Author: Peter McCulloch

The Road to Hope

(Prov.9:1-6; Eph.5:15-20; Jn.6:51-58)

As a young boy growing up in Hue, Vietnam, in the 1930s, Francis-Xavier Nguyên Van Thuân was fascinated by the Holy Eucharist. He knew it was something special.

It led him to the priesthood and to Rome where he studied Canon Law. And in 1975, just before Saigon fell to the communists at the end of the Vietnam War, he arrived as its new archbishop.

There was no-one to greet him, and soon afterwards he was arrested and imprisoned in Nha Trang, the place where he’d earlier served as bishop (1967-75).

He spent the next nine years in solitary confinement.

The archbishop feared he’d never be able to celebrate the Eucharist again. However, when he was allowed to write to his family, he asked for clothes and toiletries, and added, ‘Please send me a little wine as medicine for my stomach ache.’

They understood what he meant, and sent him some wine in a little medicine bottle, and hosts hidden in a torch. He used these things to secretly celebrate Mass in his tiny cell, every day at 3 pm, the hour when Jesus died on the Cross.

Relying on his memory, he consecrated three drops of wine and a drop of water on the palm of his hand, along with some host-crumbs. And as he lapped up the precious Eucharistic blood in his hand, he asked for the grace to drink the bitter chalice and to unite himself to Christ’s shedding of blood.

Extending his arms to form a cross, he joined his sufferings to that of Jesus on the Cross. His hand became his altar, his cell became his cathedral.

He later described these as the most beautiful Masses of his life.

After nine years in solitary confinement, he was sent north to a ‘re-education camp’ for another four years. There he was locked up with fifty prisoners in a crowded room. Each day at 9.30 pm, in the dark, he celebrated Mass over his bed, and under a mosquito net he gave tiny pieces of the sacred host to the other Catholics.

Wrapping tiny particles of the blessed sacrament in cigarette foil, he and the other prisoners took turns adoring Jesus secretly. Their worship not only helped them to survive; it also helped them to heal.

The archbishop’s gentle manner and the Holy Eucharist changed the lives of many of these prisoners. Even the camp guards began to confide in him. But the suspicious authorities changed the warders regularly to avoid them being ‘contaminated.’

During his imprisonment, Nguyên Van Thuân often felt useless and feared losing his mind. He also wondered how he could care for his flock, but God helped him to see how he could offer ‘five loaves and two fish’ of daily prayer for the good of his people.

He also began writing a few words of wisdom on scraps paper from old calendars, and gave them to a brave Catholic boy who passed by. That boy’s parents copied them into a notebook, and eventually his 1,001 thoughts were published in a book called The Road to Hope: A Gospel from Prison.

That book did much to bolster the faith of the Vietnamese people during the worst of the Communist repression.

Not surprisingly, many of his wise words were about the Eucharistic Jesus, nourished by his prison experience. For example, he wrote:

• The whole of the Lord’s life was directed toward Calvary. The whole of our life should be oriented toward the Eucharistic celebration; and
• As the drop of water put into the chalice mingles with the wine, so your life should become one with Christ’s.

In 1991, Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân was released and allowed to leave Vietnam, but never to return. He travelled to Rome where Pope St John Paul II warmly greeted him. He was made a cardinal in 2001, but died the following year.

In 2007, he was declared ‘Venerable’, the first step on his path to sainthood.

In John’s Gospel today, Jesus says, ‘Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.’

Nguyên Van Thuân understood this well. He said that the only thing that helped him survive so many years of torture and dehumanisation was the Holy Eucharist. It gave him life and he used it to love his fellow prisoners and even the guards who abused him. Some of these men were so moved by his faith that they, too, became Catholics. [i]

The Eucharist (Greek for ‘thanksgiving’) means so much more than just ‘receiving Communion.’ It’s about consuming Jesus Himself, combining our life with His, so that we might draw life from Him.

And not just eternal life, but also the strength we need to survive – and thrive – here on earth.

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[i] https://slmedia.org/blog/cardinal-van-thuan-canonization-cause

La Dolce Vita

(1Kgs.19:4-8; Eph.4:30-5:2; Jn.6:41-51)

La Dolce Vita – ‘The sweet life.’ Have you ever seen that movie?

It was made in 1960 by Frederico Fellini. In the opening scenes, a statue of Jesus is carried by helicopter across Rome, first over some old Roman ruins, and then over a big new construction site.

At one point it’s carried above some beautiful bikini-clad women sunbaking on a rooftop, and they wonder where Jesus is going.

Then we see the helicopter lowering the statue onto St Peter’s Square. As the statue comes down, the camera zooms in for a close-up of Jesus with his arms extended, and He’s safely delivered to the Pope in the Vatican. [i]

Fellini made this film at a time when Italy was pulling itself out of the ruins of World War II. It’s the simple story of a man (played by Marcello Mastroianni) searching for a way out of the shallowness and spiritual desolation of his life.

