Author: Peter McCulloch

Dead Man Walking

(Jer.38:4-6; 8-10; Heb.12:1-4; 8-19; Lk.12:49-53)

It seems hard to believe that Jesus would ever say he’s come to set fire to our world, let alone cause division rather than peace. Yet that’s exactly what he does in today’s Gospel.

It’s tempting to try to soften these words. After all, isn’t Jesus the Prince of Peace? Didn’t the angels sing ‘Peace on Earth’ at his birth?

Yes, but not peace at any price. Jesus didn’t come to promote a false peace, one that avoids conflict by quietly hiding the truth or overlooking evil.

The fire Jesus came to bring is the fire of love, the fire of truth, and the fire that can divide but also purify and heal when it addresses an injustice.

There’s a good example of this fire at work in Tim Robbins’ movie Dead Man Walking. It’s based on the true story of Sister Helen Prejean.

Sr Helen is a sister of the Congregation of St Joseph and a tireless advocate for the abolition of the death penalty in the United States. In 1993 she wrote a powerful book detailing her experience as a spiritual advisor to two men on Louisiana’s death row.

In 1995, her book became a movie starring Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn. It tells the story of how Sr Helen accompanies one convicted murderer to his execution. She chooses to walk with him, not to excuse his crimes, but to help him face the truth, and to encounter the possibility of mercy.

This causes great division. The victims’ families and even some Church members are outraged that she gave him any support at all. ‘How can you comfort someone like him?’ they ask. ‘Aren’t you on the wrong side?’

But Sr Helen isn’t choosing sides. She’s choosing Christ. And sometimes Jesus divides us, not to destroy, but to save. Sr Helen brings the fire of truth and mercy into a place of hatred and shame. That fire hurts, but it also saves.

Jesus’ words today are not about violence or vengeance. They’re about the division that can happen when we stand for truth and love in a world that too often prefers comfort and convenience.

This division can occur when we choose to forgive rather than seek revenge, or when we refuse to gossip or participate in an injustice.

It can also happen when someone stands for life and the dignity of the poor, or when someone speaks out against cruelty, racism or violence.

They may lose friendships, and even family bonds may be tested. But that division isn’t meant to destroy relationships. It’s meant to expose the false peace for which we too often settle, and it opens the way for real reconciliation, grounded in truth.

Jesus says, ‘I’ve come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already!’ But what is this fire?

It’s the fire of the Holy Spirit, which is the flame of conversion, justice, and mercy. This is the fire that burns away our selfishness, refines our intentions and warms the cold parts of our hearts. This isn’t the fire of destruction. It’s the fire of transforming love.

So, what does all this mean for us today?

Most of us hate conflict and try to avoid anything that might cause division. But some divisions are necessary and some are holy.

Ask yourself: do I try to ‘keep the peace’ by avoiding something that deep down I know I should be doing?

Am I hiding an important truth for the sake of comfort?

Is Jesus calling me to take a stand, even if it makes me unpopular or uncomfortable?

Jesus doesn’t divide for the sake of destruction. He divides to make us whole.

Sr Helen Prejean has long argued that the death penalty is not only morally flawed, but incompatible with the Christian call to mercy, reconciliation, and human dignity.

She chose to enter a place that most people would run from – a prison cell. But by doing that, she brought a soul closer to salvation.

This is precisely what Jesus did. He walked into our broken world, full of fire and mercy. He, too, caused division as many people objected to his presence. But Jesus didn’t come to affirm our false peace. He came to save us, to give us hope.

Today, let’s pray that we will have the courage to welcome Jesus’ spiritual fire into our lives, burning away all that is empty and false.

May we be filled with the fire of God’s love.

May we accept the truth that sets us free.

To the Heights!

(Wis.18:6-9; Heb.11:1-2; 8-19; Lk.12:32-48)

Mountain climbing is more than just trying to reach the summit. It’s also a test of your planning and perseverance.

Fitness and practice are important, too, as is carrying only what you need. It’s also critical to stay focussed on the goal, especially when the going gets tough.

Mountain climbing is a good metaphor for life because we’re all ascending towards something. But here’s the question: what are we climbing towards?

Next month, on September 7, Pope Leo XIV will be canonising Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, who was a mountaineer, both literally and spiritually. He was born in Turin, Italy, in 1901.

Pier Giorgio’s father was a wealthy businessman and the Italian ambassador to Germany, and his mother was an artist. Neither had much connection with religion, but Pier Giorgio discovered Jesus at an early age and his faith grew quickly.

As a child he started giving away things like his food and his shoes to poor people. At other times he gave away his bus money. One cold winter he gave his shoes to a homeless man and walked home barefoot.

Pier Giorgio was very sociable and loved parties, but he worried about the rise of fascism, communism and anti-Catholic persecution in Italy. So, he got actively involved in Catholic youth groups and joined the St Vincent de Paul Society when he was 17.

