Now what?

In his homily for the Easter Vigil this year, Pope Francis focused on a post-resurrection directive from Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew: “Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me” (Matthew 28:10). Galilee, of course, is where it all started for Jesus and his disciples. It’s where he began his ministry, and where he called his disciples to follow him. Galilee is where the disciples first encountered Jesus, where they were drawn to him.

In those first frightening and confusing hours after the resurrection—with the disciples disheartened by the events of Good Friday and dazed by sketchy reports that Jesus was alive, not sure what to believe—Jesus’ words to the women at the tomb amounted to more than simple consolation and the offer of wistful remembrance. Go back to Galilee, he was saying, where it all started, and where I called you. Reflect on our journey together, all I said and did, and consider it all in light of the past few days’ events. This is not the end, but the beginning. Do not be afraid. I am with you to the end.

It seems to me that Jesus is expressing and extending utmost compassion here. He knows his disciples are afraid, confused, questioning. Who wouldn’t be? He understands that they are lost and don’t know where to turn or what to do. So, he invites them back to Galilee to retrace their steps, so to speak—to reflect on everything that has happened in deeper fashion, to re-encounter him in the light of the resurrection, to rediscover him, and to be revitalized to carry on his mission.

Likewise, Jesus knows that each one of us—his followers today who inherited and strive to carry forward that very same mission of the first disciples—go through periods of fear, confusion, and struggle with belief. He knows that our earthly trials—whatever they may be—sometimes weigh us down and leave us feeling spiritually bereft or abandoned. Sometimes we just don’t understand and feel lost. Hope seems just beyond our grasp.

Jesus’ words to the women at the tomb, then, are every bit as important for us today. They show us the way forward by leading us back to where it all started for each one of us individually. As Pope Francis said in his homily (I posted it in full here on Easter Sunday): “For each of us, too, there is a ‘Galilee’ at the origin of our journey with Jesus. ‘To go to Galilee’ means something beautiful, it means rediscovering our baptism as a living fountainhead, drawing new energy from the sources of our faith and our Christian experience. To return to Galilee means above all to return to that blazing light with which God’s grace touched me at the start of the journey. From that flame I can light a fire for today and every day, and bring heat and light to my brothers and sisters. That flame ignites a humble joy, a joy which sorrow and distress cannot dismay—a good, gentle joy.”

 Pope Francis encourages us to ask ourselves: “What is my Galilee?” In other words, consider your own personal call as a Christian disciple, beloved by God (cf. 1 Corinthians 1:26). “Returning to Galilee,” the Pope says, “means treasuring in my heart the living memory of that call, when Jesus passed my way, gazed at me with mercy and asked me to follow him. To return there means reviving the memory of that moment when his eyes met mine, the moment when he made me realize that he loved me.”

Returning to Galilee—which is something different for each one of us—means taking the time occasionally to rediscover who we are in the light of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. It means that in times of sorrow, confusion, and distress, we are to draw strength, wisdom, and courage from that moment when we were first called. We must remember (c.f. Deuteronomy 5:15; Luke 22:19; 2 Timothy 2:8), so that we may grow in faith and love as we take up our cross daily and follow Jesus in the hope of our own resurrection. Such memory gives the current moment and circumstances—no matter how trying they may be—meaning and purpose.

As the Pope said, “reviving the memory” of our own Galilee helps to sustain us in the present and to direct us for the future. It involves fanning the flames of the Spirit in our hearts—the very presence of God, who is always with us. And, as signified by the lighting of candles near the beginning of the Easter vigil, we are called to pass on that flame to others, to be the light of Christ in the darkness that surrounds and fills so many people in this world. We return to Galilee to rejuvenate ourselves spiritually, and then lead others there to hear Jesus’ call.

The passage from John’s Gospel that we heard Sunday (John 20:19-31) has a different take on Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances to his disciples. Instead of Galilee, they are all huddled together behind locked doors, presumably in Jerusalem, when Jesus suddenly “came and stood in their midst.” However, while the circumstances are different, the message is essentially the same. The disciples are in hiding—filled with fear and confusion. They do not understand (for good reason) the meaning of all that has occurred in the previous three days. They are lost.

