Deacon Peter

Unready Adventurers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just have to say yes.

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

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

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

Two Good Men

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Taste of Heaven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A taste of heaven.

Andrei Rublev’s Trinity

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

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

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

Rublev painted this icon to encourage this contemplation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Breath of God

(Acts 2:1-11; 1Cor.12:3b-7, 12-13; Jn.20:19-23)

We have so many locks in our lives – on our doors, our cars, our windows and our phones…

Why? Because of fear. We worry about these things, so we shut them away.

But it’s not just possessions we lock up. Sometimes we padlock our hearts and minds, too, especially when we feel fearful, anxious, depressed or empty, or when we suffer from guilt or resentment. That’s when our brains and hearts can freeze and we feel trapped, unable to go forward.

This is what happens to Jesus’ disciples after his crucifixion. They fear they might suffer the same fate, so they lock themselves inside the Upper Room.

Then on Easter Sunday, Jesus walks through that door, surprising them and greeting them with the words, ‘Peace be with you.’ Shortly afterwards, Jesus breathes on them, saying, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’ (Jn.20:22).

Why does he breathe on them? It’s because Jesus is God, and his breath is life itself.

As you might recall, in the story of Creation when all was dark, God breathed over the waters of chaos and this led to light and life (Gen.1:1-5). Later, in the Garden of Eden, God picks up a lump of clay and breathes on it to create Adam, the first man (Gen.2:7). And in Ezekiel 37, God’s breath revives what was once dead in the valley of dry bones.

In other words, God’s breath is always life-giving, creative and renewing. It’s his Holy Spirit, of course, bringing not only biological life, but also spiritual transformation.

That’s why Jesus breathes on his disciples there in the Upper Room. He gives them the peace of his Holy Spirit.

Fifty days later, at Pentecost, the disciples are in the same place, but still don’t know what to do with themselves. Then suddenly a noise like a mighty wind arrives from heaven.

What is this wind? It’s the breath of God, once again. It’s God’s dynamic Spirit transforming them with meaning and purpose, passion and conviction. They then go out into the world to tell everyone the good news about Jesus.

Today, on this feast of Pentecost, we celebrate the wind of God’s gentle but powerful Spirit that never ceases to blow. And we remember that the fire of God’s love continues to burn brightly in the hearts of the faithful.

But what about you? Are you filled with the Spirit and living a meaningful life?

Or do you feel trapped in your own Upper Room, stuck with empty thoughts and going nowhere?

One person who managed to break out of her own Upper Room was St Edith Stein. She was born into a devout Jewish family in 1891, in Breslau, Germany (now Poland). As a teenager she turned to atheism, and as an adult she became a brilliant philosopher and one of the first women in Germany to earn a doctorate.

Edith’s ‘Upper Room’ wasn’t a physical room, however. She felt trapped in an intellectual prison, stuck in a silent space between unbelief and grace where she felt spiritually restless.

What really confronted her was the suffering she witnessed as a nurse during World War I. Her work in philosophy raised deep human questions about truth, love and the soul, but she couldn’t find any good answers. And when some of her friends started becoming Christians, something stirred deep inside her.

One day in 1922, while visiting friends, she picked up the autobiography of the Spanish mystic, St Teresa of Avila. She read it in one night, and when she finished, she simply said, ‘This is the truth.’ That was her Pentecost moment, when her locked door opened.

Soon afterwards she became a Catholic, shocking her family and her academic peers. But for Edith, it was the fulfillment of a long inner journey. For the next ten years she lived a quiet life, teaching, writing and translating the works of St. Thomas Aquinas and John Henry Newman. But she also felt a deeper call, to give her whole self to God.

In 1933, when the Nazis took power, she joined the Carmelites in Cologne, taking the name Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. There, in the prayerful silence of her convent, she watched Europe descend into war.

Sadly, in their search for Jews the Gestapo arrested her and sent her to Auschwitz, where she was murdered in 1942. But even in that darkness, she remained serene, reportedly saying: ‘Come, let us go for our people.’

Her final act was accepting the Cross of Christ. She willingly embraced death in solidarity with her Jewish brothers and sisters.