He loved sports, hiking and climbing, and said that mountains lifted his soul towards God. But he also climbed to the spiritual heights of holiness, by living simply, going regularly to Mass and sometimes spending all night in Eucharistic adoration. In 1922 he joined the Lay Dominicans.

Pier Giorgio once wrote: ‘The higher we go, the better we shall hear the voice of Christ.’

He regularly visited the poor in the slums of Turin, often in secret, carrying groceries or medicine on his way to his university classes. He gave away so many things – his clothes, his money, and his time – but never his joy.

Then suddenly he got sick with polio. He had caught it from the slums where he’d helped so many people. But even on his deathbed he still worried about others. Just before he died, he scribbled a note reminding a friend not to forget the medicine for someone he had been helping. He died in 1925, aged only 24.

His parents expected a quiet funeral, but when thousands arrived they were stunned. They had no idea how much their son had been doing for others.

Pier Giorgio Frassati’s life reminds us that the way to God’s Kingdom is an upward path – one that demands readiness, simplicity and plenty of love.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples, ‘Don’t be afraid, little flock, for it has pleased the Father to give you the Kingdom.’

Now this is significant. Jesus doesn’t say sell everything first, and then God’s Kingdom will be yours. Rather, God is already giving you his Kingdom because he loves you. Now, all you have to do is trust and love him – and then ‘Sell your possessions and give alms.’

Why? It’s because you need to let go of whatever weighs you down. Like mountain climbing, it’s much easier when you carry very little.

Then Jesus utters his famous line: ‘Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’ This is like a spiritual compass. If you want to know where your heart is, just look at your treasure. What are you clinging to? Where do you spend most of your time, energy and love? And what do you most fear losing?

Pier Giorgio found his treasure in the faces of the poor, in friendship, in the Eucharist and in the joy of the Gospel. He happily gave away his privileges to climb towards a higher goal.

Today, Jesus is telling us to be ready, like servants waiting for their master. Not because of fear, but because we love God and long to see his face.

How might we be ready? By living with humility and deep purpose, doing whatever we can for others. As Jesus says, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected.’

We’ve all been blessed in so many ways, but what are we doing with it all? Pier Giorgio was born into a wealthy family, but he poured it all out for others.

He once said: ‘Charity is not enough; we must also bring them the truth.’

At his beatification ceremony in 1990, Pope John Paul II described Pier Giorgio as a ‘man of the eight beatitudes.’ His friends called him ‘an explosion of joy.’

Today, as we continue climbing that mountain towards the heart of God, let’s lighten our packs, trim our lamps and lift up our hearts.

And let’s consider adopting Pier Giorgio’s motto: Verso l’alto! – ‘To the heights!’ [i]

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[i] https://frassatiusa.org/frassati-biography

Lagom Living

(Ecc.1:2; 2:21-23; Col.3:1-5, 9-11; Lk.12:13-21)

There’s always something interesting to learn from other cultures. The Swedes, for example, have a very sensible concept they call Lagom.

Lagom basically means ‘just the right amount.’ It means knowing when enough is enough, and aiming for balance and moderation rather than constantly seeking more.

It’s the contented feeling you get when you have everything you need to be comfortable, including somewhere to live, something to eat, enough money and friends to get by, and being happy with that (Prov.30:8-9).

The idea of Lagom apparently comes from the Vikings, and from the expression ‘Lagom är bäst’, which means ‘The right amount is best.’ The Vikings used to pass mead around in a bowl or horn and each person had a sip, making sure everyone got their fair share.

Now, contrast that with the way many people live today. Many people have far more than they will ever need, and yet they’re still not satisfied.

There’s a word for this. It’s greed. Greed is craving something you like, when you really don’t need it. It’s about trying to get more of what you want, in a world where there’s never enough for everyone.

This worries Jesus. In fact, 16 of his parables mention money, wealth or material possessions. Why? It’s because our relationship with wealth says a lot about our priorities and our trust in God (Mt.6:21).

In Luke’s Gospel today, Jesus is teaching a crowd of people when a man calls out to him, ‘Master, tell my brother to give me a share of our inheritance.’ He has been fighting over this money and wants Jesus to adjudicate.

In those days rabbis gave legal judgements on a whole range of civil, criminal and religious questions. But this time Jesus doesn’t want to get involved. Instead, he tells the parable of a rich man who’s had a great harvest and plans to build bigger barns to store his new wealth. He wants to spend it all on a life of pleasure.

Today, many people would admire this man’s success, and yet Jesus calls him a fool. Why? It’s because the only thing he cares about is his wealth and the pleasure it gives him.

He doesn’t realise that everything comes from God, and that God expects us all to use what we have for the benefit others as well as ourselves (Eph.4:28).

And importantly, this man has forgotten about time. He dies soon afterwards and has to account for himself before God (Dt.16:16-17).