For a while this film was banned because of its depiction of the seven deadly sins. But what Fellini was doing was offering a powerful commentary on the way the world was changing after WWII.

Instead of learning from the mistakes of the past and cherishing our Christian heritage, Fellini saw too many people turning towards the shallow self-indulgence of modern-day secularism.

When Martin Scorsese saw this film, he said it showed the world ‘moving from decadence to despair with nothing in between.’

The scene of Christ being lowered by helicopter onto St Peter’s Square was Fellini’s way of showing how the world is trying to lock Jesus away, confining him to within the walls of the Church.

He makes the point that if you remove Jesus from daily life, then spiritual decay will follow and hope will disappear.

So, what happens when hope does disappear? Let me tell you another story.

Before WWII, three famous Jewish psychiatrists lived in Vienna. They all spent years trying to understand human behaviour, to learn what makes people tick.

One was Sigmund Freud. He believed that the most basic drive in human beings is the desire for pleasure. He thought that everything we do in our lives is based on our need to feel good. In Fellini’s movie, that’s reflected in the image of the women sunbaking.

The second psychiatrist was Alfred Adler, who disagreed with Freud. He argued that what motivates people is the desire for power, the need to control things and to feel important.

The third man was Victor Frankl, who was younger than the other two. When the Nazis invaded Austria, Freud and Adler managed to escape. But Frankl was arrested and he spent four long years locked up in concentration camps, including Auschwitz and Belsen.

Victor Frankl

While he was there, Frankl noticed that those who survived weren’t the ones you’d expect. Very often those who were physically strong wasted away and died, while those who were much weaker managed to grow stronger and survived. Why?

Well, it wasn’t pleasure that kept them going. There was no pleasure in those horrid camps; it was all misery and murder. And it wasn’t power that kept them going, either, because the prisoners had no power. They were treated like animals.

What Frankl noticed was that the people who survived had hope. They never gave up their belief that life had meaning, despite everything that happened to them. They kept going.

In his film La Dolce Vita, Frederico Fellini had some serious comments to make about the shallow, self-indulgent secularism of our age. For it’s not the desire for pleasure that will sustain us, and it’s not the pursuit of power that will give us a better world.

What’s far more important is hope and meaning, and as Christians we know exactly where real hope and meaning are to be found. 

As Jesus tells us in our Gospel today, He is the Bread of Life that came down from heaven. Only Jesus has the power to satisfy our deepest hunger, our hunger for spiritual meaning. Only Jesus offers us hope for eternal life.

In Isaiah (55:2-3), the prophet asks, ‘Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread? Why do you labour for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me,’ he says, ‘and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.’ 

And what is this rich food that satisfies? It’s the Bread of Life. Jesus Christ. 

Whoever eats this bread will live forever.

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[i] See the opening scenes at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uo84caBoToQ

The Bread of Life

(Ex.16:2-4, 12-15; Eph.4:17, 20-24; Jn.6:24-35)

In 1995, someone set a world record by making a loaf of bread, from harvesting the wheat through to baking, in 8 minutes 13 seconds. That’s fast!

In biblical times, breadmaking took much longer. The typical housewife got up early before dawn to start grinding the flour by hand. Grinding 800 grams of flour took an hour, but if she had five or six people to feed, she would have had to spend three hours grinding.

In those days bread was an important part of the diet, much like today, but it always meant hard work. Ordinary families had to plough and sow, seed and hoe, reap and thresh, winnow and sift, grind and sift again, knead and moisten, light the fire and then bake. Only then could they have a piece to eat.

It’s not surprising, then, that bread became such an important symbol around the world. Today it’s an icon of nutrition, wealth and comfort, and breaking bread has become an important symbol of peace.

It’s also not surprising that Jesus added bread to the Lord’s Prayer. When the early Christians prayed ‘give us this day our daily bread’ (Mt.6:11), they didn’t just pray for a good harvest or for enough flour. They also prayed for the strength to keep making their own bread each day.

In John’s Gospel today, the crowds of people that Jesus had fed earlier go looking for Him. They want more of His bread, and we can understand why. It was nourishing, it was easy and it was free.

But Jesus thinks the time’s come to offer them something even more precious.  He says, ‘do not work for food that cannot last, but work for food that endures to eternal life, the kind of food the Son of Man is offering you’.

He invites them to look beyond their ordinary lives and to start focussing on more profound things. We’ve all been created by God to live with Him forever, and Jesus has come to show us what to do. 

All we need to do is believe in Him and follow His way, and eternal life will be ours. That’s why Jesus is called the Bread of Life.  

But the crowd doesn’t understand. They ask Jesus for a sign, and He tells them that the God who fed Moses and the Israelites in the desert all those years ago is the very same God who just fed the 5,000 on that hillside. 

