Deacon Peter

On Feeding my Lambs

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

In today’s Gospel Jesus is at Tabgha, a quiet beach on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee.  Jesus knew it well.  It’s 3km from Capernaum and his Sermon on the Mount and his miracle of the loaves and fishes occurred nearby.

In ancient times Tabgha was called Heptapegon (‘Place of Seven Springs’). These are hot springs that still flow into the lake today, feeding algae and attracting fish.

Peter and the disciples have been night fishing, but caught nothing.  At dawn, as they return to shore, someone calls out and tells them to cast their nets on the other side.  They don’t recognise Jesus, but he must have sounded important because they do what he says and they catch lots of fish.

This story’s very similar to Luke 5:1-11, when Jesus tells Peter, James and John to cast out into the deep and they catch a huge haul of fish.  Luke’s story is at the start of Jesus’ public ministry; but today’s story is from John’s last chapter. 

Both stories use fish as a metaphor for souls.  In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus calls on his disciples to be ‘fishers of men’.  In John’s Gospel, we’re told that they caught 153 fish.  Many have wondered what this number means.  Some think it refers to Aristotle’s teaching that there were 153 species of fish in the sea.  If that’s true, then this number represents all people and Jesus is telling his disciples to bring everyone to him through his Church.

So, Jesus is there on Tabgha’s pebbly beach, cooking a breakfast of fish and bread over a fire.  He invites his disciples to join him.  He then takes the bread, blesses it and gives it to them.  This meal is clearly Eucharistic.  Jesus shared many meals with his disciples, and whenever they ate with him and listened to him, they were nourished and their relationship with Jesus was strengthened.

Today at Tabgha there’s a small grey-stone church by the shore.  It’s called St Peter Primacy.  Inside, in front of the altar, there’s a large flat limestone rock called ‘Mensa Christi’ (‘Table of Christ’).  Tradition tells us that this is where Jesus cooked and ate this meal with his disciples.

Now, after breakfast, Jesus takes Peter aside and asks him three times, ‘Do you love me?’  Each time Peter replies, ‘Yes, Lord’.  Jesus is giving Peter a chance to undo the three times he denied him. 

But Jesus does something else as well.  He says to Peter, if you really love me, then ‘feed my lambs’ and ‘take care of my sheep’.  With these words he’s telling Peter to lead his universal Church, and that’s why that little church in Tabgha today is called ‘St Peter Primacy’.  Peter is given responsibility for leading Jesus’ church.

We know that Peter takes that command seriously, because in our first reading today he confronts the Sanhedrin, the Temple leaders who crucified Jesus.  Previously Peter was terrified of them; that’s why he denied Jesus three times.  But now he’s a changed man.  He’s filled with authority and, empowered by the Holy Spirit, he stands up to them.

Well, then, do something about it. Take care of my people.

So what does all this mean for us?

Well, the Gospels weren’t written for the Apostles.  They were written for you and me, and what applied to Jesus’ disciples back then also applies to us today.

Just as his disciples often ate with Jesus, so we do the same at every Mass.  When the disciples ate with Jesus and listened to him, they were nourished and their relationship with him grew.  We should seek to do the same.

Remember what Jesus says, ‘My flesh is real food and my blood is real drink.  He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I in him… this is the bread come down from heaven … he who eats this bread will live forever’ (Jn.6:55-58).  Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist.

And just as Jesus asks Peter, ‘Simon, son of John, do you love me?’ He asks us the same question. 

He asks, ‘Ellie, do you love me?’ and ‘Frank, do you love me?’ and ‘Joe, do you love me?’

And when we reply like Peter, ‘Yes Lord, I love you’, he also replies to us, ‘Well then, do something about it.  Take care of my people’.

When we receive Jesus’ Real Presence in the Eucharist, he’s also calling us, just as he called Peter, to go and take care of his people.

(Acts 5:12-16; Rev.1:9-13, 17-19; Jn.20:19-31)

On the Secrets of Divine Mercy

We all want peace, don’t we?  Sadly, there’s more fear, mistrust and tension around us than peace.  What can we do about it?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus enters the locked room where his disciples are hiding and says, ‘peace be with you’.  He also says something similar in our second reading to St John, who’s exiled on the island of Patmos.  Jesus says, ‘Do not be afraid’.

Jesus often speaks of peace, but the peace he refers to isn’t just restful calm or a beach holiday.  It’s much deeper than that.  Jesus’ peace comes from a life of love and joy that’s only available from God.

So many saints have shown us that a life filled with God’s love is not only liberating and transforming and dynamic, but it’s also peaceful.

