Author: Peter McCulloch

On a Friend for the Journey

(Am.7:12-15; Eph.1:3-14; Mk.6:7-13)

In today’s Gospel, Jesus sends his disciples out into Galilee, to preach, to heal and to spread the love of God. But first he gives them some instructions.

‘Take nothing for the journey but a staff,’ he says. In other words, travel light.  And ‘Take no bread, no bag and no money.’ So, trust in God. He’ll supply all you need.

Then he says, ‘Wear sandals, but don’t take a spare tunic’. Back then, rich people wore shoes, but poor people wore sandals. So, dressing simply will help you connect with ordinary people. 

And then he says, ‘If you enter a house, stay there until you leave the district’. This means don’t be fussy. Accept what’s offered to you, and spend time getting to know the locals.

Interestingly, these instructions are very similar to the ones God gave the twelve tribes of Israel before they left Egypt. God sent them to the Promised Land with no bread, only one set of clothes, wearing sandals and carrying a staff (Ex.12:11; Dt.8:2-4). And like the twelve disciples, the twelve tribes were all expected to rely on God’s grace and providence.

Today, we are Jesus’ disciples, so these instructions are meant for us.  Jesus wants us to share our faith by going out into the world, preaching, teaching and healing in whatever way we can. And to be authentic, we should live simply and modestly, just as he did, relying less on ourselves and trusting more in God’s grace and providence. He’ll give us what we need.

Of course, we don’t have to be anyone special to do this. We only need faith and a willingness to try.

Now, it’s significant that Jesus sends his disciples out in twos. This is a pattern throughout Scripture. Had you noticed? In the Old Testament, Moses and Aaron, Nathan and David, and Jeremiah and Baruch all pair up to do God’s work.

In the New Testament, too, Jesus never sends his disciples to do something alone. For example, he sends two disciples to fetch a colt before he enters Jerusalem (Lk.19:29-30).  He sends Peter and John to prepare for the Passover (Lk.22:8).

John the Baptist sends two disciples to see Jesus (Mt.11:2). St Paul works with Barnabas (Acts 9:27), and he sends Timothy and Erastus to Macedonia (Acts 19:22). And two disciples walk together on the road to Emmaus. 

Almost nowhere in the Gospels and in the Acts of the Apostles do we see disciples working alone. Why?

Perhaps it’s because ‘two are better than one’ (Ecc.4:9).  Certainly, two people can be more effective than one. And when beginners work together, they can encourage and support and learn from each other.

St Gregory the Great said that the disciples were sent out in pairs so that they could demonstrate the two greatest commandments: to love God and each other.  

Certainly, it is much easier to communicate Christian love when you have a companion. 

Many years ago, a man was asked by his young daughter to explain why he believed in God. This seems like such a simple question, but at the time he couldn’t answer. Deep in his heart he loved God, but there was a problem: he rarely talked about his beliefs.

For years he’d used his eyes and his ears to absorb the faith, and what he learned he stored in his heart. But he almost never used his mouth to share or express what he’d learned. So, when his daughter asked him about his beliefs, he couldn’t find the right words. He was embarrassed.

That man was me. That experience taught me that as Christians we’re not meant to be ‘Lone Rangers’. Genuine Christianity means real connections with other people, where we share what’s in our hearts, our minds and our lives.

Have you found your voice? Can you express in words what you feel in your heart? Can you articulate your faith to others?

If you can’t, find someone to share your faith with. Perhaps a friend or a spiritual director. Practice talking to them about your faith experience, your doubts, your fears and your joys.

To really grow in faith, we need to talk about it. Learning to talk about our faith helps to give shape to our ideas, and it reinforces the learning.

Whenever we do this, it becomes much easier to do what Jesus wants us to do – to go out and share his good news.

Jesus said, ‘Whenever two or three are gathered in my name, I’m there with them’ (Mt.18:20).

So, go find yourself a faith friend and learn to talk about what you believe.

On Holy Indifference

(Ezek.2:2-5; 2Cor.12:7-10; Mk.6:1-6)

How do you respond to rejection? Do you get angry and upset?

In today’s gospel, Jesus returns home to Nazareth. It’s early in his public ministry, and he’s gained quite a reputation across Galilee for preaching and healing. But his hometown neighbours can’t accept it. They refuse to see him as anything but a lowly workman. So, Jesus quietly leaves town again.

In 1917, something similar happened to the three shepherd children of Fatima (Francisco, Jacinta and Lucia). The local mayor refused to believe that they’d met the Virgin Mary. He bullied them and demanded that they admit their lies.

And in 1858, in Lourdes, young Bernadette Soubirous was also threatened. The police and the local priest thought she was lying, too, because ‘Mary would never choose to visit a poor peasant girl like her’.