Then He tells them straight: ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.’

What Jesus is offering them isn’t just a full belly. Rather, He’s offering them the way to personal fulfilment. He’s offering them the answer to the riddle of life.

Many people in our world today regularly eat their fill and have all they need, but still feel ‘empty’ inside. They’re hungry for something more in their lives, but don’t know what to look for.

Some people think the answer is to focus on looking good and surrounding themselves with nice shiny things. They spend lots of time and money on their appearance; they’re obsessed with their image and possessions. But at the same time they’re ignoring their souls.

They’re ignoring God.

This is what Jesus is trying to teach us. He cares about physical hunger, but He cares even more about our spiritual hunger. He’s telling us that only He can satisfy our yearning for a life of peace, love, purpose and joy.

In our second reading today, St Paul says that if we accept the nourishment that Jesus offers us, our lives will be transformed. That’s when we’ll find that we’re no longer satisfied with full bellies and empty hearts and minds.

Paul encourages us to put aside our old lives, and instead put on a new self, nourished by the goodness, holiness and truth of Jesus Christ.

For He is the Bread of Life.

The kind of bread that Jesus offers us involves effort, but of a different kind. It means taking the time we need to develop a personal relationship with Him, by getting to know Him and allowing Him to nourish and transform us from the inside out.

When next you pray, ‘… Give us this day our daily bread,’ remember that Jesus is our daily bread. He is our Bread of Life, and He’s freely available to us all.

Please take as much as you need.

Two Kinds of Time

(2Kgs.4:42-44; Eph.4:1-6; Jn.6:1-15)

Are you often short of time?

It might help to know that the ancient Greeks recognised two different kinds of time: Kronos and Kairos.

Kronos is ordinary clock time. It’s measured in seconds, minutes and hours, it regulates our daily lives and it’s typically in short supply. Kronos is from where we get our word chronology, and it’s mentioned 54 times in the New Testament.

Kairos, however, is God’s time. It’s spiritual time that exists outside clock time because God doesn’t live by our rules.

And there’s plenty available.

Kairos is a powerful moment when God reaches out to touch us. In that instant, ordinary time seems to stand still, something deeply significant happens to us and our lives are changed in some way.

The New Testament mentions Kairos 86 times, and it offers many examples, including when Jesus invites Himself to Zacchaeus’ house (Lk.19:1-10) and when He heals blind Bartimaeus (Mk.10:46-52). In both cases, clock time is irrelevant because the lives of these people are utterly transformed and they begin to see the world in new ways.

Indeed, our baptism was a Kairos moment, as are all the sacraments. At these special times, God reveals how close He is to us, but such moments are easily missed if we’re not alert to them.

How then might we recognise a Kairos moment? By checking for three things: firstly, that the Holy Spirit is involved. Secondly, that through it God is telling us something or nudging us to do something. And finally, we respond to it with heart-felt faith and obedience.

In his book Balaam’s Donkey, Michael Casey writes: ‘God’s time, Kairos, is not just a tick of the clock. It’s a moment of energy. This movement does not observe events inertly; it’s an active player in human history. The moment in which God’s self-projection intervenes in earthly affairs changes the course of events. Nothing is ever the same afterward. This is a time which we may not anticipate or try to forestall, but for which we must wait in patience.

‘… God’s time is an open doorway to eternity,’ he writes. ‘What is done in God’s time is inevitably easier, more powerful, more lasting and more life-giving. Living in God’s time is an introduction to the Time beyond time, when our lives will be fully overlaid with the glory of the risen Christ and all will be well.’ [i]

There is a kairos moment in today’s Gospel, when Jesus feeds 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish supplied by a young boy. Surprisingly, there is plenty of food left over.

Normally, when you share something, like bread, you end up with less of it. But here Jesus shares a small amount of food and so much more is left over. This miracle is so remarkable that all four Gospels report it.

But bread isn’t the only thing Jesus multiplies when He shares it. He also multiplies love, which grows and spreads like a good virus. And He does the same with wisdom and truth, which spread like light when people are open to them.

‘All spiritual goods are like that,’ Peter Kreeft says in his book, Food for the Soul. Kindness, peace, love and wisdom all multiply when they are shared.

The tick-tock time of Kronos cannot be multiplied, however, because it’s limited by the laws of physics. (That’s why we’re so often short of it.) However, the spiritual time of Kairos can be multiplied. It doesn’t diminish when it’s shared; it’s actually multiplied.

‘The more of it you give to God,’ Kreeft says, ‘the more you get back from Him.’

And how do you give it to God? Through prayer.

Kreeft says that if you have a very busy day ahead, then you must pray more than usual, not less.