Consider the Apostles after Jesus’ resurrection.  They’re totally transformed as they finally start understanding Jesus’ message about God’s love.  And when Jesus says, ‘As my Father has sent me, so I send you’, they go out and start telling everyone about God’s unconditional love and mercy.  And despite the obvious dangers, they’re peaceful inside.

The early Christians understood this. They knew the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Shepherd. They understood that God’s love isn’t just the pardon of a merciful judge; it’s actually the warm embrace of a loving father.

Sadly, people have been forgetting this, but Jesus doesn’t give up easily.  He wants everyone to understand God’s love, and that’s why he keeps working through the saints to remind us.

In the 1200s, St Gertrude and St Mechtilde in Germany encouraged people to recognise the Sacred Heart of Jesus as the symbol of God’s love. Their beautiful prayers and devotions helped many people to find peace.

In the 1670s, in France, Jesus revealed to St Margaret Mary Alacoque the secrets of his Sacred Heart and again many Christians discovered peace, love and joy.  Every first Friday millions of people prayed with the words ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus I trust in Thee’ on their lips and in their hearts. 

As time passed, however, these too seemed to be forgotten.  But Jesus doesn’t give up.

Jesus wants a personal relationship with each of us, not just in our heads, but deep in our hearts.

In February 1931, Jesus appeared to a humble nun, Sr Maria Faustina Kowalska, in Poland.  He appeared as the ‘King of Divine Mercy’, wearing a white garment, with rays of white and red light shining from his heart. He told Sr Faustina to paint this image, with the words: ‘Jesus, I trust in You’. He said he wanted this image venerated, first in her chapel, and then throughout the world. And he promised that anyone who venerates this image will not perish.

In several revelations, Jesus taught her the secrets of his Divine Mercy, saying that it’s unlimited and available to even the greatest sinners.  And he said he wanted the Sunday after Easter to be celebrated as the Feast of Divine Mercy.

Sr. Faustina was surprised that he wanted this Feast of Divine Mercy.  She asked, ‘Isn’t there one already?’  But Jesus replied, ‘Who knows anything about this feast?  No one!  Even those who should be proclaiming my mercy and teaching the people about it, often don’t know about it themselves’.

Why does this worry Jesus? 

Well, we should remember the Pharisees.  In Matthew 15:8, Jesus calls them hypocrites and says, ‘These people honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me’.  The Pharisees had forgotten the meaning of their prayers and their rituals, and their worship became very superficial.  Nothing they did touched their hearts.  They had no relationship with God, so it’s not surprising that they didn’t recognise Jesus when he arrived.

Jesus doesn’t want that to happen to us.  He wants a personal relationship with each of us, not just in our heads, but deep in our hearts.

For four years Faustina Kowalska kept a diary of her contact with Jesus.  The result is the book ‘Divine Mercy in My Soul’ – 600 pages about God’s merciful love for us and how he wants us to live and pray.

In April 2000, Pope St John Paul II canonised Sr Faustina and established the second Sunday of Easter as Divine Mercy Sunday. That’s what we celebrate today.

So, let’s pray for peace – the unfathomable peace we all need deep in our hearts. 

The peace that only comes from truly loving, trusting and understanding the tender loving and merciful heart of our God.

On the Heart of our Faith

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

Happy Easter! Today is the most important day of our Christian calendar, because this is the day we celebrate Jesus’ return from the dead.  The truth of Jesus’ resurrection is at the very heart of our faith. 

Given its importance, then, why do so many people only rabbit on about chocolate eggs at Easter?

Let’s go back a step.  We don’t know exactly when Jesus was born, but we do know the month of his death and resurrection.  It’s linked to the Jewish Passover, which is always between late March and late April each year.

This is springtime in the Northern Hemisphere.  Have you heard of the mad March hare?  Springtime is when rabbits and hares leave their winter hiding places and rush about eating, nesting and multiplying.  Springtime is also when most wild birds lay their eggs.  In the 1600s, someone in Germany linked these two events and started making up stories about rabbit-eggs.

These are fairytales, however.  They simply distract us from the real Easter story.  So let’s look at that now.

St Luke tells us that at dawn on the first Easter, Mary Magdalene and two other women went to Jesus’ tomb with a gift of spices.  They were astonished to see it empty.  Two angels said to them ‘Why look for the alive among the dead?  He’s not here, he’s risen.’

The women ran to tell the disciples, but they wouldn’t believe it.  So Peter checked for himself, and all he saw in the tomb were some binding cloths.  Soon afterwards, however, Jesus appeared to them personally and then they had to believe.

The question today is this: do we believe?  And what does Jesus’ resurrection mean for us personally?  St Paul says that if Christ is not risen, then all our believing is in vain (1Cor.15:17).  But we know he’s risen, for several reasons.

