by Katie Yoder, Courtesy Catholic News Agency

Catholics recognize Easter — when Christ rises from the dead after sacrificing his life for all of humanity — as the first Sunday after the first full moon on or after the spring equinox. But, as it turns out, they can continue saying “Happy Easter” into June.

Easter lasts for a total of 50 days, from Easter Sunday until the feast of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit comes upon the apostles, Mary, and the first followers of Christ.

This year, 2022, Easter runs from April 17 until June 5.

Easter Season explained

Catholics observe Easter in different stages. Easter Sunday is the greatest Sunday of the year, and it marks the start of the “Easter Octave,” or the eight days that stretch from the first to the second Sunday of Easter (also known as Divine Mercy Sunday). The Church celebrates each of these eight days as Solemnities of the Lord — a direct extension of Easter Sunday.

The entire Easter season lasts 50 days, and includes the Solemnity of the Ascension of Christ, which falls on the 40th day of Easter, which this year is May 26. It ends with Pentecost, which is derived from the Greek word “pentecoste,” meaning “50th.”

“The fifty days from the Sunday of the Resurrection to Pentecost Sunday are celebrated in joy and exultation as one feast day, indeed as one ‘great Sunday,’” according to the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. “These are the days above all others in which the Alleluia is sung.”

The USCCB calls Easter “the most important of all liturgical times.”

“It celebrates Jesus’s victory of sin and death and salvation for mankind,” the U.S. bishops say. “It is God’s greatest act of love to redeem mankind.”

In the traditional Roman rite

The season of Easter begins with the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday, and runs through the afternoon of the Vigil of the Ascension.

Ascensiontide begins the evening before the Ascension, with First Vespers of the feast, and ends the afternoon of the Vigil of Pentecost – marking the first novena.

The Octave of Pentecost is an extension of the feast of Pentecost, beginning with the Vigil Mass of Pentecost and ending the afternoon of the following Saturday, which this year falls June 11.

By Junno Arocho Esteves, Courtesy Catholic News Service

The joy of Jesus’ resurrection from the dead gives joy and strength to those who are called to bring peace, reconciliation and justice to the suffering and the downtrodden, Pope Francis said.

“Let us make Jesus, the Living One, rise again from all those tombs in which we have sealed Him,” the pope said in his homily April 16 during the Easter Vigil in St. Peter’s Basilica.

“Let us bring Him into our everyday lives: through gestures of peace in these days marked by the horrors of war, through acts of reconciliation amid broken relationships, acts of compassion toward those in need, acts of justice amid situations of inequality and of truth in the midst of lies. And above all, through works of love and fraternity,” he said.

Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, dean of the College of Cardinals, was the main celebrant at the Mass, and Pope Francis delivered his homily from a chair in front of the altar. While the Vatican gave no explanation why Pope Francis did not preside, he has had difficulty walking recently, and he recently told journalists he had a knee problem.

However, Pope Francis baptized and confirmed seven adults who were entering the Catholic Church. The five men and two women included an American man identified as Taylor Pescante, as well as four Italians, an Albanian and a Cuban.

At the end of his homily, Pope Francis directly addressed Ivan Federov, the elected mayor of the Russian-occupied city of Melitopol, Ukraine. Federov, who was captured and later released by the Russians in a prisoner exchange, was in Rome and met earlier in the day with Cardinal Pietro Parolin, Vatican secretary of state.

Looking at Federov, the pope said the darkness of night also symbolizes “the darkness of war, of cruelty.”

“We are all praying. We are praying for you and with you, we are praying for so much suffering,” the pope said in Italian. “We can only give you our accompaniment, our prayer and tell you, ‘Courage,’ and accompany you. And to also tell you the greatest thing that we celebrate today,” he said, switching to Ukrainian: “Christ is risen.”

According to the Vatican press office, before the vigil, the pope also met briefly with Federov as well as with representatives of “the local government and the parliament of the country.”

The vigil, the first open to the public in three years due to the COVID-19 pandemic, began in the atrium of St. Peter’s Basilica, with the blessing of the fire and lighting of the Easter candle. A deacon carried the candle into the semi-darkened basilica, lit Cardinal Re’s candle and began sharing the light with the thousands of people in the congregation.

Symbolizing Christ’s resurrection dispelling the darkness of death, little by little the basilica was filled with the light of the candles held by the estimated 5,500 people present. Seated in a white chair, the pope sat silently, holding a small lit candle.

In his homily, he reflected on the Gospel scene of the women going to Jesus’ tomb and what “they saw, they heard and they proclaimed.”

The women, he said, expected to find Jesus laid in his tomb and ready to be anointed. The empty tomb, however, not only subverts expectations but also “comes with the gift of a hope that surprises and amazes us,” though “it is not easy to welcome.”

“At times — we must admit — this hope does not find a place in our hearts. Like the women in the Gospel, we are overtaken by questions and doubts, and our first reaction before the unexpected sign is one of fear,” the pope explained.

People today, he continued, often “look at life and reality with downcast eyes” and “halt before the tomb of resignation and fatalism.” Nevertheless, Pope Francis said Jesus’ resurrection allows for all men and women to look at life through “different eyes” so that “we can make the leap from nothingness to life.”

“True, death can fill us with dread; it can paralyze us,” the pope said. “But the Lord is risen! Let us lift up our gaze, remove the veil of sadness and sorrow from our eyes, and open our hearts to the hope that God brings!”

Reflecting on the angel telling the women that Jesus was not there at the tomb, the pope said the angel’s words, “He is not here,” should be repeated often, especially when “we think we have understood everything there is to know about God” and “pigeonhole him in our own ideas and categories.”

Christians also should repeat the angel’s question to the women about why they sought the living among the dead, because it serves as a reminder that “we cannot celebrate Easter if we continue to be dead; if we remain prisoners of the past.”

Easter cannot be celebrated, he added, if “we reduce faith to a talisman, making God a lovely memory from times past, instead of encountering him today as the living God who desires to change us and to change our world.”

“A Christianity that seeks the Lord among the ruins of the past and encloses him in the tomb of habit is a Christianity without Easter,” he said.

The women proclaimed the joy of the resurrection not just “to console those who mourned the death of Jesus” but to “open hearts to the extraordinary message of God’s triumph over evil and death.”

The pope said that although they expected the disciples to “think they were mad,” the women “were not concerned for their reputation, for preserving their image; they did not contain their emotions or measure their words.”

“How beautiful is a church that can run this way through the streets of our world! Without fear, without schemes and stratagems, but solely with the desire to lead everyone to the joy of the Gospel,” Pope Francis said.

“That is what we are called to do: to experience the risen Christ and to share the experience with others; to roll away the stone from the tomb where we may have enclosed the Lord, in order to spread his joy in the world,” he said.

Regina caeli

Regina caeli, laetare, alleluia;
Quia quem meruisti portare, alleluia,
Resurrexit, sicut dixit, alleluia:
Ora pro nobis Deum, alleluia.

Queen of heaven, rejoice, alleluia.
The Son you merited to bear, alleluia,
Has risen as he said, alleluia.
Pray to God for us, alleluia.

By Jem Sullivan, Courtesy Catholic News Service

Easter Sunday - The Resurrection of the Lord

1) Acts 10:34, 37-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23
2) Col 3:1-4 or 1 Cor 5:6-8
Gospel: Jn 20:1-9

Across the ages, artists have portrayed the Gospel scene we hear proclaimed on Easter Sunday, namely Mary Magdalene’s encounter with the risen Jesus soon after his resurrection. One particularly evocative depiction is the mid-15th century painting titled “Noli Me Tangere,” completed by Fra Angelico, the renowned Dominican friar artist.

The work was part of an extended fresco cycle of Gospel scenes painted on the walls of the Convent of San Marco, where he lived in a community of Dominican friars. The Latin title evokes Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene, “Do not touch me,” as the artist sets the scene in a grassy garden outside a cave.

Mary Magdalene kneels in astonishment as the risen Lord calls her by name and she reaches out to touch him. The risen Jesus, radiating light, reaches out his hand to Mary Magdalene to assure her of his enduring presence, now transformed into his glorious, resurrected body.

On Jesus’ feet and hands are the wounds of his passion, painted as small red dots. Art historians note that scattered in the grass the artist paints similar red dots, seen as tiny red flowers. And as a visual reminder of Jesus’ passion and death on the cross, the artist paints between the figures of Jesus and Mary Magdalene three small bleeding crosses!

In his resurrection, Jesus sows in the garden of this world the seeds of the radical transformation of our bodies and creation itself in the power of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Mary Magdalene’s pain at Jesus’ passing was transformed into her joyful proclamation of his resurrection.

Our Easter faith invites us to a similar transformation patterned after Jesus’ passing from life to death to glorious new resurrected life.

