A Reflection by Msgr. Owen Campion

In Easter, the church celebrates the greatest of its feasts, the Feast of the Resurrection of the Lord!  It is the greatest of feasts because it rejoices in the fulfillment of human salvation, fulfilled and completed when the Lord Jesus rose from death to new earthly life after having been crucified.

On Holy Saturday, after dusk, the church presents its splendid liturgy of the Easter Vigil.  Quite vividly in the vigil’s readings, the church recalls the long history of God’s unfailing love for us.

For Easter itself, the first reading is from the Acts of the Apostles.  Speaking on behalf of all the Apostles, Peter capsulizes the life and mission of Jesus.  More than a biography, it is a testament of God’s love for humankind, given in Jesus, and in the Sacrifice of Jesus.  It is an invitation to people to follow the Lord, a reassurance that God is with us still alive and well in Jesus, the Risen.

For the second reading, the church offers a passage from the Epistle to the Colossians.  This reading tells us, as it told its first audience, that we have been raised with Christ.  We usually associate resurrection with death, in that resurrection is re-vivification after physical death.  In the Pauline writings, resurrection also meant an event on earth while physical life is present.  It is a resurrection over sin, voluntarily chosen by each disciple.

St. John’s Gospel supplies the last reading.  It is the familiar story of Mary Magdalene’s early morning visit to the tomb where Jesus had been buried after being crucified.  She found the tomb empty.  Immediately, she hurried to Peter and the other disciples to give them the news.

Peter and the others took her word.  At once they went to the tomb and saw for themselves that it was empty.  “The disciple whom Jesus loved,” long thought to be John, saw the empty tomb.  Strong in faith, he knew that Jesus had risen.

Reflection

The readings for this feast, as well as the feast of Easter itself, are overpowering in the richness and depth and breadth of their message.  Jesus is the Savior!  He lives forever!

Belief in the Resurrection, and trust in the everlastingly living Jesus, have uplifted, guided and inspired human hearts for 20 centuries.  Awareness of, and commitment to, the Lord has brightened lives regardless of the darkness and cold surrounding them.

An old legend has this story.  At the edge of the garden that contained the tomb of Jesus were large, tall plants, considered to be eyesores, weeds.  They were ugly.  Blossoms rose at the top of each stalk, but it was dingy and colorless.

These humble, detested plants witnessed the Resurrection.  The blinding, brilliant, divine light of the Lord’s victory over death bathed them.  For all time thereafter, their blossoms are wonderfully yellow, transformed by the light of Christ, all the ugliness bleached from them.

The legend continues.  Since that miraculous Easter morning, these plants, their blossoms ablaze with the golden reflection of the Lord’s power, follow the light, from dawn to dusk.  It is the bright noonday sun?  Or, is it Jesus, returning in glory?  Is Jesus near?

The plant was the sunflower.

After Lent, purified and re-committed, Easter is our moment to absorb the light of the Risen Lord.  Do we allow it to change us as it changed the sunflower?  Do we intently search for the Lord, seeing the mercy of Jesus in every sunbeam of grace and goodness that falls upon us?

Peter and the Apostles eventually gave their very lives for Christ, radiant in their faith.  We cannot predict or control everything.  The ultimate fact is that we need Jesus, and Jesus is with us.  He lives.

A Reflection by Lindsey Weishar

In his Holy Saturday homily for Easter 2020, Pope Francis called the church to hope:

“So, let us not give in to resignation; let us not place a stone before hope.  We can and must hope, because God is faithful.  He did not abandon us; he visited us and entered into our situations of pain, anguish and death.  His light dispelled the darkness of the tomb:  Today he wants that light to penetrate even to the darkest corners of our lives.”

The pope spoke to a world in the throes of pandemic.  As we wend our way through this reality that is still very much with us, I’ve found myself needing to remove stones of fear and hopelessness about the future, which I’ve been nibbling like bread in the desert of my heart this Lent.

Pope Francis presents hope not as a honeyed version of optimism but more like a seed, whose fruit begins to sprout in darkness.  Reflecting on the women who come to Jesus’ tomb in the early hours of that very first Easter, he says, “Jesus, like a seed buried in the ground, was about to make new life blossom in the world; and these women, by prayer and love, were helping to make that hope flower.”

How, in our own hearts, do we invite hope to flower?  How, in the midst of the world’s pain and my own, do I even turn toward hope?

Hope is, I’ve found, the most profound reality.  To talk of suffering without hope is to talk about living without air.  We can do both quite easily, but hope, like air, makes life possible.

During a time in which mental health crises have skyrocketed, where hopelessness abounds, perhaps our call in this Easter season is to talk about hope, to reveal to others the seed who plants himself in the hearts of each one of us.

When I think about the women who first saw the stone rolled away and the disciples who followed, a few lines from “O Holy Night” come to mind:  “A thrill of hope / The weary world rejoices / For yonder breaks / A new and glorious morn.”

I think of the Easter Vigil 2020, celebrated in a living room with my roommate.  Though we could not be in church, could not even physically receive Christ, we entered into this livestreamed Mass with makeshift luminaries of birthday candles stuck into egg carton dimples.

When the readings and psalms came to a close, and we saw the church immediately transformed by a sudden flood of brightness, my roommate ran through our house, turning on every light.

It seems that hope reigns in the simple moments of discovery, of celebration, of lighting a single candle to illumine the darkness.  It is the answer to the women’s question, “Who will roll back the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” — the realization that it has already been rolled back.

In his 2020 Easter Vigil homily Pope Francis offers us a personal invitation, “Dear sister, dear brother, even if in your heart you have buried hope, do not give up:  God is greater.  Darkness and death do not have the last word.  Be strong, for with God nothing is lost!”

Nothing is lost — not our sorrows, sufferings and fears, not the beauty, blessings and sweetness of this life.  All can be used for our good, to draw us nearer to him.

If you find yourself grappling with hope this Easter, join me in praying that Christ will help us remove any remaining stones from the mouth of the tomb, that he will spring forth from the night of the soil, that even if we do not feel hopeful, we come to more deeply know hope Himself.

A Reflection by John Bergsma

Sunday, April 4, is Easter Sunday, the Resurrection of the Lord.

Mass Readings: Acts 10:34a, 37-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9.

Happy Easter, everyone!  On Sunday, April 4th, our 40 days of penance and mortification cease and we enter the 50-day season of Easter, culminating in Pentecost, the celebration of the Holy Spirit!

Easter is the greatest feast of the Christian liturgical year, and it is one of the few on which the vigil is actually the grander and more important liturgy, because in it the sacraments are received by catechumens and candidates.  The readings for the vigil actually give us an entire “course” in salvation history.  We begin with God’s covenant with creation (Genesis 1); his covenant with Abraham (Genesis 22) that anticipated Calvary and the new covenant; the Exodus and God’s covenant with Israel through Moses at Sinai (Exodus 14); a flashback to the covenant with Noah (Isaiah 54); a preview of the new and Eucharistic covenant (Isaiah 55); and finally a vision of baptism (“I will sprinkle clean water upon you”) and the new covenant (“I will give you a new heart and … a new spirit within you”) from Ezekiel 36.  Why this long rehearsal of the story of God’s people?  Because those to be baptized are about to enter the story:  The story of the Bible will become their story, because they are joining the people of God on the pilgrimage through history. 

The Gospel of the vigil Mass is the women at the tomb according to Mark, where a “young man … clothed in a white robe” proclaims the Resurrection to them.  “Young man” occurs only once elsewhere in Mark’s Gospel, when a “young man” ran away naked from Gethsemane (14:51-52).  That “young man” was probably Mark himself, who had shadowed Jesus out to the garden.  But God took Mark, the young man who shamefully ran away, and made him, figuratively, an “angel” who has been proclaiming the Good News through his Gospel for the rest of human history.  God can take us, shameful and cowardly failures though we often are, and make us “angels” (literally “messengers”) who proclaim Christ to others if we will let him.