When we think about it, this story really isn’t about money. It’s about how we choose to live our lives. It’s not wrong to be wealthy, but it is wrong to be selfish with what we have, especially when it means that others go without.

In his book Balaam’s Donkey, Michael Casey writes, ‘What I want for myself involves my denying it to others, since there is not enough for everyone. But there is irony here. As the Irving Berlin song reminds us, “After you got what you want, you don’t want it.” We move on to the next thing.’

He continues: ‘You might recall that Ethan in John Steinbeck’s The Winter of our Discontent concludes that you can never have enough money; you either have no money or not enough. And wasn’t it the Beatles who sang, “Money can’t buy me love?” Greed remains hungry even when the monster is fed. Meanwhile, having acquired what we wanted, we worry about losing it, and if that should happen, we grieve over its loss. The moment of bliss is brief indeed.’ [i]

There is something very sensible about Lagom living, and striking the right balance in all aspects of our lives. At the end of the day, we only need enough. If we have too much, it means that someone else may be suffering.

Let’s close with a story.

A pastor was invited to the home of a wealthy man in Texas. After the meal, the host took him to a spot where they could get a good view of his land.

Pointing to the oil wells, he boasted, ‘I used to have nothing. Now, all you can see here is mine.’ Then looking in the opposite direction at his sprawling fields of grain, he said, ‘That’s all mine.’ Turning east toward his cattle, he bragged, ‘They’re also mine.’ Then pointing to a huge forest in the west he beamed, ‘That’s all mine, too.’

He paused, expecting to be congratulated on his success. But the pastor simply placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, pointed towards heaven and asked ‘How much do you have in that direction?’

The man thought for a while and then confessed, ‘I’ve never thought of that.’

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[i] Michael Casey, Balaam’s Donkey, Liturgical Press, Collegeville MN, 2018:188.

A Life of Prayer

(Gen.18:20-32; Col.2:12-14; Lk.11:1-13)

What is prayer? Essentially, it’s uniting ourselves with God. It’s raising our heart and mind to him, recognising his presence and conversing with him.

We tend to think that prayer begins with us, that somehow we must make it happen. But prayer doesn’t start with us. It starts with God. It starts with his constantly open arms and his unconditional love for us.

Prayer is about falling in love with God, who already loves us totally.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus’ disciples ask him how to pray and he teaches them the ‘Our Father.’ With its 5 petitions, Luke’s Our Father is shorter than Matthew’s version which we all use today. Matthew’s Our Father has 7 petitions (Mt.6:9-13).

Now, the Our Father isn’t just a prayer to recite, for it actually represents a way of life. We can see this in Matthew 13, where Jesus gives us seven parables.

These are often called the Kingdom Parables because each one tells us something about God’s Kingdom. At the same time, they also help us understand the seven petitions in Matthew’s Our Father, for they are closely paralleled. Let’s briefly look at each of them.

Hallowed Be Thy Name

To hallow God’s name is to make it holy in our lives. In the Parable of the Sower (Mt.13:1-23), the Word of God is scattered everywhere like seeds. Some hearts are hard and reject it, while others are only shallow. But some hearts receive it deeply and become very fruitful.

God’s name is truly hallowed when his Word grows fruitfully in our hearts. Do we reverently receive God’s Word? Do our lives honour his name?

Thy Kingdom Come

God’s Kingdom is growing, but we know there is resistance. In the Parable of the Weeds and the Wheat (Mt.13:24-30), good and evil grow side by side until the harvest.

When we pray ‘Thy Kingdom Come,’ we trust that God’s justice will prevail, even when the field looks messy. So, this is a prayer of patience and hope.

Thy Will Be Done

God’s will often begins quietly and small, like a mustard seed (Mt.13:31-32). But when it’s truly embraced, it becomes a sheltering tree.

Do we embrace God’s will when it seems small and insignificant? Do we trust his plan and allow it to grow in us? Do we nourish God’s presence in our lives?

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

Our daily bread is more than food; it’s God’s grace working inside us, like Yeast working in dough (Mt.13.33). God’s Kingdom rises within us when his grace is kneaded into every part of our life.

Do we feed our souls with God’s presence? Do we allow his grace to ferment and transform us? Do we make the most of the Sacraments? The Eucharist is the ultimate heavenly yeast – hidden, but life-giving.

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

The man who finds Treasure Hidden in a Field (Mt.13:44) sells everything he has to buy it. To grasp the treasure of God’s Kingdom we must let go of everything that blocks our path, including our sin and our pride. Do we value mercy more than our grudges? Are we prepared to let things go?

Lead Us Not into Temptation

The merchant who finds the Pearl of Great Price (Mt.13:45-46) is willing to sell everything to have it. We, too, must let go of any temptations that hold us back.

Every day we are tempted by the fake ‘pearls’ of pride, power, comfort and wealth. But only one thing is worth absolutely everything. Will we ask the Holy Spirit to help us find it, or will we settle for less?

