Scripture:

2 Corinthians 11:18, 21-30
Matthew 6:7-15

Reflection:

At times it can be hard to let go of what we know and have grown accustomed to. For some of us it is the comforts of our home, or knowing that we are financially sound. We love or long for having the ability to buy the latest phone, clothes and luxuries. But do these things keep us from our Lord? Do we allow these items to "darken our world"?

At times, being of this world can jade us. We put our faith in things that we can see, and not on that which is unseen. But is that not what our faith is all about? We are called to believe in things that are not of this world. We are called to store up our heavenly treasures because in the end this is what we will rely on.

During times of great struggle, when our worldly possessions are fading away, God gives us an opportunity to realize our need for heavenly treasures. What if tomorrow your life as your know it now were to be taken away in an instant? How would you cope and where would you turn? The things that cannot be taken away from us, which thieves cannot break in a steal, become our world and our focus.

What are these unseen things that are greater than any gold or worldly possessions? The gifts of faith, hope, love and the promise of our Salvation. And while these gifts may not be as tangible as we are used to, they can be viewed everywhere, whether it is through the love a child, meditating on the beautiful creation around us or even in the silence of prayer with our Lord.

Unlike worldly possessions, our heavenly treasures are always there for us to partake in and receive. Christ longs for us to turn to him not only during times of great need but at all times. Let us store up our treasures in heaven, "[for] where your treasure is, there also will your heart be."

 

Kim Garcia is the Pastoral Associate at Holy Name Passionist Retreat Cent er in Houston, Texas.

Scripture:

2 Corinthians 9:6-11
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

Reflection:

Today’s scripture is both warning and promise. Paul tells us to look into our hearts.

 

What is the quality of our generosity? Are we always willing to walk the extra mile or do we hold back?  And when we respond to the needs of our neighbor is it a whole-hearted response? Paul uses the example of the sower. If you spread the seed abundantly you will reap an abundant crop. But if you sow sparingly the harvest will disappoint you.  Paul’s own life shows us the truth of his conviction.

Three major missionary journeys, despite hardships and repeated opposition, resulted in the spread of the church throughout the gentile world. Paul felt his life was blessed. His experience was that "God loves a cheerful giver."

This causes us to look at our own lives. Isn’t it our own experience that we are most fulfilled when we give of ourselves and when our heart expands to embrace others?

In the gospel Jesus is concerned about the quality of three religious practices: almsgiving, prayer and fasting. We hear this scripture every Ash Wednesday as we begin Lent. These are outward actions that people can see and form judgments about. He warns us not to do them so people will praise us. Rather Jesus says do them as quietly as we can without calling attention to ourselves. Be assured Jesus says that your Father in heaven will repay you.

Do you sense a little tension here? On one hand we are to reach out to our neighbor as Paul did. He was a very public person. His presence was not unnoticed. He was in people’s lives. But in the gospel passage Jesus tells us to work quietly and behind the scenes as it were. Maybe the distinction is between our broken brother or sister before us and the religious practices expected of a Christian. The first demands our whole-hearted action. The second calls for a little thought and planning as to how we do them.

 

Fr. Michael Hoolahan, C.P. is on the staff of Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, Sierra Madre, California. 

 

Scripture:

2 Corinthians 11:1-11
Matthew 6: 7-15

Reflection:

Reading today’s message to the Corinthians, I find myself hoping that at some point Paul allowed himself to head for a Grecian field so that he could scream to his heart’s content.

After venting his frustration, he probably needed to weep a thousand tears, too.

How could a message so simple, so rooted in truth, get so muddled?  How could Paul find himself needing to reinforce his legitimacy as a messenger of Christ when his very body bore the scars of his true witness?  Superapostles?!  They probably also tried to sell the Corinthians an oasis in the Judean desert…

Whatever it was they were selling, it must have presented a sort of "spiritual bling." And it was working, to the point where Paul garners every rhetorical argument, every emotional truth, to win back the hearts and minds of those whom he loves so dearly in Christ’s name. It must have broken Paul’s heart, time and again, to be a shepherd to this vast flock who could feel conflicted so easily and stray so predictably.