How did these children respond? They stood firm, and learnt to show holy indifference. Now, what does that mean?

St Vincent de Paul (1581-1660) explained holy indifference by describing the donkey. This animal, he said, is indifferent about carrying one thing or another. It doesn’t care whether it’s guided by a rich or a poor man, or whether it’s in a fine house or a wretched stable. For the donkey, it’s all the same.

So, holy indifference means accepting whatever comes our way without complaining. Why would we do that? It’s because we trust God, and we know that ultimately, our only purpose in life is to do his will. [i]

After meeting Our Lady in Fatima, young Francisco caught the deadly Spanish ‘Flu.  And Bernadette of Lourdes contracted tuberculosis. They both suffered greatly, but neither complained. They accepted their sickness as God’s will. 

That’s holy indifference.

Have you seen Michelangelo’s Pietà? It’s in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Michelangelo completed this sculpture in 1499, when he was only 24. It depicts the Blessed Virgin Mary cradling Jesus’ body, just moments after he was taken down from the Cross. 

Now, as a grieving mother, you might expect Mary to be crying and holding Jesus’ body tightly. But look closely: this is a good example of holy indifference.

See Mary’s face. Is she filled with sorrow, grief and tears? No. She’s very much at peace.

Now see her hand on the left. Is she touching Jesus? No. There’s cloth between her hand and his body. She’s detached from his lifeless form.

And her other hand? It’s not touching his body, either. Mary’s hand is open and she’s gently presenting the Body of Christ to us as a gift, as a sacrifice for our salvation. This image is deeply Eucharistic.

Now look at Jesus’ body. It seems to be sliding off Mary’s lap. Why? It’s because she’s letting him go.

This sculpture is a beautiful representation of holy indifference. To some, it may seem outrageous, for how could a mother let her son go? But remember: there’s a bigger story going on here. Jesus’ death isn’t the end. It’s actually the beginning of new life – a better life – for Jesus, for Mary and for us all. 

Mary is at peace because she knows that her own immediate needs aren’t as important as God’s bigger plan for all humanity.

She also knows that it’s not outrage or grief that heals our wounds. What truly heals us is our faith, our trust that God’s goodness will prevail over darkness. So Mary responds to suffering and sin not out of her anxiety and fear, but out of her absolutely serene trust in God. [ii]  

That’s holy indifference.

Sure, it’s not easy to detach ourselves from all that happens around us, for we are involved and we do care. But with practice, and inspired by Mary and the saints, holy indifference helps us to rise above the pain. It helps us become more patient, relaxed and joyful, and ultimately it will lead us to sainthood. 

St Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556), in his Spiritual Exercises (#23), said that the goal of life is to live with God forever. God gave us life, and when we respond with love to all that happens to us, we allow his life to flow into us without limit.

St Ignatius also said that all things in this life are gifts from God, given to help us know and love him more easily. But these gifts must not become the centre of our lives. If they do, they’ll displace God and stop us reaching our goal. So, we must be prepared to let go.

By detaching ourselves from the things of this world, including the pain and the emotion, we can more readily attach ourselves to the things of God.

That’s holy indifference.  

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[i] Louis Abelly, The Life of the Venerable Servant of God Vincent de Paul. New City Press, New York. 1993. Book 3, p.49.

[ii] Loretta Ross-Gotta, Letters from the Holy Ground. Sheed & Ward, Franklin, Wisconsin, 2000:41

On Waiting

(Wis.1:13-15, 2:23-24; 2Cor.8:7, 9, 13-15; Mk.5:21-43)

In our society, we have fast food, fast shipping and high-speed internet. Clearly, many people don’t like waiting.

Houston Airport used to get lots of complaints about long wait times at their baggage carousel. They couldn’t speed up the baggage delivery, however, so they simply moved the arrival gates. Now people walk six times longer, but the complaints have dropped to almost zero. [i]

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jairus can’t wait; his daughter is dying. So, when Jesus arrives, Jairus begs him to save her. Jesus agrees to help, and starts walking towards Jairus’ home. But on the way he’s distracted by a woman who also needs help, and in the meantime Jairus’ daughter dies.

Now, why didn’t Jesus heal that child immediately? He healed the Centurion’s servant instantly in Capernaum (Mt.8:5-13), so why did Jairus have to wait? 

Perhaps Jesus wanted to spend time with him. Perhaps he wanted to encourage Jairus’ humility and patience. Perhaps he wanted Jairus to learn to trust him.

In any case, when Jesus arrives at Jairus’ home, he holds the dead girl’s hand and says, ‘Little girl, arise!’ And she does! This miracle reminds us that Jesus really is ‘the resurrection and the life’ (Jn.11:25). 