Deliver Us from Evil

In Jesus’ seventh parable, the net catches both good and bad fish (Mt.13:47-50). Jesus promises that one day they will all be sorted out and separated.

This isn’t about fear. It’s about being faithful, because evil will not have the final word. God will deliver those who seek him with sincere hearts.

Every time we pray the Our Father, then, we enter into the loving heart of Jesus. But these aren’t just beautiful words; they are actually a way of life, and through his parables Jesus helps us understand what it all means.

So, whenever you recite the Our Father don’t do it mindlessly. Let Jesus’ words and his parables nourish and transform you from within.

Let’s now pray this wonderful prayer together:

Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us
and deliver us from evil. Amen.

The Better Part

(Gen.18:1-10a; Col.1:24-28; Lk.10:38-42)

What are we to make of Martha and Mary? People have argued over these two sisters for centuries.

Martha is bustling about in the kitchen preparing a meal, while Mary sits quietly at Jesus’ feet, revelling in his wisdom and love.

Martha is annoyed, and asks Jesus to get Mary to help her. But Jesus gently replies, ‘Martha, Martha, you fret about so many things, but only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part, and it’s not to be taken from her.’

Many people think that Jesus is scolding Martha, and perhaps even criticising her work. But he’s not. Rather, he’s saying that she needs to refocus. Martha feels so burdened by her chores that she’s missing the most important thing of all – her visitor. And Jesus, as we know, is the source of all life and love.

Jesus wants Martha to see that life isn’t about ceaseless activity. It would be much better for her to spend quality time with her guest, soaking up his wisdom and love, before doing what she had to do.

I remember having guests over for lunch one day, but I spent so much time in the kitchen that I started to realise that I was missing the point. Hospitality isn’t being with the dishes; it’s being with the visitors.

In his book The Naked Now, Richard Rohr talks about the importance of living in the moment. He says that Martha is a good woman, but she’s not present. She is not present to herself, to her own feelings of resentment, and to her own need to be needed. Rohr says this is the kind of goodness that does no good.

If Martha is not present to herself, then she really cannot be present to her guests and spiritually she cannot even be present to God. Presence is of one piece, Rohr says. How you are present to anything is how you can be present to God, loved ones, strangers and those who suffer. How you live in the moment matters.

This is why Jesus affirms Mary. She knows how to live in the moment. She knows how to be present to Jesus, and presumably, to herself. She understands the one thing that makes all other things happen at a deeper and healing level. If you are truly present, Rohr says, you’ll be able to know what you need to know. [i]

Sadly, our noisy and anxious world has little patience for contemplatives like Mary. We can see this in Jane Campion’s hauntingly lyrical movie The Piano.[ii]

Set in the 1800s, it tells the story of Ada, a mute Scottish woman who is sent into an arranged marriage in New Zealand. Ada is a withdrawn, reflective figure with a deep and silent connection to mystery and beauty, rather like Mary. Her inner life centres on one thing: her piano. It’s her sanctuary, her prayer, and how she expresses what she cannot say.

The colonial society she has joined, however, including her husband and the other settlers, are all busy like Martha, doing, expecting and controlling. For them, life is all about work, practicality and obedience.

They don’t understand Ada at all.

There’s one confronting scene where her husband is infuriated by her refusal to conform, and he destroys part of the piano and even chops off one of her fingers. It’s a brutal moment, but it symbolises what can happen when the world tries to silence the inner voice and quiet spirit of the Mary within us.

Many of us are programmed to live like Martha. We are so busy, so distracted and so wedded to our results-driven world that we often miss what really counts.

Today’s Gospel reminds us that there is a better way: a way of life that’s not measured by efficiency and sweat, but by heart-filled presence. Mary teaches us that the truest hospitality is not in the food or the cleaning, but in welcoming Jesus into the silence of our hearts.

And in The Piano, Ada teaches us that the contemplative life is not passive or weak. It’s resilient and even revolutionary because it resists the world’s demands and it treasures what is sacred.

Of course, we must honour the work of the world’s Marthas. But Mary reminds us that we are more than what we do, and perhaps it’s time for us to sit quietly with Jesus for a while.

Today, if your inner life has been silenced, God is inviting you to find your voice again. Not through noise, but through stillness, beauty and prayer – just like Mary.

Mary is well grounded. She knows who she is. She knows what she has to do.

This is the better part.

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[i] Richard Rohr, The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, Crossroad Publishing, NY. 2009:58-59.

[ii] Jane Campion, The Piano (1993). https://youtu.be/61ooIf1QDZo

Three Good Samaritans

(Deut.30:10-14; Col.1:15-20; Lk.10:25-37)

The question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ has long been controversial.

Many people define their neighbour quite narrowly, while others say that this not only includes those around them, but also the animals and the land as well.

So, who do you think is your neighbour?