Suddenly, Jesus appears in their midst and says, “Peace be with you.” Significantly, he shows them his wounds before repeating the greeting, and then continues: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit…” When Thomas, who was absent at the time, later refused to believe his companions’ account of all this unless he could see what they had seen, Jesus appears a second time, repeating his greeting of peace. Then he invites Thomas to touch his wounds, and says, “Do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

Touch my wounds, Jesus is saying to us through his living Word in John’s Gospel—the wounds I share with you through your baptism. Your wounds—whatever they are—are my wounds. And see? They have no power over me—over you. I am alive, and am going to be with my Father, where you will be also. Remain in me, and you will have life. You will share in my resurrection. Do not be unbelieving, but believe (cf. Romans 6:4-5; 9-11).

The peace of Christ is revealed to us through his wounds—our wounds, which we share with him, whatever they may be. “Peace be with you,” he says, as he imparts his Holy Spirit upon us and commissions us: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Through his Spirit, Jesus is present in us. We are his presence in the world, and with his Spirit, we are to bring peace to other troubled, frightened, and confused hearts. In the light of the resurrection which we share with Christ, our own wounds have no more power over us than they did over him. Rather, we are empowered by him through those very wounds to not only overcome our own troubles but bring peace to others who are struggling with belief (see 2 Corinthians 1:4). The marks of death are transformed into signs of life.

This is our hope, and this is our mission as children of the resurrection, as “Easter people.”

A fruitful meditation this Easter season is to recall your Galilee, your initial call to follow Jesus. Place yourself in that room from John’s Gospel with the fearful, confused disciples. Acknowledge your fear, your struggles and lack of understanding. Allow Jesus to enter the room and then listen to his message of peace. While he shows you his wounds, recall your Galilee—your initial encounter with Jesus when you first experienced his presence in your life. When was it? Where? What happened? What did he say to your heart? What was your response? Reflect on your journey thus far. Where have you been? What has happened along the way? How was God’s presence manifested during that time?

And now—now what? What is your reaction as you look on the wounds of the resurrected Christ—which you share through baptism—and hear his words, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you”? What does the recollection of your own Galilee—your initial call by Jesus—mean in light of the transfigured wounds of the resurrected Christ now before you? Does this change your perspective at all? How?

Can you hear Jesus’ words to you—to all of us: “Do not be unbelieving, but believe”? How do you respond? Are you able to move forward from that locked, fear-filled room by going back in time to recall your Galilee? Does this recollection provide hope, strength, courage, joy, and newfound energy for the future? If so, to whom shall you pass the flame?

As you ponder all that, recall Jesus’ last words to his disciples (and to us) in the Gospel of Matthew: “Go therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age” (Matthew 28:19-20). 

So—now what?

Recognizing Jesus

A meditation on the Mass readings
for Wednesday within the Octave of Easter
(Acts 3:1-10; Luke 24:13-35)

Walking along the road to Emmaus, two of Jesus’ disciples are disheartened. They still do not understand what it all means—Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. All their hope seems to have vanished along with him (see Luke 24:13-35).

Then Jesus himself joins them, and still, they do not truly see—at least initially. As Luke’s Gospel tells us: “Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

Sadly, this is all too descriptive of many Christians. Jesus draws near, he walks with us, and tries to show us the way. If we allow him, as the two disciples do in today’s Gospel, he will eventually get through in Word and Sacrament.

But how often do we really do that? So often, it seems to me, we are so intent on our routines, so “busy” with “important” matters, so eager to keep moving along to the next thing, that we leave Jesus there by the side of the road without even noticing him.

I can just imagine him calling out, “Hey guys, wait up!”

Sorry, we say politely, we’re late. We need to be going.

Or, even if we do allow him to join us, doesn’t it seem that all too often, we’re not really “there”? Preoccupied, we just go through the motions—even in the breaking of the bread.

First we do this, then that. Later comes this, that, and the other. We need to hurry, though.

But, what if we simply slowed down a little, and ...

... breathed deeply,
... allowed a little variation in the routine,
... entered into the sound of the gently falling rain and distant thunder,
... watched the evening sun sink beyond the horizon,
... read something without expecting to “get something out of it” or “do something with it”?

What if we noticed the journey rather than focusing on the destination?

What if we observed something without instantly analyzing or critiquing it?

What if we really listened to someone—anyone—without at the same time formulating our own judgment, response, or opinion?

What if we were simply present to the presence of Christ—God among us?

What if we just stood still to let Jesus catch up with us?

What else is so important, anyway?