“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad,” sings the psalmist. On this Easter Sunday, we join in this hymn of praise at the great mystery of our new life in the mystery of Jesus’ resurrection. The world has been weighed down by a global health crisis, the war in Ukraine and the endless spread of violence, poverty and fear.

We might wonder what the way is out of the darkness of the human condition. Faith gives us a new perspective as we hear Peter preaching boldly in the first reading when he says of Jesus, “Everyone who believes in him will receive forgiveness of sins through his name.”

At Easter, we celebrate the mystery of Jesus’ resurrection and our rising to new life in him. Our Easter festivities mean little to nothing if we do not experience in ourselves the renewing life of God’s love and the new life of hope and peace that comes from God alone.

As St. Paul reminds the Colossians, “If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above. … For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.”

As people of faith, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus as God’s answer to the darkness of the human condition of sin that leads to separation from God. Easter is a gift of faith because our faith is in vain without the resurrection of Jesus.

In the light of his resurrection everyone and everything is capable of being made new. As we rejoice in God’s victory over sin and death in the resurrection of Jesus, we seek to have eyes of faith to recognize God’s presence transforming our lives this Easter day as we pray, “speak to me, Lord.”

Courtesy of Loyola Press

The Easter season—beginning on Easter Sunday and continuing for 50 days—is an opportunity for us to cultivate a spirit that defines who we are as Christians.  So what does living the spirit of the Easter season mean in practical terms?  Here are three concrete suggestions.

Live with Joy

Joy is a deep-down gladness that cannot be taken away, even in the midst of sorrow.  The Passion and Resurrection of Jesus teach us that suffering is transformed through faith in the Risen Christ.  With this faith, we are able to hold on to an enduring sense of joy even in the midst of the sadness we experience from the loss of a loved one, a failure to achieve an important goal, or a setback during recovery from an illness.

Live without Fear

The Resurrection teaches us that God can overcome anything, even death.  When the Risen Christ appears to the women at the tomb and later to his disciples, his first words are “Do not be afraid!” (Mt 28:5,10)  These words speak to our hearts, helping us cope with the fear from the loss of a job, a serious illness, or a crumbling relationship.  Our faith allows us to trust that God can overcome our most serious problems.

Live with New Eyes

Easter means to live with a sense of newness.  Just as the return of spring lifts our spirits and makes us feel like the whole world is new, the Resurrection of Jesus makes “all things new.” (Rev. 21:5)  The Easter spirit is a spirit of renewal that enables us to bring a positive attitude even in situations where we have come up short in the past, to renew relationships that have been taken for granted, and to express appreciation and affection to those closest to us.  It means to see the world through new eyes—God's eyes.

We can use these 50 days to cultivate an Easter spirit that enables us to be truly Christian: embracing joy, living without fear, and seeing the world again—as if for the first time.

“If you suffer with Him, you will reign with Him. If you cry with Him, you will have joy with Him. If you die with Him on the Cross of tribulation, you will possess the eternal dwelling place in the splendor of the saints.  And your name, written in the Book of Life, will be glorious among men.”

– St. Clare of Assisi

By Msgr. Joseph Prior, Courtesy CatholicPhilly.com

“Do this in memory of me,” Jesus says after he took the bread, said the blessing and broke the bread. This was at the final meal he would share with his disciples prior to his passion. We hear the words every time we celebrate the Eucharist. The words are part of the “consecration,” the most central part of the Mass.

We hear these words on Palm Sunday, as part of the Proclamation of the Passion of the Lord, Jesus offers himself in the sacrifice of the cross. He lays down his life for us, his friends. His offering is complete. He offers his entire self.

The suffering of the passion is physical, mental, spiritual and affective. His body is scourged, beaten, tortured and ravaged. He is taunted, mocked and tormented. He is tempted, betrayed and denied. He suffers and dies.

All through this he is faithful. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” He remains faithful to the end. He trusts the Father and relies on him and him alone.

St. Paul, in his Letter to the Philippians, writes that Jesus “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” He holds nothing back in his offering. As we remember his passion, we have the opportunity to grow in our thanksgiving for God’s love. It knows no bounds. Jesus’ love of the Father is a love he shares with us.

In the midst of the darkest moments of our lives, we find companionship with the One who leads us and guides us. He leads us through the suffering to a place of peace. At the very same time, he invites us to share in his offering.

Jesus’ self-offering happened once for all. Our celebration of the Eucharist makes present that one perfect offering. It is in this context that we hear Jesus say, “do this in memory of me.” We fulfill his command in celebrating the Eucharist and when we offer our lives with his. With him, we do this in faith and love.

When we face suffering with faith, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we resist temptation to despair or lose hope, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we courageously endure pain, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we rely on our heavenly Father, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we give of ourselves for others, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we welcome the stranger, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we feed the hungry, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we clothe the naked, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we shelter the homeless, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we encourage the downcast, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we support the oppressed, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we proclaim the Kingdom of God, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we offer thanksgiving, we “do this in memory of” him.

When we forgive one another, we “do this in memory of” him.

And when we love all people regardless of status, race, ethnicity or faults, we “do this in memory of” him.

By Paul Senz, Courtesy Catholic News Service

Every year on Palm Sunday, we hear the narrative of the passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ. This year, we read from the Gospel of St. Luke. It is a story that is familiar to us.

As Catholics, we surround ourselves with depictions of the passion and death of Jesus. We hang crucifixes on our walls and on chains around our necks; we put crucifixes in the sanctuaries of our churches and on our altars; we ring our churches with the Stations of the Cross.

We hear of the entrance into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, the agony in the garden, the arrest and trial of Jesus, and his scourging and crucifixion. The proclamation of the passion narrative on Palm Sunday, and again (but from a different Gospel) on Good Friday, is an important way of entering into the suffering of Jesus as we prepare for the triduum.

One element of the passion narrative that does not get as much attention is St. Peter’s threefold denial of Jesus.

The story is well known to us: During the Last Supper, shortly after breaking bread together when Our Lord instituted the Eucharist, Peter tells Jesus, “I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you,” to which Jesus responds, “I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows this day, you will deny three times that you know me” (Lk 22:33-34).

As the night went on, Peter’s fidelity would be put to the test, as Jesus was betrayed, arrested, severely beaten and put on trial. As Peter sat in the courtyard of the house of the high priest, gathered with others around a fire, three of those near him insisted that they recognized him as a follower of Jesus.

Fearing for his life after seeing what had happened to Jesus, Peter stringently denied it each time.

And then we read one of the most gut-wrenching and heartbreaking passages in the Gospels: “And the Lord turned and looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, ‘Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.’ He went out and began to weep bitterly” (Lk 22:61-62).

As happens so often with us, Peter immediately knew he had done something horribly wrong, realized his weakness had caused him to deny even knowing Our Lord and was overcome with remorse.

What a heart-rending thing: As Jesus is facing his trial and tremendous abuse, his closest and most trusted follower brazenly denies even knowing him.

Amid everything else going on, Jesus turns and looks at Peter, calling him out with a gaze. How Peter’s heart must have broken! And how his guilt must have been even greater because of his brazenness earlier in the night, declaring his steadfastness and loyalty to Jesus.

Peter was never one to deny his unworthiness and his fallen nature. When Jesus first called him to be one of his apostles, after the miraculous catch of fish, Peter dropped to his knees at feet of Jesus and said, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” (Lk 5:8). We can almost hear Peter saying this again, wracked with guilt after denying Jesus.

There may be a temptation to read into Peter’s denial — his failure, his abandonment of Jesus — an implicit refutation of his importance and that of his successors. As Catholics, we recognize the primacy of Peter and his successors as an important part not only of the structure of our church, but of the very body that Christ left to safeguard and transmit the deposit of faith.

It has nothing to do with the holiness of the man — it is all about Jesus’ promise to his church that Peter and his successors would be protected from teaching error, and his promise that the gates of hell will not prevail against it. Peter’s failure does not affect this promise. In fact, it can serve as a reminder to us of why this promise was necessary in the first place.

Our Lord is loving and forgiving (Ps 86:5). After his resurrection, Jesus gave Peter a threefold chance to make amends for his threefold denial. Three times, Our Lord asked him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” to which Peter responded “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” (Jn 21:15-17)

Jesus tells Peter to feed his sheep, reinforcing the special privilege and responsibility that had been granted to Peter. God’s mercy is endless, and Jesus makes all things new (Rv 21:5).

Salvation history is replete with examples of God making a covenant with his people, only for those people to break the covenant through sin and disobedience.

God always responds with mercy, forming a new covenantal bond. The covenant in the blood of Christ is a “new and eternal covenant,” one which we cannot definitively break. God’s mercy is on full display.

Today we know that we can approach God in the sacrament of reconciliation and accept the forgiveness that he presents to us. In the same way, Our Lord presented his forgiveness to Peter on the seashore, and Peter chose to accept it.