It is not Jesus who is complicating things, of course. The Lord’s Prayer, which we read today in Matthew’s Gospel, is one that even a child can recite. We did, and we do. Over and over again, because we, perhaps like those ancient Christians, forget sometimes to remember that it is "thy will be done," that we are reliant on God for our spiritual food, and that the forgiveness of trespasses is a gift God gives to us out of love and one we need to share with those who wound us.

I guess when all is said and done, what is complicated about following Christ is what is complicated within: the tug and pull of willfulness; the distraction of deadlines to be met and people to be pleased; the desire for more of whatever feels good; the ego that dislikes second place and hurts others.  Just before today’s Gospel, there is that beautiful passage: But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.

We needn’t be confused by superapostles, spiritual bling, or our own inner turmoil. We have a quiet room inside our self, we have been given a simple prayer, and more than that, we have been blessed by a relationship to a God who loves us more than we can ever know.  It is simple, and simply profound.

 

Nancy Nickel is director of communications at the Passionist Development Office in Chicago, Illinois.

 

Pentecost Sunday

Scripture:

Acts 2:1-11
1 Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13
John 20:19-23

 

 

Reflection:

When you walk through a storm keep your chin up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain,
Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone, you’ll never walk alone.

"You’ll Never Walk Alone" is a show tune from the 1945 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical "Carousel." It puts into song and verse the impact of Pentecost. For fifty days, the disciples who had left everything to follow Jesus were anxiously awaiting the comforter he had promised. Occasionally he appeared to them, eating a morning meal of fish along the seashore, inviting Thomas to touch his wounds, inconspicuously walking with two of them on the road to Emmaus. But where was the promised comforter?

In the Acts of the Apostles we learn that on a day when they were all together a sudden noise like a driving wind filled the room and it appeared as if tongues of fire rested on each of them. In his letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul describes it as an awakening of unification and harmony. John’s Gospel portrays it as an experience of deep peace. Whatever metaphor you prefer, the Pentecost event revived the weary disciples with the conviction that they would never again walk alone. It was a moment of remarkable transformation when they experienced the peace of Christ.

Peace means different things to different people. For a soldier, peace is the absence of war. For the parents of an infant, peace can be a child asleep. For parents of teenagers, peace is a silent boombox. After a tough day, peace may be a sitting in a comfortable chair with feet propped-up and a glass of wine. Each of these is a facet of peace. But the peace of Christ is deeper than any of these. Jesus offered a peace the world cannot give. The Hebrew word for peace, shalom, is a state of wellbeing. It is a heart resting or dwelling in God.

Pentecost is not simply a feast honoring the Holy Spirit. It is the feast of Easter shared with the community of disciples. Jesus lived and died for Pentecost – to share with his disciples the same Spirit of peace which had enlivened him for 33 years. It was the Spirit dwelling within the cave of his heart where he frequently found refuge and comfort from the storms which blew into his life.

Like Jesus, though our dreams may be tossed and blown, we can walk on with hope in our hearts because we never walk alone. We never walk alone.

 

Fr. Joe Mitchell, CP, is the executive director of the Passionist Earth & Spirit Center in Louisville, Kentucky.

Memorial of Saint Barnabas, Apostle 

Scripture:

Acts 11:21b-26; 13:1-3
John 21:20-25

Reflection:

"They sent Barnabas to go to Antioch."

Today we celebrate the Memorial of St. Barnabas.  His original name was Joseph.  But the Apostles called him Barnabas, which means "son of encouragement."  He collaborated with Paul as they entered into uncharted territory, proclaiming the good news, not to Jews but to Gentiles, not in Jerusalem but in Antioch and elsewhere.  They left behind the familiar for the unfamiliar.  Barnabas and Paul, as we know, had a sharp disagreement.  They stumbled along the way.  But the Paraclete – the one who walks along side us, to pick us up when we stumble – was with them.