Like that boy in today’s Gospel, when you give Jesus your little loaves and fishes of time by making time to pray, a miracle will occur. At the end of the day, you’ll wonder how you managed to accomplish so much.

The answer is that Jesus has multiplied your time.

If you don’t pray like that, Kreeft says, you’ll probably wonder at the end of your day why you felt so hassled by the lack of time. [ii]

St Teresa of Calcutta understood this dynamic well. She said she was far too busy not to pray, and the busier she was, the more she needed to pray.  

Clocks do control our Kronos world, however we don’t have to chain our hearts and minds to them. There is another way, and it’s called Kairos.

Kairos is about moments, not minutes. It’s about those special times when God reaches out to inspire, energise and change us.

And the more we invest ourselves in Kairos time, the more we’ll find that it multiplies, giving us the time we need to actually get things done.

And how do we start? Simply by praying.

By asking God to help you.

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[i] Michael Casey, Balaam’s Donkey, Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN, 2018:244-245.

[ii] Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul – Cycle B, Word on Fire, Elk Grove Village, IL. 2023:606-609.

Sheep Without a Shepherd

(Jer.23:1-6; Ps.23; Eph.2:13-18; Mk.6:30-34)

Some years ago, the BBC reported that hundreds of sheep had fallen off a cliff in Eastern Turkey.

After one sheep fell off the cliff, the whole flock followed. More than 400 sheep died, but their bodies cushioned the fall of the other 1,100 that survived. [i]

The report didn’t mention the shepherds, but clearly they weren’t doing their job.

That’s what the prophet Jeremiah is complaining about in our first reading today. In ancient Israel, kings were seen as ‘shepherds’ caring for their flocks. That’s because great leaders like Abraham, Moses and David actually had been shepherds (Ex.3:11; Gen.12:16; Sam.17:34-35).

Like all rulers, Israel’s kings were expected to govern wisely, but many proved to be selfish and greedy manipulators. Jeremiah is scathing of them and calls them false shepherds. But then he offers hope because God has promised the people a ‘true king’ who will be ‘wise, practising honesty and integrity in the land’.

Who is this true king? It’s Jesus Christ, of course. He’s the ‘Good Shepherd’, a direct descendent of King David himself (Jn.10:11; Mt.1:1). And today’s psalm, The Lord is My Shepherd, tells us about Him. The twenty-third psalm is one of the best-loved passages in all Scripture.

Indeed, after the Vietnam War, many American prisoners of war were asked about the fear and darkness they had suffered, and what had kept them going. What had most sustained them, they said, was praying this psalm. [ii] 

This sacred song begins with a rich image of sheep resting by still waters in a grassy meadow. Its verses then follow a winding pathway down into a valley, and then rise up to a metaphorical mountaintop where heaven (‘the Lord’s house’) is located and we are offered hope.

Now, a shepherd has to work hard to get his sheep to lie down beside any waters. Sheep are usually anxious creatures, and they won’t rest if they’re thirsty or hungry, or worried about anything.

And so it is with us. We tend to be anxious creatures, too. Before we can truly and deeply rest, we must drink the living water (Jn.4:14; 7:37) and eat the bread of life (Jn.6:35) that Jesus freely offers us. We must accept His profound peace, for it’s a peace that the world simply cannot provide (Jn.14:27).

But here’s an important point: Jesus never forces Himself on us. He only leads by showing us the way (1Pet.2:21), and letting us choose.

When left to themselves, sheep without a shepherd will perish. They cannot look after themselves. They cannot find water, they’ll overgraze in the one spot, they cannot recognise danger and, ultimately, they’ll die. That’s what happened to those Turkish sheep.

Inside the cave in Northern Thailand

That’s also what very nearly happened to another flock in 2018, when 12 boys and the coach of the Wild Boars Soccer team in Northern Thailand were trapped in a cave 4km deep. For two weeks they were stuck in darkness and flooding rain, with no food and not enough oxygen. They simply couldn’t rescue themselves. It was only because of the remarkable goodness of a few brave shepherds that they were saved.

To remain happy, safe and healthy, all sheep – including ourselves – need a good shepherd. 

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus tries to take his disciples to somewhere quiet for rest, reflection and prayer.  But when He gets there, a crowd is waiting for Him. They look like ‘sheep without a shepherd,’ Jesus says.  But He doesn’t turn them away. Rather, He greets them with compassion and care, for Jesus is always welcoming.

The Bible uses the phrase ‘sheep without a shepherd’ eight times, and each time it’s always linked to aimless wandering.

When people wander, they often allow themselves to be distracted and carried along by other people and things. But this is risky for there are many unhealthy influences out there. Once trapped, it can be very hard to escape.

In 2017, when Pope Francis celebrated the 100th anniversary of Fatima, he said that we can all learn from ‘the immense ocean of God’s light’ that shone on those three young children. And he warned us of the dangers of wandering aimlessly through life. 