In today’s Gospel, a lawyer asks Jesus this question and he replies not with a definition, but a story. A man is beaten up and left for dead by robbers on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. A Jewish priest and a Levite see him there, but don’t stop to help.

Then a Samaritan appears. He binds the man’s wounds, he takes him to an inn and pays for his care, and he promises to return.

The significance of this story rests on the fact that the Jewish people despised the Samaritans. They considered them impure, inferior and incapable of doing anything worthwhile. And yet only the Samaritan helps this poor injured man.

Richard Rohr says that the two Jewish men aren’t necessarily bad people; they just have other priorities. It was against their law for them to touch a bleeding man, and they wanted to be sure that nothing stopped them from doing their priestly duties in the Temple.[i]

For the Good Samaritan, however, compassion is much more important than any cultural or legal expectations.

This parable reminds us of another story in the Old Testament, in 2 Chronicles 28, where the Israelites of the Northern Kingdom defeat the Judeans in the south. The victors then take 200,000 men, women and children captive from their homes around Jerusalem and Jericho.

But then the prophet Oded confronts the Israelite army on their way back to Samaria. And he asks, ‘Have you not also sinned? Will you now make your fellow Israelites your slaves?’ This makes the victors think, and they not only decide to free the captives, but they also feed the hungry, bind up the wounded, and return them all safely home.

For Oded, compassion is far more important than any military triumph.

Someone who was greatly influenced by the courage and compassion of the Good Samaritan was the French priest, St Vincent de Paul (1581–1660).

He was ordained at the age of 19 and for the next 60 years he dedicated himself to serving the sick and destitute in the villages and towns of France, visiting them and giving them food, clothing, shelter and spiritual care.

Like Mother Teresa, he recognised Jesus in the poor and he liked to say that ‘The poor are our masters… they are the suffering members of Christ.’

Along with St Louise de Marillac he founded a community of nuns, the Daughters of Charity. They lived among the poor, running hospitals, orphanages, and soup kitchens. He trained them to be practical, loving and joyful, and said, ‘Their convent is the streets; their chapel, the parish church; their cloister, the hospital wards.’

In effect, they were the ‘innkeepers,’ continuing the Good Samaritan’s work of ongoing care.

At the time, France suffered from terrible famines and civil war, and Vincent responded by organising donations and support networks to send food, clothing and medical supplies to those affected.

In 1619, King Louis XIII appointed him chaplain of the galley slaves in Paris and Marseilles. These were prisoners who were chained to benches and forced to row large warships, often for hours or days without rest. They were often beaten, starved and forced to sleep in filth. Not surprisingly, many died from exhaustion or disease.

Vincent didn’t just send help; he boarded the ships himself and entered the filthy lower decks; he spoke with the prisoners, treated their wounds and organised fresh food, clothing and volunteers to help them.

Like the Good Samaritan lifting the wounded man onto his own donkey, Vincent lifted up these men up with dignity and hope. He listened to their stories, heard their confessions and shared his wisdom. And he lobbied the authorities, urging better treatment of these men.

St Vincent de Paul was a Good Samaritan not just once, but throughout his life. Like Jesus, he crossed every social, moral and physical barrier to serve people no one else would touch. And he established communities that continued this work long after he was gone.

St Vincent knew that compassion isn’t just feeling sorry or praying for someone who is suffering. Compassion is actively doing something to help them.

Here, then, is your question for today: who is your neighbour?

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[i] Richard Rohr, The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, Crossroad, NY, 2009: 122–123. 

Unready Adventurers

(Is.66:10-14; Gal.6:14-18; Lk.10:1-12; 17-20)

Have you ever begun a journey before you felt you were ready?

In JRR Tolkein’s book The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins is at home reading, drinking tea and enjoying his safe and tidy life. Then Gandalf the wizard knocks on his door. He’s come to invite him on an adventure.

‘We don’t want any adventures here, thank you!’ Bilbo replies. But by the next morning something stirs inside him – something stronger than fear, something deeper than comfort. And then, without any preparation, without any supplies, without any real idea of what he’s doing, he runs to catch up with the others.

Bilbo is clearly unprepared for what lies ahead. He has no weapon, no map, no survival skills. But what he does have – and this gradually reveals itself – is courage, faith, and a sense of purpose beyond himself.

That unready hobbit goes on to face goblins, trolls, spiders and the great dragon Smaug – not because he knows how, but because he learns to trust, to endure and to grow. Bilbo discovers that his strength lies not in what he carries, but in what he learns to let go: his pride, his fear, and the illusion of control.

He learns that smallness and simplicity are not weaknesses. They are strengths in the hands of a greater purpose.

But this isn’t just the story of a hobbit. It’s also the story of a disciple.

In Luke’s Gospel today, Jesus sends out seventy-two disciples into the villages of Galilee. Like Bilbo, they’re not warriors or scholars or elite religious figures. They’re ordinary, humble people and he sends them out in pairs into unknown lands. Travel light, Jesus says. Take no money, no extra gear, no backup plan.