As I reflected on this reading and its implications for us today, Fr. Pat Brennan telephoned me to share "something interesting" that emerged from the weeklong Western Provincial Chapter of the Passionist Community in Detroit.  The community did something it had never done before.   They elected to their Board of Consultors Fr. Richard Burke, who already serves as a consultor for his own Eastern St. Paul of the Cross Province.  In this unique role, he will serve as a collaborative bridge between the communities of these two provinces.

This is certainly "something interesting," and in the spirit of Barnabas’ name, very encouraging.  Like Paul and Barnabas, the Eastern and Western provinces will work in collaboration as they enter uncharted territory, discerning how together they can more effectively proclaim Christ and him Crucified.  They may stumble, perhaps even disagree.  That’s okay.  The Paraclete will be with them, walking along side to pick them up if they stumble. 

 

Deacon Manuel Valencia is on the staff at Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, Sierra Madre, California.

 

Scripture:

Acts 22:30; 23:6-11
John 17:20-26

 

 

 

Reflection:

We Share and Are Sharers of the Father’s Glory

Today’s gospel gives us the concluding words of Jesus at the Last Supper. They have been part of a 3day reflection that we might compare with the beginning of John’s gospel.

The prologue of the gospel tells us that Jesus existed from all time with the Father. The Father and Jesus have an intimacy described as the inexpressible intimacy of a nursing mother with her child. We hear now that Jesus who has been in the world (the place not full of God’s love), has loved his disciples. The hour has arrived; Passion begins, and the work of Jesus will be accomplished: The Father’s love will be revealed to the disciples. As Jesus is one with the Father, so the disciples are one with Jesus, he is ‘the way’ that all may be one as he and the Father are one.

The church fathers who describe the Trinity as a dance use a metaphor that rings true. There is something of that dance these past three days and it includes the disciples! This is appropriate because Jesus tells us, ‘I have given them the glory you gave me that they may be one, as we are one – I living in them, you living in me….Father, all those you gave me I would have in my company where I am, to see this glory of mine which is your gift to me, because of the love you bore me before the world began (17:22-24).

We remain in the world and now are privileged to share the work of the One with whom we share life and intimacy. Partners in the Dance, we now invite others to join us.

A final word on this day must include the Saint who is honored, Ephrem, a deacon and Doctor of the Church. He is known as the "Harp of the Spirit". As we have heard of the mystery of God described as ‘dance’, it is Ephrem who sings the praises of the Holy Spirit not only in his insightful theology but most beautifully in his poetry.

            In your Bread there is hidden the Spirit who is not consumed,
            in you Wine there dwells the fire that is not drunk:
            The Spirit is in your Bread, the Fire in your Wine
            a manifest wonder, which our lips have received.
                                (Sebastian Brock, The Holy Spirit in the Syrian Baptismal Tradition)

Ephrem talks of the presence and action of the Spirit in the Eucharist. He uses the imagery of the Spirit and the energy of fire. Ephrem ponders how we in our humble humanity can experience this exchange with the divine. It is the work of God manifest in Jesus through the continual presence and activity of the Spirit among us. (Liturgical Ministry, Fall 2010,  Mark Morozowick)

Saturday evening we will celebrate the Vigil of Pentecost. All the partners will be at the dance, and we who are left alone in the world, know we are not alone as we will do the work of Jesus with the energy of fire, the Holy Spirit.

 

Fr. William Murphy, CP is pastor of St. Joseph’s Monastery parish in Baltimore, Maryland.

Scripture:

Acts 20:28-38
John 17:11b-19

Reflection:

Before I became a Passionist, I was involved in lay ministry for three years. Each year I was located in a different town/parish in Missouri (Marceline, Chamois, St. Louis). In each locale, I developed friendships as I reached out to youth and seniors alike. Finally, at the conclusion of each year, there was the going away party replete with hugs and goodbyes.

Now as a parish missionary, my experience is similar. I enter various communities for a short week of preaching. After my week of ministry, there is the farewell reception with hugs, handshakes, and smiles all around.