It’s significant that all four Gospels say that women were the first to witness the empty tomb. This point gives credibility to these accounts, because in ancient times women weren’t allowed to be official witnesses.  Had the Resurrection story been invented, women would never have been mentioned.

It’s also significant that there’d been no forced entry into the tomb, and that Jesus’ linen wrappings were left on the floor.  If Jesus’ body had been stolen, the bandages would have gone, too.  But they were left behind.

What’s immensely profound, though, is the change in the disciples’ behaviour. 

The author Henry Van Dyke once wrote that some people are so afraid of death that they never really begin to live.  This certainly applied to the disciples. At first they’re so terrified of arrest that they go into hiding.  But not long after Jesus’ resurrection they’re completely transformed.  They come out of hiding and start preaching with great passion.

What we’re now moving towards is life, not death.

St Peter, previously so weak, suddenly becomes a lion and fearlessly confronts the Jewish crowd.  He’s filled with fire and nothing will stop him.

St Paul the Pharisee also meets Jesus on the Damascus Road and he, too, changes utterly.  There’s no escaping it – Jesus is risen!

The Apostles’ conviction is so strong that no gaol or persecution or torture will stop them spreading the extraordinary news about Jesus Christ.

And it’s because of their passion, and the unshakeable faith of so many disciples since then, that we’re all here today, celebrating Easter.

So what does the Resurrection mean for us today?

Before Christ’s resurrection, death always followed life.  It didn’t matter how rich or powerful you were; death was always the end of the road.  But now, because of Jesus’ self-sacrifice, death is as empty as his tomb.  Death is no longer what we’re moving towards; it’s what we’re coming from. 

As Christians we’re all members of Christ’s body, and because of our baptism Jesus has given each of us a share in his new life and identity. 

So, what we’re now moving towards is life.  As Jesus himself said, ‘I came that they may have life, and have it to the full’ (Jn.10:10).

Some people think that all they have to do is to sit tight, and wait for their turn to enter heaven.  But true Christians aren’t meant to do nothing.  True disciples, like Jesus, are meant to spread the good news.  We’re meant to make a difference, by shining some of Christ’s light into the darkness of the world.

So, Easter is not about rabbits and chocolate eggs. 

The real story of Easter is the story of Jesus, his remarkable resurrection from death, and the profound hope he gives every one of us.

On Three Graces

[Ex.12:1-8, 11-14; 1Cor.11:23-26; Jn.13:1-15]

Years ago, a Carmelite nun went to see St Teresa of Avila, and said how she wished she’d lived in Jesus’ day.  What a joy, she thought, it would have been to see his face, to hear his voice and to be near him.  ‘Imagine what it would have been like to talk with Jesus!’ she said. ‘Oh, I’d be a saint!’

St Teresa looked at her and said, ‘My dear sister, have you forgotten that Jesus is still on earth, that he lives near you (she pointed to the tabernacle), and that he’s often in your very soul?  Have you forgotten that you can see him and speak to him as often as you like? And isn’t Jesus with us in the Most Holy Sacrament?’

Yes, Jesus is always with us in the Most Holy Sacrament, the Eucharist.

Recently I came across Robert DeGrandis’ book ‘Healing through the Mass’ [i].  In it DeGrandis describes how NASA studied the effects of space travel on astronauts and developed a special camera that can read the energy levels in a human body.  Linked to a monitor, this camera shows a person’s energy as an aura of light around the body.

In its experiments, NASA found that when someone’s dying, their aura gets thinner and thinner until that person dies.  One day in a hospital, a scientist and his associate were monitoring a dying man behind a two-way mirror.  Through their camera they could see another man entering the room. Light shone from his pocket.  The man took something from that pocket and moments later the whole room was filled with so much light that the camera couldn’t read what was happening. The scientists went into the room and saw the dying man receiving Holy Communion.  The Eucharistic host had radiated a huge amount of energy and the man’s aura got stronger.

After witnessing that event, the scientist himself became a priest.

So many of the graces God gives us are invisible to our world-weary eyes, and we never notice them.  But God’s graces are real; they’re powerful.

Today, on this feast of the Last Supper, we should remember three remarkable graces Jesus left us on the night before he died.

Firstly, Jesus washed his disciples’ feet.  As St John tells us, Jesus stood up from the table, took off his cloak, wrapped a towel around himself and washed their feet.  This startled the disciples; it was the work of slaves.  Peter objected, but Jesus replied, ‘If I don’t wash you, you can have nothing in common with me’.

Later, Jesus added, ‘Do you understand what I’ve done to you? … if I’ve washed your feet, (so) you also must wash each other’s feet.  For I’ve set you an example … you should do as I have done’.

So many of the graces God gives us are invisible to our world-weary eyes, and we never notice them.