‘Our Lady,’ he said, ‘warned us about a way of life that is godless and profanes God in his creatures. Such a life,’ he said, ‘risks leading to hell’.[iii]

So, in the end we’re left with a choice: do we wander aimlessly through life, and risk perishing like lost sheep?

Or do we ask the Good Shepherd to guide us safely home?

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[i] BBC News, 8 July 2005. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4665511.stm

[ii] Mark Link, The Psalms for Today. Tabor Publishing, Valencia Ca. 1989:29.

[iii] https://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/homilies/2017/documents/papa-francesco_20170513_omelia-pellegrinaggio-fatima.html

Called to be Missionary

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

In today’s Gospel, Jesus sends his disciples out into the world, in pairs, to heal the sick, to drive out evil spirits and to tell the world about God’s love.

But first He gives them some instructions.

‘Take nothing for the journey,’ He says, ‘except a staff.’  He wants them to travel light. This staff (a walking stick) isn’t a symbol of authority; it’s a reminder that Jesus wants them to keep going, spreading His good news.

‘Take no bread, no bag and no money,’ He says. They mustn’t rely on their own resources. They must trust in God; He will supply what they need. Carrying little or nothing is a powerful demonstration of your trust in God.

Then Jesus says, ‘Wear sandals, but don’t take a spare tunic.’ In those days, rich people wore shoes; poorer people wore sandals. Jesus wants His disciples to dress simply, so that they can connect with the poor. 

And then, ‘If you enter a house anywhere, stay there until you leave the district.’  This means don’t be fussy about where you stay. Show you’re happy to accept whatever is offered to you, and spend some time with the locals. It takes time to know them.

Then Jesus warns them that not everyone will accept his Gospel message.  Some people simply won’t listen. If that happens, Jesus says just leave. Shake the dust off your feet (in other words: simply let go) and move on.

It’s interesting to note how similar these directions are to the instructions God gave the twelve tribes of Israel before their exodus from 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). Like the twelve disciples, the twelve tribes were all expected to rely on God’s providence and grace.

Now, we are Jesus’ disciples today, so these instructions are meant for us. Jesus wants us to live simply. He wants us to rely less on ourselves, and to trust more in Him. He wants us to open our hearts and to lead those who are lost on a new exodus towards Him, for He’s waiting for us with open arms.

We don’t have to be anyone special to do this. We only need faith. That’s the message from Amos in our first reading today. Amos was an ordinary shepherd who was asked by God to go and tell the Israelites that he loves them and that they must change their ways. They didn’t listen, but that doesn’t matter. As Jesus says, just shake the dust off your feet and move on.

St Teresa of Calcutta used to say that in doing God’s work, we don’t have to be successful. We just have to be faithful.

In our Second Reading, St Paul says that before the world was made, God chose us to be holy and spotless, to live through love in His presence and to be His adopted sons and daughters.

In other words, God loves us totally; He wants us close to Him. That’s the message Jesus wants us to spread.

In his book ‘The Joy of the Gospel’, Pope Francis reminds us that in our Christian faith we’re all called to be missionary. This call is reflected all through the Gospels, and it’s certainly reflected in every Mass.

When we leave Mass today, nourished and transformed by the Holy Eucharist, Jesus will be sending us out, just like the original Twelve, to take His Gospel message into the world. And He’s inviting us to do this in pairs.

Let’s close with a story.

One winter’s day a man came upon a small boy sitting and begging on a wind-swept city bridge. The boy was shivering from the cold and obviously in need of a good meal.

On seeing him, the man got very angry and said to God, ‘Lord, why don’t you do something about this boy?’

God replied, ‘I’ve already done something about him.’

This surprised the man, so he said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but whatever you did, it doesn’t seem to be working.’

‘I agree with you,’ God replied.

‘By the way, what did you do?’ the man asked.

‘I made you,’ came the reply. [i]

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[i] Flor McCarthy, New Sunday and Holy Day Liturgies, Year B. Dominican Publications, Dublin, 2017:259-260.

When I am Weak, I am Strong

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

What is strength?

In our popular culture, strength tends to be measured by things like power, money, influence and prestige, and many people like to boast about having it.

St Paul sees strength very differently. In today’s second reading, he says ‘It’s when I am weak that I am strong.’ What does that mean?

Paul is writing to the members of the Corinthian church, who were known to boast of their worldly successes. Without giving any details, he tells them that a thorn has been torturing his flesh, and three times he begged God to remove it. But God simply replied to him, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness.’

Thinking about these surprising words, Paul realised that the painful irritant that so troubled him was actually a good thing because it stopped him from feeling too proud and self-sufficient. It made him humble; it opened him up to the graces of the Holy Spirit, and it constantly reminded him of his dependence on Jesus.