The Mass for Easter Day begins in Acts 10, with Peter — who also acted cowardly and shamefully at Christ’s arrest — preaching the Good News boldly to the Gentiles (Acts 10:44-45).  The Resurrection and the Holy Spirit transform cowardice into courage.  We rejoice using the words of Psalm 118, the end of the “Egyptian Hallel,” a hymn consisting of Psalms 113-118 that would have been the last thing Jesus chanted in the Upper Room before going out to Gethsemane (Mark 14:26).  The words are poignant in that context:  “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord” (verse 17).  In the second reading St. Paul reminds us of why Jesus’ death and resurrection is significant to each one of us personally:  “For you have died … when Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.”  Through our baptism, we have actually died with Jesus on the cross and been raised to a completely new life!

The Gospel tells of Peter and John running to the empty tomb.  John waits for Peter to enter first, but when he finally comes in, John sees and believes.  Why?  Because “he saw the burial cloths there, and the cloth that had covered his head.”  No grave robbers, or anyone else, would have bothered to unwrap the mummified body in order to steal it!  In fact, they couldn’t — the body had been wrapped in linen strips with a hundred pounds of gooey spices (John 19:39 RSV) that dried like glue and locked the body in.  Peter and John would have seen a hardened cocoon.  Somehow the body had passed through the rigid grave clothes. 

It could only be miraculous.  No wonder he saw and believed! 

May we, too, be in awe of the Risen Christ.

A Reflection by Bishop David Zubik
 

My maternal grandmother is someone in whom I confided much, especially about my own worries.  My Porchy (the nickname I gave her) immigrated to the United States from Slovakia in 1920.  She never fully captured English grammar but her messages were truly from her heart.  When I shared with her my anxieties, her response was always the same: “No be worried!” 

My grandmother was woman of great faith.  While she didn’t have much formal education, she knew God and she knew about Him.  I suspect that her advice against worry came from her knowledge both of God’s words and His ever-abiding presence with us.

As I reflect with you on my grandmother’s words, I began to think about how many times God speaks those words in the Bible.

Remember Abraham.  When God tapped him to be the father of many nations, Abraham was frightened.  God responded: “Don’t be afraid!”

When our dear Blessed Mother was visited by the Archangel Gabriel with the news that she would become the mother of the Savior, she too was frightened.  God’s words to her: “Don’t be afraid!”

When Joseph was understandably perplexed and upset by unanswered questions about Mary’s pregnancy, God sent the Archangel Gabriel to him in a dream with the words: “Don’t be afraid!”

After Saint Peter had an amazing catch of fish, at a time when he thought it was nearly impossible, he was frightened.  Jesus said to him: “Don’t be afraid!”

When the apostles were in a boat being rocked by a terrible storm, Jesus came upon them and said: “Don’t be afraid!”

When Mary Magdalene came to the tomb on the first Easter morning and found it empty, she didn’t recognize Jesus in the garden. She was frightened, and Jesus said to her: “Don’t be afraid!”

From the heart of God to her own lips, my grandmother was right when she told me: “No be worried!”

So, what about you and me?  As you and I fast-forward through our days, how do we receive God’s words: “Don’t be afraid”?  How do those words sound when you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, or you’ve lost your job, or you don’t have enough money to pay your bills?  

How do you respond to those words when you haven’t heard from your adult kids for several years, or somebody has said something about you that is clearly false, or your body is breaking down in your senior years?

How do those words sound: “Don’t be afraid”?

Is God for real when He asks us to not be afraid? 

He sure is!

But let’s get something straight.  God recognizes that moments of fear are real.  God is not asking us to deny the fear that comes with cancer, foreclosure, divorce, abuse, aging, unemployment, addiction, loneliness or betrayal. 

How do we know that?  Because of what Jesus Himself went through.

When Jesus went into the desert in anticipation of His public ministry, He was all alone—except for the devil.  And He was afraid. 

When Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane anticipating His imminent betrayal, He was afraid.

When Jesus was on the cross and felt forsaken by everyone including His Father in heaven, our Lord was very much afraid.

Fear is a normal, natural response to real threats in our lives.  Jesus felt fear because He was fully human, as well as fully God.  You and I should not be ashamed of our fear.

But God does not leave us in fear, because God does not leave us.  His response to our fear is found in words spoken by the angel to Joseph in one of his dreams: “And they shall name Him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’”

When you and I think about the fears that Jesus faced in the desert, in the Garden or on the hill of Calvary—in all of these moments Jesus knew that His Father, our God, was with Him.  God is also with you and me, offering support, strength, guidance and peace.

Yet there’s something else that we need to think about.  When God says, “Don’t be afraid,” God is also speaking from His own fear.  How can it be possible for God to fear?  After all, God is perfect!

What God fears is that our fear might drive us away from Him; that our fears will break our relationship with Him. 

When we face a great moment of fear, we are tempted to blame the problem on Him.

At the very time we have an opportunity to learn important lessons about life and grow closer to God by trusting Him with our fears, we are tempted to turn our backs on the Lord and bolt.  As we are literally hell bent on blaming God as the cause of our fears, it is important to remember (as my Porchy did) the response of our ancestors in the faith, such as Abraham, Mary, Joseph, Peter and the apostles, and Mary Magdalene.  When God told them, “Don’t be afraid,” they trusted.  They trusted in Emmanuel—“God with us.”  Their trust allowed Him to carry them through their fears.

The same can be true for you and me.  And when we follow their lead, we also help to alleviate Someone Else’s fear—God’s.  We can emulate our ancestors in the Bible and take away God’s fear by not falling into the temptation of blaming Him and by not turning away from Him.

And so, as I share with you once again that beautiful advice given by my grandmother, “No be worried,” I hope you and I can take her advice to heart.  Why?  Because God is Emmanuel.  God is with us.

No be afraid!

A Reflection by Claudia McDonnell

As we enter Holy Week, it seems as though we are more ready for it this year, and more open to its meaning.  We are in Covid time; we have seen and borne suffering.  We are isolated by sickness or precaution.  We have seen the toll of illness and death; we have lost loved ones, or we know people who have been bereaved.

We can use our sufferings in prayer and reflection to understand more fully the suffering of Christ.

I have been thinking of Christ’s Passion in light of the Holy Family.  Though Jesus suffered his bitter agony alone, his mother, Mary, was there with him.  The Stations of the Cross place her along the path that Jesus walked on his way to Calvary.  The Gospel of John tells us that Mary stood at the foot of the cross, remaining with Jesus until he died.

In this year dedicated by Pope Francis as the Year of St. Joseph, I am thinking, too, of the spouse of Mary and the foster father of Jesus.  Scripture scholars believe that Joseph died before Jesus began his public life, and therefore well before the Crucifixion.  But Joseph must have played a role in the Passion.  The lessons that Jesus learned from Joseph must have prepared him for his public life, and especially for its final act of obedience to his Father: the sacrifice of his life for the redemption of humanity.

The Bible does not record any words of Joseph, but his actions speak eloquently.  When an angel appeared to him in a dream and told him to have no fear, and to take the pregnant Mary as his wife, he obeyed.  When an angel told him to take Mary and the Infant Jesus and flee to Egypt, he did so.  Joseph’s obedience to God must have set an example for the young Jesus long before he said to his Father, in anguish but also in faith, “Not my will, but yours be done.”