But they do carry one thing – a message: ‘The kingdom of God is near.’

The disciples leave feeling nervous, but after their journey they return amazed, not at their own strength, but that God has worked through them.

There’s a simple connection between Bilbo Baggins and Jesus’ disciples: they all said yes when it would have been much easier to stay home. But here’s the point: God does not send the best-equipped. He sends the willing.

Like Bilbo, Jesus’ disciples must learn as they go. They must learn how to trust, how to face rejection, and how to carry peace and love into uncertain places.

And just like Bilbo, the disciples discover that what at first seems like a small act of courage opens the door to a remarkable transformation – not just for those they meet, but also for themselves.

Through the centuries, many people have set out like this, unready, uncertain and seemingly unqualified to do something special for God. But in the end they found themselves transformed by accepting God’s surprising call.

One such person was St Josephine Bakhita. She was a Sudanese woman who was kidnapped as a child, sold into slavery and passed from master to master. She ended up in a strange foreign land, Italy, where she encountered something that awakened her true identity.

She was rescued in Venice by the Canossian Sisters (a religious order founded in 1808). They gave her a home and treated her with great kindness. It was here that she discovered the love of God. She was baptised, took religious vows and lived the rest of her life as a sister, doing humble tasks like cooking and welcoming guests.

She also did what she could for the poor and broken, especially young girls who had been trafficked or abused.

To those she met, Josephine Bakhita radiated holiness, like a lamp burning quietly in a darkened room.

Much like Bilbo Baggins, Josephine began her journey as someone who was timid and quickly disregarded, for she was just a slave. But through her trials she developed a courage and an interior strength built on gentleness, patience and profound forgiveness.

She once said: ‘If I were to meet those who kidnapped me… I would kneel and kiss their hands, for if these things had not happened, I would not have found Christ.’

In the end, Bilbo returns home with much more than gold – he comes back knowing himself. And St Josephine discovers treasure, too. Not worldly riches, but the joy of knowing that she belongs to the heart of God.

So, what about you? Do you hesitate because you feel unprepared? The point of today’s stories is you don’t have to be ready, especially if God is calling.

You just have to say yes.

God doesn’t send us because we’re ready. He sends us because he believes in us. He has all we need.

So, if you’re feeling small and unsure, just remember that’s an excellent place to start.

Just like Bilbo, St Josephine Bakhita and Jesus’ disciples.

Two Good Men

(Acts 12:1-11; 2Tim.4:6-8, 17-18; Mt.16:13-19)

Most saints have their own separate feast day, but occasionally two or more share the one celebration. Today it’s the turn of Saints Peter and Paul, the two giants of our Christian faith.

Why do we celebrate them together? It’s because they were the two principal pillars of the early Church. Certainly, Jesus has always been the foundation stone, but Peter and Paul were instrumental in establishing the early Church.

St Peter was Jesus’ first disciple, our first Pope and the Apostle to the Jews. He knew Jesus personally.

St Paul however didn’t physically meet Jesus, and as a Pharisee he initially hated and even persecuted the Christians, but after his miraculous conversion he became the Apostle to the Gentiles. He played a major role in reaching out to non-Jews, and 13 of the 27 letters in the New Testament have been attributed to him.

Peter and Paul were very different in upbringing and in temperament. Peter was born in Bethsaida, a fishing town near the Sea of Galilee. He came from a very modest background and was described as ‘uneducated and ordinary’ (Acts 4:13). He was a fisherman by trade. He was impetuous and often spoke from his heart rather than his head.

Paul, on the other hand, was born into a wealthy merchant family in Tarsus, in today’s Turkey. He was a Roman citizen and well educated (Acts 22:3). He was a tentmaker by trade and very good with words, but his personality was fiery and he could be argumentative.

There are many statues and paintings of these two saints today. We usually see Peter holding a key, symbolising his role as head of the Church, while Paul holds a Bible, symbolising his powerful preaching.

Many icons also portray them embracing each other in brotherly love, however this doesn’t mean they didn’t clash.

One clash occurred in the mid-1^st Century in Antioch. Peter was eating with Gentile Christians, demonstrating his acceptance of non-Jewish Church members. But when some men arrived from the Jerusalem Church, Peter quickly left the table. He feared what these visitors might think, because the Jerusalem Church expected all Christians to observe Jewish Laws.

Paul accused Peter of hypocrisy for this and rebuked him. It was wrong, Paul said, to expect everyone to live by Jewish rules, because we know that man is not saved by the works of the law, but by faith in Christ alone (Gal.2:11-16).

These two men must have later reconciled because at a Jerusalem Council meeting Peter admitted that Paul was right (Acts 15:7-11). And in his second letter, Peter acknowledges Paul’s wisdom and he warmly refers to him as ‘our beloved brother Paul’ (2Pet.3:15-16).