But the woman who asks Jesus for help also had to wait. She had waited 12 years for a cure for her ailment, and now Jesus is her last hope. She desperately touches his cloak and instantly she’s healed. ‘Your faith has saved you,’ Jesus says. [ii] 

So how do these stories touch our own lives?

In her novel The Underpainter, Jane Urquhard says there are two kinds of waiting: there’s the waiting that consumes our minds, and the waiting that happens just below the surface of our awareness. We might not know it, she says, but in one way or another we’re always waiting. [iii]

We wait for nine months to be born, we wait for our buds to bloom, for our child to grow, for the taxi to arrive and for the lights to change.

But most of us aren’t good at waiting, and that’s why so much of today’s technology aims to make life easier and faster, to give us more control.  The problem, however, is that this just gives us a sense of entitlement and pride.

And it can encourage our impatience.

This isn’t what God wants for us (Ps.37:34). Some of the greatest Biblical figures, including Abraham, Joseph, Moses and David, all waited for years for God’s promises to come through. And as they waited, God shaped and moulded them so that when their time came, they were blessed beyond measure (2Cor.4:16-18).

The Buddhist monk Thích Nhất Hạnh says that when we see a flower, and take the time to look deeply into it, we’ll see not only its shape and colour, but also the sunshine, the rain and the soil that are part of that flower and part of ourselves as well.

We can practice this deep reflection whenever we find ourselves waiting, he says. While we’re stuck in traffic, we can become aware of the clouds. When we have our morning coffee, we can savour its aroma and feel the warmth and weight of the mug.

In these quiet moments, the urge to do and to be somewhere else, subsides. Our breath, our heartbeat slows down, and the waiting becomes our friend.

In his book Balaam’s Donkey, the Cistercian monk Michael Casey reminds us that some things take time to develop. Rome was not built in a day, he says, and any worthwhile art or craft takes years to master. It can take years – even decades – before our spiritual life begins to develop the way we’d like it to.

God’s work in us proceeds at its own pace, Casey says. It has to work on several levels simultaneously, and the transformation it seeks to accomplish is so radical that there are many other issues that must be faced before it can flower. [iv]

Waiting, then, can be good for us. It gives us time to rest, reflect and learn. And it teaches us trust and endurance – and gratitude when things work out.

Now, have you noticed that God sometimes sends encouraging signs while we’re waiting for our prayers to be answered?  That’s what happens to Jairus. 

While he’s walking with Jesus, Jairus sees Jesus healing someone else. That gives him hope and it strengthens his faith.  

Such signs are a gift. May we, too, see the signs God sends us when we next find ourselves waiting.

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[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/19/opinion/sunday/why-waiting-in-line-is-torture.html

[ii] This is the only miracle in the Gospels where Jesus doesn’t initiate the cure.

[iii] Jane Urquhard, The Underpainter, McClelland & Steward, Toronto, 1997:95.

[iv] Michael Casey, Balaam’s Donkey. Liturgical Press, Collegeville. 2019:447.

On Rembrandt’s Storm-Tossed Sea

[Job 38:1, 8-11; 2Cor.5:14-17; Mk.4:35-41]

‘The bad time comes,’ wrote Doris Lessing, ‘and we don’t know why.’

On the Sea of Galilee, the bad time comes when the cool air from the mountains rushes down towards the warm sea air, creating violent storms.

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus is tired at the end of another long day of teaching, and he says to his disciples, ‘Let’s go to the other side of the lake’. The sea is calm as they board their boats, but soon they’re battling a tremendous storm.

In 1633, Rembrandt painted a picture of this scene. It’s his only seascape, and it’s called Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It shows Jesus and his twelve disciples in one boat, as a large wave smashes into their bow, tearing a sail. [i]

If you look carefully, you’ll see that there are actually fourteen people on board. Rembrandt has included himself: he’s the man holding his cap and facing us, the viewers.

‘Lectio Divina’ is the prayerful process whereby a person places himself inside a biblical narrative in order to reflect on what God might be saying to him. [ii] Here, Rembrandt is inviting us to do the same. He’s inviting us to insert ourselves into this scene, and to reflect on the storms we experience in our own lives.

Now, look at the rear of the boat: there’s a light shining on the figure of Jesus, and on those focussed on him. The message here is that even in the midst of a storm, the light of Christ will help you to stay calm. But you must keep your eyes fixed on Jesus.

In contrast, look at the disciples hidden in the shadows. They are only aware of their own anxiety and fear, and one is even vomiting overboard. Might they represent us in our own turbulent lives?

There’s also a third group of disciples. They are the figures nearest the mast, who are struggling to keep the boat afloat. In the midst of them is Peter, with his back turned to the light of the sky. That light indicates that the storm is about to break.

In this pose, Peter represents us when all we can see is darkness and misery, instead of the wonderful light that God is constantly shining on us.