Today, St. Edith Stein is offered to us as a model for anyone who feels trapped in darkness.

To set yourself free, welcome the life-giving Breath of God.

Abandonment to Divine Providence

(Acts.1:1-11; Heb.9:24-28, 10:19-23; Lk.24:46-53)

Shortly before he died, my father asked me to read three paragraphs from Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s classic book Abandonment to Divine Providence.

De Caussade (1675-1751) was a French Jesuit priest and writer. Briefly, this is what I read: ‘If you’re looking for God, know that he’s already with you. And if you want to be a saint, then do what the saints did: surrender yourself to God. Let him inspire you.’

He continues: ‘Many people think that God is no longer active in our world, and the best you can do is remember what he said and did long ago. However, they don’t realise that God is still busy inspiring saints today. So, don’t bother copying the lives and writings of others; simply abandon yourself to God.

‘God is constantly working to sanctify and redeem our world, and we can still open ourselves up to him, just as the saints did. And just as they let God transform their hearts and lives, so we can do the same. If we give ourselves to God, he will never stop pouring his graces into us.’

De Caussade concludes: ‘This is the road our ancient fathers took, and this is the way I will go, so that I can speak as they spoke and live as they lived.’ [i]

Over the years, many good people have understood the wisdom of these words. One such person was the French Trappist monk Dom Jean-Baptiste Chautard (1858–1935). In the late 1800s, he was elected abbot of the ancient Abbey of Our Lady of Seven Fountains (Sept-Fons), which was then in bad shape.

The community was spiritually weak, and the monastery itself was crumbling.

At first, Chautard tried to recruit new monks and fix the buildings, but then he realised that human effort alone wasn’t enough. He knew that before any physical work could bear fruit, the monks had to deepen their interior life with God.

Some of the monks and donors had been urging him to modernise quickly, but Chautard insisted on trusting in God’s providence. He began emphasising prayer, contemplation and keeping to the monastic rule.

And he taught his monks to regard every duty, including prayer, manual labour, and silence, as a way of surrendering to God’s will.

Spiritual depth, he knew, must come before material success.

In time, the abbey flourished. Through God’s grace, more men joined, the monastery was restored and the Cistercian tradition was revitalised.

Chautard recorded this story in his famous book, The Soul of the Apostolate.[ii]

Like de Caussade, he understood that for any ministry to flourish, it must be underpinned by a strong interior life, where we surrender ourselves to God and his providence in every present moment. This is what my father wanted me to know.

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Ascension, the moment when Jesus farewells his disciples and returns to heaven because his earthly mission is over. He has taught his disciples what they need to know, and now it’s their turn to continue his work.

Jesus knows they will struggle on their own, so he promises to send his Holy Spirit to help them (Jn.14:16). That’s what happens at Pentecost, and we know the Apostles go on to do remarkable things.

Today, Jean-Pierre De Caussade reminds us that Jesus is still sending down his Holy Spirit – through the sacraments and every time we open ourselves up to God and pray.

With God, we are never alone. When we abandon ourselves to God’s divine providence, when we truly trust him, he will fill us with his graces. He will help us.

The Australian Cistercian monk, Michael Casey, says that abandonment isn’t the same as giving up. Genuine abandonment means humbly accepting that I don’t always know what’s good for me, and it means being willing to express our pain to God in prayer.

For abandonment is not stoic indifference. It’s active, not passive. It drives us to use our hardship as a springboard to leap into God’s ambit.

Casey says that we will often find that things are better between us and God if we learn to let go and to confidently place our lives in his hands. [iii]

So, if you want to be holy, become a saint or simply become more fruitful, then it’s time to develop your interior life.

Learn to trust God. He will fill you with his graces.

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[i] Jean-Pierre De Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence, Cosimo Classics, New York, 2007:27-28

[ii] https://www.mountsaintbernard.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/Dom-Chautard-The-Soul-of-the-Apostolate.pdf

[iii] Michael Casey, Balaam’s Donkey, Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN., 2018, 2-3.

The Peace Crane

 (Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Rev.21:10-14, 22-23; Jn.14:23-29)

The world has many symbols for peace. They include the olive branch and white dove, the white poppy, the broken rifle, the classic V sign – and the origami Peace Crane.