So, what happened to these two men? History tells us that they were both imprisoned in Rome, and martyred only a few days apart in 64AD, just after the great fire of Rome. It was Nero who had them executed.

Peter felt unworthy to die in the same way as Jesus, so he was crucified upside down. The location was in the courtyard just to the left of St Peter’s Basilica today. Paul was beheaded just outside Rome, at a place now known as Tre Fontane, or ‘Three Fountains.’

Peter and Paul were very different people, but they had one thing in common: their great love for Jesus. They were so committed to Jesus and his work that they were prepared to die for him.

So, what can we learn from these two good men?

They teach us that our weaknesses and past mistakes don’t disqualify us from doing great things for God. Both men had done stupid things, and yet God still chose them to do his work. Clearly, no-one is beyond redemption.

Peter and Paul also teach us that what unites us in the Church isn’t our sameness. Rather, it’s our shared faith in Jesus that brings us together. Indeed, it is much better to have a mix of backgrounds and talents in the Church because it makes us stronger, not weaker.

As well, they teach us that disagreement can be healthy, especially when it’s handled with humility and honesty. As long as we keep Christ central in our lives, it’s always possible for us to meet in the middle.

And finally, St Peter and St Paul teach us that it takes courage to live a life of faith, for our world has never liked Jesus and his message.

However, if our faith is genuine, Jesus promises to always support, strengthen and guide us on the way (Mt.6:31-33;11:28-30; Jn.16:13).

A Taste of Heaven

 (Gen.14:18-20; 1Cor.11:23-26; Lk.9:11b-17)

Cooking shows have long been popular, but their focus tends to be much too narrow. They usually emphasise things like taste, presentation, ingredients and technique.

The dynamics of eating, however, are far more complex than that. Where you eat, with whom you eat and who prepares and serves the food are often just as important as what we consume, if not more so.

We can see this in the Bible. It’s full of meals, from Eve’s Forbidden Fruit in Genesis, through to the Wedding Feast of the Lamb in the Book of Revelation. And in between are the manna in the desert, Elijah’s hearth cake, Jesus’ eating with tax collectors and sinners, his feeding of the multitudes, and of course the Last Supper.

Each of these says something very important about God and ourselves.

‘The Son of Man has come eating and drinking,’ Jesus says, and his critics are outraged. But Jesus knows what he is doing. He knows that a shared meal can heal wounds, nourish hope, build trust and foster connection.

And he knows that food preparation is itself an act of love, for as St Teresa of Avila liked to say, ‘God is in the pots and pans.’

We can see this in Gabriel Axel’s 1987 movie, Babette’s Feast, which is based on a short story by Karen Blixen. It tells the story of two elderly sisters who live together in a remote coastal village in Denmark in the 1800s.

Their father, a Protestant pastor, had established a strict and joyless religious community there many years before. And after his death, his daughters take responsibility for them.

One stormy evening, a stranger arrives at their door. It’s Babette, carrying a letter from someone they know, asking them to take her in as a housekeeper. ‘She can cook,’ the letter says.

Babette is traumatised. She has just fled Paris, where her husband and son had just been killed in the French Revolution.

The two sisters don’t need a housekeeper, and they can’t afford one. However, they let Babette stay and she humbly serves them without pay for the next fourteen years. The sisters show her how to cook bread and fish the way they like it – dry and bland.

But what they don’t know is that Babette is an outstanding chef. She had been the head chef at one of Paris’ most famous cafés.

One day, Babette surprisingly wins 10,000 francs in a lottery. The whole village expects her to return to Paris, but she doesn’t. Instead, she offers to organise a ‘real French dinner’ for the sisters to celebrate what would have been their father’s 100^th birthday.

At first they refuse this offer because they only eat bland food. But Babette persuades them to accept, and she sends her nephew off to Paris to buy lots of expensive ingredients including turtle and quail. The villagers are shocked by this and the sisters fear this meal might be sinful. But they really can’t refuse, so they decide to eat the food without talking about it.

As Babette’s feast begins there are twelve guests, mirroring the Last Supper. One is a visiting general who has often dined in Paris. As Babette’s dishes arrive, he is astonished by their taste and quality, and he savours every bite. He knows this meal is outstanding.

One specific dish reminds him of the chef at the Café Anglais in Paris. Here, he is like the disciple on the road to Emmaus who recognises Jesus in the breaking of the bread (Lk.24:35). But that dish, cailles en sarcophagi (‘quail in a coffin’), also evokes the burial of her husband and son – and of Jesus Christ.

And when the general asks for some more wine, Babette gives him a whole bottle, reflecting Jesus’ extraordinary generosity at the Wedding at Cana.

Babette’s Feast is the story of a meal that is deeply Eucharistic. It involves real food and real wine, and it conveys an invisible grace that changes each person.