So, here’s the question: are you battling a storm in your own life? Perhaps you’re struggling with some physical, emotional or financial distress. Which character, then, might you identify with in this painting?

William Barclay says that Jesus’ calming of the sea is a great miracle, but we should be looking at it symbolically, to see what we can learn from it.

To voyage with Jesus, he says, is to voyage in peace, even in a storm. Why? It’s because once the disciples understood that Jesus really was with them, they started to feel calm and the storm subsided.

This isn’t something that only happened once, Barclay says. It’s something that’s still happening today, and it can happen for us, too, if we have faith. [iii]

Mark’s Gospel today reminds us that whatever storms we face, Jesus is always with us. It might seem like he’s asleep, but we can be sure that he’s firmly in control.

So, our faith must be strong.

Sure, our faith won’t guarantee smooth sailing – even Jesus had to weather storms. But having faith means understanding who God is and knowing that he truly loves us. It means accepting that God is always looking after us.

And it means that in the presence of Jesus, I can have peace deep in my heart, even in the middle of a storm.

A retired sea captain used to take day-trippers to the Shetland Islands, north of Scotland. On one trip the boat was full of young people. They laughed when they saw the old captain say a prayer before setting out, because the day was fine and the sea was calm.

However, they weren’t long out at sea when a storm suddenly blew up. The terrified passengers came to the captain and asked him to join them in prayer. But he replied, ‘I say my prayers when it’s calm. When it’s rough, I attend to my ship.’

Here’s the point: If we don’t seek God in the quiet moments of our lives, we’re not likely to find him when trouble strikes. We’re more likely to panic.

But if we’ve learnt to seek God and to trust him in our quiet moments, then we can be sure we’ll find him when the going gets rough. [iv]

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[i] This painting was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston in 1990. It’s still missing. The Netflix documentary This is a Robbery tells the story of this theft.

[ii] Lectio Divina is the process of reflecting on the words of a biblical passage. Visio Divina uses a picture rather than words.

[iii] William Barclay, The Gospel of Mark, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY.2001:133-134.

[iv] Flor McCarthy, New Sunday & Holy Day Liturgies, Year B. Dominican Publications, Dublin. 2017:239-240.

On Slow-Motion Miracles

[Ezek.17:22-24; 2Cor.5:6-10; Mk.4:26-34]

One of the wonders of our world surely must be the humble seed.

With enough soil, sunlight, rain and time, tiny seeds can not only feed whole families; they can also split rocks, destroy buildings and even move mountains. It’s really quite miraculous.

When we think of miracles, we usually expect instant action. But most of the time that’s not what happens. Most miracles – like seeds – actually occur quite slowly.

Consider the story of Sally Wagter. In her book, Miracle in Slow Motion, she recounts her journey from despair to joy as she raised her severely autistic son, Tim. She refused to accept the bleak future his specialists had forecast for him. Instead, she decided to help him discover his potential.

That decision was a seed that took years to grow, but what she achieved was beyond her wildest dreams. Tim grew into a musically gifted, socially confident and academically capable young man. [i]

Such miracles take time.

Consider also the story of Frank O’Dea, born in Melbourne in 1928. He wanted to become a priest, but his chronic stammer made that impossible. So, he became a brother in the Blessed Sacrament Congregation, doing sacristy work, cleaning and cooking. But he never stopped wanting to become a priest.

One day, 20 years later, he found a book on relaxation. He followed the exercises and some years later his speech had improved so much that he was allowed to study for the priesthood. He was ordained at the age of 50, but it was only in his 80s that he was fully cured.

Frank O’Dea called this a miracle in slow motion. He died in 2020, aged 92. [ii]

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus gives us his famous Parable of the Mustard Seed, and makes the point that in God’s hands, even the smallest of beginnings can produce great results. But we need to be patient, because little seeds can take time to grow.

Sometimes when a miracle is needed, all we have to do is provide a small beginning and God will do the rest. It might be as small as a kind word, a good deed or a brave decision in the face of darkness. Each of these seeds can start something big.

In 1949, Mother Teresa went alone into the streets of Calcutta to help the sick and dying. She had no idea what lay ahead, but her work grew into a ministry of love so big that today some 5,000 sisters are serving in 134 countries.

In 1860, St Mary McKillop went to Penola, South Australia, to babysit her cousins. It was a simple task, but she found herself starting a school and a new religious order, and within 15 years she had opened 41 schools.

We see the same thing in our own lives. Perhaps it’s facing an addiction, forgiving a hurt, righting a wrong, or doing something else that’s long overdue.

Even the smallest beginning can result in a miraculous transformation. The changes might barely be perceptible, but with time the results become obvious.

We plant the seed, but God gives the growth (1Cor.3:6).