In other words, God was using that unnamed thorn to make Paul a better man. That’s why he says, ‘it’s when I am weak that I’m strong.’

A good example of this is Eileen O’Connor, who was born in Melbourne in 1892. She was the oldest of four children of Irish-born parents. At the age of three, she fell out of her pram and suffered a broken spine. Thereafter, she lived a life of constant pain from what was later diagnosed as tuberculous osteomyelitis.

Several painful operations did nothing to help her, and her crooked spine made walking very difficult. She only grew to 115 cm (3 ft 7 inches) tall, and spent most of her life in a wheelchair. Because of her condition, she had very little schooling.

When Eileen was 10, her family moved to Sydney, where her father subsequently died, leaving them in dire poverty. Fr Edward McGrath, the local parish priest, helped them find accommodation. He also got to know Eileen well and was very impressed by her faith and courage.

One day Eileen told Fr McGrath of an apparition she’d had of Our Lady when she was a teenager. Mary, she said, offered her three options: to die quickly and go to heaven; to be miraculously healed and live comfortably on earth; or to offer all her torments and energies to Our Lady’s work of building up God’s kingdom.

Remarkably, Eileen chose the last option.

Fr McGrath then shared with her his own dream of establishing a congregation of nurses to provide free care to the poor, the sick and the dying in their own homes.

Having deep empathy for those who suffer, Eileen loved this idea.

Together, she and Fr McGrath established a small community of nuns known as Our Lady’s Nurses of the Poor. In 1913, she moved into a rented house in Coogee which became their first convent. They called it ‘Our Lady’s Home.’ The sisters elected Eileen as their first superior, and although she was only in her twenties, they called her their ‘Little Mother.’

Eileen supervised the sisters’ work, she led them in prayer and gave them spiritual direction. She also had to manage those who tried to obstruct their work.

Sadly, Eileen’s life was cut short. She died in 1921, aged only 28.[i] [ii]

Outwardly, Eileen O’Connor was tiny, weak and frail, and easily overlooked. Yet her character was magnetic and her spirit was very strong. She proved to be a remarkable teacher and organiser who inspired many generations of nurses, and brought happiness and light to the lives of so many people. [iii]

Today she is revered as a holy woman in Australia and the Pacific, and even in the United States. 

The cause for her canonisation was opened in 2020, and now she is on her way to becoming Australia’s next saint. [iv]

When we feel strong and self-reliant, when we are boastful of our successes, we tend to shut ourselves off from people and from God. We think we don’t need them. But this is a mistake, because we are limiting ourselves. We are shutting ourselves off from extraordinary power and opportunity.

However, when we are consciously weak, broken and vulnerable, that’s when we start looking beyond ourselves and hopefully, we turn to God.

Like St Paul and Eileen O’Connor, when we open ourselves up to the strength and power of God’s Holy Spirit, that’s when He begins to work through us. And remarkable things happen.

This is what happens in the life of every saint.

So, the next time you’re feeling strong and confident, remember Jesus’ words: ‘Apart from me, you can do nothing’ (Jn.15:5).

Whatever weakness you have can turn out to be a source of very great strength.

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[i] https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/oconnor-eily-rosaline-eileen-7875

[ii] https://www.ourladysnurses.org.au/eileen-oconnor/

[iii] https://www.catholicweekly.com.au/next-step-towards-sainthood/

[iv] https://www.sydneycatholic.org/homilies/2021/homily-for-solemn-mass-of-the-29th-sunday-of-ordinary-time-year-b/

Jairus and Two Daughters

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

Today’s Gospel is crafted like a sandwich. It gives us the story of Jairus’ daughter, and in the middle of it we’re given another story about a suffering woman.

Both stories have something to teach us about our faith.

They begin with Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee and meeting a crowd of people on the other shore. Jairus is in that crowd. He falls to his knees and begs Jesus to save his dying daughter.

Sometimes we are like Jairus, desperately asking Jesus for help.

Notice how Jesus responds. He listens to Jairus, but He makes him wait. Jesus could have healed the girl immediately, just as He healed the Centurion’s servant in Capernaum. But He delays. Why? One reason is because Jesus wants Jairus to spend time with Him. But He also wants him to learn.

Sometimes we, too, have to wait when we pray for something, and sometimes that waiting is for a long time. Perhaps we’re praying for the wrong thing, or maybe Jesus simply wants us to develop patience and trust, and to go much, much deeper into our faith.

If Jesus always gave us quick solutions, how often would we simply return to our ordinary lives, unchanged? Clearly, Jesus wants us to grow.

Happily, from time to time while we’re waiting, He sends us encouraging signs. That’s what happens to Jairus today. As he walks with Jesus towards his house, Jairus sees Jesus heal someone else. He witnesses Jesus healing the suffering woman. Seeing that strengthens Jairus’ faith and it puts a spring in his step.