As a carpenter, Joseph must have taught his trade to Jesus.  They must have worked side by side, wielding their tools, shaping wood into plows, yokes, chairs, tables and other objects.  We hear often in prayers and spiritual writings, especially in Holy Week, of “the wood of the cross.”  The same material that Jesus, trained by Joseph, used in his work would become the material upon which Jesus hung in agony, but which was transformed from the instrument of his death to the bearer of life, the means of our salvation.  We line up to venerate the crucifix on Good Friday; if the pandemic prevents our doing so for a time, we can venerate the crucifixes in our homes.  Whether or not they are made of wood, they are a reminder of the wood that bore Christ the carpenter.

It was from the cross that Jesus spoke the words that gave Mary to all people as their mother, with St. John standing in for all of us as Jesus said, “Woman, behold, your son,” and to John, “Behold, your mother.”

Mary suffered her own agony, watching her Son die, and she did so alone, as a widow.  Yet as she lost her Son, she embraced the motherhood of the human race.  Soon after her Son spoke those words, Mary would hold his dead body in her arms until Joseph of Arimathea took the corpse to lay it in a new tomb.  There the body would lie from that Friday evening until early on Sunday morning, when the Resurrection revealed that Jesus’ work of redemption was complete.

On Good Friday night and Holy Saturday, it is good to remember that Jesus really was dead.  His spirit, of course, was alive, but his body had perished.  He not only shared our human life; he also took it upon himself to die, as we must do.  Now, resurrected, he offers us a share in his divine life, through the sacraments and the life of the Church.

Despite our present sufferings, that is reason for hope and joy, and reason to celebrate a happy and blessed Easter.

A Reflection by Gina Christian

On Palm Sunday, a fellow singer in my parish choir pours herself into the narrative of the Lord’s Passion, reciting the congregation’s parts with gusto.  Hearing this kind-hearted senior lady cry out “Crucify him!” makes me squirm a bit — as does having to say the same myself.

In fact, throughout the Gospel proclamation, I find myself wishing that we in the pews had nobler lines in the script, rather than the villainous dialogue we’re assigned.  After all, we’re at Mass, right?  Surely we wouldn’t have turned on Jesus if we’d been there with him in Jerusalem.

But perhaps we shouldn’t be so quick to criticize the casting director.

One of the most intriguing characters in the Gospels is actually the crowds themselves.  We hear of those who followed Jesus, even into deserted places for three days at a time, “amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the deformed made whole, the lame walking, and the blind able to see” (Mt 15:31).  Jesus regarded them with compassion, “because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9:36).  Refusing to “send them away hungry, for fear they may collapse on the way” (Mt 15:31), he miraculously multiplied a few loaves and fish to feed “four thousand men, not counting women and children” (Mt 15:38).

Despite such wonders, and contrary to Christ’ message of love, the crowds could be downright rude.  They were willing to advise blind Bartimaeus, begging on the roadside, that Jesus was passing by, but when the poor man cried out for healing, “many rebuked him, telling him to be silent” (Mk 10:48).

Proving that persistence is a virtue, Bartimaeus “kept calling out all the more” (Mk 10:48), and as soon as Jesus stopped and summoned him, the fickle crowd reversed course:  “Take courage; get up, he is calling you” (Mk 10:49).

As Jesus triumphantly entered Jerusalem, the “very large crowd” honored him, “(spreading) their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and strewed them on the road” (Mt 21:8).  Surrounding Jesus, they cried out, “‘Hosanna to the Son of David, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest” (Mt 21:9).

Yet even that worthy acclamation missed the mark, as biblical scholars point out.  At Jesus’ baptism, “a voice came from heaven” over the waters of the Jordan saying, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3:17).  Years of teaching, healing, and sharing the gift of his presence only confirmed that One greater than a descendant of David was at hand  — except for those unwilling to renounce their pride and skepticism.

Although Jesus always invited the crowds to enter into the mystery of his saving love, only those who accepted his offer came to be called his disciples.  As the Gospels progress, that distinction becomes devastatingly clear. 

In fairness, many scholars believe the crowds who called for Christ’s crucifixion were not necessarily the same as those who had previously supported him:  the former may have been residents of Jerusalem, while the latter possibly consisted of Galilean pilgrims.  Nonetheless, each Palm Sunday we are challenged to assess whether we’re content to remain in the crowd, or to stand apart as a disciple.

We can start by asking ourselves a simple question, one posed to us by Jesus himself:  “But who do you say that I am?” (Mt 16:15)

A Reflection by Jem Sullivan

In his passion, Jesus’ sufferings were unequaled.  For the Son of God offered himself as a sacrifice for all.  No one, not even the saintliest person, can take on the sins of all people in every time and place.  Only God can, and did.

It is this gift of faith, at the heart of our Lenten journeys, that Matthias Grunewald, master German painter, brings to life in a vivid painting titled “The Small Crucifixion.”  We are invited to reflect not only on the historical event of the Lord’s crucifixion, but the redemptive meaning of Jesus’ suffering love, poured out for all humanity and for each of us.

Grunewald’s image is particularly poignant in these challenging pandemic days as we walk the via crucis, the path of Jesus’ paschal journey from Good Friday to Easter Sunday.

Grunewald’s best-known masterpiece, the “Isenheim Altarpiece,” was commissioned for the high altar of the church of the Monastery of St. Anthony in Alsace.  There, patients suffering from the plague were treated.

In that large altarpiece, Grunewald depicts a crucified Christ whose body is scourged with plague-type sores.  Patients bearing the pain of their physical afflictions found spiritual comfort as they gazed on the crucified Jesus and found consolation in the mystery of his suffering.

“The Small Crucifixion” was, most likely, a personal devotional image, intended either for a domestic setting or a private chapel.  Here we are drawn into the reality of Jesus’ passion.  Color, line, form and composition convey, with remarkable expressive power, the depths of Jesus’ abandonment and the extreme physical suffering of a crucifixion.



His gaunt body is racked with scars of torture.  His emaciated face and bowed head evoke his unbearable agony.  Under a piercing crown of thorns, the scarred face of Jesus bleeds.  His tattered loincloth gives evidence of the depravity of his tormentors.  Few artists have conveyed the scene of the crucifixion with the intense realism that Grunewald brings to his composition.

Jesus’ crucifixion is set in a bare landscape painted in an unusual greenish blue color, evoking the Gospel detail that, at the hour of his passing, the sun darkened and creation itself groaned.

Visitors who stand in front of this painting in its museum setting cannot help but notice that the small panel bends outward into the viewers’ space.  Grunewald leaves no room for one to remain a passive bystander or objective onlooker in the face of Jesus’ sufferings.

From the center radiates the Lord’s outstretched arms with twisted hands and contorted feet stretched over the cross.  His hands and feet convey the divine anguish over human alienation from God.  Obedient even to death on a cross, Jesus’ self-offering rises as a perfect oblation through his gnarled fingers that strain upward to the heavens.

His ankles, twisting beneath the brute force of the nail that pierces his feet, evoke the chains of human alienation.  The crossbeam strains downward not only under the mass of his wounded body but from the full weight of divine mercy that takes the form of crucified love.

On either side of the cross are Mary, the mother of Jesus, and the beloved disciple, St. John the Evangelist.  Mary’s robed head is bowed with her hands clasped in prayer, as she shares uniquely in her son’s suffering.  John conveys the agony of this faithful disciple. Kneeling in anguished meditation at the foot of the cross is St. Mary Magdalene.

Their perspective is meant to be ours as we contemplate Jesus’ passion.  Grunewald’s vision allows us to glimpse the relentless mercy of God as it takes the form of suffering love on the cross.  We are invited to receive the gift of divine crucified love poured out on the world and on each one of us.