In his book Miracles, CS Lewis says that God always works his slow magic this way. Every year, he writes, God makes wine, and does so by creating a vine that can turn water, soil and sunlight into a juice that will, under proper conditions, become wine. Once, however, Jesus short circuited that long process by making wine in earthenware jars. [iii]

Yes, God can perform instant miracles, but most of the time he prefers doing things in slow-motion. This is the way of following Christ, learning to live, to love, to accept and to forgive. God wants us involved, but he’s always there behind us, helping quietly.

Let’s close with a story about a man who had a dream. He walked into a marketplace and saw a stall with a sign, ‘Gifts of God’. He stopped, astonished, and saw an angel at the counter. ‘What are you selling?’ he asked.

‘Every gift that God gives,’ the angel replied.

‘Are they expensive?’

‘No, the gifts of God are free.’

He looked at the shelves. There were jars of joy, bottles of patience, packets of wisdom. Then he saw the gift he wanted. ‘Please give me the gift of serenity,’ he said.

The angel placed it in a small gift box. It was tiny. Smaller than the man’s heart. He asked, ‘Are you sure the gift is in there?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied the angel. ‘At God’s stall we don’t sell ripe fruit. Only seeds that you need to grow.’

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[i] https://releasingmychildspotential.com/25915-2/

[ii] https://theeucharist.wordpress.com/healing-of-the-man-with-an-impediment-in-his-speech/

[iii] CS Lewis, Miracles. Centenary Press, London. 1947:178. https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.260876/page/n1/mode/2up

On Food for the Journey

(Ex.24:3-8; Heb. 9:11-15; Mk.14:12-16, 22-26)

Food is such an important part of life. Many years ago, when our children were small, my wife and I bought a picnic basket. It held everything we needed to sustain us on a daytrip.

Picnicking, we found, was a wonderful way for our young family to connect, to enjoy each other’s company and to explore the world.

In every culture, food plays an important role. It underpins our health and well-being; children learn at mealtimes and social eating helps build relationships. That’s why we so often form friendships and do business over coffee or a meal.

We also become family by sharing a meal at a table.

The ancient Greeks used to give a meal to those who were about to start a journey. They called this custom the ephodion.

In Latin, they called this viaticus,[i] and the early Romans believed that a dying person’s last meal gave them strength to cross the River Styx, which separated the land of the living from the underworld. [ii]

Jesus understood all this. He knew that communities are formed around a table, and that breaking bread and sharing a cup help people to grow and connect. That’s why he gave us the Holy Eucharist, and said, ‘Take and eat. Take and drink. Do this in memory of me.’

Jesus had promised that he’d remain with us always, even to the end of the world (Mt.28:20). And the most effective way of doing this was through his greatest sacrament, the Eucharistic meal.

At the Last Supper, when Jesus and his disciples celebrated Passover, they sat at a table in the Upper Room. Jesus took the bread and broke it, just as they broke his body on the Cross. Then he gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body. Take it and eat it, and remember that I’m with you, always.’

Then he took the cup filled with wine, blessed it and said, ‘Take this and drink it. This is my blood spilled for you on Calvary so that your sins may be forgiven.’

In the New Testament, the word body (soma in Greek) refers to the whole person, and not just to their flesh or physical body. And in Hebrew, there’s no specific word for body. A living being isn’t considered a person within a body; the body and the person are one and the same.

In other words, when Jesus offers us his body, he’s actually offering us his whole being, his very personhood.

Likewise, in Jewish thought, blood was believed to be the very life of a living being. So, when Jesus offers us his blood, he’s inviting us to ‘consume’ his very life. [iii]

When we receive the Eucharist, then, we are consumed with Jesus. He becomes part of us and we become alive in him. We are truly receiving Jesus’ actual being and life, and not just engaging in some symbolic re-enactment.

As well, keep in mind that in the Jewish culture, to remember is to make present that which is remembered. So, when Jesus says, ‘do this in memory of me,’ he means that he’s making himself present to us in a very real way.

Jesus often spoke about his Eucharistic presence. In John’s Gospel, for example, he says, ‘I’m the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world’ (Jn.6:51). 

And to St Augustine, Jesus once said: ‘Believe and eat me, and you’ll be changed into me’. [iv]

Richard Leonard says that when we receive the bread, blessed and broken, into our hands, and when we receive the cup, poured out and shared, we say ‘Amen’. By this word we agree to become just like Jesus himself: blessed, broken, poured out and shared in love with others. [v]

Our ‘Amen’ therefore means that we agree to go out into the world, to heal, to forgive and to help others, by doing just as Jesus did.

This isn’t always easy. That’s why we’ve been given the Holy Eucharist. That’s why we need the Holy Eucharist. Every time we go to Communion, we draw from Jesus the strength we need to live as he taught us to (Jn.6:53).