Yes, as human beings, we need to be fruitfully occupied. But even noble or holy tasks can become ruthless masters. Life is not a series of tasks to be completed or appointments to be kept. Rather, life is about who we bring to those tasks and appointments—and who we leave with as we move from one to another. Hopefully, by the grace of God, who we bring and who we leave with is not quite the same person. There should be a discernible progression. We should become more like Christ—our companion along the Way. And that means spending time with him, for absolutely no other reason than because he is Jesus. Can we allow ourselves to simply “waste time” in the presence of Jesus each day?

Earlier in Luke’s Gospel (10:38-42), Jesus tells the agitated Martha that her attentive sister Mary has chosen the better part. If Martha and Mary had been the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, I imagine Martha would be way out in front of Mary, worried about keeping good time, hollering back at her loitering sister to step it up.

Mary, meanwhile, would be wandering from one side of the path to another, absorbing the wonder of God’s creation all around her. Stopping to watch a butterfly or pick a flower, perhaps, suddenly Jesus would be there. They then walk side by side, leisurely but passionately conversing, totally absorbed in one another, and calling out to Martha, “Hey, wait up!”

Martha, though, simply mutters and quickens her pace.

When I happen to notice Martha in another person, or in myself, I can only pray that our hearts will burn within us (cf. Psalm 39:4; Luke 24:32) for the presence of Christ. May it always be, so that as Jesus draws near and walks with us, our eyes recognize him, and our voices plead, “Stay with us, Lord!”

-- From Grace in the Wilderness:
Reflections on God's Sustaining Word
Along Life's Journey

New birth into a living hope

May grace and peace be yours in abundance.

Blessed be the God and Father
of our Lord Jesus Christ!
By his great mercy he has given us
a new birth into a living hope
through the resurrection
of Jesus Christ from the dead,
and into an inheritance
that is imperishable, undefiled,
and unfading, kept in heaven for you,
who are being protected
by the power of God
through faith for a salvation
ready to be revealed in the last time.

In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

Therefore prepare your minds for action; discipline yourselves; set all your hope on the grace that Jesus Christ will bring you when he is revealed. Like obedient children, do not be conformed to the desires that you formerly had in ignorance. Instead, as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.”

If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile. You know that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your ancestors, not with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without defect or blemish. He was destined before the foundation of the world, but was revealed at the end of the ages for your sake. Through him you have come to trust in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith and hope are set on God.

Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart. You have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God.

--1 Peter 1:2-9, 13-23

What is your Galilee?

EASTER VIGIL

HOMILY OF POPE FRANCIS

Vatican Basilica
Holy Saturday, 19 April 2014

The Gospel of the resurrection of Jesus Christ begins with the journey of the women to the tomb at dawn on the day after the Sabbath.  They go to the tomb to honour the body of the Lord, but they find it open and empty.  A mighty angel says to them: “Do not be afraid!” (Mt 28:5) and orders them to go and tell the disciples: “He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee” (v. 7).  The women quickly depart and on the way Jesus himself meets them and says: “Do not fear; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me” (v. 10). “Do not be afraid”, “do not fear”:  these are words that encourage us to open our hearts to receive the message.

After the death of the Master, the disciples had scattered; their faith had been utterly shaken, everything seemed over, all their certainties had crumbled and their hopes had died.  But now that message of the women, incredible as it was, came to them like a ray of light in the darkness.  The news spread: Jesus is risen as he said.  And then there was his command to go to Galilee; the women had heard it twice, first from the angel and then from Jesus himself: “Let them go to Galilee; there they will see me”. “Do not fear” and “go to Galilee”.

Galilee is the place where they were first called, where everything began! To return there, to return to the place where they were originally called.  Jesus had walked along the shores of the lake as the fishermen were casting their nets.  He had called them, and they left everything and followed him (cf. Mt 4:18-22).

To return to Galilee means to re-read everything on the basis of the cross and its victory, fearlessly: “do not be afraid”.  To re-read everything – Jesus’ preaching, his miracles, the new community, the excitement and the defections, even the betrayal – to re-read everything starting from the end, which is a new beginning, from this supreme act of love.

For each of us, too, there is a “Galilee” at the origin of our journey with Jesus.  “To go to Galilee” means something beautiful, it means rediscovering our baptism as a living fountainhead, drawing new energy from the sources of our faith and our Christian experience.  To return to Galilee means above all to return to that blazing light with which God’s grace touched me at the start of the journey.  From that flame I can light a fire for today and every day, and bring heat and light to my brothers and sisters.  That flame ignites a humble joy, a joy which sorrow and distress cannot dismay, a good, gentle joy.