Good Friday is good news in that death no longer has the final word on the human condition.  As we enter into the mystery of Jesus’ passion and death on the cross, we are filled with hope in the victorious power of God who will raise him from the dead.

And as we journey from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, Grunewald’s image evokes our vocation to live the new life of the risen Christ.

We know and believe in faith that the horror of Jesus’ crucifixion will most certainly give way to the radiant glory of his, and our own, resurrection.  And so we pray, “We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”

First Reading
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Jeremiah tells the people that the Lord will make a new covenant with them, planting the law within their hearts.

Responsorial Psalm
Psalm 51:3-4,12-13,14-15
A prayer for God’s mercy and forgiveness

Second Reading
Hebrews 5:7-9
Through his sufferings, Jesus gained salvation for all who obey him.

Gospel Reading
John 12:20-33
Jesus teaches his disciples about the way in which he will be glorified by God, and a voice from heaven is heard to affirm this teaching.

Background on the Gospel Reading

Today’s Gospel reading is taken from the Gospel of John.  We are reading much further into John’s Gospel than we have for the past two weeks.  Chapter 12 of John’s Gospel is a preparation for the beginning of the passion narrative to follow.  Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead—an important sign in John’s Gospel, which inspired many people to believe in Jesus.  This event also marks the turning point in Jesus’ conflict with the Jewish authorities.  John’s Gospel tells us that the Sanhedrin met after this event and made plans to kill Jesus.  In the 12th chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus is anointed at Bethany and enters Jerusalem in triumph.  We again see evidence of the significance of the raising of Lazarus to this event; John reports that the crowds also gathered to see Lazarus.

Following his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, Jesus predicted his suffering, death, and Resurrection and prepared his disciples to believe in the salvation that his death would accomplish.  Using the metaphor of the grain of wheat, Jesus presented the idea that his dying would be beneficial.  He also taught that those who would be his disciples must follow his example of sacrifice.  This theme will be repeated in John’s account of the Last Supper, when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples as an example of how they must serve one another.

The final section of today’s Gospel might be read as John’s parallel to the agony in the garden.  Unlike the Synoptic Gospels, the Gospel of John does not record Jesus’ anguished prayer in the garden of Gethsemane before his arrest.  Although comparable words are found in today’s reading, Jesus gives a confident response to the question he raises when asking God to save him from his impending death.  After announcing his conviction that it is for this purpose that he came, a voice from heaven speaks, as if in answer to Jesus’ prayer.  This voice, like the one heard at Jesus’ baptism and at Jesus’ Transfiguration—events reported in the Synoptic Gospels but not in John’s Gospel—affirms that God welcomes the sacrifice that Jesus will make on behalf of others.  In John’s Gospel, Jesus teaches that this voice was sent for the sake of those who would believe in him.

In today’s Gospel, we also hear Jesus speak about the cosmic framework against which we are to understand his passion, death, and Resurrection.  Through his death and Resurrection, Jesus conquered Satan, the ruler of this world.  In this way the world is judged, but the judgment is not condemnation.  Instead, through Jesus’ dying and rising, salvation is brought to the world.

A Reflection by Stephen Bevans S.V.D. ("Societas Verbi Divini", Society of the Divine Word)


Change our hearts this time,
Your word says it can be.
Change our minds this time
Your life could make us free.
We are the people your call set apart,
Lord, this time change our hearts.
 

I’ve always loved this song by Rory Cooney, and I think it is a wonderful prayer to pray in response to the readings on the fifth Sunday of Lent.  We certainly need the change of heart promised by Jeremiah—each of us individually, and as a church, a nation, and citizens of our world.  I don’t need to catalogue all the things that we need to change.  Maybe it’s enough just to quote some lines from Pope Francis’ book, Let Us Dream (NY: Simon & Schuster, 2020):  “How will we deal with the hidden pandemics of this world, the pandemics of hunger, and violence?  This is a moment to dream big, to rethink our priorities—what we value, what we want, what we seek—and to commit to act in our daily life on what we have dreamed of.”  Dream.  And pray for a change of heart.

How does God change our hearts?  Certainly not in any magical, mechanical way, like you change a battery in a flashlight or in a remote-control device.  It’s much more subtle, more like a dance!  God—the Spirit, actually—makes the first move, of course, putting the desire for change in our hearts, that restlessness of heart that St. Augustine famously wrote about.  Through the church, the Spirit gives us a time like Lent, a time when we are surrounded by scripture texts and communal practices that call us to change.  Gradually, gradually, the Spirit begins to work.

Several of these powerful Lenten texts are in the gospel reading for today:  Only if a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies can it yield an abundant harvest.  Only if we stop clinging to our life and let it go will our lives actually flourish.  Only if we, like Jesus, open up to our suffering will we actually be able to get through it.  As we open up to these texts and begin to follow Jesus more closely in service and various spiritual practices—join in the dance—are our hearts “tendered.”  And when that happens the Spirit is able to change our hearts.  God never works without our cooperation, but ultimately that working is God’s work.  We are able, then, to look upon the cross and be drawn into the life of Jesus.

It is this being drawn into Jesus’ life that is the point of Lent.  As we move toward the climax of Lent on Passion/Palm Sunday next week, and then into Holy Week and the Triduum, we can participate in the Paschal Mystery with our whole hearts, hearts now tendered and changed by the Spirit’s grace and love.

Change our hearts this time!  Your word says it can be.

A Reflection by Benedictine Sister Joan Chittister
 

This is going to be a COVID-19 kind of Lent, and that may be one of the best things that ever happens to our spiritual lives. 

COVID-19 landed in the middle of our very busy selves and turned them upside down.  The question is, is it all bad?  The fact is that COVID-19 managed to do for us what we have not been able to do ourselves.  For maybe years now.

Here's the box score.

COVID-19 has stopped our fevered running to and fro, back and forth, in life.  And it's all been due to no plans of our own.  There are simply places we should not go now.  Crowds we should not be with.  Trips we cannot take; parties we cannot give; routine things, like getting ready to meet a friend at the library — once so automatic we never gave it a thought — that now include things we can't forget any more.  As in, get the mask. (No, not that one, the new one with the wire that holds it up.)  Wash the hands again.  Sit across the table from a friend rather than beside them.  All simple things, daily things, normal things that we have to think about differently now.  Where'd I put the extra masks?  How many passengers can go in the van?  What do you mean, the church is closed? 

The result of it all, I have discovered, is life-changing.  COVID-19 has reduced us to the essence of ourselves.  To the bare bones of our lives.  The little things — meet that friend, go to that store, work with the dog running circles in the room — have tapped into the core of us, have shown us our own limitations, our own needs, as no "what-shall-I-give-up-for-Lent" game can ever do. 

COVID-19 has also taught us a form of patience.  When there is no end date to something, our attention shifts to what's going on now, rather than later. Instead of concentrating on how long it will be till we can get to where we really want to go — since we can't go there anyway — we begin to think about what we might do now.  But differently.  We begin to ask ourselves a whole new set of questions, in fact.  As in, what could be good for me to concentrate on now, that I can do alone?  Or, what did we learn in the past about how to live when life stalled and felt dull and empty?

Then, just when we've settled down enough to wait this out, we begin to hear around us the emergence of another whole way of living life. 

The woman on the Zoom book club, for instance, put it this way: "You know, when this is over, I'm going to miss these long slow days."

And I myself have said it a little quietly, a bit uncertain about admitting it:  "No, I'm not really suffering from the quarantines and lockdowns much.  In fact, this is the kind of time and space that I've been wanting for about three years."  (And all of this totally unaware of the people now working from home — if they have a job at all — whose work week is more harried than ever, thanks to COVID-19.)