This is a taste of what Paul was going through in today’s reading. After spending three full years of his life with the community at Ephesus, Paul was saying his goodbyes. There were prayers, hugs, tears, and even kisses. Paul had brought God’s Word and his very self into this community. Now it was time to move on. Like his Master, "we must go to the other towns and villages and proclaim the Good News." The call of a missionary is not static but dynamic. It involves many hellos and goodbyes. Some of these goodbyes can be heart wrenching.

Like Jesus and Paul in our readings, we Passionists are "sent" into the world. It is God’s Word of inspiration and hope that we bring with us. We encounter many people along the way. There are multitudes of hellos and goodbyes. While it is difficult to come and go, we surrender to the call. Since Jesus sends us, we keep moving knowing God will work in us and through us to touch people’s lives.

 

Fr. Cedric Pisegna, C.P. is a missionary preacher, author of 14 books and creator of television and radio programs airing in many cities. You can learn more about his ministry at: http://www.frcedric.org/

 

Scripture:

Acts: 25:13b-21
John 21:15-19

Reflection:

The Illusion of Control

I have been flying a lot lately, and I find there is nothing like a flight delay or cancellation to highlight how much we Americans value autonomy and control. We expect to go where we want when we want, and we deeply resent interference by any human or natural force.  (In fact, in most cases the word "resent" is far too tame.)

Oh, how hard we try to be masters of our own destinies!  We "control" the course of our days with carefully planned time management tools and tightly scheduled itineraries. We "control" aging with dye, lotions, surgeries, and toxins. We "control" our image with assumed masks and behaviors, to the point that many people believe others only like them because they don’t really know what’s inside. We "control" sickness with machines, medicines, procedures, and ever-new cures.  We even seek to "control" dying, preferring to kill ourselves rather than let death proceed naturally. We desperately seek to imitate the young Peter who, in typical "American dream" fashion, was able to dress himself and go where he wanted to go. 

Admittedly, there is much we do actually control, and I have a responsibility to make the best decisions I can in those arenas. Yet the circumstances of my life, especially lately, have reinforced the folly of believing that any of us actually wields as much control as we’d like to believe.  Babies die, dementia takes hold, floods defy levees, people make unpredictable decisions, recessions hit, tornadoes strike in random paths, accidents happen, loved ones are diagnosed with cancer, traffic snarls, carefully laid plans go awry, and we often end up in places or situations we never would have expected. Jesus warns that we cannot do what we want at every turn. Far more often we are bound by that metaphorical belt, and led somewhere we would rather not go. 

Am I willing to allow my illusion of control to be shattered? Am I willing to be led into difficult situations, confrontations, aging, and even death?  Can I surrender my life and learn to be drawn by something greater than myself rather than pushed by my desperate striving for control? Can I find grace and love in unexpected and even tragic events? Something deep inside me is terrified by those thoughts. Instinctively I know that more often than not, I will stretch out my hands and someone else will lead me where I do not want to go. I know that placing trust in my personal ability to control my life and destiny is an exercise in futility. I keep striving for it anyway. 

Yet if I assume that I am NOT in control, perhaps I can live with less stress and more freedom.  If I assume that there will be losses, glitches, and challenges at every turn, perhaps I can better appreciate what I have while I have it.  If I know things will not go as planned, perhaps I can be open to see new things unfold. Instead of spending energy raging against unwanted occurrences in my life or protesting that I don’t deserve what is happening, perhaps I can accept their inevitability and use my energy to cope and to heal. If I love freely and deeply even though I know I will be hurt and will eventually lose my beloved, perhaps the joy I experience will be worth the pain. If I trust that when I am nailed to the cross Christ is nailed there with me, perhaps I can also believe that with God’s help I can overcome and even reach resurrection. If I let go of the need for absolute control, perhaps I can live so fully that I will arrive at my death bed without regrets.  Can I let go?

I wish I could answer without reservation. For now, perhaps it is enough to know I am working on it and I hope I am getting better. Check back with me next week when yet another flight gets canceled.

 

Amy Florian is a teacher and consultant working in Chicago.  For many years she has partnered with the Passionists.  Visit Amy’s  website: http://www.amyflorian.com/.