Has this ever happened to you? Have you seen or heard about someone else being helped while you were waiting for your own prayers to be answered? This is a gift, an encouraging sign meant to help us keep going. 

In today’s second story – the filling in the sandwich – we meet a woman who has been suffering for years. She knows all about waiting, and she has tried everything to solve her own problem. Now she realises that her only hope is Jesus, and this has given her profound faith.

She is convinced that all she has to do is touch Jesus, and she’ll be healed.  And that’s exactly what happens: she touches Jesus’ cloak and she’s instantly healed.

This famous story emphasises the importance of patience and trust, and it reminds us of the importance of touch.

When that woman reaches out to touch Jesus, He feels His power drain from Him. ‘Who touched me?’ He asks. The disciples think He’s just being silly, because they were all inside a bustling crowd. But being accidentally nudged is not the same as a personal, believing touch, for touch can be incredibly powerful: it can heal; it can console, and as Helen Keller discovered, it can teach, as well.

Helen Keller (1880 – 1968) caught meningitis before she was two years old, and it left her deaf and blind. The only way her teacher could communicate with her and teach her how to read, write and speak was through touch.

One day, she put Helen’s hand under the water pump, and with her finger repeatedly signed w-a-t-e-r on her palm. Through touch, she found a way to break through to Helen and unlock her brilliant mind.

Touch became Helen Keller’s lifeline to the world, just as it’s an important link between ourselves and those we love.

And touch is an important element in our relationship with Jesus, too. You might not have thought about it much, but every time you come forward for the Holy Eucharist, you stretch out your hands to receive Jesus Himself.

Are you aware of this? Do you feel Jesus’ personal touch when you receive Him at Communion? And does Jesus feel your loving touch in return?

Or is it all just a mindless gesture?

There is so much wisdom embedded in our two sandwiched Gospel stories today. Jairus’ prayer was answered, but he had to wait. And while he waited he received an encouraging sign that strengthened his faith.

The suffering woman had to wait, too, and that waiting convinced her that the only answer to her prayers was Jesus Himself.  

And both stories demonstrate the importance of a loving touch. Jesus reaches out to touch Jairus’ daughter, and she is healed. The suffering woman reaches out to touch Jesus, and she too is healed.

When we reach out to receive the Holy Eucharist today, let’s remember that we’ll be touching Jesus Himself.

Let’s do so with deep reverence, faith, and love.

Surviving the Storm

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

Many people love the sea; they’re fascinated by its colour, its power and its life, while others fear it. They’re scared of its sharks, shipwrecks and unstable nature. 

In Biblical times, people found the sea frightening. They thought it was dangerous and believed that only God can tame it. Indeed, God does tame it in Genesis 1:6-10.

In Exodus, God also divides the Red Sea (14:21-22). And in Revelation, we’re told there will be ‘no more sea’ when God’s peace finally descends on a ‘new earth and new heaven’ (Rev.21:1).

This is the background to Mark’s Gospel today. Jesus is tired, having taught and healed all day in Galilee. As He takes His disciples across the Sea of Galilee to the land of the Gentiles, a storm erupts. Big waves lash their little boat, and the men are terrified. They turn to Jesus and find Him asleep: ‘Master, don’t you care?’ they ask.

Jesus wakes up and replies, ‘Why are you so frightened? Why do you have no faith?’ He then calms the storm.

We all face storms in our lives. Sometimes it’s merely bad weather; and sometimes it’s personal storms, like financial, health or relationship troubles, or the turmoil of anxiety and depression.

For many people, this is the only time they turn to God. The rest of the time they ignore Him. However, there’s a problem with this approach, for if we don’t connect with God when all is calm, we’re unlikely to find Him when we’re in trouble. We’re much more likely to panic.

Many people today also think that if God truly is with them, if He genuinely cares about them, then there’d be no storms at all. And if a storm does arrive, they think that simply proves that God either isn’t there or He just doesn’t love them.

Today’s Gospel tells us that this thinking is wrong, for Jesus is present when the storm hits His disciples. Indeed, His presence doesn’t stop the storm; it just helps the disciples to know that He’s in it with them.

We know that difficulties are a natural part of life. Even Jesus’ life was never trouble-free, and He warns us that anyone following Him can expect to face ‘tribulation, distress and suffering’ (Jn.16.33).

But He also promises to help us. ‘I will not leave you as orphans,’ Jesus says, ‘I will come to you’ (Jn.14:18).

In Deuteronomy, too, we read: ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified … for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you’ (31:6).

So, we remember that God is always with us. But what else can we do to weather these unpleasant storms?

In his book Captured Fire, Joseph Krempa says that today’s readings offer us some useful guidelines.

Our first reading from the Book of Job, for example, reminds us that all storms have limits; they always pass, however intense they may be. The Lord knows the limits of our tolerance, Krempa says. Any storm, the Lord says as in Job, ‘thus far shall you come and no further.’