Nevertheless, for many, a good book in hand, a slow walk around the block, the early nights, even the quiet holidays have had a touch of gift this year.  And in the middle of it all, there has come the plaguing wonder:  Is this the future?  And if so, what will that demand of me then? 

No doubt about it:  This is COVID-19 Lent, 2021.  But the real truth is that we get a touch of this kind of time every year — and we either ignore it or chaff under it or pay it not a minute of genuine, personal interest.  Instead, unfortunately, we've too often found Lent boring, long, useless, just one more burden in life, something to do that has very little real meaning in life anymore.

And why would we feel that way — if, of course, we ever admitted it?  Because we have thought of Lent as everything except what it is really meant to be: space, time, change and reflection.

Lent is meant to be a time out of time — a piece of life dedicated to rethinking all of it.  It's time to ask where we were last year at this time and where we are now.  Or, most of all, where we want to be.  And what do we need to do to get there?

It's the moment to ask myself:  Who am I?  Who am I becoming?  One of the keepers of my own little world, maybe?  Have I become the person who walks right by someone I know wants my time and my understanding?  Or worse, am I avoiding someone I'm afraid is looking for my help with something?  Or avoiding someone who has been hinting about wanting me to start an endeavor to help others somehow?  And when will I ever get it figured out in the midst of all the busyness, all the confusion?  And amongst all the events and engagements modern life has to offer?

Lent, up until this one at least, has usually been seen mainly as a period of personal deprivation or simply something more spiritual to do when we already can barely keep up with a daily routine.  As a result, it takes on the aura of a hard time.  A bad time.  A dour time.

And yet, it has also always been, at base, time given to us to straighten things up a bit:  our relationships, our outpourings of charity, our concentration on the things that really matter in life.  It underscores the presence of the Spirit of Jesus, whose crucifixion calls us always to become more of the best of ourselves, to live forever to the depths of our souls.  It is Lent that shows us what's under the superficialities of life and prods us to face them. 

Lent, to the holiest and most mystical of us, however much it has been described that way, has never set out to immerse us in pain, in a kind of spiritual masochism.  On the contrary, Lent is the one proof we have that the end of everything we face, all the struggles required of us, it is really meant to become new life in us. 

But somewhere along the way, the spiritual life — and the practices of Lent, in particular — became more the negation of life than the holy-making embrace of all its dimensions.  And yet, at base, Lent leads us to the resurrection of our souls from emptiness of purpose to the model of the self-giving Jesus, whose cross calls us to spend our own lives for the good of others.

It's meant, too, this year, for us to mourn with real grief, of the 500,000-plus families in the U.S. who lost someone to this pandemic, to the heart of God for strength and balm.  During World War II, we lost even fewer of the young who were our future.  During this war with an unseen virus, we lost so many of the old who were the wisdom of our society.

No, Lent is not about giving up our adult candy or immersing ourselves in pain.  Lent is about being honest with ourselves, changing what needs to change in our lives, making our world a better place and growing into the Light.  It is not about making up excessive penances, important as necessary penance may be to training us in self-control.  It is about doing what needs to be done in these circumstances with a generous heart and an open soul.

When asked the way to eternal life, Jesus told the disciples to "go by the narrow and the hard way" (Matthew 7:14).  When Abba Ammonas, a fifth-century desert monastic, was asked, "What is the narrow and hard way?" Ammonas answered, "The narrow and hard way is to control your thoughts and strip yourself of your own way for the sake of God."

Note well:  The old monk's response is not about self-flagellation, in other words.  Not about fancy penances.  Not about severe fasting.  Not about public deprivations.  "The hard way," Ammonas teaches, is self-control, thought-control, and acceptance of the natural irritations of life.  Like pandemics, maybe.  Like personal and political struggles, maybe.  Like our fear of the future in a world in transition.

If COVID-19 has taught us anything, it is surely the real meaning of what it takes to come to terms with the self and all the self-centeredness that has, like barnacles, invaded our marriages, our work time, our family time, our reading time, and even the kind of personal time that freshens and inspirits our souls. 

From where I stand, Lent calls us to take the space and time we need to make the changes of life we need.  It's about plotting our own renewal into a more placid, a more regular, a less hectic self.  It's about sinking into the kind of personal reflection that brings us to confront the self for which we seek.

Lent is not a spiritual competition, a kind of "no pain, no gain" exercise of the soul.  Lent is the time to renew the best in us.

Jesus said to Nicodemus:
“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, 
so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 
so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, 
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish 
but might have eternal life.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, 
but that the world might be saved through him.
Whoever believes in him will not be condemned, 
but whoever does not believe has already been condemned, 
because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God.

And this is the verdict,
that the light came into the world, 
but people preferred darkness to light,
because their works were evil.
For everyone who does wicked things hates the light
and does not come toward the light, 
so that his works might not be exposed.
But whoever lives the truth comes to the light, 
so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God.

– John 3:14-21

First Reading
2 Chronicles 36:14-16,19-23
The causes for the Israelites’ captivity in Babylon are described.

Responsorial Psalm
Psalm 137:1-2,3,4-5,6
A lament from exile for the loss of Jerusalem

Second Reading
Ephesians 2:4-10
In grace, we have been saved, so that we may do the work of the Lord.

Gospel Reading
John 3:14-21
Jesus tells Nicodemus that the Son of Man will be raised up so that those who believe in him will have eternal life.

Background on the Gospel Reading

The fourth Sunday of Lent is sometimes called Laetare Sunday.  Laetare is a Latin word that means “rejoice.”  Traditionally, Sundays are named after the first word of the liturgy’s opening antiphon.  On this Sunday, the antiphon is taken from the book of the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 66:10-11).  Even as we observe our Lenten sacrifices, we rejoice in anticipation of the joy that will be ours at Easter.

Today’s Gospel reading is taken from John’s Gospel.  It consists of two parts.  The first part is the final sentence of Jesus’ reply to Nicodemus, the Pharisee who approached Jesus at night.  Nicodemus acknowledged Jesus as someone who had come from God and seemed to want to be a follower of Jesus.  Jesus greeted Nicodemus with the observation that one must be born from above to see the Kingdom of God.  The dialogue between Jesus and Nicodemus that followed was about the meaning of this phrase.  Nicodemus misunderstood Jesus at every point, but there was no animosity in the questions he posed to Jesus.

In the part of the conversation with Nicodemus in today’s Gospel, Jesus referred to an incident reported in the Old Testament.  When the Israelites grumbled against the Lord during their sojourn in the desert, God sent venomous serpents to punish them for their complaints.  The Israelites repented and asked Moses to pray for them.  The Lord heard Moses’ prayer and instructed him to make a bronze serpent and mount it on a pole.  All who had been bitten by a serpent and then looked upon the bronze serpent were cured.  By recalling this story, Jesus alludes to the salvation that would be accomplished through his death and Resurrection.

The second part of today’s Gospel is a theological reflection on Jesus’ words to Nicodemus.  The Gospel of John is known for this kind of reflection offered within the narrative.  The words of the Evangelist are in continuity with the words of the prologue to John’s Gospel.  In these reflections, John elaborates on a number of themes that are found in his Gospel: light and darkness, belief and unbelief, good and evil, salvation and condemnation.

In John’s reflection, we find an observation about human sinfulness.  Jesus is the light that has come into the world, but people preferred the darkness.  We wish to keep our sins hidden, even from God.  Jesus has come into the world to reveal our sins so that they may be forgiven.  This is the Good News; it is the reason for our rejoicing in this season of Lent and throughout our lives.

A Reflection by Bishop Gerald Barbarito.