By Cardinal Timothy Dolan, Courtesy Catholic New York

Can I share a story from Mom’s wake which might help us appreciate and understand better the meaning of the sacred events we observe this Holy Week? It sure helped me.

So, in the midst of the tears and loss—and, yes, much gratitude and peace—over Mom’s death, my niece, Hayley, one of Mom’s grandchildren, asks, “Uncle Tim, Blake and I are expecting a baby! Will you give a blessing to all three of us?”

Well, the frowns turned to smiles, the somberness to rejoicing. In front of us was death, Mom’s passing; in front of us was life, in the gift of a new baby, a new life in the family.

Job put it best: “The Lord gives and the Lord taketh away! Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

Thus the awesome meaning of this Holy Week: the dying and rising of Jesus, and our sharing in it. We term it the paschal mystery.

We go from the exultation, acclaim and faith of Palm Sunday, to the bleakness, denial and doubt of Good Friday;

Jesus hailed as Savior, to Jesus mocked as an imposter, a criminal;

The warmth, sustenance and fraternity of the Last Supper to the sweating of blood during the agony in the garden;

The earth quakes at the death of Jesus; the rocks crumble as He rises from the tomb;

His broken, bloodied body laid in the arms of his grieving mother, to the risen body before His disciples;

His death on the cross Friday afternoon to His glorious Resurrection Sunday morning;

From His dying to His rising!

Good Friday to Easter Sunday!

As I was reminded at Mom’s wake and Hayley’s announcement, our lives have a share of both.

As a matter of fact, we can’t have life without a bit of both. Ask any mom: the pain of childbirth, the joy of a new baby.

Yes, in this life, we experience both:

Evil and goodness,

Hate and love,

Violence and forgiveness,

Sin and grace,

Hell and heaven,

Satan and the Savior,

Betrayal and loyalty,

Death and life,

Dying and rising . . .

The Son of God had both; so do we.

Just remember that it is God who has the final word, His Son who triumphs. This is the message of these sacred days!

A blessed Holy Week and Easter!

In his fifth Lenten sermon for 2022, Cardinal Raniero Cantalamessa, the Preacher to the Papal Household, reflects on service and the example of Jesus who washed the feet of His apostles and lived a life spent for others.

By Benedict Mayaki, SJ, Courtesy Vatican News

“Why, in the account of the Last Supper, John does not speak of the institution of the Eucharist, but speaks instead of the washing of the feet?” asks the Preacher to the Papal Household, Cardinal Raniero Cantalamessa, at the start of his fifth sermon for the season of Lent this year.

The papal preacher responds by noting that in everything concerning Easter and the Eucharist, John emphasizes the event more than the sacrament – the meaning more than the sign. For the evangelist, the Cardinal notes, “the new Passover does not begin so much in the Upper Room, when the rite that must commemorate it is instituted…rather it begins on the cross when the fact that it is to be commemorated is fulfilled.”

Washing of the feet

Reflecting on the meaning that John attaches to the washing of the feet, the Cardinal notes that it helps us to understand how a Eucharist can be transferred into life and thus, we “imitate in life what we celebrate on the altar.” In the washing of the feet, Jesus wanted to summarize the whole meaning of his life so that it will remain in the memory of the disciples. The gesture tells us, “that the whole life of Jesus, from beginning to end, was a washing of feet, which is, serving humanity.”

“Before the incarnation, there is the pre-existence of Christ, after the incarnation the pro-existence of Christ, that is, an existence lived in favor of others.” With Jesus’ words “Do you too as I did,” he institutes the diakonia (service) elevating it to a fundamental law or a lifestyle and model of all relationships in the Church, as if he were saying in the washing of the feet as in instituting the Eucharist: “do this in memory of me!”.

The doctrine of charisms, in this regard, “is entirely oriented to service” and St. Paul affirms that every particular manifestation of the Spirit is given “for the common good.” "Each one lives according to the grace (chárisma) received, putting it at the service (diakonía) of others" (1 Pt 4, 10). The two things - charisma and ministry, charisma and service - always appear vitally connected to each other, hence, “the Church is charismatic to serve!”.

Spirit of service

The Cardinal explains that the Gospel speaks of service in a way that does not necessarily exclude or disqualify its use in worldly terms (like the way a shopkeeper serves his customer), however, the difference “lies in the reason for the service and in the inner attitude with which it is carried out.” In this regard, “service is not a virtue but it springs from virtue, especially from charity…[it] is a manifestation of the agape, of a love that does not insist on its own interests but on that of others; it does not consist in self-seeking but in giving.”

Besides gratuity, service is also the expression of another aspect of divine agape: humility, the Cardinal explains. Jesus, himself said “You also ought to wash one another’s feet” highlighting that “charity and humility together form evangelical service.” Jesus humbled himself to come from heaven to serve and from the moment of the incarnation, he continued to come down to the point of kneeling down to wash his apostles’ feet.

Discernment of spirits

“The important thing to know is whether we are serving our brothers and sisters or whether, instead, they are serving our purposes,” the Cardinal said. To have a discernment of spirits of our intentions of doing service, “we should be aware of what we do willingly and what we do our best to shirk” and see if “our heart is ready to abandon a noble, prestigious service, if required, for a humble unappreciated one.”

The opposite of a spirit of service is the “wish to domineer, the habit to enforce our wills… authoritarianism,” Cardinal Cantalamessa warns. In another way, “being too attached to our habits and comforts also goes against the spirit of service – a spirit of laxness, as it were.” To counter all of this, “the rule of service is always the same: “Christ did not please himself.”

Service of the Spirit

If, for all Christians, to serve means “living no longer for themselves” (2 Cor 5:15), for pastors it means “not feeding themselves,” the papal preacher stresses. St. Paul also notes in this regard: “Do not domi­nate over those in your charge but be an example to the flock” (cf. 1 Pet 5:3).

“We must imitate God’s way of acting,” the Cardinal urges. In the washing of the feet, “Jesus was not afraid of compromising his divine dignity, fostering people’s disrespect by disregarding his own privileges and appearing as one among us.” He rather led a simple life, because “sim­plicity has always been the beginning and the sign of a genuine return to the gospel.” Thus, those, like priests, who are called by vocation to a spiritual service, are called to be servants, first of God and of their brethren.

Jesus, after explaining to the apostles the meaning of the washing of the feet, said to them: "Knowing these things you will be blessed if you do them" (Jn 13:17). Cardinal Cantalamessa notes that we too will be blessed, “if we are not satisfied with knowing these things - namely that the Eucharist pushes us to service and sharing -, but if we put them into practice,” because “the Eucharist is not only a mystery to be consecrated, received and adored, but also a mystery to be imitated.”

Concluding, the papal preacher warns against reducing the gifts we have received to duty, noting that “we have not only received the command to wash the feet and serve our brothers and sisters, we have received the grace of being able to do so.”

Good Friday Prayer

O Jesus, Who by reason of Thy burning love for us
hast willed to be crucified
and to shed Thy Most Precious Blood
for the redemption and salvation of our souls,
look down upon us here gathered together
in remembrance of Thy most sorrowful Passion and Death,
fully trusting in Thy mercy;
cleanse us from sin by Thy grace,
sanctify our toil,
give unto us and unto all those who are dear to us our
daily bread,
sweeten our sufferings,
bless our families,
and to the nations so sorely afflicted,
grant Thy peace,
which is the only true peace,
so that by obeying Thy commandments
we may come at last to the glory of heaven.

Amen.

By Fr. Bob Warren, Courtesy Franciscan Friars of the Atonement

Many years ago I was asked to visit a patient in a psychiatric hospital. When I arrived, the patient was with a nurse so I had to wait. I was shown into a large room. At first, I thought I was alone until I sat down. At the other end of the room sitting at a small table was a young woman. On the table was a jigsaw puzzle which she was trying to put together. She held up two small pieces of the puzzle that did not match. She tried to force them together, then she would drop one and pick up another, banging them on the table trying to make them fit. Then some fell on the floor, and she became more agitated. She looked down and said softly to herself, “The pieces don’t fit, the pieces don’t fit.”

Many of us have said something similar at some time in our life. When it seems that everything has gone wrong, life is out of control, you do not know where to turn or to whom, the pieces of our life just do not seem to fit together no matter how hard we try.

We have a woman in our Gospel today whose life had fallen apart, who had committed one of the gravest sins in her culture. It must have been a dramatic scene. Jesus was sitting down quietly teaching in what must have been one of the outer courts of the temple. Suddenly and with great commotion, the religious leaders of the people drag in a woman and place her before Jesus and in front of everyone else. She had been caught in adultery and the law prescribes that she be killed by stoning. They knew that the legal system in Palestine at the time did not allow for capital punishment, only the Romans could put a person to death, but they were sure they had Jesus.

