musical chairs and by all evidence — at ever higher levels of complexity and consciousness’. For example, 98% of our bodies’ atoms are replaced every year, and geologists know that no landscape is permanent.

Text Box:

‘It’s not poetry to say we were all once stardust,’ Rohr says, ‘and what we are yet to be is the good surprise, the gift and pure grace of God.’

But, he says, God couldn’t wait for modern science to teach us that resurrection is a fact of life. People just needed to believe that Jesus ‘was raised from the dead’ so that the hope and possibility of resurrection could be planted in us.

His point is that Jesus’ life, death and resurrection reflect the whole pattern of creation. Jesus is the microcosm for the entire cosmos; the map for our journey.

Jesus’ resurrection wasn’t a one-off event. It’s happening inside us and outside us, all the time. God’s creation is constantly being made and re-made, whether we notice it or not.

Rohr says that anyone who holds any kind of unexplainable hope believes in resurrection, whether they are Christians or not. And the material resurrection of Jesus affirms what the whole physical and biological universe is saying to us: that everything is always changing.

Resurrection Of Jesus Stock Photos And Images - 123RF

‘The resurrection, therefore, is more than a mere spiritual belief. It must also be a material belief.’

So, let’s remember: Easter isn’t just one day. Easter is happening every day and everywhere! [v]

Hallelujah!


[i] http://augustinecollective.org/on-the-resurrection-of/

[ii] Peter Kreeft. ‘Miracles’, in Fundamentals of the Faith. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1988: 68.

[iii] Homiletic and Pastoral Review, https://www.hprweb.com/2021/03/homilies-for-april-2021/

[iv] https://ucatholic.com/news/scientists-opened-christs-tomb-detect-mysterious-readings-support-shroud-theory/

[v] https://www.ncronline.org/news/spirituality/once-we-were-stardust-and-what-we-will-be-good-surprise

Year B – Good Friday

On the Passer-By

[Is. 52:13-53:12; Heb.4:14-16, 5:7-9; Jn.18:1-19:42]

In their telling of the Passion of Our Lord, the four evangelists mention several people. One of them represents you and me.

He’s simply a passer-by, feeling hot and tired after walking into Jerusalem from the country. His sons Rufus and Alexander are with him, and he’s looking forward to celebrating Passover.

He notices many people about. Some seem happy, but others are crying. And there are Roman soldiers, looking irritated. ‘What’s happening?’ he wonders.

Then a soldier grabs him by the shoulder, and at spear-point forces him to help a bleeding man lift his heavy cross. This doesn’t look good.

The passer-by protests: ‘this has nothing to do with me!’ He doesn’t want to carry an instrument of torture; that’s humiliating. And he doesn’t want to touch that man’s blood. It will make him ritually unclean and shut him out of Passover.

But he has no choice. Resentfully, he steps forward to help this poor, weak man. For just a moment, though, they look at each other, and the passer-by senses this man’s innocence.

Simon of Cyrene then reaches down to lift that heavy load, and starts following Jesus of Nazareth. And as he does so, his life changes. Completely.

At first, Simon had thought that this was all just bad luck . But later, he understood that hidden inside that unwanted burden was the secret of his own salvation.

In his book The Passion and the Cross, Ron Rolheiser says that Simon of Cyrene was not central to the drama or the meaning of Jesus’ passion and death. He was actually an unimportant figure standing at the edge of things, when he was forced to play an unglamorous and self-effacing role. He had to sacrifice his own plans and he wasn’t happy about that. Yet this unplanned and humble service became the most important thing he ever did. It was his signature piece. It gave him a place in history far beyond that of millions of people who were once considered important in the drama of life.

Thousands of years from now, Simon of Cyrene’s name will be remembered, and for the right reason: he helped carry the Cross of Jesus. [i]

Jesus had hoped that his disciples, his closest friends, would be there for him. But they all failed him.

It was actually a stranger who helped him when he needed it most. That stranger was the answer to Jesus’ prayer there in the Garden of Gethsemane, when he begged his Father for help.

Sometimes the person who helps us most is just a passer-by.

Today, we live in a society that’s constantly urging us to take control of our lives, to do whatever we want. But we know that’s often impossible. We so often find ourselves doing things we never planned or wanted to do.