They begin to giggle and smile. Wounds heal, bitterness and fear disappear, and joy takes hold. Silently, mysteriously, the meal transforms their hearts.  

Babette is like Jesus. She is misunderstood, but still freely sacrifices all she has for these villagers, so that they might come together in love. And she asks for nothing in return.

Like so many of us at Mass, Babette’s guests don’t really understand what’s happening. At first they eat suspiciously, but then something inside them changes.

They used to think that pleasure and holiness cannot mix, but now they know that grace is never stingy. It’s always extravagant and joy-filled.

Sometimes, when we sit at the table of grace, we find ourselves receiving something far more than a meal:

A taste of heaven.

Andrei Rublev’s Trinity

(Prov.8:22-31; Rom.5:1-5; Jn.16:12-15)

Today let’s explore God’s Holy Trinity through Andrei Rublev’s famous icon, Trinity, which he painted in 1410. It’s owned by Moscow’s Tretyakov Gallery. [i]

Rublev painted it for the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity which holds the tomb of St. Sergius of Radonezh, who famously believed that ‘The contemplation of the Holy Trinity destroys all enmity.’

Rublev painted this icon to encourage this contemplation.

It depicts a scene from Genesis, in which three angels visit Abraham at the Oak of Mamre to tell him about the birth of Isaac (Gen.18:1-8). They’re sitting around Abraham’s table, enjoying his hospitality.

These visitors aren’t just angels, however. They’re the three persons of the Trinity. From left to right, they are God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. They’re sitting in a balanced triangle, none more important than the other. Each holds a staff pointing towards both heaven and earth, indicating their shared authority, and their wings and haloes indicate their holiness.

Now, see their faces: they’re neither male nor female, and look like triplets. And notice their similar garments. Blue is the colour of heaven and mystery, while gold represents their royalty. But each also wears something different. The Holy Spirit has a green cloak. Green is the colour of springtime, and the Nicene Creed describes the Holy Spirit as the ‘Lord, the Giver of Life’.

Jesus is wearing a dark red robe, which points to his incarnation as an ordinary man. It also points to his crucifixion.

On the left, God the Father’s cloak is translucent. This symbolises his eternal glory, but also the fact that we can’t see him in this life.

Abraham’s table represents our world of time and space. But it’s also an altar bearing a golden chalice. Jesus is pointing to it with two fingers, representing his two natures – human and divine. He’s also pointing to the Holy Spirit who fills Jesus’ disciples with love.

Now look at the way they’re sitting, all inclined towards each other in a silent dialogue of love.

Behind Jesus is a tree which represents the Oak of Mamre, where this story takes place. It reminds us of the Tree of Life in Revelation 22:2, which produces twelve different kinds of fruit and has leaves which are perfect for healing. 

It also points to the wood of the Cross on which Jesus died for us.

Behind the Father is a doorless church, symbolising God’s hospitality. In John 14:2, Jesus says his Father’s house has many rooms which he will prepare for us when our time comes.

And behind the Holy Spirit is a mountain – the Mount of the Beatitudes.

Now, look carefully. The inner line of the body and legs of the Father and the Spirit forms the shape of a Eucharistic cup, and Jesus is inside it.

You can also see that the outline of their bodies makes a circle, which represents the Eucharistic host which we receive at Mass (Mt.26:26-28). It also represents their holy communion, their perfect union as one Trinitarian God, united in love.   

But why does God include three persons? Richard Rohr says that for God to be good, God can be one. For God to be loving, God has to be two because love is a relationship. But for God to be supreme joy and happiness, God has to be three. That’s because lovers do not know full happiness until they both delight in the same thing. [ii]

Put another way, the Father is the lover, the Son is the beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the fruit of that love. And they want us to join them. Look at the Holy Spirit’s hand. He’s pointing to the space at the front, and inviting us to join their divine communion. 

At the front of the table, do you see that little rectangle? There was once a mirror there, which served as an invitation to us to enter into this divine circle.  Whoever saw this icon could see themselves reflected in it. [iii]

In Byzantine art, the viewer always forms part of the icon, so there are at least four figures in this picture. And we directly face Jesus, because he’s the only person of the Trinity we can really know in this life. 

Indeed, whenever we come forward for the Holy Eucharist, we’re received into the divine communion of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

In our increasingly fragmented and troubled world, it’s important to remember that we’ve all been created in God’s image and likeness.

God lives in loving communion, and right now he’s calling us to join him in his circle of perfect, selfless love. [iv]

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[i] I took this photo myself when I visited the gallery in Moscow some years ago. The icon is considerably larger than I expected, at 142 cm × 114 cm (56 × 45 inches).

[ii] Richard Rohr, Yes, And … Franciscan Media, Cincinatti OH. 2013:100.

[iii] Richard Rohr, The Divine Dance. Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, London. 2016:30-31.

[iv] For further insights, go to https://catholic-link.org/andrei-rublevs-icon-of-the-holy-trinity-explained/