The trap was clever and legally air-tight. If Jesus spoke against the woman’s execution, they would discredit Him before the religious establishment for speaking against Mosaic Law. If, on the other hand, He sanctioned stoning, He would not only lose His reputation for love and forgiveness but He could be tried as a criminal for disregarding the law of Rome. It was a no-win situation.

But Jesus was not going to let the law become a barrier between Him and the person in front of Him, she was His first concern. Jesus does not say anything. He bends over and writes in the sand. The crowd is silent, the temple courtyard comes to a standstill, watching, waiting; the silence is deafening. The woman stands in front of Jesus surrounded by her accusers who are fast becoming embarrassed by the silence. This is not what they expected. What is He up to? What is He writing?

So they try again: this woman was caught in adultery. The Law of Moses says she must be stoned, what do You say? Jesus looks up, and utters one sentence: “Let the one among you who has not sinned cast the first stone.” Then He leans over and continues to write in the sand.

Jesus sees the situation from another perspective, a different focus. Only this woman is to be condemned, the man is not mentioned. There is a double standard, a double standard rejected by Jesus. He takes the side of the woman who is being used as a ploy to catch Him in a legal trap. Jesus offers her forgiveness. She is forgiven. She is free.

In contrast, He calls her accusers sinners. They all depart, one by one, beginning with the eldest. The situation at first appeared legal and air-tight, but it takes on an entirely new perspective from the focus of equality and justice.

We see something radically new in Jesus. He tells us, do not be so quick to condemn, so quick to highlight the wrongdoing of others while concealing your own. Do not be so caught up only in what a person has been that you fail to see what they could become. Jesus does not say that what the sinner has done did not matter, broken laws and broken hearts always matter. Instead, Jesus points out to us that every person, no matter how sinful, has a future, as well as a past. It is not, of course, that there is no place for accountability. It is just that there is no place for condemnation. Once we face our own sins, there is no place for stoning.

We know nothing about her. We never hear of her again. She has no name. The risk for her may well have been her sense of guilt. How can a God who prizes fidelity ever forgive my infidelity? How can I expect my husband to forgive me? Above all, how can I ever forgive myself? This strange, unique, compassionate Man has told me that He does not condemn me, and that no other Jew is this area dares to condemn me, but how can I live with their leering looks? Live with my husband? Live with myself?

So what happened next? After the crowd dispersed and the rocks fell from their hands to the dust, after the woman heard the voice of Jesus pointing her to her future instead of always reminding her of her past, what happened then? Where did the woman go?

How did people treat her after all of this?

I hope someone came forward with a shawl and an embrace. Raised her to her feet, and took her home to get cleaned up. I hope someone helped her find a job and gave her a way to provide for herself with dignity. I hope that people continued to treat her in a way that reminded her of the forgiving love of God that she first experienced in the face of Jesus that day in the dust. I also hope that, perhaps for the first time, the pieces of her life started to fit.

By David Gibson, Courtesy Catholic News Service
 

“Loving others is a spiritual force” that draws people closer to God, Pope Francis wrote in 2013, his papacy’s first year. In this way, he said, “we learn something new about God.”

The pope affirmed in his apostolic exhortation “The Joy of the Gospel” that “when we live out a spirituality of drawing nearer to others and seeking their welfare, our hearts are opened wide to the Lord’s greatest and most beautiful gifts” (No. 272).

Those comments relate directly to the faith renewal that the church’s Lenten season fosters. Not many tend to grow in faith alone. “Living or working alongside others is surely a path of spiritual growth,” the pope observed in his 2018 apostolic exhortation on holiness in our times, “Rejoice and Be Glad” (No. 141).

For great numbers of people, every time of year is an interpersonal time, time spent with family members, friends, neighbors, co-workers, fellow believers. That may mean that faith renewal typically must proceed in an ordinary-life context that encompasses some confusion, a dose of chaos and frustrations of various other kinds.

Given faith’s interpersonal dimension, does it make sense in Lent to ask what it takes to renew and revitalize any defining commitment in life? I am thinking of commitments that tax our time and energies, yet hold the promise of drawing out the best in us.

Since faith renewal is no small matter, a little inspiration regarding ways to proceed couldn’t hurt. Many in our times have turned for such inspiration to Cardinal Francis Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan, a Vietnamese church leader whose faith commitment only deepened under the oppressions of a long imprisonment.

Several days after St. Paul VI named him coadjutor archbishop of Saigon (today Ho Chi Minh City) the city fell to the communist north. He then was arrested and imprisoned. His transfer to Saigon, he indicated, was considered part of a conspiracy involving the Vatican. He told of being in prison 13 years, nine of them in solitary confinement.

It is what he decided to make of his time in prison that captures the attention of so many. His words quietly challenge others to consider ways of doing in their own lives what he strove to do during his long prison years.

Cardinal Van Thuan determined that his “captivity would not be merely a time of resignation, but a turning point.” He would “live the present moment and fill it with love.”

His intention was to speak “one language” and wear “one uniform,” the language and uniform of love. He famously befriended some prison guards. “After all, they were my brothers,” he said.

Two guards clandestinely aided his fashioning of a small pectoral cross of wood and wire that the archbishop kept long after his 1988 release from prison, even after becoming president of the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace in Rome. Though allowed to visit Rome in 1991, Vietnam would not allow his return home.

He became a cardinal in 2001. He died of cancer in 2002.

Pope Francis singled out Cardinal Van Thuan in “Christ Is Alive,” a 2019 apostolic exhortation. The pope noted how, despite the cardinal’s imprisonment, he was determined to “seize the occasions that present themselves every day” and to “accomplish ordinary actions in an extraordinary way” (No. 148).

Those are the precise words that so many find inspiring. What ordinary actions in anyone’s life can be accomplished in extraordinary ways?

One notable Lenten reality is that the best-laid plans for faith renewal so easily disappear into the fog created as time rushes by. Other pressing duties reemerge, and soon Lent ends.

Fortunately, renewal is not reserved to Lent’s 40 days. Any day is a time for faith renewal.

Does faith’s interpersonal dimension suggest that its growth might be jump-started by eyes wide open and ears perked up to see others clearly and hear better what they may have been trying to tell us for a long time?

Sometimes the challenges that arise for us seem mind-boggling, other times not so much. Pope Francis talked about this in “Rejoice and Be Glad,” saying:

“At times, life presents great challenges. Through them, the Lord calls us anew to a conversion.” However, “other times we need only find a more perfect way of doing what we are already doing” (No. 17).

His comment about “what we are already doing” resembles Cardinal Van Thuan’s comment about accomplishing “ordinary actions in an extraordinary way.” What ordinary actions, what things that we already do can be done more perfectly or more extraordinarily?

I recall St. Teresa of Kolkata saying that when she had nothing to give to someone, she gave her smile. Is a smile an ordinary action that can become extraordinary?

Other ordinary gifts that could become extraordinary might include our patience, precious time, kindness or our way of speaking, with its potential to convey respect.

There is also the possible gift of noticing the goodness in someone else that, for whatever reasons, was lost from sight and mind too many weeks or months or years ago.

By Fr. Jeffrey Kirby, Courtesy Crux Catholic Media

As the Church makes her way through Lent, she draws from the Sacred Scriptures and reminds us of what it means to follow the way of the Lord Jesus. We are called to die to ourselves and live for him.

There are many ways in which our spiritual death is to be lived out, but few of them compete with the command to give mercy.

Today we are reminded of the summons to forgive others. The Church presents the popular story of the Prodigal Son from Saint Luke’s Gospel. The story is a strong refutation of self-righteousness. It reminds us of our own pride and fallenness, as it calls us to forgive the sins and fallenness of our neighbors.

The story is well-known to us: a man has two sons, the younger one asks for his inheritance early, receives it, and lives a life of dissipation. In time, a famine takes his livelihood away. He is destitute and undergoes a conversion.

He recognizes that his father’s servants are better treated then he is. He decides to return home and beg for his father’s mercy, so that his father might at least allow him to be one of his servants. Meanwhile, the other son has remained dutiful and worked hard on his father’s estate.

As the younger brother is returning home, his father sees him and runs to him, rejoices over his return, and orders a large celebration. In the meantime, as the older son returns from work, he hears the party. He doesn’t understand and is told by a servant about his brother’s return. He is upset and does not enter the party.

The older brother is refusing to forgive and will not celebrate his brother’s return. When the father hears of the older son’s refusal to come into the celebration, he goes to his son. After an initial exchange, the father’s words ring out: “My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.”

It is clear by his words that the father loves both sons. He wants his family to be united. He wants the older brother to forgive and to come and celebrate with him. But the older son is wounded, feels slighted, and is indulging self-righteousness.

The older brother, who has been with his father the entire time, should share his father’s spirit and allow himself to rejoice over his younger brother’s return. But he is obstinate. Stuck in confusion and self-pity.

The story certainly rocks the boat. It exposes both the “younger brother” in our hearts and the “older brother” in our souls.