In the life of every Christian, after baptism there is also another “Galilee”, a more existential “Galilee”: the experience of a personal encounter with Jesus Christ who called me to follow him and to share in his mission.  In this sense, returning to Galilee means treasuring in my heart the living memory of that call, when Jesus passed my way, gazed at me with mercy and asked me to follow him. To return there means reviving the memory of that moment when his eyes met mine, the moment when he made me realize that he loved me.

Today, tonight, each of us can ask: What is my Galilee?  I need to remind myself, to go back and remember.  Where is my Galilee?  Do I remember it?  Have I forgotten it?  Seek and you will find it! There the Lord is waiting for you.  Have I gone off on roads and paths which made me forget it?  Lord, help me: tell me what my Galilee is; for you know that I want to return there to encounter you and to let myself be embraced by your mercy. Do not be afraid, do not fear, return to Galilee!

The Gospel is very clear: we need to go back there, to see Jesus risen, and to become witnesses of his resurrection.  This is not to go back in time; it is not a kind of nostalgia.  It is returning to our first love, in order to receive the fire which Jesus has kindled in the world and to bring that fire to all people, to the very ends of the earth.  Go back to Galilee, without fear!

“Galilee of the Gentiles” (Mt 4:15; Is 8:23)!  Horizon of the Risen Lord, horizon of the Church; intense desire of encounter…  Let us be on our way!

© Copyright - Libreria Editrice Vaticana

Light and Life

"The first day of the week was dawning."

Matthew 28:1

 

 

Happy Easter!

O Cruor Sanguinis

Listen to this beautiful chant by our own Br. John Mark:

 

O cruor sanguinis, qui in alto sonuisti,
cum omnia elementa se implicuerunt
in lamentabilem vocem cum tremor,
quia sanguis cratoris sui illa tetiget.
Unge nos de languoribus nostris.

O earth stained by his blood,
you cried out to heaven
as all your elements turned in upon themselves
and with a voice so sad and with fear shaking,
because the blood of their creator did fall
and touch them all.
O comfort us.
O comfort us in our sorrows.

 ----------------------

St. Hildegard von Bingen

English translation by Fr. Harry Hagan, O.S.B.
Chant by Br. John Mark Falkenhain, O.S.B.

Saint Meinrad Archabbey ©2014

An invitation to the feast

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof,
but only say the word and I shall be healed."

 

A few thoughts as we keep vigil outside the tomb for the glorious dawn of Resurrection. …

As I have read and pondered the Passion narratives and Gospel texts this Holy Week, one sentence uttered by Jesus has struck me in particular fashion:

“My appointed time draws near; in your house I shall celebrate the Passover with my disciples” (Matthew 26:18, with Jesus instructing his disciples about what to say to the owner of the building in which they will prepare the Passover meal).

This is an invitation by Jesus not only to his disciples 2,000 years ago, but to each one of us today. He personally calls each of us to the messianic banquet of heaven, the perpetual feast which he instituted on earth, and which we celebrate here and now with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. Our paschal lamb, Christ, has been sacrificed (1 Corinthians 5:7-8). As the Book of Revelation concludes near the end of the Bible: “Blessed are those who have been called to the wedding feast of the lamb” (Revelation 19:9).

This is a great mystery, the likes of which cannot be entered into without humility and awareness of our fallen but redeemed human nature. By God’s grace, the ancient Israelites were delivered from slavery in Egypt as the hand of death “passed over” the homes of those whose doorposts were smeared with the blood of a sacrificed lamb (cf. Exodus 12). This, as God himself decreed, became the annual Jewish feast of Passover, a memorial of thanksgiving and praise for divine deliverance from all that slavery represents (evil, darkness, and death), as well as petition for future salvation.

In the Christian tradition, Jesus, “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29) fulfills what Passover prefigured. His passion, death, and resurrection took place in Jerusalem during the feasts of Passover and Unleavened Bread. His blood shed on the cross--like that of the first Passover lamb--delivers us from the slavery of sin and leads us to goodness, light, and life. For this reason, at the Last Supper, “Jesus gave the Jewish Passover its definitive meaning. Jesus’ passing over to his father by his death and Resurrection, the new Passover, is anticipated in the Supper and celebrated in the Eucharist, which fulfills the Jewish Passover and anticipates the final Passover of the Church in the glory of the kingdom” (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1340).