This act was revolutionary.  Jesus showed us that regardless of who we are, we all need to reach out in humble and loving service to others.  This is the path of sainthood, and we’re all called to it.

Jesus’ second grace was also revolutionary.  He took the bread, blessed it, and gave it to his disciples saying, ‘Take and eat, this is my body’.  Then he took the cup of wine and said, ‘drink from this, all of you; for this is my blood, the blood of the new covenant’ (Mt.26:26). 

With these words, the entire substance of the bread was changed into Christ’s flesh. The entire substance of the wine was changed into his blood. 

This same miracle still happens today, at every Mass, and as NASA itself has found, the Eucharist has remarkable powers.  Indeed, it has the power to transform lives.

And finally, at the Last Supper Jesus gave us a third grace, by establishing the priesthood.  In 2004, Pope St John Paul II said that through these two actions – washing the feet, and instituting the Eucharist, Jesus established the ministerial priesthood.

Our priests are consecrated by God to make the love of Christ present in the world.  But as St Peter reminds us, we all share in that same priesthood.  We’re all a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation (1Pet.2:5). 

So, as we celebrate the Last Supper today, let’s remember that we all share in Jesus’ priesthood.

We all have a duty to make Christ’s love present in the world, by serving others in mercy and love, and by recognising his divine presence in his remarkable gift – the Eucharist.

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[i] Robert deGrandis, Healing through the Mass. Resurrection Press, New Jersey, 1992:84.

On the Passing Parade

(Is.50:4-7; Phil.2:6-11; Lk.19:28-40)

One remarkable figure in today’s Palm Sunday Gospel that’s typically overlooked is the donkey – the simple, ordinary, humble donkey.  It’s easy to miss this animal but its presence says so much.

2000 years ago, a worldly king would never have ridden a donkey.  He’d have chosen a mighty wheeled vehicle, perhaps a chariot, drawn by magnificent horses. 

But Jesus is different.  In our second reading, St Paul tells us that although he was God, Jesus didn’t seek to be treated as God.  Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave … he humbled himself. So he chose a donkey.

Riding his donkey, Jesus fulfilled Zechariah’s 500 year old prophecy:  ‘Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!  Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey … and he shall command peace to the nations …’ (Zech.9:9).

Jesus went to Jerusalem for the Passover celebrations.  He approached the city from Jericho and that means he entered through the East Gate.  Seeing him, the crowd got excited and shouted. ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!’  Jesus was their hero – their long-awaited Messiah. 

Now, Passover is one of the great Jewish celebrations.  It commemorates the release of the ancient Israelites from slavery in Egypt.  Jesus went there every year.  The American scholar Ed Parish Sanders estimates that up to 500,000 pilgrims went to Jerusalem every year for these celebrations. The numbers were huge.

With so many pilgrims in town, the Governor Pontius Pilate thought he’d better get some extra soldiers from the coast, in case of any trouble.  So, as Jesus entered from the east, Pontius Pilate and his legions entered from the west.

You can just imagine the Roman procession. It was spectacular, with horses, chariots, cavalry, foot soldiers, helmets, armour, weapons, colourful banners and golden eagles held high.  The sound of horses, drums and marching feet echoed through the narrow streets.

This imperial procession was meant to intimidate:  it’s the power of a worldly empire with its false gods.  Its purpose was to demand fear and loyalty.

Jesus’ procession from the east, however, was different.  It was led by a humble man on a donkey, proclaiming the kingdom of God and asking people for love, acceptance and loyalty.

What a contrast!  One parade representing the pride, power and shallow obsessions of the world.  The other representing a new and a remarkable kind of kingdom – one of deep humility, hope, peace and love.  One that so many of us yearn for.

If you look and listen carefully, you’ll notice that both of these parades are continuing today.  And both, in their own way, are calling us.

… one parade represents the pride, power and shallow obsessions of the world. The other represents a new kind of kingdom

The parade that’s all about power and pride (and sadly, false promises, too) is noisy, it’s brash, it’s colourful.  It’s what captures the attention of most people.  It dominates our modern world.

The other is about the extraordinary love of our humble man-God.  It’s quiet.  It’s gentle.  It’s easily overlooked, but it’s always there, gently calling us over.

Which procession are you in?  Which crowd are you following?  If you say you’re following Jesus on his donkey, then I’ll ask – are you really following him?

I ask this because many in the crowd who greeted Jesus as he rode through Jerusalem on the Sunday also demanded his death on the Friday.

Cheering on Sunday, but jeering on Friday.

Hopeful on Sunday, but hateful on Friday.

How shallow and fickle they were. 

In these final days before Easter, let’s reflect deeply on what it really means to follow Jesus.

Are we loyal or are we fickle?  Do we truly follow Jesus, or do we pretend to?