The spirit of the younger brother is oftentimes easier to recognize. It can be more dramatic or blatant to us. The spirit of the older brother, however, is sly and deceptive. It canonizes itself behind goodness and makes claims to righteousness arguments. It lies to us and gives us an incomplete or false sense of justice.

It is staggering to think that the living God, who gives the moral law to us and teaches us how to live, will readily welcome murderers, thieves, and prostitutes to his table, but he will not invite the self-righteous and those who refuse mercy to be with him.

The disciples of the Lord Jesus are defined by mercy. We have received mercy and we are called to give it. There are no conditions and no exceptions. We are a people of the Prodigal Son. We are called to be a people of mercy.

Pope Francis emphasizes this point: “There is no Christianity without mercy.  If all our Christianity does not lead us to mercy, we are on the wrong path, because mercy is the only true goal of every spiritual journey. It is one of the most beautiful fruits of charity.”

The call to mercy has been given to us. In the parable, we are not told whether the older brother ever enters the celebration. The story ends with the exchange between father and son. It was left open-ended for the initial hearers of the parable, just as it has been left open-ended for us.

Will we recognize our own sinfulness and continue to seek forgiveness? Will we die to our self-righteousness and rejoice over the return of others to the family of God?

By Rev. John Henry Hanson, O. Praem., Courtesy St. Josemaria Institute

This greatest of all parables is a response to a complaint: “Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them’” (Lk 15:1-2). Jesus justifies the coming of “undesirables” to Him as a kind of long-overdue homecoming. Drawing on images of a strayed sheep and a mislaid coin, the Lord sets the stage for the story of a lost man who returns home, a dead man who comes back to life. If the retrieval of livestock and money calls for rejoicing, then this man’s restoration to his family is not only worth celebrating with feasting on earth, but also occasions an incomparable joy in heaven.

“I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Lk 15:7). To know that God values our conversion that dearly makes every detail of the parable of the Prodigal Son resonate, as though it were our life story. “Human life is in some way a constant returning to our Father’s house,” St Josemaria agrees. Indeed, “the story of the prodigal son repeats itself in our lives,” as often as “every day, and even repeatedly during the twenty-four hours of the same day” (cf. Christ is Passing By, nos. 64, 91; Friends of God, no. 214).

Having shown His critics how anxious they would be for lost possessions, Jesus sets before them an irresponsible young man—the younger of two sons, someone easily written off as a ne’er-do-well. He was restless at home. But in a faraway place, with different people, he thought he could be an anonymous rogue—with money to burn, no consequences or responsibilities, and no one looking over his shoulder. He went out looking for paradise, and when he arrived, he thought he had found it, and gave no thought to the future.

WHEN REALITY STRIKES

Whenever people are discontent with what they have at home—with the place itself or those with whom they live—they often imagine running away. The world looks like such an inviting place—full of excitement and pleasures that never grow old. But as the Victorian poet Matthew Arnold observed in his famous poem Dover Beach, the world cannot give what matters most: “…the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.” The prodigal son thought that he had all of those things in his hands for a while.

Then reality struck. All of a sudden he had no money, no food, no friends. Because God is our merciful Father, He allows the vault of our heaven to collapse. He allows the blue skies of our paradise to turn black. And He makes us feel a hunger that no food can satiate. In a moment of stark disillusionment, the prodigal’s restless heart was convicted of its vanity.

What he never expected to find standing hungry and lonely over a pig sty was given to him, unasked for, unlooked for: the Grace of repentance. With the stench, the flies, the mess of a muddy pig pen before him, the runaway remembered his father. At the moment when he found himself prepared to eat garbage, nostalgia for his father’s house seized him.

Unlike the former mirage of a distant dreamland, the journey home would overwhelm all his expectations, landing him in his father’s arms, because “the free gift is not like the trespass” (cf. Rm 5:15). The son who had squandered everything will receive back more than he had lost: “the free gift following many trespasses brings justification” (Rm 5:16). And he, and we, are left to “wonder at and rejoice in the gift which God makes us of being able to call ourselves his children” (Christ is Passing By, no. 64).

But the story doesn’t end there, and we need it not to end there.

THE OLDER SON

Families not infrequently have a child who never seems to do anything right, and another who seems to do nothing wrong. One sibling can’t handle money, relationships, or hold down a job, the other does everything on schedule with money in the bank. As much as we can relate to a straying son, we might also see ourselves in the resentment of the elder brother. Our Lord uses him to bring out the greatness of the father, the poverty of the prodigal son, and a wrong attitude that might be within all of us.

The older son refuses to take part in the festivities occasioned by his brother’s return. But he knows that his father will come out to try to reason with him. The same father who went out to meet the prodigal son won’t fail to go out to meet the troubled older brother. He knows his father is good. But he cannot imitate his father by advancing beyond mere goodness to mercy, to a love which pours itself out without thinking about what might be coming back as a return on the investment. How hard it is for us to love that freely, to love “blindfolded” and hands tied behind the back, as it were, so that we can’t receive a reward!

Then the older brother opens his mouth, and what might it sound like? He has heard the news and he says, There is no way I’m going to go in there to celebrate. What do you want from me? Am I supposed to go in, get a plate of food, enjoy the music, sit down and ask my brother where he’s been for the last six months? To be honest, I was kind of hoping he would never come back. Do you want me to go in and pretend to be happy, to be interested in the stories he has to tell?

The father, for his part, leaves the decision in his older son’s hands. He is a great father! He raises his boys to be free men. He let the younger son go his way; he lets the older son choose his own path. He says: I’m not going to force you to come in; I’m not going to force you to rejoice; I’m not going to force you to forgive. You are always at my side. Everything I have is yours. But your brother had everything, lost everything, and now he’s recovered everything. He knows what he has now because—get this—it has been given back to him without his having earned it. Everything has been given back to him without cost. 

The older brother cannot yet understand that kind of transaction. He is a hard and consistent worker. But he’s also keeping track. He punches his time card and knows what’s coming to him. He wants to earn so that he won’t have to rely on the goodness of another. He wants to take ownership of all the wrong things.

ONCE WE HAVE COME BACK

So is the message of the parable of the Prodigal Son this: No matter how irresponsible you are, no matter what you’ve done, God will take you back. God will say: Everything is okay now. We’ll pretend it never happened? Yes and no. Yes, God will always take back with open arms anyone who returns to Him with even a little humility and contrition: “A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not reject” (Ps 51:17).

But everything is not instantly okay. Once we have come back, we must learn to be content by the father’s side. This is now the “project” of the prodigal son: to grow in his relationship with the father. We must learn to be still and to know our God. We must learn to be sober. We take ownership of our sins, not blaming anyone else, but saying, I was the one who abandoned my Father. And He brought me back. Or: I was the one who worked for years in my Father’s house, but for myself. And now I have learned to share my Father’s goodness.

The younger son has a long road ahead of him. It is the road of recovery. It is a road all of us have been on and are on. The older son also has a road to recovery, and it is also our path. The two brothers are on the same road together, each learning in his own way to be content by the Father’s side, each learning to receive a gift that goes far beyond their ability to repay.

By Tim Pisacich, Courtesy Faith ND (University of Notre Dame)

Questions for reflection:

Suggested action for the week:

--Think of someone in your life with whom you have not spoken recently because the relationship feels dry or fruitless. Reach out to that person, perhaps through prayer and with a letter, visit, or phone-call.

By Flora Tang, Courtesy U.S. Catholic

Our gospel today didn’t exactly have an ending. Jesus’ parable closes with the gardener bargaining with the fig tree owner to let him keep the fig tree for just another year, to see if it bears fruit or not. We as listeners do not ever learn whether the fig tree owner said yes to this request, or what happened to the fig tree. The story ends just there.

The rest of our readings this Sunday are a lot less ambiguous, or so it seems. As typical of Lenten readings, our reading from 1 Corinthians and the first part of our Gospel from Luke speak of calls to repentance, interlaced with threats of destruction. But the roots and reason for our repentance is always God’s mercy, as our first reading beautifully reminds us of God’s liberating mercy shown to Moses and the Israelites in the burning bush. In times of enslavement and despair, God reveals Godself to the people of Israel, and promises them that God has witnessed the affliction of God’s people. Just as God is merciful to those who suffer, we too are called to repent from our indifferences and wrongdoings, especially from the ways that our actions harm the lives of others.

The choice that God offers us, at each moment, is not the stark choice between repenting and perishing. Rather, God calls each of us by name, just like God had called Moses, to a unique vocation to become and receive mercy. And God gives us that freedom to say yes to these daily vocations of mercy. God calls us to find the holy grounds where God is revealed in our lives—whether in our devotional practices, in church spaces, in our service to the poor, and in our care for the earth. Our Lenten call to repentance is never a threat of destruction, but a call to return to God’s mercy.