The early Christians used to call the body and blood of Christ ‘Food for the Journey’. And in 325AD the Church recommended that Holy Communion be given to the dying as ‘food for the journey’ – Viaticum.

Today, we are fortunate that this remarkable gift is so often available to us, and not just at the end of our lives.

We all need it.

Our troubled world needs it, too.

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[i] The Latin word viaticus means ‘of or pertaining to a road or journey’.

[ii] https://www.americamagazine.org/content/good-word/18th-sunday-ot-food-journey

[iii] Dominic Grassi & Joe Paprocki, Living the Mass. Loyola Press, Chicago, 2011:148-149.

[iv] Cardinal Saliege, Spiritual Writings. St Pauls Publications, Bucks. 1966:57. 

[v] Richard Leonard, Preaching to the Converted. Paulist Press, New York. 2006:180-181.

On the Sign of the Cross

Deut.4:32-34, 39-40; Rom.8:14-17; Mt.28:16-20

Today, on Trinity Sunday, we celebrate the mystery of our Triune God, a mystery that no-one in this life has ever really understood.

For how can one God include three Divine Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit?

Yet Scripture often refers to God’s Trinitarian presence: the merciful Father who loved us into creation, the loving Son who sacrificed everything for us, and the Holy Spirit who fills us with so much life and hope. Our finite brains struggle to grasp this sublime truth, but in our hearts we accept it because it’s fundamental to our Christian faith.

Indeed, the Trinity is so fundamental to our beliefs that it’s embedded in our most ancient gesture of prayer: The Sign of the Cross. We do this so often, however, that we sometimes forget its significance.

Every time we make the Sign of the Cross, we invoke the mystery of the Holy Trinity. With our right hand, we touch our forehead, breast and left and right shoulders, and say ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit’, using the words Jesus himself gave us just before he ascended to heaven (Mt.28:19).

The Sign of the Cross is as old as the Church itself. The earliest Christians often used to trace a Cross (meaning Redemption) with three fingers (the Trinity) on their foreheads. [i]

In 201AD, Tertullian wrote, ‘In all our travels and movements, in all our coming in and going out, in putting on our shoes, at the bath, at the table, in lighting our candles, in lying down, in sitting down, whatever (we do) we mark our foreheads with the sign of the Cross’. [ii]

Later, Christians added the words ‘In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit’, and they extended this sign to other parts of the body. So now, for example, we also sign our forehead, lips and heart when the Gospel is read.

There are many ways to interpret the Sign of the Cross.

Every time we sign ourselves, we publicly affirm our Baptism and we ask God to renew our baptismal graces. At the same time, we also affirm our discipleship, and remember our responsibility to get to know God (pointing to our head), to love him (heart) and to serve him all through our days (shoulders).

But it also summarises the Apostles’ Creed. When we touch our forehead, breast and shoulders, we declare that we believe in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit; we say that we believe in God’s Creation and his redemption of humanity from sin and death; and we recognise the Cross as the central event of our Christian faith.

As well, an open hand is a sign of blessing, so every time we trace the shape of the Cross on ourselves, we’re asking God to bless our minds, our hearts and our bodies – our thoughts, our passions and our actions.

And as our hand moves down from our head to our heart, we’re reminded that Christ descended from heaven to earth.  And as our hand travels from our left to right shoulder, we remember that Jesus crossed from death to life, and we’re all invited to do the same.

Indeed, the five fingers of the hand we use represent the five wounds of Christ.

By definition, the Sign of the Cross is a ‘sacramental’, a sacred sign that unites us with the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. In that moment it serves as a prayer, a collect, that silently gathers up all our hopes and fears and gives them to God.  It also sanctifies that particular moment or circumstance and prepares us to receive God’s grace. [iii] 

The beauty of the Sign of the Cross is that it’s both quick and deeply meaningful.  The sad thing is that many people don’t recognise its importance. 

In Ancient Greek, the word ‘sphragis’ means sign and mark of ownership. Roman generals used to tattoo their initials on their soldiers’ forearms, just as shepherds brand their sheep.

In the same way, the Sign of the Cross publicly marks us as belonging to Christ, the true Shepherd. [iv]

So, whenever you feel drawn towards Jesus, make a good Sign of the Cross.  Whenever you’re anxious, struggling or in danger, make a good Sign of the Cross. And whenever you’re filled with gratitude or joy, make a good Sign of the Cross, for it’s a deeply meaningful prayer. 

And remember this: the Sign of the Cross reminds us to think beyond ourselves. 

As Ronald Knox once said, in the Sign of the Cross the first two gestures form the letter ‘I’, and the second two cross it out. [v]

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[i] Ann Ball, The How-To Book of Sacramentals. Our Sunday Visitor, Huntington IN, 2005:33-34.