Just like Simon of Cyrene.

Perhaps it’s cleaning up someone else’s mess, or caring for an aging parent or disabled child, or having to find a new job, or facing an unexpected illness. We all have to bear such crosses.

But here’s the question: how do we respond?

Do we patiently accept these trials, and pray for help? Do we understand that such challenges help us grow in faith, love and maturity? And do we recognise that death on every holy cross is followed by resurrection and new life?

Or do we simply resent the inconvenience, and fight it all the way?

God loves us all, just as we are. But he loves us far too much to let us stay the same. He’s encouraging us to become better people.

Today, on Good Friday, we are reminded that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life. We must learn from him.

No-one is meant to suffer alone. No-one should have to carry their cross without help from someone else. And sometimes, like Simon of Cyrene, God calls on us to do the helping.

Yes, Jesus does ask us to pick up our cross and follow him. But Simon is the only man in history who actually carried Jesus’ Cross.

According to Church tradition, he and his sons became prominent Christian leaders. They may be the ‘men of Cyrene’ who preached the Gospel to the Greeks, as recorded in Acts 11:20. And St Paul praises Simon’s son Rufus and his mother in Romans 16:13.

Sometimes our crosses seem so random; so unnecessary. But as Simon discovered, the Cross of Christ wasn’t random at all.

The cross is always a divine gift; an invitation to change our lives.

And hidden inside every cross is the secret of our salvation.


[i] Ron Rolheiser, The Passion and the Cross. Franciscan Media, Cincinnati, OH. 2015:68-69.

Year B – Palm Sunday

On Wings of Love

[Is.50:4-7; Phil.2:6-11; Mk.14:1–15:47]

Halfway down the Mount of Olives, overlooking Jerusalem, is a little church called Dominus Flevit (‘The Lord Wept’). It’s shaped like a teardrop, and it marks the place where Jesus stopped and wept on Palm Sunday, on his way into Jerusalem (Lk.19:41).

In front of the altar there’s a circular mosaic of a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings. And around it in Latin are Jesus’ words from Luke’s Gospel: ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!’ (Lk.13:34).

These words, ‘you were not willing’, are set in a pool of red below the chicks.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus enters Jerusalem, acutely aware of its history of rejecting God’s messengers. He knows that soon it will be his turn, but he’s not angry; he’s just profoundly sad. He wants to gather his people and protect them, like a hen protects its chicks.

Yet they ‘are not willing’.

Just for a moment, though, it does looks promising as Jesus rides into the city on a donkey and the people welcome him as a great hero. They wave their palms about and they cheer him on, and the air is filled with joy.

But soon afterwards, the very same people turn on Jesus. They are so fickle.

Jesus is spat upon, beaten, whipped and mocked. He’s hit on the head and given a crown of thorns. He’s forced to carry that awful Cross. His clothes are stolen. Huge nails pierce his hands and feet. He’s given vinegar to drink. He’s left for dead and, just to make sure, he is speared.

Why does Jesus suffer like this? It’s because the people don’t want to change. They don’t want to hear his message of love. They don’t want to learn about peace, healing or forgiveness.

They don’t want to gather under his protective wings.

They would rather live shallow, worldly lives. So, Jesus is crucified.

Today, Jesus’ mission hasn’t changed. He’s still trying to teach us about love.  He’s still trying to teach us about peace, healing and forgiveness. He’s still trying to gather us under his protective wings.

But so many of us refuse to change. We much prefer to live worldly lives.

That’s why Jesus is still being mocked, beaten and crucified today.

Recently, I read about a farmer inspecting his property after a bushfire. As he searched through the rubble, he found a dead hen, with her wings outstretched. Her feathers had been scorched by smoke and flames.

When he removed her body, four little chicks came out from underneath, chirping and cheeping.

That hen had sacrificed herself, protecting her children.

That’s what Jesus did for us on the Cross. As the psalmist promised, ‘He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge’ (Ps.91:4).

Jesus still wants to protect us from the dangers of this world. He still wants to teach us how to live and love.

But are we willing?