The parable of the fig tree today doesn’t have a clear ending because God is giving us a choice and a voice to continue to write the next chapter of God’s story of mercy. Jesus is telling us that our lives, too, may have times where everything seems dull and slow, and we may not feel like our faith is bearing fruit or that God is near. Jesus reminds us that those times are never the end. In those times, God nourishes us with mercy and waits for us patiently. Our stories, just like the story of the fig tree, is also not over. And the next chapter of our stories can always be rewritten whenever we say, once again, yes to God’s mercy.

By Msgr. Joseph Prior, Courtesy CatholicPhilly.com

A Reflection on the Year A Readings for the Third Sunday of Lent

The crew of Apollo 17 took the first photograph of Earth from about 18,000 miles away from the planet’s surface. The famous image has been called the “Blue Marble.” Since then we have seen more images of the Earth from space. The images are beautiful to see.

The “blue” in the marble is the water that covers so much of the planet. That water is what sustains life – human life as well as animals, plants and smaller creatures. The image helps us to appreciate the abundance of water and life with which we are blessed.

Water is necessary for life. When space exploration missions leave Earth to explore various extraterrestrial bodies, one of the first things they look for is signs of water because of its association with life. Water provides a rich symbol for the grace that God bestows upon his people, grace that gives and sustains life.

The first reading for this Sunday’s liturgy comes from the Book of Exodus. The story recalls the Israelites, now set free from slavery in Egypt, wandering in the desert on their journey to the Promised Land. The people grumble and complain to Moses that they are thirsty. So much so that they forget the greatness of God’s compassion and power — “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?” — they grumble.

Yet, despite the complaints, God sees their need and he provides for them. He instructs Moses to strike a rock, as he does this water flows. God of his own power provides for his people. The water here represents life.

Water likewise plays an important part in Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well in the Gospel passage. Here a transition takes place during the encounter. The conversation begins with natural water but quickly moves to a new understanding. Jesus will speak of “living water” which only he can provide. The encounter points forward to the gift of life poured forth in baptism.

The encounter is extraordinary and rich. The woman whom Jesus meets is in need. Her needs are not so much for water to drink but something deeper. As the story develops, we realize she has been in five failed marriages and now she is living with a man who is not her husband. She is broken. Although she has had relationships, she is alone. She is in need of healing and life. The healing she needs will not be provided by water from the earth. Hence Jesus says to her: “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.”

“Sir, give me this water, so that I may not be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water,” the woman asks. The question proves a turning point. Jesus will now speak of faith. The gift of life-giving water comes through faith in him. He says: “The hour is coming, and is now here, where true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and truth; and indeed the Father seeks such people to worship him. God is Spirit, and those who worship him must worship in Spirit and truth.”

When the woman then speaks of the coming Messiah, Jesus tells her, “I am he, the one speaking with you.”

The outpouring of living water will come through Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection. When the disciples return, they are amazed at his speaking with the Samaritan woman yet no one questions him. The woman leaves and tells others about him who then come to Jesus with her.

As this is happening the image of life-giving sustenance switches from water to food. The disciples are concerned that Jesus has not eaten anything. When they ask him, he says: “My food is to do the will of the one who sent me and to finish his work.” He is clearly pointing to his mission of giving himself in complete faith. He will embrace the passion and death that leads to life for all.

The response of the woman and the crowd to this encounter is faith. They come to believe in him through the encounter saying: “We know that this is truly the savior of the world.” During the ministry Jesus has been calling people to faith in him. This faith will open the door to the life-giving water that only he can provide, the “living water,” of which he earlier spoke.

As we continue our Lenten journey toward Easter we have the opportunity to be renewed in faith. In many parishes throughout the world men, women and children are preparing to receive the life-giving waters of baptism. We walk with them in this journey of faith. As we do so we are also being prepared for our renewal of faith at Easter. We remember the life-giving waters that have been poured out on us, we remember the “living waters” that come through faith and we are sustained in life by them.

One important aspect of Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well is the person with whom Jesus spoke. As the Gospel itself references, it was highly unusual for a Jew to speak with a Samaritan and alone with a woman. This, coupled with her troubled relationships, carries a symbolic aspect. She represents everyone in need and especially the outcast.

The life Jesus offers is for all. Everyone is invited to share the living waters. No one is so broken that they cannot be healed. No one is so far from the community that they cannot be welcomed.

The Apollo 17 photograph of the Earth, the “Blue Marble,” provides an abundant image of water. God created the universe and blessed us with life. He graciously has provided water to sustain our bodies with life. In Jesus, he gives us an even more abundant blessing, the gift of living water. The living water wells up from within to heal, strengthen and sustain us in life.

By Fr. Joshua J. Whitfield, Courtesy Our Sunday Visitor

After trial, temptation — glory.  After struggle and Satan’s worst — glory.  That’s the word, the promise hidden in this early Lenten lesson.  It’s meant to strengthen our faith, our hope and our love, too.

During Lent, the Church speaks first to her catechumens, to those seeking union with Christ in baptism. She speaks, though, to all of us, each of us invited to remember our discipleship, the cost and destiny of it.

We’re invited to remember that following Christ is to follow him into the desert, to experience temptation and the devil’s wiles just as he did. To be a disciple is necessarily to experience temptation, for the worldly are not tempted by the world. Only the faithful are tempted; only the faithful know enough of that better kingdom to know what tragedies the lesser kingdoms promise, that they all will one day pass away into nothing. That is why we resist, refusing to give in, keeping faith, feeding on the word of God alone. Because we know what’s better.

Hence, the sweetness and mercy of this Sunday’s Gospel, the reason for remembering the mystery of the Transfiguration. His crucifixion still to come, his passion yet to unfold, here in prayer on the mountain Jesus’ “face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white” (Lk 9:29). As St. John Henry Newman put it, the Transfiguration shone as “a short gleam of the glory which was to be.” A manifestation in the middle of the journey, of divine reality and divine victory, the Transfiguration is a sacrament of promise, a secret meant to offer strength for the even more bitter trials to come.

Elijah and Moses both drew near to God’s glory in 40 days. Moses’ face shone with God’s brightness because of it (cf. Ex 34:29-30). Elijah was nourished by God in his 40 days, prepared to hear the “still small voice” of the Lord (1 Kg 19:8-13). We’re to learn from them why we should endure our 40 days of Lent, that it leads to covenant and glory, intimacy with God. Again, this glimpse of glory: It’s meant to help our faith, to show what it’s for and where we’re going — to that kingdom where Christ is dazzlingly bright and where we will be bright in his light, too.

But, of course, this isn’t just about asceticism, about the rewards of the rigors of prayer. We know this because with Moses and Elijah, Jesus was speaking about his “exodus” (Lk 9:31). Some translations read “departure.” What this means is Christ’s passion, his death and resurrection. Like entering the Promised Land through the Red Sea and the desert, so will be Christ’s resurrection and ascension — we disciples following him in self-denying faith and baptism. And this deepens our understanding and experience of Lent, for it reveals the particular path our journey must take, that before we encounter the unending dazzling brightness of the kingdom, we must first know the night of betrayal and the darkness of Good Friday.

The Transfiguration is no mere mystical mountain experience; it shines only to light the rest of the way. The divine Son is revealed; God says, “listen to him” (Lk 9:35). Jesus will lead his disciples on to Jerusalem and to the cross; that’s what the Transfiguration illuminates. Such is why this luminous mystery belongs to Lent, because it reminds us that all our spiritual struggles — our prayer, fasting, resisting temptation — prepare us specifically to share in Christ’s passion, his death and resurrection that becomes ours. Not just a season of self-denial and prayer — although it is certainly that — the Transfiguration shows us that Lent is how Christians enter into the Paschal Mystery of Christ, reminding us what all these Lenten exercises are for. For Christ’s sacrifice and resurrected brightness, and ours, too.

By Cardinal Timothy Dolan, Courtesy Catholic New York

“Come back to me with all your heart!”

That exhortation, from the Lord to His Chosen People of Israel, echoes throughout God’s Holy Word in the Bible.

Think of the truths of that divine invitation: one, we belong to God! He made us, He has a plan and a destiny for us! Two, we often leave Him. While He never departs from us, we can—and do—frequently abandon Him. Three, when we do drift away from Him, He continually encourages us to return to Him.

Lent is the season of the Church’s year when that invitation from God is especially clear.

“Come back to me with all your heart!”

Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta often spoke of two gestures of Jesus towards us. The first is as He goes before us on the journey of life, ever curling His finger, facing us, coaxing us to continue travelling with Him towards eternal life.

The second gesture of Jesus happens when we turn our back on Him and begin to walk away. Now He raises His finger to tap us on the back, to turn around and follow Him again.

As Padre Pio preached, “The number of times in life when we turn from the Lord and walk away is not what’s important, as long as the number of times we turn around and start following Him again is one time more than the other number.”