[ii] Tertullian, de Corona. Ch.3:165. http://www.tertullian.org/lfc/LFC10-11_de_corona.htm

[iii] Ann Ball, Op cit. pp.11-13.

[iv] Bert Ghezzi, The Sign of the Cross. Loyola Press, Chicago. 2004:60.

[v] Bishop Robert Barron, Lenten Reflection http://www.lentreflections.com/lent-day-2-2/

On Our Leaky Vessels

(Acts 2:1-11; Gal.5:16-25; Jn.15:26-27; 16:12-15)

Whenever we’re anxious or distressed, we need the Spirit of Peace.

Whenever we’re sad and life seems too hard, we need the Spirit of Joy.

And whenever we’re in darkness and doubt, we need the Spirit of Light.

Today we celebrate the power of the Holy Spirit, the power that Jesus poured into his disciples at Pentecost.

On that day, the disciples were hiding in fear in the Upper Room, when a great noise like a mighty wind rushed in and a tongue of fire appeared above each of them.

Suddenly, they were transformed. The once-fearful disciples emerged as courageous Apostles, and started telling the crowds in the street the truth about Jesus Christ. 3,000 people became Christians that day, and the Church was born.

Some people think that Pentecost is a standalone event, but it actually marks the end of the fifty days of Easter. As Joan Chittister writes, ‘… only here in this time, between the bursting open of the tomb and, fifty days later, the overflowing of the Holy Spirit, does the full awareness of what it is to live in Christ, with Christ, and through Christ finally dawn.’ [i]

So, what do we know about the Holy Spirit? Well, with God the Father and God the Son, the Spirit is one of the three persons of the Trinity. All three are co-equal and of the same essence, and like the Father, the Holy Spirit is invisible, but he’s also a person. He’s not just an influence or an impersonal force.

How do we know the Spirit is a person? It’s because of the way he’s presented in the Bible (e.g., Jn.6:63; Rom.8:11; 1Jn.5:6; Jn.16:7-8). The Holy Spirit thinks, feels, has a mind, and does things that only a person can do.

Now, it’s important to remember that the Spirit the Apostles receive at Pentecost is the same Spirit that created the world (Gen.1:1-2); that transformed Adam from a pile of dust into a human being (Gen.2:7); that guided Moses through the desert (Num.11:16-17); and that raised Jesus from the dead.

And it’s the same Spirit we receive at our Baptism and Confirmation.

The Holy Spirit is a powerful, energising force, and in Scripture he has several names, including Spirit of God, Spirit of Jesus, and the Spirit of Truth. Jesus also calls him ‘another Comforter’, a ‘Counsellor’, ‘Advocate’ or ‘Paraclete’.

But what is a Paraclete?

The Jesuit poet and priest Gerard Manley Hopkins explains it this way:

‘A Paraclete,’ he says, ‘is often translated as comforter, but a Paraclete does more than comfort. The word is Greek, and there’s no one English word for it. Comforter is not enough. A Paraclete is one who comforts, cheers, encourages, persuades, exhorts, stirs up, urges forward and who calls on; … what clapping of hands is to a speaker, what a trumpet is to the soldier, that a Paraclete is to the soul … A Paraclete is one who calls us on to good.’ [ii]

William Barclay says that the Holy Spirit’s purpose is to fill a person with the power and courage they need to triumphantly cope with life.

In Greek, he says, the root word for this power is du-namis, from which we get the English word dynamite, which is an explosive force. The Holy Spirit, therefore, is not passive. He’s an active force of explosive power that encourages and empowers. [iii]

This is the Spirit we receive at our Baptism. We must cherish, nurture and protect the gifts he gives us.

The evangelist Dwight L. Moody, however, often talked about our need to be filled with the Holy Spirit. Someone once asked him, ‘If we were filled with the Holy Spirit at Baptism, why do we need to be refilled so often?’

‘Because we leak,’ Moody replied.

‘The fact is,’ he said, ‘we are leaky vessels and we have to keep right under the fountain all the time to keep full of Christ, and so have a fresh supply.’

Why? Because we so often close our hearts to God. We reject his gifts, we ignore our responsibilities, we fail to grow in holiness – and we sin.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. We do have a choice.

These are the Holy Spirit’s gifts: love, forgiveness, kindness, goodness, gentleness, peace, and joy. These are exactly what we need right now, and they’re always available to us.

So, let’s seal our leaky vessels by regularly praying this prayer:

Come Holy Spirit. Fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love. Amen.

Or this one:

Come Holy Spirit. Fill my heart with love and my mind with light. Amen.

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[i] Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year, Thomas Nelson, 2009.