Life is a journey that is made up of many journeys.  Many times we find ourselves midway through a journey, look back, look forward, examine where we are and move ahead.

This is the basic story of life and all journeys and is oftentimes captured well in literature.  In his famous work, “The Divine Comedy,” the medieval Italian poet, Dante Alighieri, makes a journey through hell, purgatory, and heaven.  He starts his journey by stating, “Midway through the journey of our life, I found myself in a dark wood, for I had strayed from the straight pathway to this tangled ground.”

A 20th century American poet, Robert Frost, also makes a journey through woods in his famous poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”  He stops in the middle of his journey to reflect, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Like Dante and Frost, we find ourselves at a midway point, that of our journey through Lent.  Sunday, March 14, marks that midway point on what is traditionally called Laetare (Rejoice) Sunday.  Sunday, March 21, will commence the final two weeks of Lent when statues in churches used to be draped in purple.  At this midway point, we can stop on our journey and look back to Ash Wednesday or we can also look ahead to the coming celebration of Easter.  However, time will march on and the journey will continue whether we wish it or not.

Midway points on a journey are good times to examine ourselves as to how we are doing.  Certainly, this is very true of our journey during Lent as we try to discern how faithful we have been to our acts of charity, works of penance, and practices of prayer.  More importantly, our examination of Lent helps us to discern how we are growing in our relationship with Christ and how this growth makes a difference in our daily lives.  We may find ourselves somewhat satisfied with our Lenten journey so far or we may find ourselves disappointed.  No matter what our situation may be, perhaps this midway point should be a reminder to all of us that our journey through 40 days of Lent is but a trifling reflection of our journey through life.  Like Dante, we are involved in a journey of life that takes us into eternity, and, like Frost, we have miles to go before we sleep, no matter how close to the end of our journey we may be.

Our lives are part of a bigger picture which involves eternity.  While it is not popular to speak of it today, hell and purgatory are as real as heaven.  In fact, they are more real than what we immediately see before us.  Our lives involve choices in terms of what direction and purpose we wish to take, and those choices involve our eternal destiny.  If our society was ever faced with the question of eternal meaning and destiny, as well as that of good and evil which affect that journey, it certainly is at the present time of history.  Life’s meaning goes far beyond today and without that vision, life truly lacks purpose.  The good that one does perdures into eternity and so does the evil.

Each year the Pope spends five days at the beginning of Lent on retreat with members of the Roman Curia.  This practice began under Pope Pius XI almost 90 years ago.  Last year, Pope Francis was not able to be present at the retreat due to a cold.  However, he did participate “from home” by following the retreat from his residence at the Casa Santa Martha.  This year, due to the safety restrictions of the pandemic, Pope Francis asked the Curia to make a private retreat from Feb. 21-26, 2021.  He gave each member of the retreat a 17th century Italian text for their reading.  The text was written by an anonymous Cistercian monk and is entitled “Abbia a Cuore Il Signore,” which means, “Keep the Lord in your Heart.”  This midway point of Lent is a good time to reflect upon how we keep the Lord in our hearts as we look back and ahead but especially at the present moment.

Midway through Lent should remind us all that our lives must have eternal perspective.  We need to see that what is before us today always stands before a God who loves us and offers us eternal life.  We need to look at the past and realize that we cannot change it.  However, we also need to realize we can change the present which does affect the future as well as our eternity.  We are able to look to the future, but we really do not know when and if it will come.  However, God’s eternal goodness and His life will always prevail.  As the author of Keep the Lord in your Heart reflects, “God will meet you where your humanity has descended all the steps of weakness and you will have reached the awareness of your limitation.  If you yourself do not choose the path of abasement, life will take you where you would not want because, as the Lord teaches, only those who live their weakness with humility will be exalted.”

Midway on our journey through Lent should also remind us that, like Frost, we have miles to go before we sleep.  It does not matter how young or old we may be, nor does it matter how early or late we might be on our journey through life.  What is before us today is what is important.  What we have done in the past certainly has an impact.  However, what we do with the time that is before us still will make the greatest difference.  This may be a hard lesson for our age with its emphasis on youth and achievement.  Nevertheless, it is the core message of the Gospel and the one that stresses the dignity of each person made in the image and likeness of God.  When Jesus tells the parable of the laborers hired late in the day who earned the same wage as those hired early in the day, He makes clear that we simply cannot rest content with the past nor feel it is too late to accomplish anything (cf. Matt. 20:1-16).  We all have miles to go before we sleep!

As we look at our Lenten journey at this midway point, let us all examine what we are doing always with the view toward eternity as well as with the view toward the importance of the present moment for the future.  Perhaps that perspective is the best lesson we can take from this midway point as we continue to journey through dark woods toward Easter and the promise of new life with the Lord always in our hearts.

The Passover of the Jews was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  In the temple he found those who were selling oxen and sheep and pigeons, and the money-changers at their business.  And making a whip of cords, he drove them all, with the sheep and oxen, out of the temple; and he poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables.  And he told those who sold the pigeons, “Take these things away; you shall not make my Father’s house a house of trade.”  His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for thy house will consume me.”   The Jews then said to him, “What sign have you to show us for doing this?”   Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”  The Jews then said, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will you raise it up in three days?”  But he spoke of the temple of his body.  When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word which Jesus had spoken.

– John 2:13-22

A Reflection by Dr. Marcellino D'Ambrosio.

Religion is not supposed to be the opposite of spirituality.  But sometimes religion becomes a cold routine, even a business.  The Lord’s cleansing of the Temple spells the end of business as usual.  Our religion must be a matter of living faith, zeal, and fidelity to the Ten Commandments.  For the 3rd Sunday of Lent, year B.
 

When it started, all was fresh and new.  An unnamed but mighty God freed a motley crew of slaves and offered them a new way of life in a new land.  Most importantly, he offered them a privileged and exclusive relationship with Himself.

MEANING OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

In the ancient world, most nations worshiped their own god and believed themselves to have a special claim on his favor.  The Greeks had Zeus and the Canaanites, Ba’al, for instance.

But this was different.  This mysterious God called himself “I AM who I AM” and apparently tolerated no rivals.  He had beaten the Egyptian gods on their own turf and appeared ready to take his new people into Ba’al’s territory.  None of the other gods required any special behavior, just sacrificial worship.  This new one required fidelity to a code of conduct that reached into every department of life, not just the religious.  No area was off limits to the claims of this God – economics, family life, even sexuality.  If Israel wanted this special relationship, they had to accept the stamp of his ownership on every aspect of their existence.  That was the real meaning of the Ten Commandments, this Sunday’s first reading.

RITUAL ROUTINE & MONUMENTS TO SELF

But what began with heartfelt zeal ultimately became ritual routine.  The code of the covenant had called for animal sacrifices and a special place to carry them out.  The devotion of David desired a fitting place for God’s house.  The resourcefulness of his shrewd son Solomon made the dream a reality.  After the Babylonians destroyed it, it was rebuilt in tears, a shadow of its former self.  Then a powerful king came along who saw an opportunity to make the temple once again the pride of God’s people.  He rebuilt it in even greater glory.  But it was more a monument to himself than to God. After all, he cared little for God, and was not even himself a full-blooded Jew.  He was rather a cold-blooded murderer whose name will forever live in infamy–Herod the Great.

CLEANSING OF THE TEMPLE – RELIGION AS A BUSINESS

How about the religious leaders of Herod’s day?  Religion had become for them a business.  Animals were needed for sacrifice, so they were sold in the temple precincts.  Hebrew shekels were needed for the payment of the temple tax, so moneychangers were conveniently available so people could exchange their Roman money for the appropriate Jewish coinage.