Some saints call this “the dance,” as life becomes a “two-step,” one step heading away from Him, the other step in the dance correcting our two-step to turn around and return to our “Divine Dance Partner.”

I don’t care how long it’s been that you may be walking the wrong way. He’s waiting, coaxing, inspiring us to reverse ourselves and start following Him again.

Lent classically offers a number of ways to do that:

One, simply and sincerely let Him know we need Him, we trust Him, we love Him, we long to follow Him. That comes in prayer. Just be as basic and plain-spoken as you can, letting Him know in your own childlike vocabulary that you indeed want to “Come back to Him with all your heart!”

The greatest prayer we can utter is our Sunday Mass. Every Mass inserts us into both the Sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, and into His Resurrection as God answered His Son’s prayers. The best way to “turn around” and begin to travel again with the Lord is to get back to Sunday Mass!

Two, we let Jesus know we want, with the essential assistance of His power, to leave sin behind. That’s why a good confession is always part of a fruitful Lent.

Three, we “come back” in our love and care for others, especially those in need.

Prayer—Penance, both through acts of self-denial and the celebration of the Sacrament of Penance—and charity, as our prayer and penance shows itself in love of others.

That trifecta—prayer, penance, and charity—is lifelong, but especially lures us during these forty days of Lent, as we travel with Our Lord towards His Cross and Resurrection during Holy Week.

All of life’s woes and frustrations come from us living as if God does not matter. We pursue meaning and purpose in other ways, and they all hurt us and others. Only in God can we find the way, the truth, life.

“Come back to me with all your heart!”

See you on the trip, and I long to be with you with Him forever when the pilgrimage is over!

By Msgr. Joseph Prior, Courtesy CatholicPhilly.com

Lent, this year, comes in a time of tribulation. The people of Ukraine are being attacked by an unjust aggressor state. We see the images on the television and in the news. We praise their resilience and determination as they defend their families, homes and land against an overwhelming force. The peoples of that region and the world, ourselves included, worry about what is next. These are dangerous days.

Pope Francis urged our Lenten fasting on Ash Wednesday as an opportunity to offer that penance for peace in Ukraine and for the Ukrainian people.

The fasting we embrace during Lent along with the practice of prayer and almsgiving are means to strengthen our faith and resolve. They help us to build our inner strength to confront the forces in our lives that would break us down, lead us astray or disrupt our peace. They help us build our trust in the Lord and to have our faith in him as the bedrock of our lives.

Our period of Lent in preparation for Easter is modeled after Jesus’ 40 days in the desert prior to beginning his public ministry. The 40 days also reflect the 40 years that Israel wandered in the desert before entering the promised land. When Jesus was in the desert, he fasted. As he fasted, he became hungry. At the end of this period, Satan approached and tempted him.

Jesus, though weak in body, was strong in spirit. During the time of prayer and fasting, he was fortified for what lay ahead. He receives his strength through his faith in the Father.

Three times the devil tries to break Jesus. He is cunning in his approach. He knows Jesus is hungry. This is a weak spot, so he begins there. He tempts him with pride – prove yourself – “if you are the Son of God command these stones to become bread.” Jesus responds quoting from Scripture: “One does not live on bread alone” which continues “but every word from the mouth of God.” Jesus’ strength lies in his faith.

The devil then cunningly tries to tempt him with “power and glory.” Jesus again quotes from the Word of God: “You shall worship the Lord, your God, and him alone shall you serve.” Finally, he tempts him again to prove himself, this time related to his faith in the Father. He tempts him to test that faith instead of relying on it: “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here (high on the parapet of the Temple).”

This time the devil also uses the Scriptures, trying to corrupt the Word of God saying: “It is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you…’” Jesus rebukes the temptation saying, once again quoting Scripture, “You shall not put the Lord, you God, to the test.”

Satan fails. Jesus, weak in body, strong in spirit, triumphs. St. Luke gives us an interesting insight as he recalls the temptations. At the end he says that Satan “departed from him for a time.” Satan seeks to destroy the life-giving relationship that Jesus has with the Father. He seeks to destroy our share in that relationship through Jesus.

St. Luke’s words particularly point ahead to the end of the public ministry – to Jesus’ passion, death and ultimately resurrection. Satan will try to stop Jesus but will not be able. Jesus’ faith in the Father continues to grow, stronger and stronger, as the years go by. This strength in humility fortifies him to endure his passion and death in confidence that the Father will raise him on the third day.

The Ukrainian crisis is a harsh and cruel reminder that evil exists in our world. The confrontation with evil entails a struggle. Jesus shows us that faith in our heavenly Father is the most powerful means by which to endure the struggle so as to persevere to the end. Faith is strengthened through our Lenten observances of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

As we embrace these spiritual exercises we may be, and probably will be, tempted: something more pressing might come up, we might get hungry, we might get a craving or desire for a particular food we gave up, we might be distracted, we might be confronted with fear, we might become anxious. The more we can stick with the practice, the more that inner strength, our faith in God our heavenly Father, will be fortified.

Our practices might not seem anything significant compared to what Jesus faced, or to what the Ukrainians are enduring now. However, overcoming the small temptations in life help us prepare for the larger ones.

Courtesy Denver Catholic

More than a penitential season in which the Church prepares for the Resurrection of the Lord, Lent is also a time to do good in the hope of the Resurrection — the act of which we must not grow tired of, the Holy Father exhorted in his Lenten message this year.

Issued Feb. 24, Pope Francis emphasized the need for constant prayer and diligence in uprooting evil from our lives, as well as other obstacles which inhibits authentic human relationships, including “addiction to the digital media, which impoverishes human relationships.”

“Lent is a favourable time for personal and community renewal, as it leads us to the paschal mystery of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ,” the pope said. “For our Lenten journey in 2022, we will do well to reflect on Saint Paul’s exhortation to the Galatians: ‘Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest, if we do not give up. So then, while we have the opportunity (kairós), let us do good to all’ (Gal 6:9-10).”

Read Pope Francis’ lenten message in full below.

________________________

“Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest, if we do not give up. So then, while we have the opportunity, let us do good to all” (Gal 6:9-10)

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Lent is a favorable time for personal and community renewal, as it leads us to the paschal mystery of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. For our Lenten journey in 2022, we will do well to reflect on Saint Paul’s exhortation to the Galatians: “Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest, if we do not give up. So then, while we have the opportunity (kairós), let us do good to all” (Gal 6:9-10).

1. Sowing and reaping

In these words, the Apostle evokes the image of sowing and reaping, so dear to Jesus (cf. Mt 13). Saint Paul speaks to us of a kairós: an opportune time for sowing goodness in view of a future harvest. What is this “opportune time” for us? Lent is certainly such an opportune time, but so is our entire existence, of which Lent is in some way an image.[1] All too often in our lives, greed, pride and the desire to possess, accumulate and consume have the upper hand, as we see from the story of the foolish man in the Gospel parable, who thought his life was safe and secure because of the abundant grain and goods he had stored in his barns (cf. Lk 12:16-21). Lent invites us to conversion, to a change in mindset, so that life’s truth and beauty may be found not so much in possessing as in giving, not so much in accumulating as in sowing and sharing goodness.

The first to sow is God himself, who with great generosity “continues to sow abundant seeds of goodness in our human family” (Fratelli Tutti, 54). During Lent we are called to respond to God’s gift by accepting his word, which is “living and active” (Heb 4:12). Regular listening to the word of God makes us open and docile to his working (cf. Jas 1:21) and bears fruit in our lives. This brings us great joy, yet even more, it summons us to become God’s co-workers (cf. 1 Cor 3:9). By making good use of the present time (cf. Eph 5:16), we too can sow seeds of goodness. This call to sow goodness should not be seen as a burden but a grace, whereby the Creator wishes us to be actively united with his own bountiful goodness.

What about the harvest? Do we not sow seeds in order to reap a harvest? Of course! Saint Paul points to the close relationship between sowing and reaping when he says: “Anyone who sows sparsely will reap sparsely as well, and anyone who sows generously will reap generously as well” (2 Cor 9:6). But what kind of harvest are we talking about? A first fruit of the goodness we sow appears in ourselves and our daily lives, even in our little acts of kindness. In God, no act of love, no matter how small, and no “generous effort” will ever be lost (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 279). Just as we recognize a tree by its fruits (cf. Mt 7:16, 20), so a life full of good deeds radiates light (cf. Mt 5:14-16) and carries the fragrance of Christ to the world (cf. 2 Cor 2:15). Serving God in freedom from sin brings forth fruits of sanctification for the salvation of all (cf. Rom 6:22).

In truth, we see only a small portion of the fruits of what we sow, since, according to the Gospel proverb, “one sows, while another reaps” (Jn 4:37). When we sow for the benefit of others, we share in God’s own benevolent love: “it is truly noble to place our hope in the hidden power of the seeds of goodness we sow, and thus to initiate processes whose fruits will be reaped by others” (Fratelli Tutti, 196). Sowing goodness for the benefit of others frees us from narrow self-interest, infuses our actions with gratuitousness, and makes us part of the magnificent horizon of God’s benevolent plan.