Which parade, which crowd, are we really following?

On the Miracle of Divine Mercy

(Is.43:16-21; Phil.3:8-14; Jn.8:1-11)

If God loves us no matter what, then why should we bother being good?

Let’s look at today’s Gospel.

It’s early in the morning and Jesus is teaching some people in the Temple in Jerusalem. Some Scribes and Pharisees then arrive with a very unhappy woman.

They say to Jesus, ‘teacher, this woman was caught in a terrible act of sin.  The Law of Moses says she should be punished by stoning.  What do you say?’

Now, these Scribes and Pharisees aren’t interested in this woman. They’re only trying to trap Jesus.  They want him to say the wrong thing so he’ll be punished.

If Jesus says she should be stoned, then he’ll be breaking Roman law and he’ll also be contradicting his own teachings about forgiveness and mercy.  But if Jesus says the opposite – let her go free – then he’ll be rejecting his own Hebrew Bible: the Law of Moses.  That’s their trap.

At first Jesus doesn’t answer.  He simply looks at them in silence.  He knows what they’re up to.  Now, we should remember this, for Jesus knows us, too.  In Matthew 10:30, Jesus says that God knows us so well that he’s even counted all the hairs on our heads.

That’s a good thing, because it means that God knows about our goodness; he knows when we’re trying to be good. But it also means that when we’re doing the wrong thing, God knows that too.  God knows everything, so we should be careful for we’ll be held to account one day.

But in the Temple, Jesus won’t play their game.  He doesn’t say whether the woman should be punished or not.  Instead, he says that the person who’s without sin should throw the first stone.

This must have embarrassed the Scribes and Pharisees.  They hadn’t thought of that.  They didn’t realise that when you’re pointing your finger at someone else, you’re also pointing three fingers back at yourself. 

So, one by one they all disappear, until Jesus is left alone with the woman. 

St Augustine once said that at this point only two things remained: misery and mercy.  The misery of the woman and the mercy of Jesus.  But Jesus forgives her, and he says, ‘Go, and from now on don’t sin anymore.’

With that, the woman has a choice.  She can go back to her bad old ways of sinning and feeling miserable, or she can change the way she lives.

… when you’re pointing your finger at someone else, you’re also pointing three fingers back at yourself.

Jesus knows she’s done the wrong thing, but he wants her to start a new life.  He wants her to be happy.  This means she must turn away from sin.  Jesus doesn’t say ‘It’s OK.  God loves you anyway. It doesn’t matter what you do’.  Rather, he tells her not to sin again.  What’s wrong is wrong.

Albert Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  If you want a new life, if you want a better life, then you need to change the way you live.

The woman in this story represents you and me.  She reminds us that when we do something wrong it hurts someone, and that can lead to misery. 

But the Scribes and Pharisees also represent you and me.  They remind us that when we point the finger and think we’re better than others, that’s also a sin.  That also leads to misery.

Many years ago, Jesus spoke directly to St Faustina Kowalska in Poland.  He reminded her of his merciful heart, and said that the miracle of Divine Mercy completely restores a damaged soul. 

Jesus told St Faustina that when we go to Reconciliation, we should be aware that he himself is in the confessional.  Jesus is hidden by the priest, but he himself acts in the soul.  And it’s here that the misery of the soul meets the mercy of God.

Jesus said that if we trust him, we’ll be able to draw graces from his fount of mercy.  If our trust is great, there’s no limit to his generosity.

So, it’s true that God always loves us, no matter what.  But if we want to be happy, we must turn away from sin. 

We should seek the miracle of Divine Mercy, by going to Reconciliation and starting again.

Let me leave you with this thought.  Among the Native Americans there’s the story of a father who said there were two wolves fighting inside him, one bad and one good.  His son asked him, which wolf wins? 

The father said, whichever one he feeds the most.

On the Greatest Story Ever Told

(Josh.5:9-12; 2Cor.5:17-21; Lk.15:1-9)

An angry young man once lived with his parents on a country property.  He was always fighting with his dad.  One day he shouted at him, ‘That’s it!  I’m leaving home!’

His father was upset, and replied, ‘Son, if you leave like that, don’t bother coming back!’ 

Well, the son did leave, slamming the door. But things didn’t go well for him.  He wandered from town to town, looking for work, drinking and getting into trouble. One night he was with friends.  They were all broke and they decided to rob a store.  But they were caught and sent to gaol.

The young man became really miserable.  Later, he wrote to his parents, telling them what he’d done and apologising sincerely.  He said that he’d understand if they didn’t want to see him again.

He also said that when he’s released he’ll be given a train ticket.  He wanted to catch the train that goes past their house.  If they’d like to see him again, perhaps they could tie something white to their tree near the train line.  If he sees nothing, he’ll just keep going and they’ll never see him again.