The prophet Malachi (3:1-5) had predicted that the Lord would suddenly come to his temple to deal with such things.  And Zechariah (14:21) had foretold that on the day of the Lord, there would no longer be any merchant in the temple precincts.

LIVING FAITH

So when Jesus overturned the money-changers’ tables, he was fulfilling Scripture and making clear that the messianic time was at hand.  No more business as usual.  No more ho-hum approach to religion.  It was now time for living faith, not just religious belief.  Zeal for God’s house consumed him, and he had come to light the fire of zeal in us as well.

Lent provides for us an opportunity for a gut-check.  Has our religion become cold routine, a mere collection of intellectual convictions and external rituals as with the scribes and Pharisees?  Is our piety more a monument to ourselves than to God as in the case of Herod?  Is Christ crucified for us the power and the wisdom of God, or just a plaster figure hanging on the wall?

CLEANSING OF THE TEMPLE – TIME TO CLEAN HOUSE

The story of Jesus and the moneychangers comes at the beginning of the Gospel of John.  From the very outset of his public ministry, Jesus predicted his death and resurrection to his uncomprehending audience.  It would be his self-sacrifice that would ultimately lead to a new beginning.  And to prepare for that event, he cleaned house.

As we prepare for the celebration of the mystery of redemption, it is time for us too to clean house and to honor his self-sacrifice with authentic sacrifices of our own.

A Reflection by Sister Therese Ann Rich.

"Since the Passover of the Jews was near, Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  He found in the temple area those who sold oxen, sheep, and doves, as well as the money changers seated there.  He made a whip out of cords and drove them all out of the temple area, with the sheep and oxen, and spilled the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables, and to those who sold doves he said, ‘Take these out of here, and stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.'" (John 2:13-16).

This Sunday’s reading invites us to examine the underlying tension that runs through all of the Gospels.  Jesus’ mission brought him into conflict with the powerful institutions of religion and state.  This tension ultimately led to Jesus’ arrest, trial, and execution.

For pious Jews in Jesus’ day, and for Jesus himself, the Temple in Jerusalem was a sacred place.  It was a center of pilgrimage for Jews from all over the world, a place where ritual sacrifices and prayers were offered.  The presence of money changers and merchants was common in the outer courtyard of the Temple.  Pilgrims who traveled a long distance to make a ritual sacrifice would find it easier to buy an animal on the spot than to bring one from home.  In order to make this purchase, they would need to change their foreign currency for the only coins accepted in the Temple.

Faith is not a matter of convenience.  When religion exists solely to keep the wheels of commerce rolling or exploits the poor, it is fraudulent and disgraceful.  Jesus was not an avoid-conflict-at-any-cost kind of character.  He made a whip and chased the moneychangers out of the Temple.

Jesus’ actions are a reminder that Christians can, and at times should, resort to the kind of righteous anger that cries out against hypocrisy and against the exploitation of the most vulnerable.

In Jesus, Christians have a model of someone who had the courage to challenge and question.  Those who claim to follow Jesus can do no less.

Lenten Prayer

Almighty and Everlasting God,
You have given the human race
Jesus Christ our Savior as a model of humility.
He fulfilled Your Will by becoming Man
And giving His life on the Cross.
Help us to bear witness to You
By following His example of suffering
And make us worthy to share in His Resurrection.
We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, Your Son.

Amen.

Jesus took with him Peter and James and John and led them up a high mountain where they could be alone by themselves.  There in their presence, he was transfigured: his clothes became dazzlingly white, whiter than any earthly bleacher could make them.  Elijah appeared to them with Moses; and they were talking with Jesus.  Then Peter spoke to Jesus: 'Rabbi,' he said, 'it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.'  He did not know what to say; they were so frightened.  And a cloud came, covering them in shadow; and there came a voice from the cloud, 'This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.'  Then suddenly, when they looked around, they saw no one with them any longer, but only Jesus.

As they came down from the mountain Jesus warned them to tell no one what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.  They observed the warning faithfully, though among themselves they discussed what 'rising from the dead' could mean.



Reflection on the Painting

This painting hangs in Rome at the Vatican Museum.  It is Raphael's last painting and probably one of his best.  In his biography, written by Giorgio Vasari in the 16th century, it is referred to as 'the most famous, the most beautiful and most divine'.  Raphael died at the very young age of 37.  The composition of our painting is divided into two distinct parts: the Miracle of the Possessed Boy on a lower level and the Transfiguration of Christ in the top half.  The transfigured Christ floats in sunburst of light, accompanied by Moses and Elijah who are next to Him.  The disciples below are blinded by the light, but yet trying to glance at what is going on and praying at the same time.  The upward pointing gestures of some of the figures below link the two parts together.

But why do we have this passage of the Transfiguration on the second Sunday of Lent?  Doesn't it seem to be out of place?  We started Lent barely 10 days ago, we are fasting, we are in a season of penance, purple vestments in Church…. and now we read how Jesus' 'clothes became dazzlingly white, whiter than any earthly bleacher could make them'.  It is a sign of hope.  It is a reminder for us, indicating where we are heading to during this period of Lent.  The disciples who witnessed this first-hand soon had to endure seeing their beloved friend go through the Passion and being crucified.  We know that the Passion is to come, and yet today we are reminded of Christ's glory to come.  The intensity of our first days in Lent is being recognized here, and a ray of hope is given to remind us why we are fasting and doing penance: because soon God's full glory will be revealed to us at Easter.

Capuchin Father Raniero Cantalamessa, who was created Cardinal by Pope Francis in the consistory of November 2020, delivered his first sermon for Lent 2021 in the Paul VI Hall at the Vatican.  The theme for this year’s Lenten reflections is “Who do you say that I am?”, taken from the Gospel of St Matthew.

For his introductory sermon, the Preacher to the Papal Household offered an overview of the season of Lent, focusing on the passage “Repent, and believe in the Gospel!”

Three moments of conversion

Repentance, or conversion, said Cardinal Cantalamessa, is mentioned in “three different moments and contexts” in the New Testament, corresponding to different moments in our own lives.

The first is founded in the words spoken by Jesus at the beginning of His ministry: “Repent, and believe in the Gospel!”  This does not have a primarily moral sense, according to Cardinal Cantalamessa, but instead consists first of all in having faith, in believing, in changing how we see our relationship with God.

The second New Testament call to conversion comes when Jesus invites His disciples to “turn and become like children.”  Here, “Jesus puts forward a genuine revolution,” calling them – and us – “to shift the center from yourself, and to re-center yourself on Christ.”  Becoming like children, said Cardinal Cantalamessa, means going back to the time we first truly encountered Jesus.

Finally, in the book of Revelation, Jesus calls those who are neither hot nor cold to “be earnest… and repent.”  “The focus here,” said Cardinal Cantalamessa, is on conversion from being mediocre and lukewarm to being fervent.  This is not our own work, he insisted, but rather the work of the Holy Spirit.

From being lukewarm to being fervent

Cardinal Cantalamessa recalled the experience of the disciples when they were filled with the Spirit at the first Pentecost.  The Fathers of the Church described this experience with the image of “sober drunkenness” – the disciples were not drunk with wine, as the people imagined, but instead, having received the Holy Spirit, were spiritually inebriated.

“How can we take up this ideal of sober drunkenness and embody it in the present situation in history and in the Church?”  Cardinal Cantalamessa asked.  Beyond the ordinary means of Eucharist and the Scriptures, the Cardinal, citing Saint Ambrose, points to a third, “extraordinary” means, that is not institutional, but instead involves “reliving the experience of the apostles on the day of Pentecost.”