The word of God broadens and elevates our vision: it tells us that the real harvest is eschatological, the harvest of the last, undying day. The mature fruit of our lives and actions is “fruit for eternal life” (Jn 4:36), our “treasure in heaven” (Lk 12:33; 18:22). Jesus himself uses the image of the seed that dies in the ground in order to bear fruit as a symbol of the mystery of his death and resurrection (cf. Jn 12:24); while Saint Paul uses the same image to speak of the resurrection of our bodies: “What is sown is perishable, but what is raised is imperishable; what is sown is contemptible but what is raised is glorious; what is sown is weak, but what is raised is powerful; what is sown is a natural body, and what is raised is a spiritual body” (1 Cor 15:42-44). The hope of resurrection is the great light that the risen Christ brings to the world, for “if our hope in Christ has been for this life only, we are of all people the most pitiable. In fact, however, Christ has been raised from the dead, as the first-fruits of all who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor 15:19-20). Those who are intimately united to him in love “by dying a death like his” (Rom 6:5) will also be united to his resurrection for eternal life (cf. Jn 5:29). “Then the upright will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (Mt 13:43).

2. “Let us not grow tired of doing good”

Christ’s resurrection enlivens earthly hopes with the “great hope” of eternal life, planting the seed of salvation in our present time (cf. BENEDICT XVI, Spe Salvi, 3; 7). Bitter disappointment at shattered dreams, deep concern for the challenges ahead and discouragement at the poverty of our resources, can make us tempted to seek refuge in self-centredness and indifference to the suffering of others. Indeed, even our best resources have their limitations: “Youths grow tired and weary, the young stumble and fall” (Is 40:30). Yet God “gives strength to the weary, he strengthens the powerless… Those who hope in the Lord will regain their strength, they will soar on wings like eagles; though they run they will not grow weary, though they walk they will never tire» (Is 40:29, 31). The Lenten season calls us to place our faith and hope in the Lord (cf. 1 Pet 1:21), since only if we fix our gaze on the risen Christ (cf. Heb 12:2) will we be able to respond to the Apostle’s appeal, “Let us never grow tired of doing good” (Gal 6:9).

Let us not grow tired of praying. Jesus taught us to “pray always without becoming weary” (Lk 18:1). We need to pray because we need God. Thinking that we need nothing other than ourselves is a dangerous illusion. If the pandemic has heightened the awareness of our own personal and social fragility, may this Lent allow us to experience the consolation provided by faith in God, without whom we cannot stand firm (cf. Is 7:9). No one attains salvation alone, since we are all in the same boat, amid the storms of history;[2] and certainly no one reaches salvation without God, for only the paschal mystery of Jesus Christ triumphs over the dark waters of death. Faith does not spare us life’s burdens and tribulations, but it does allow us to face them in union with God in Christ, with the great hope that does not disappoint, whose pledge is the love that God has poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit (cf. Rom 5:1-5).

Let us not grow tired of uprooting evil from our lives. May the corporal fasting to which Lent calls us fortify our spirit for the battle against sin. Let us not grow tired of asking for forgiveness in the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation, knowing that God never tires of forgiving.[3] Let us not grow tired of fighting against concupiscence, that weakness which induces to selfishness and all evil, and finds in the course of history a variety of ways to lure men and women into sin (cf. Fratelli Tutti, 166). One of these is addiction to the digital media, which impoverishes human relationships. Lent is a propitious time to resist these temptations and to cultivate instead a more integral form of human communication (ibid., 43) made up of “authentic encounters” (ibid., 50), face-to-face and in person.

Let us not grow tired of doing good in active charity towards our neighbours. During this Lent, may we practise almsgiving by giving joyfully (cf. 2 Cor 9:7). God who “supplies seed to the sower and bread for food” (2 Cor 9:10) enables each of us not only to have food to eat, but also to be generous in doing good to others. While it is true that we have our entire life to sow goodness, let us take special advantage of this Lenten season to care for those close to us and to reach out to our brothers and sisters who lie wounded along the path of life (cf. Lk 10:25-37). Lent is a favourable time to seek out – and not to avoid – those in need; to reach out – and not to ignore – those who need a sympathetic ear and a good word; to visit – and not to abandon – those who are lonely. Let us put into practice our call to do good to all, and take time to love the poor and needy, those abandoned and rejected, those discriminated against and marginalized (cf. Fratelli Tutti, 193).

3. “If we do not give up, we shall reap our harvest in due time”

Each year during Lent we are reminded that “goodness, together with love, justice and solidarity, are not achieved once and for all; they have to be realized each day” (ibid., 11). Let us ask God to give us the patient perseverance of the farmer (cf. Jas 5:7), and to persevere in doing good, one step at a time. If we fall, let us stretch out our hand to the Father, who always lifts us up. If we are lost, if we are misled by the enticements of the evil one, let us not hesitate to return to God, who “is generous in forgiving” (Is 55:7). In this season of conversion, sustained by God’s grace and by the communion of the Church, let us not grow tired of doing good. The soil is prepared by fasting, watered by prayer and enriched by charity. Let us believe firmly that “if we do not give up, we shall reap our harvest in due time” and that, with the gift of perseverance, we shall obtain what was promised (cf. Heb 10:36), for our salvation and the salvation of others (cf. 1 Tim 4:16). By cultivating fraternal love towards everyone, we are united to Christ, who gave his life for our sake (cf. 2 Cor 5:14-15), and we are granted a foretaste of the joy of the kingdom of heaven, when God will be “all in all” (1 Cor 15:28).

May the Virgin Mary, who bore the Saviour in her womb and “pondered all these things in her heart” (Lk 2:19), obtain for us the gift of patience. May she accompany us with her maternal presence, so that this season of conversion may bring forth fruits of eternal salvation.

By Lindsey Weishar • Courtesy Catholic News Service

The First Sunday of Lent has traditionally found me in a state of semi-denial, skirting the edge of the desert.

I’ve been invited to walk in with the Lord, but I’m still immersed in the landscape of my familiar life that more closely resembles a mossy forest crowded with trees — a life so full I cannot quite grasp all that is in it.

“Again We Keep This Solemn Fast” is a hymn of invitation to prepare him room.

Written by St. Gregory the Great, a pope in the late sixth century, the words are a gentle call to rouse ourselves and follow Our Lord into a time of fasting and penance, but also to embrace the loving movement of God in this season:

“Again we keep this solemn fast/ A gift of faith from ages past,/ This Lent which bids us lovingly/ To faith and hope and charity.”

The vocabulary here feels surprising. My Lents so often end up being worrisome, wearisome and gloomy.

But Pope Gregory reminds me of the dynamism of the season, calling Lent “a gift of faith from ages past,” a treasure handed down to us that will most certainly change us, a season that like Advent is charged with mystery and calls us to preparation.

I’m guided back to the Old Testament to rediscover how “the law and prophets from of old/ In figured ways this Lent foretold.”

The suffering servant passages of Isaiah come to mind and I’m reminded of the gentleness that exists alongside the strength to endure 40 days in the desert, for this is the Christ of whom it is said, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench” (Is 42:3). He comes to “those who live in darkness” (Is 42:7) to help reorient our eyes to light.

Here comes our guide through Lent and he comes to us kindly, not to break our spirit or to whip us into shape, but to draw us out of our familiar ways of being and doing.

Pope Gregory describes this season as one that “bids us lovingly/ To faith and hope and charity.” And lest the word “lovingly” catch us off guard, I’m reminded that the desert can be a place of sweetness.

It is here the Israelites received manna and came to recognize (even as they often forgot) God’s presence among them.

Perhaps after 40 years of sojourning, they, like the beloved in the Song of Songs, of whom it is asked “Who is this coming up from the desert/ leaning upon her lover?” (Song 8:5) could more readily lean on him and trust in his promises.

For me the word “lovingly” is the key to entering more fully into this season. The first couple times I looked at “Again We Keep This Solemn Fast,” I read “fast” as “feast.”

And though Lent may seem the exact opposite — indeed, the hymn calls us to be “more sparing” not only when it comes to food, but when it comes to “the words we speak” and “ev’ry sense” — this solemn season calls us, I think, to a different kind of feast.

It’s one in which by denying some goodnesses of life I make room for others, for God and his wondrous love.

By feasting on prayer, fasting and almsgiving, I make space for the cardinal virtues to blossom within me. By immersing myself more often in silence, I become better able to hear him and to keep “(my spirit), free/ From scheming of the Enemy.”

And this type of feasting brings rest in him, who I come to embrace more fully as my guide in this unfamiliar, unadorned space — the desert space of my own heart.