‘Flevit super illam’ (1892) by Enrique Simonet (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid). It shows Jesus mourning on the Mount of Olives as he approaches Jerusalem. The title means ‘He wept over it’.

Year B – 5th Sunday of Lent

On the Paschal Mystery

[Jer.31:31-34; Heb.5:7-9; Jn.12:20-33]

In 1963, when he was only 21, Stephen Hawking learnt that he had Lou Gehrig’s disease. The nerves controlling his muscles were dying and his doctors gave him just over two years to live. He was shattered.

He thought his life was over, but he was wrong. He became a professor of physics and mathematics and he wrote 15 books.  He died 3 years ago, aged 76.

Hawking said that before his diagnosis he wasn’t much of a student; he’d been bored with life. But when he learnt that his life would be cut short, he worked hard to complete his research into black holes. [i]

Stephen Hawking’s disease gave him new life. It helped him become another Albert Einstein.

Ron Rolheiser tells us that there are two kinds of death.  There’s terminal death, which represents the end of life and the end of all possibilities.

And there’s paschal death, which is real death because something precious dies. It ends one kind of life, but it’s followed by a new, deeper and richer experience of life. [ii]

Paschal death is what Stephen Hawking had experienced as a young man.

Sometimes something in us has to die, before another part of us can flourish. 

That’s the paschal mystery, and Jesus talks about it in today’s Gospel. He’s in Jerusalem for the Passover festival, talking to some Greek pilgrims. He says, ‘Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest.’

What Jesus is saying is that if we want to live fulfilling lives, then we must be prepared to let go. We need to surrender ourselves to God, and allow him to work through us. Like grains of wheat, we must let our shells break open and expose our interior lives to God’s transforming grace. 

Jesus says that when we die to ourselves and let God work through us, we’ll start producing a bountiful harvest of fruit.

So, what part of us needs to die? It’s anything that keeps us away from God’s creative spirit. Anything, like our pride, our selfishness, our unhealthy obsessions and our fear. These things stop us from growing.

This paschal mystery is the rhythm of life, and it’s all around us. It’s in every sunrise and in every spring. It’s in the green shoots after every bushfire. It’s in the start of every new career, and whenever a broken heart finds new love.

It’s also in the story of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. His tragic life is transformed by a bishop’s surprising gift. And Oskar Schindler, the Nazi who discovers his soul and sacrifices everything he has to save 1,200 Jews. 

But the greatest paschal mystery of all is Jesus Christ himself. He is crucified, dies and is buried, and rises again to new life.

And it’s not only Jesus who is given new life; so are Mary and all the disciples who witness his resurrection, and everyone else who has followed Jesus ever since.

This is the joy of Easter: it’s the start of new life.

Henri Nouwen wrote that we are the people of the resurrection, living our lives with great vision that transforms us as we are living it. [iii]

Every now and then, something in our own lives dies and we’re left feeling shattered. But that’s never the end of the story.

There’s an old Japanese legend of a 15th century shogun warrior who broke his favourite tea bowl.

He sent it away to be repaired, but it came back full of ugly metal staples. He was disappointed, and asked a craftsman for a more elegant solution. 

This craftsman tried a new technique, mending every crack with a resin mixed with gold. The shogun was delighted. Streaks of gold ran through his tea bowl, telling the story of what had happened and adding to its beauty and value. 

They call this method Kintsugi, which means ‘golden seam’. It reflects the Japanese philosophy that an object’s value is not in its outward beauty, but in its imperfections and the story behind them. Every repaired piece is unique and its history is something to celebrate, not hide.

The art of Kintsugi shows us that there is both beauty and value in brokenness. [iv]

By God’s grace we are healed and restored to new life. Our faith in the resurrection is the gold that not only binds us back together, but gives us even more life, depth and meaning.

That is the paschal mystery.


[i] Stephen Hawking. My Brief History. Random House, London, 2013.

[ii] Ron Rolheiser OMI. The Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality, Crown Publishing, N.Y., 1999:146.

[iii] Henri Nouwen, Our Second Birth, Crossroad NY, 1998:150.

[iv] https://mymodernmet.com/kintsugi-kintsukuroi/

Year B – 4th Sunday of Lent

On Darkness and Light

[2Chron.36:14-16, 19-23; Eph.2:4-10; Jn.3:14-21]

In the ‘olden days’, the good guys in cowboy films often wore white hats, while the baddies wore black hats. [i] Do you remember that?