The story of the peace crane begins with a little girl, Sadako Sasaki, who was born in Hiroshima, Japan, in 1943. [i]

She was only two years old in 1945 when an atomic bomb fell on Hiroshima. It destroyed their home and killed her grandmother and most of her neighbours. But Sadako seemed unhurt and she grew into a happy girl.

Ten years later, when she was 12, she collapsed at school. Sadako was taken to hospital and diagnosed with leukemia.

A friend visited her there, bringing some colourful origami paper. She told Sadako the legendary story of the Japanese crane which lives for a long time. If you fold 1,000 origami paper cranes, she said, your wish will come true.

Sadako really wanted to go home, so she began folding 1,000 paper cranes. As she made each one, she prayed she would get better and said, ‘I will write peace on your wings, and you will fly all over the world.’ Her younger brother hung these birds from the ceiling of her room.

In her book, Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes, the author Eleanor Coerr says that Sadako only made 644 cranes before she died, and her family and friends made the rest for her.

But in real life, Sadako actually folded over 1400 paper cranes. Although she didn’t get better, she kept making them, not for herself, but for her family. She died saying, ‘I want to be cured, I want to go home, I want to be with my family.’ [ii]

After her death in 1955, Sadako’s classmates raised funds to build a memorial for her and all other children hurt in war. In 1958, the Children’s Peace Monument was opened in Hiroshima’s Peace Park, with a statue of Sadako holding a golden peace crane. It has a plaque which reads: ‘This is our cry. This is our prayer: peace on Earth.’ [iii]

Every year on August 6, the anniversary of the atomic bomb, paper cranes from all over are placed at her memorial – over 10 million each year.

Sadako Sasaki’s colourful paper cranes have become a powerful symbol for peace, which we all need so badly in our world today. But what is peace?

Most people think it’s the absence of noise, trouble and hard work. They think it’s feeling calm and relaxed, and free from stress and danger. But that’s not true peace. That’s worldly peace.

Worldly peace is typically fragile, temporary and conditional, because it depends on what’s happening around you, and that’s hard to control.

True peace, however, comes from God.

In John’s Gospel today, Jesus is talking with his disciples just after the Last Supper. He knows he will die soon; he knows his disciples are frightened. So, he says to them, ‘Don’t be troubled or afraid… my peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. A peace the world cannot give, this is my gift to you.’

The kind of peace Jesus is talking about is very different to what we normally expect. Firstly, it doesn’t come from any human effort, for it only comes from God. Secondly, it’s internal, rather than external, so it doesn’t depend on what’s happening around us.

Jesus’ peace is a free, spiritual gift. It’s like the calm at the bottom of the ocean. Storms may be raging above, but there’s a wonderful calm deep below the surface.

It means being at peace with God, with ourselves and with our neighbour.

So how can we get some of this peace? 

The only way is by having a close, loving relationship with God, and that means getting to know him and learning to love him.

Peter Kreeft says the goal of love is always intimacy, and God becomes more and more intimate with us as he reveals himself in three stages: first, the Father reveals himself in the Old Testament; then, the Son, in the New Testament; and then, the Holy Spirit, in the Church.

First God is above us, and then he is with us, and then he is in us.

First he is outside us, then he is beside us, and finally he is in us. [iv]

Symbols like Sadako’s peace crane are wonderful for reminding us of what is possible in this world.

But it’s only when you genuinely invite God into your heart and life that his peace will come flooding into your soul.

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[i] To make your own Origami Peace Crane, go to: https://www.origami-fun.com/origami-crane.html

[ii] https://sadakosasaki.com/

[iii] https://theelders.org/news/masahiro-sasaki-surviving-atomic-bombing-hiroshima-his-sister-sadako-and-his-mission-advance

[iv] Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul, Cycle C, Word on Fire, Park Ridge, IL. 2021:314.

Love in Any Language

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mum Shirl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In what way are you a Good Shepherd to others?

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

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

The Big Fisherman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is Jesus’ last miracle before his Ascension.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Each time Peter replies, ‘Yes, Lord’.

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

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

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

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

Peter teaches us that failure is never final.

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