And as we wait out the storm, Krempa tells us that it’s important that we keep praying. And even if our prayer sometimes seems ineffective, we need to keep our hand on the tiller because our prayer life will give us the stability we need in any turbulence.

Krempa also says that during a storm is not the time to change direction. We should not make any serious life-changing decisions during times of deep anxiety or loss, he says. The storm is not the time to make a major career change, to write a difficult letter or to rearrange our finances. Such changes can be made when calm returns and we can think clearly.

And finally, he points out that in our second reading, St Paul encourages us to see things through the eyes of Christ, for storms have great power to transform the landscape. Through the storms of life, things might seem to be breaking apart, but through the eyes of faith we can see that they are actually breaking open, that things are changing for the better.

For personal tragedy can lead us to a new life with God; physical loss can be a moment of spiritual gain, and illness can lead to spiritual renewal. [i]

Being buffeted by the storms of life isn’t pleasant, but remember this: you are never alone. God is always with you, even if you think He’s sleeping.

So keep up your prayers, and be aware that storms can not only bring us closer to God, they also often create pathways to something new.

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[i] S Joseph Krempa, Captured Fire Cycle B, St Paul’s, New York. 2016:106-107.

Like a Mustard Seed

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

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus says the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. What does He mean by that?

Let’s begin by explaining the Kingdom of God, a phrase that is used 122 times in the New Testament.

In his book Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI says that the Kingdom of God isn’t a particular place or a thing, but a way of living that has three dimensions.

Firstly, the Kingdom of God is a person. It’s Jesus Christ himself, and Jesus, of course, is God’s presence among us. He represents both truth and the way we should live if we seek the best for ourselves.

Secondly, the Kingdom of God is inside us. It becomes real when we welcome Jesus into our hearts. It also becomes real when we allow Him to rule over our lives, and when we choose to live as He does.

And thirdly, the Kingdom of God is the Church. Despite all its faults and limitations, it’s through the Church that Jesus continues his mission and ministry in our world today.

How, then, is God’s kingdom like a mustard seed?

In the Gospel, Jesus says it’s ‘… like a mustard seed which … is the smallest of all the seeds … yet once it’s sown it grows into the biggest shrub of them all and puts out big branches so that the birds of the air can shelter in its shade.’ 

Now, we know that Jesus isn’t speaking literally here, because the mustard seed isn’t the smallest of seeds. What Jesus is using here is an expression that was common in ancient times. But what does He mean?

In her book Everyday God, Paula Gooder says the mustard plant sometimes behaves like a weed. It can spread like wildfire and grow into a very large shrub where birds love to build their nests.

This is just like the Church. It has grown very large and just as birds like to nest in a tree, so many people flock to the Church as a great source of nourishment, rest and shelter.

But there’s another way of looking at today’s Gospel. The seed also represents our own efforts, and God’s grace is the action of the sun and rain on that seed. As St Paul says, it’s God who gives the growth. He makes seeds grow. 

Sometimes all we have to do is provide a small beginning and God will do the rest.  Even a kind word or a good deed can start something big.

In 1860, for example, St Mary McKillop went to look after her young cousins in Penola, South Australia, and soon started a school and a new religious order, the Josephites. Their ministry spread rapidly, and today they work in Australia, New Zealand, East Timor, Ireland, Scotland and South America.

In 1949 Mother Teresa of Calcutta went alone into the streets of Calcutta to help the sick and dying, and so began what is now an enormous ministry of love across the world, with thousands of priests, nuns and laypeople helping the poor in 90 countries.

And in 1976, Muhammad Yunus began the world’s first microcredit bank in Bangladesh, providing tiny business loans to entrepreneurs trapped by poverty. He began with a very small seed – by lending just $27 to a group of 42 women to start a business making bamboo stools. Since then, his Grameen Bank has spread to 59 countries and it has helped over 300 million people.

Clearly, a tiny seed can start something good, but it can also stop something bad.

In the early 400s, a humble monk named Telemachus travelled to Rome, and found himself in the crowds going to the Coliseum. Sitting there in the stadium, he was appalled to see gladiators killing each other.

He called out, ‘In the name of Jesus, Stop!’ But no one seemed to hear. He jumped over the wall into the arena and again called out, ‘In the name of Jesus, Stop!’ The people laughed, and the gladiators turned on him.

They killed St Telemachus and at that moment everyone was shocked. In silence they all went home.

That same day the Emperor Honorius banned violent games right across the Roman Empire.

There’s nothing ordinary about all this. This is how the Kingdom of God grows.

Each of us can start something great, or end something awful.

Sometimes we don’t even know we’re doing it, but all it takes is a small act of love, done in the name of Jesus.

And God then gives the growth.