Film-makers, writers and artists have long used darkness and light as symbols in storytelling. They’ve used light and white to convey positive things like joy, hope and life, and darkness to signal bad things like fear, evil and death.

We can see this in the Lord of the Rings movies, where the good wizard Gandalf usually wears startling white, while his nemesis, the dark lord Sauron, appears in threatening shades of black and grey.

This theme of darkness and light is present all through the Bible, as it records the universal struggle between goodness and evil. Indeed, the Old Testament begins in darkness, when God creates light and calls it good (Gen.1:4). And in the New Testament, Jesus says, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness’ (Jn.8:12).

So many biblical stories mirror this model of light following darkness. Joseph, for example, is locked in a dungeon before Pharaoh calls him to public service (Gen.41:14). Jonah is trapped in the dark belly of a whale before he’s freed to become God’s messenger (Jon.1-4). Daniel is locked in a dingy lions’ den when he discovers God’s power and becomes an evangelist (Dan.6).

Lazarus is dead and buried before Jesus gives him new life (Jn.11:38-44). St Paul is blinded before becoming an apostle (Acts 9:1-19). And of course, Jesus dies and is buried before his dramatic resurrection to new life.

This light-after-darkness pattern is also reflected in today’s readings. In our first reading, the Jewish people have been living in exile in Babylon for many years, until the Persian king Cyrus allows them to return home to resume their lives.

And in today’s Gospel, Nicodemus, a wealthy Pharisee, wants to meet Jesus. However, it’s dangerous to be seen talking to him, so they meet under cover of darkness.

There they discuss faith and divine power, and Jesus explains that his incarnation is a sign of God’s profound love for the world.

He puts it this way: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life (Jn.3:16).’ This one sentence summarises the whole Bible.

Nicodemus emerges from that dark place a changed man. He has been touched by the light of Christ and he’s on the road to conversion.

Later in John’s Gospel, Nicodemus reminds the Jewish leaders that Jesus is owed a fair hearing (Jn.7:50-52). And after the crucifixion, Nicodemus helps Joseph of Arimathea prepare Jesus’ body for burial and he donates some very expensive aloes and myrrh (Jn.19:38-42).

Darkness is a natural feature of life. It comes in many forms, from the simple absence of light through to the deepest pain and anguish. Some people try to avoid it altogether, while others try to hide it under a mask.

The British writer HG Wells lived in London during WWII. One evening during the Blitz, a friend found him outside shaking with fear. ‘It’s not the bombs,’ Wells said. ‘It’s the dark. I’ve been afraid of darkness all my life.’

And yet, Kahlil Gibran wrote that the only way to reach the dawn is by the path of night. Everything, from creation and pregnancy to new ideas, begins in darkness. It’s just a question of how you react to it.

The Spanish mystic St John of the Cross (1542-91) was imprisoned for nine months in a tiny, dark and windowless cell in Toledo. The heat, the cold and the hunger were unbearable, but he didn’t become bitter. Instead, he used his time writing poems, including his most famous works, The Spiritual Canticle and Dark Night of the Soul.

In Dark Night of the Soul, St John explains the steps involved in the journey of the soul from its bodily home to union with God. He calls it The Dark Night because of the difficulty we so often have in letting go of our worldly attachments. It’s not easy burning away our faults and imperfections.

But here’s the thing: it’s in losing that we gain (Mt.10:39), and what we gain is so much more than what we lose.

St John writes: ‘Oh, night that guided me, Oh, night more lovely than the dawn, Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover, Lover transformed in the Beloved!’ [ii]

After escaping from prison, St John said he was forever grateful to his captors. He had learnt that darkness is a gift; it’s an invitation to new life.

He had learnt the truth of Jesus’ promise: ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness’ (Jn.8:12).


[i] In the Western movie 3:10 to Yuma (2007), Christian Bale’s good guy wears a white hat, and Russell Crowe’s bad guy wears a black hat.

[ii] https://holybooks-lichtenbergpress.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/Dark-Night-of-the-Soul-Saint-John.pdf