Well, the time came and the young man did get on that train.  He was so nervous.  As he got closer and closer to his old house he became even more agitated, pacing up and down the aisle.  At one point he couldn’t take it any more.  He asked another passenger, ‘My house is just ahead.  Could you please see if there’s anything white tied to a big tree?  I just can’t look’.

The passenger agreed and looked out the window.  As the train rounded the bend, he saw the most amazing sight.  He called out, ‘Look!’

There in a field was a large tree, simply covered with white sheets and towels and shirts and table cloths, all flapping in the wind.  His parents had emptied their linen cupboard of everything white and tied it all to that tree.  They wanted him back. 

The young man jumped off the train and rushed to see his parents. They gave him the most loving welcome, much greater than he’d ever imagined.

This is what God’s love is like.  God always loves us, even when we turn away from him.  He will always welcome us back.  How do we know?  Because Jesus tells us so.  He says so in his Parable of the Prodigal Son.

When Charles Dickens was asked about the greatest story ever told, he said it’s this one, the story of the Prodigal Son.

What is a prodigal son?  The word ‘prodigal’ comes from the Latin word ‘prodigo’, which means to waste or squander.  So, a prodigal son is someone who’s wasting something valuable.  That’s something we should think about.

In today’s parable there are two sons.  There’s the younger son who’s unhappy and wants to leave home.  He asks his dad for his share of the estate.  He goes into town and wastes it all.

… a prodigal son is someone who’s wasting something valuable. That’s something we should think about.

Then there’s the older son. He stays at home and works hard, but he’s also unhappy.  He resents his family and he refuses to join the celebration.

So, who’s the real prodigal son?  Well, they’ve both been wasting the many graces their father has given them.  But in the end it’s the one who refuses to come in and accept his father’s love.  The younger son has learnt his lesson.  He has changed.  But the older son hasn’t learnt how to love.  He hasn’t learnt how to forgive.  His heart is stubbornly closed.

Are you like the prodigal son?  Are you wasting the love God has for you?

Jesus once told St Faustina about the mercy he wants to give the world, if only we will believe in His love.  This is a remarkable invitation, but many of us barely give it a moment’s thought.  What a waste!   

We might come to Mass, hear the Gospel and receive our Lord in the Eucharist, but so many of us just walk away afterwards, unchanged.  Jesus is calling us to change our lives and open our hearts up to him, but so many of us aren’t interested.

What an incredible waste!

When Jesus died on the Cross, that was God’s way of emptying heaven’s linen cupboard of everything white.  The Cross is God’s tree.  It’s his way of showing that he wants us home with him. 

It doesn’t matter what we did before.  God is calling us from that tree. 

He’s calling us home.

On Eternity

(Ex.3:1-8, 13-15; 1Cor.10:1-6, 10-12; Lk.13:1-9)

Every year at midnight on New Year’s Eve, dazzling fireworks explode over Sydney Harbour, and as bright colours light up the sky a giant image appears on the Harbour Bridge.

In 1999, that image was one word: ‘Eternity’, written in classical handwriting. 

There’s a story behind that word.  It begins with a man named Arthur Stace, born in 1884 in a slum called Balmain.  His family was poor; they were alcoholics and often in gaol, so young Arthur had to look after himself.   To hide from his father he slept under the house. To eat he had to steal food or raid rubbish bins.  He rarely went to school and he couldn’t read or write.

When he was 14 he got his first job, in a coal mine.  But he spent his pay in the pub and often got into trouble.  At 15 he went to gaol for the first time.

During WW1, when he was 19, he joined the army and fought in France.  He was partially blinded by poison gas, and when he came home he returned to drinking and breaking the law.

In 1930, during the Great Depression, he found himself in court. The magistrate said to him, ‘Don’t you know I have the power to put you in gaol, and the power to set you free?’  ‘Yes, sir’, Arthur replied.  But it was the word ‘power’ that got him thinking.  What he needed was the power to give up alcohol.

Soon afterwards, Arthur went to St Barnabas’ Church in Broadway looking for free food.  There in the church, he decided it was time to change.  He went down on his knees and he prayed for the power to change his life.  

His life did change.  He soon gave up drinking and he found a job.

Later on, in Darlinghurst, Arthur heard a sermon about eternal life.  Referring to Isaiah 57:15, the minister preached ‘I wish I could shout ETERNITY through the streets of Sydney!’

That word ‘Eternity’ kept ringing in Arthur’s ears.  When he left the church, he cried and he felt a great urge to write that word down. Remembering that he had chalk in his pocket, he bent down and wrote ‘Eternity’ on the footpath.  