[ii] Gerard Manley Hopkins, Sermon on the Paraclete, Liverpool, 1882. https://thevalueofsparrows.wordpress.com/2014/08/03/sermon-the-paraclete-by-gerard-manley-hopkins/

[iii] William Barclay, New Testament Words. Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1964:216-221.

On Saying Goodbye

(Acts 1:1-11; Eph.4:1-13; Mk.16:15-20)

Some people hate saying goodbye. Changing jobs, moving house or farewelling a loved one simply means sorrow to them.

What many don’t realise, however, is that whenever we say ‘goodbye’ we’re actually invoking God. Why? Because ‘goodbye’ is a 16^th Century contraction of the expression ‘God be with you’. Similarly, ‘adieu’ means ‘go with God’. [i]

Many also forget that every goodbye marks a new beginning. As Mitch Albom writes in his book The Five People You Meet in Heaven, ‘… all endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.’ [ii]

In our first reading today, Jesus farewells his disciples; it’s time to return to his Father. His Ascension to heaven marks an end and a beginning, both for Jesus and for his disciples. 

Certainly, it’s the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry. After three years teaching his followers and planting the seeds of his Father’s kingdom all over Palestine, it’s time to move on.

And so it’s a new beginning. By leaving this world, Jesus is no longer confined to a specific place and time. From heaven, he can rule the world and make himself available to everyone, everywhere, all the time. How? By working through the Church, through the sacraments (especially the Holy Eucharist) and by penetrating deep into our hearts and minds.

For the disciples, it’s the end of their three-year traineeship, and the beginning of a new life as Jesus commissions them to proclaim his Gospel all around the world.

But as Jesus ascends heavenward, the disciples stand there, staring into the sky. They don’t know where to begin. Then two angels appear, saying: ‘why are you standing there, looking at the sky?’ In other words: what are you waiting for? Get going. There’s work to do.

So, they leave the mountain and head for the city.

Now, Jesus’ Ascension marks a new beginning for us, too, because we are his disciples today. Jesus is calling us to rise above our ordinary lives, to lift up our hearts, minds and lives so that we might continue his unfinished work.

Bishop Robert Barron says that if Caesar, Lincoln, Roosevelt and Churchill were still striding the world stage, no-one else would have the courage to enter the game. That’s why Jesus leaves, he says, so that we might act in his name and in accord with his spirit.

Barron also says that it’s those people who are most focused on the things of heaven who do the most good here below: Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, St John Paul II. And he adds that those who pray most intently are most effective in doing such work.

But leaving one life for another can be a wrenching experience. I remember leaving home at the age of 17, and weeping that very first night. I had no idea what lay ahead of me. I had no idea how I would make a living. But I knew I had to leave home.

Jesus understands all this. That’s why on several occasions he tries to reassure his disciples: ‘It’s better for you that I go away. You will be sad now, but your sadness will turn to joy’ (Jn.16:20). ‘If I don’t go away, you will be unable to receive my spirit’ (Jn.16:7). And ‘Don’t cling to me. I must ascend’ (Jn.20:17).

In Matthew’s Gospel, just before Jesus tells his disciples to go and teach all nations, Matthew says that ‘some hesitated’. Why did they hesitate? Were they fearful? Did they doubt their own abilities?

They needn’t have, because in our second reading St Paul says that Jesus gives each person the gifts they need to do his work. In 1 Corinthians he lists some of these special graces: the gift of tongues, strong faith, healing, miracles, wisdom, knowledge and discernment (1Cor.12:8-10,28-30).

So, how do we transition from a sad goodbye to a new beginning?

Perhaps we can learn from Arthur Ashe (1943-96), the legendary American tennis champion. He had a heart attack at the age of 36. In 1983, during heart surgery, he was given HIV-infected blood. Sadly, it destroyed his tennis career, but it also opened the door to an important new life as an advocate for HIV/AIDS sufferers.

Arthur Ashe once said: ‘Happiness keeps you sweet; trials keep you strong; sorrows keep you human; failure keeps you humble and success keeps you glowing, but only faith keeps you going.’

And how might we begin our new life?

He said: ‘Start where you are, use what you have, and do what you can.’ [iii]

God will do the rest.

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[i] Merrill Perlman, Of God and Goodbyes, Columbia Journalism Review, July 11, 2016 https://www.cjr.org/language_corner/god_goodbye_adieu_toodles_dickens.php#:~:text=You%20might%20spell%20it%20%E2%80%9Cgood,in%20shorthand%2C%20and%20partly%20by

[ii] Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Sphere, London, 2003.

[iii] Arthur Ashe, Days of Grace: A Memoir. Ballantine Books: NY, 1994.  https://www.amazon.com/Days-Grace-Memoir-Arthur-Ashe/dp/0345386817

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.

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[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