One way this occurs, he said, is in the “so-called ‘Baptism in the Spirit',” which involves “a renewal with fresh awareness not only of Baptism and Confirmation, but also of the entire Christian life… the most important fruit is the discovery of what it means to have a ‘personal relationship' with Jesus risen and alive.”

Cardinal Cantalamessa emphasized the importance of “a true conversion from being lukewarm to being fervent, inviting all to pray for Mary’s intercession for this grace.

As Christians pray, fast, and give alms during Lent, they also should consider giving a smile and offering a kind word to people feeling alone or frightened because of the coronavirus pandemic, Pope Francis said.

“Love rejoices in seeing others grow.  Hence it suffers when others are anguished, lonely, sick, homeless, despised, or in need,” the pope wrote in his message for Lent 2021.

The message, released by the Vatican on Feb. 12th, focuses on Lent as “a time for renewing faith, hope and love” through the traditional practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.  And, by going to confession.

Throughout the message, Pope Francis emphasized how the Lenten practices not only promote individual conversion, but also should have an impact on others.

“By receiving forgiveness in the sacrament that lies at the heart of our process of conversion, we in turn can spread forgiveness to others,” he said.  “Having received forgiveness ourselves, we can offer it through our willingness to enter into attentive dialogue with others and to give comfort to those experiencing sorrow and pain.”

The pope’s message contained several references to his encyclical “Fratelli Tutti, on Fraternity and Social Friendship.”

For example, he prayed that during Lent, Catholics would be “increasingly concerned with ‘speaking words of comfort, strength, consolation, and encouragement, and not words that demean, sadden, anger, or show scorn,’” a quote from the encyclical.

“In order to give hope to others, it is sometimes enough simply to be kind, to be ‘willing to set everything else aside in order to show interest, to give the gift of a smile, to speak a word of encouragement, to listen amid general indifference,’” he said, again quoting the document.

The Lenten practices of fasting, almsgiving, and prayer were preached by Jesus and continue to help believers experience and express conversion, the pope wrote.

“The path of poverty and self-denial” through fasting, “concern and loving care for the poor” through almsgiving, and “childlike dialogue with the Father” through prayer, he said, “make it possible for us to live lives of sincere faith, living hope, and effective charity.”

Pope Francis emphasized the importance of fasting “as a form of self-denial” to rediscover one’s total dependence on God and to open one’s heart to the poor.

“Fasting involves being freed from all that weighs us down— like consumerism or an excess of information, whether true or false—in order to open the doors of our hearts to the one who comes to us, poor in all things, yet full of grace and truth: the Son of God, our Savior.”

Cardinal Peter Turkson, prefect of the Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development, presenting the message at a news conference, also insisted on the importance of “fasting and all forms of abstinence,” for example, by giving up “time watching TV so we can go to church, pray, or say a rosary.  It is only through self-denial that we discipline ourselves to be able to take the gaze off ourselves and to recognize the other, reckon with his needs, and thus create access to benefits and goods for people,” ensuring respect for their dignity and rights.

Msgr. Bruno-Marie Duffe, secretary of the dicastery, said that at a time of “anxiety, doubt and sometimes even despair” because of the Covid-19 pandemic, Lent is a time for Christians “to walk the way with Christ toward a new life and a new world, toward a new trust in God and in the future.”

In approaching the penitential practices of Lent, Catholics can learn a lot from persecuted Christian communities, an advocate for Aid to the Church in Need said at the Vatican.

“Consider the many kidnapped priests and sisters in Africa, who are held for ransom by militias … We have much to learn from them.  Are we helping them or are we maybe sitting on their cross?  We have to know that they are ready to help us carry our cross with their life, prayer, and death,” Marcela Szymanski said at a Vatican press conference on Feb. 12.

Szymanski is the European Union and United Nations Advocacy Officer for Aid to the Church in Need (ACN), a charitable organization that serves persecuted Christians in around 140 countries. 

Based in Brussels, she connected via video link to the Vatican event reflecting on Pope Francis’ Lenten message to share stories from the persecuted communities that she represents through her work.

“The example of those who would rather die than renounce their faith is unforgettable and very hard to comprehend,” Szymanski said.

As the editor of ACN’s regular reports on “Religious Freedom in the World,” Szymanski has heard stories from persecuted Christians in many parts of the world.

“When I hear the stories of those oppressed, my eyes cannot get any bigger, just listening to them.  They tell me:  ‘But Marcela, please, when you speak about us, ask them to pray for us.  We want to be like you, to be able to read the Bible whenever we want, to go to churches that are open all day, to celebrate Christmas like you do.”

“Then comes to my mind the vision of dusty Bibles on shelves, closed churches, the strange Christmas that we lived recently due to Covid … And I have to answer them:  ‘No, I will not pray for you to be like us, but for us to be like you.  And I and my neighbors would like to have your strong faith and hope in the future, and the strength to keep giving to others like you do,’” she said.

She shared the story of Archbishop Selwanos Petros al-Nemeh, the Syriac Orthodox Metropolitan of Homs and Hama, Syria, who died of cancer last December at the age of 52.

“Selwanos was an orphan from a very young age, and he was raised by religious sisters, where he came to find his religious call, together with his brother,” she said.

“He worked tirelessly for the orphans of the region.  Many remember his dark silhouette in the streets during the bombings when he was looking for the children to bring them back to safety.”

“One of those bombs killed his brother in a cathedral in 2014.  However, with or without bombings, he never stopped providing foster care for the children, and as soon as the bullets stopped, he reopened schools and new kindergartens.”

“Right in the middle of the war, in 2017, he came to Brussels, where I live, carrying large suitcases full of drawings by the children of Aleppo, Homs, and Damascus.  The drawings were intended as letters to the politicians, asking them to increase humanitarian aid, and to show them what was their daily life …”

“On another occasion, I could tell you of the insults and humiliations Selwanos received from some European politicians.  When I was there I was furious, but he had seen worse things in life.  He promised to pray for them.  He returned to Homs, where he served the poor until his very last breath.”

Szymanski held up one of the drawings from an 11-year-old Christian girl from Aleppo, who had depicted her memory of the time when Islamist terrorists from al-Nusra Front, which fought against the Syrian government in the Syrian war, attacked her family, killing her sister and brother in 2016.

She noted that this was drawn only 2,200 kilometers (roughly 1,367 miles) from Rome, “the same distance by car to the south of Spain.  That is how close Aleppo is to Rome.”

“We have to be conscious of their closeness, not only spiritually, but also physically to us.  This is what they suffered,” she said.

“What can we learn for Lent, from such a family, who went through a cruel Calvary but consider themselves really ‘resurrected’ with Christ?  What would we tell them, if we met them today?  We have heard it often from the Holy Father that, ‘with the power of love, with meekness, one can fight against arrogance, violence, and war, and one can bring about peace’ for the entire Church.”

Szymanski said that the testimony of persecuted Christians served as a reminder that “sacrifice goes together with deeply rooted love.” 

She highlighted the work of Christians in India to help the poor during the coronavirus pandemic.

“During the first Covid lockdown in India … millions of workers were stranded without jobs or shelter for days under the killing heat, waiting for a little space in the train to go back home,” she said.

“A group called the Small Christian Communities, a network in India, which includes lay people and religious men and women, took it upon themselves to distribute food and water, as well as masks and disinfecting gel to those along the tracks.” 

“The members of these Small Christian Communities are as poor as the ones needing help, but they fully trust in the power of prayer and Providence.  So they went back home … organized prayers from home, but using megaphones to recite the litanies from the roof so that those along the tracks could join them.”

“We have to remember this and take it seriously:  Hell trembles at the sound of the prayers of the poor,” she said.