For the next 37 years he wrote ‘Eternity’ wherever he went, first with chalk, then with crayon because it lasted longer. In all, he wrote that word over half a million times.   

He died in 1967, aged 83, but he never understood how he could write this word, because he was illiterate.  The only explanation he had was that God wanted him to do this. 

Jesus changed Arthur’s life.  Jesus gave him hope for heaven, and Arthur wanted everyone to start thinking about their own eternal life. 

Arthur wanted everyone to start thinking about their own eternal life.

This is what today’s Gospel is about.  First Jesus mentions two tragic incidents, and makes the point that God did not cause these people’s deaths.  God does not punish people in this life, he says.  God loves us.

Then Jesus tells his Parable of the Figs, in which the owner of a fig tree wants to cut it down because it has produced no fruit for 3 years.  The gardener, however, wants to give it another chance.  He promises to dig around the tree and fertilise it, and if it still bears no fruit, he says then it should be cut down.

This parable is about us.  So many of us have little or no spiritual life; we bear no spiritual fruits.  Jesus wants us to start fertilising our own personal spiritual tree, so that we might become more fruitful.  

This is how we prepare for eternal life.  We need to change the way we think and feel.  We need to change the way we do things.  We need to start loving God and each other.

Ask yourself – do you want to go to heaven or not?

God is patient with us, but we don’t have all the time in the world.  For some, this is their last year and their last chance to prepare themselves. 

God is love.  He loved Arthur Stace and he loves us too.  But true love is never a one-way street.  God’s love will never be complete unless we love him in return.

Today the word ‘Eternity’ is permanently displayed by the waterfall in Sydney Square.  Let’s remember Arthur Stace and his story.

But let’s also start thinking about our own eternity. 

Let’s start returning God’s love, before it’s too late.

On Our Transformation

(Gen.15:5-12, 17-18; Phil.3:17-4:1; Lk.9:28-36)

In Luke’s Gospel last week, Jesus went into the Sinai desert for 40 days to pray, to fast and to reflect, preparing himself for his great mission. 

In Lent, this is what we’re all called to do. 

Today, Luke’s Gospel takes us to the top of Mount Tabor in lower Galilee, where Jesus goes to pray with Peter, James and John.  There the disciples see Jesus talking with Moses and the prophet Elijah.  For a while they’re dazzled as the light of God shines through Jesus’ face and his clothes are as bright as the sun.

Now here’s the question:  If we’re in Lent and meant to be in the desert, why are we today taken to a mountaintop, especially when it’s green?

Well, firstly, when the Bible speaks of the desert it isn’t always a barren place full of sand and stones.  Rather, it’s typically a quiet, mystical place where people go to reflect and pray.

The Holy Land has many mountains, and in ancient times people thought they were the closest point between heaven and earth.  Indeed, in Scripture God often reveals himself on mountaintops and Jesus often goes there to pray.

By taking us there today in our Gospel, God wants us to pray as well.  Along with almsgiving and fasting, that’s what he hopes we’ll do this Lent.   But more than that, God knows it can be a struggle for us to sit quietly in any sort of desert, so he encourages us by giving us a brief glimpse of who Jesus really is. 

There on Mt Tabor, Jesus’ disciples were amazed to see him shimmering with an intense, divine light.  They knew he was different, but previously they couldn’t see beyond his ordinary humanity.  Now they can see who Jesus really is, and we can see that he’s the light at the end of our Lenten tunnel.

It’s significant that Jesus’ transfiguration occurs while he’s praying.  We should remember this.  While he’s praying, Jesus is transformed both inside and out.  His face changes and his clothes dazzle white, and he becomes a mesmerising figure, radiating the glory of God. 

Something similar happens to Moses in Exodus (34:29-35).  After praying on Mt. Sinai, his face shines so brightly that he has to cover it with a veil. 

The message for us here is that if we pray like Jesus, if we pray like Moses, then we too can expect a profound transformation, both inside and out.

But there’s another reason we’re taken to the mountain today. That’s because God wants us to see that Jesus has come to fulfil the promises of the Old Testament.  In Matthew 5:17, Jesus says, ‘Don’t think that I’ve come to abolish the law or the prophets; I’ve come not to abolish but to fulfil.’  So we see the Old and New Testaments coming together as Jesus talks with Moses and Elijah on the mountaintop.

While he’s praying, Jesus is transformed both inside and out. Something similar happens to Moses.

Now, while they’re on the mountain, the disciples are covered by a big cloud and they become frightened.  There’s rich symbolism in the image of the cloud.  The Bible often refers to clouds; they typically represent the invisible God.  In Exodus, when Moses and the Israelites cross the desert, God’s presence is always accompanied by a cloud. 

The message for us here is that if there are any clouds casting shadows on our lives, God is in them.  Indeed, God is always in them.  He’s our silver lining.

And when the cloud appears in Luke’s Gospel, the disciples hear God’s voice say, ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him’. 

Now these words are significant.  Listen to him.  The disciples weren’t good at listening to Jesus.  They really didn’t understand what he was trying to tell them.  Many of us aren’t so good at listening, either.  Listening sounds like an easy thing to do, but it’s not. 

One reason might be because we’re too busy talking.  Some of us are chronic talkers.  And sometimes we’re selective about what we’re prepared to hear. 

St. John of the Cross once wrote that many people who think they’re listening to God are actually only listening to themselves.

This Lent, let’s take this message from today’s Gospel.  Let’s try to find our own private mountaintop.  And in the quiet moments let’s really listen to what God is trying to say to us, in the Scriptures, in the sacraments, and in the ordinary moments of our daily lives.

If we pray well, like Jesus and like Moses, we can be sure that our lives will also be transformed, both inside and out.­

On the Mystical Desert

(Deut.26:4-10; Rom.10:8-13; Lk.4:1-13)

Sometimes it helps to know where a word comes from.  The word ‘Lent’ comes from an Old English word meaning ‘springtime’.  And in Latin, ‘Lente’ means ‘slowly’.  So Lent really is an invitation to us, to slow down and prepare ourselves for the new growth of spring.

Before any spring, of course, there must be some kind of winter, so the Bible often talks about the desert as a place of emptiness and silence where people go to be shaped and purified.

In Exodus, before the Israelites enter the Promised Land, they wander in the desert for forty years.  Jesus does something very similar in today’s Gospel.  Before he begins his ministry, the Spirit leads him into the Sinai Desert for forty days to pray, fast and reflect.  There he’s tormented by demons, but ultimately his relationship with his Father is strengthened and he finds himself ready for his great mission.

Early on in the Church, good men and women like St Anthony of Egypt and St Paula actively sought purification, and literally went into a desert for a while. 

Today, the desert is more likely to be a mystical place in the heart than a physical location.  But it’s still an important place to spend some time if you want to refresh your heart and mind and prepare yourself for a major change in your life. 

The Canadian writer Fr Ron Rolheiser says that before we can be filled by God we must first be emptied, and this is what the desert does for us.  The loneliness might seem a bit threatening, but if you have the courage to stay there, things will happen to you.  Slowly and silently, with the help of God, you’ll be transformed from the inside out.

This is what Lent is meant to be for us.  For forty days we’re encouraged to face the chaos inside us that normally we either deny or simply refuse to face – our selfishness, our anger, our jealousies, our distance from others, our greed, our addictions, our unresolved hurts, our unhealthy desires, our struggle with prayer, our faith doubts and our moral mistakes.

In Lent we’re invited to look at ourselves honestly, to recognise our weaknesses, to feel our fears, and to open ourselves up to the fresh air of Jesus Christ.

Our secular society teaches us to avoid all that.  It thinks it’s better to be distracted and entertained than to face our real selves.  And so we too often ignore the mess that festers below the surface of our lives. 

If God’s language is silence, it’s no wonder that so many people have lost the ability to talk with him.

We do this in so many ways.  We’re addicted to work.  We’re glued to our electronic devices.  We turn on the TV or Game Station. We listen to the radio.  We reach for a newspaper or magazine.  We see a movie.  We eat.  And some of us talk incessantly. 

We seem to do everything we can to avoid silence and the truth of our real selves.

The German Dominican and theologian Meister Eckhart once wrote that nothing resembles the language of God so much as silence.  If God’s language is silence, it’s no wonder that so many people have lost the ability to talk with him.

So, this is our challenge this Lent.  Let’s just stop for a while.  Let’s go quietly into the mystical desert and be silent for a while.  Let’s fast as the Church encourages us to, but let’s pray and reflect as well, and be charitable towards our neighbour.

Fr Ron Rolheiser says that in every culture there are ancient stories which teach us that it’s sometimes important to sit in the ashes.  One example is the story of Cinderella.  The name itself literally means the little girl (puella in Latin) who sits in the ashes (cinders). 

The moral of the story is simple:  before you get to be beautiful, before you can go to the great feast, you must first fast and spend some lonely time in the ashes, humbled, dirty, tending to duty and waiting.

For us, Lent is that season.  It’s our time to sit quietly in the ashes, waiting for the extraordinary joy of Easter.  We began this process a few days ago, on Ash Wednesday, when our foreheads were crossed with ashes. 

So, this Lent, let’s make time to sit humbly in these ashes.  And while we’re there, let’s fast and pray and be charitable towards others, until it’s time for us to rise up in joyful celebration with Jesus at Easter.

For that’s when new life begins.