This is why, as Catholics, we celebrate the Eucharist. For “on the night he was handed over, [Jesus] took bread, and, after he had given thanks, broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:23-26; cf. Matthew 26:26-29; Mark 14:22-25; Luke 22:14-20).

In the final analysis, as one Body in Christ—the Lamb of God—we “pass over” from sin to redemption, from the darkness of the tomb on Holy Saturday to the light of Resurrection on Easter Sunday, from death to eternal life. Our participation in the Eucharist perpetuates the messianic banquet of heaven which Christ initiated on earth and which will be fully, finally, and forever realized in the life to come.

So, as the passage above from Matthew 26 illustrates, Jesus invites us as he did the first disciples:

“My appointed time draws near; in your house I shall celebrate the Passover with my disciples.”

Jesus wants to enter the house of your heart, each and every day of your life. He says to you the words he directed to the tax collector Zacchaeus in the sycamore tree: “I must stay at your house” (Luke 19:5). In fact, he insists: “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, then I will enter his house and dine with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20).

Like Zacchaeus, then, let us quickly receive Jesus with joy (Luke 19:6). Let us “come to the feast” (cf. Matthew 22:2-10; Luke 14:15-24). And as the Body of Christ, who gave himself up for us out of love, let us live in sincerity and truth—always keeping in mind that Jesus loves his own in the world and loves them to the end” (cf. John 13:1).

And let us become what we receive.

Ecce homo

Lectio for Lent: Palm Sunday

Salvador Dali's Sacrament of the Last Supper
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

NOTE: Each week during Lent, I am posting a set of reflection questions based on the Sunday Gospel. There are no "answers." The questions are simply meant to help the reader (or group of readers) engage the Scripture for the corresponding week in the context of the Church's observance of Lent. Ultimately, the goal is to help one meditate on the following questions: What does this text mean for me? What is God saying to me through his Word--here and now? How ought I respond to it? I encourage you to spend some time reading and thinking about the Gospel passages indicated before turning to the reflection questions here. In the process, if you discern the "still, small voice" of God speaking to your heart and leading you into prayer, then go with it! -- Br. Francis

 

PALM SUNDAY (YEAR A)

The Passion of Jesus Christ

(Matthew 26:14--27:66)

 
As you read/listen to the Passion on this Palm Sunday, what is it about the phrases "this is my body" (spoken at the Last Supper) and "[Jesus] gave up his spirit (on the cross) that has meaning for you?

 

How do you live it out?

 

Life, death, and eternity

"Yearn for everlasting life with holy desire.
Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die."
Rule of St. Benedict 4:46-47

Lent is a reminder that the world as we know it is not the be-all and end-all. Something—or, more precisely, Someone—infinitely better awaits us. The joy of this knowledge, derived through faith, fills us with that holy desire needed to live radically here and now.

This is the hope that fills our days with joy without denying our deep sorrow. It is what makes us Christian. When things go terribly wrong, when failure and hardship seem to frame our days, and when people age and die, what we are really lamenting is the brokenness of Creation. We should feel sorrow, because the life for which God created us was not meant to be that way. However, we should also embrace the joy of knowing that in Christ, God has restored all things, and rightly ordered them as they are meant to be.

It is true that from our limited perspective, we cannot fully perceive that right-ordering. In Christ, however, the act has been completed, but is still growing to fulfillment. Similarly, when we plant a flower bulb in the earth during the lengthening shadows of autumn, we know that it will be months before it springs forth from the ground with life and color and fragrance—but its work has begun. The Incarnation continues to this very moment as the Body of Christ grows to maturity in each one of us. The moment has been redeemed, and eternity calls out to us from the dark moments just before the dawn.

As Christians, it is fitting us--particularly during this Lenten season--to meditate on such things. With that in mind, here are some further thoughts on life, death, and eternity:

***

"Why should I worry about losing a bodily life that I must inevitably lose anyway, as long as I possess a spiritual life and identity that cannot be lost against my own desire? ... Solitude is not death, it is life. It aims not at living death but at a certain fullness of life. But a fullness that comes from honestly and authentically facing death and accepting it without care, i.e., with faith and trust in God. ... The child in the womb does not know what will come after birth. He must be born in order to live. I am here [in the monastery] to learn to face death as my birth."

-- Trappist monk Thomas Merton

***

"What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? ... No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

-- Romans 8:35, 37-39

***

"Let us prefer nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life."

-- Rule of St. Benedict 72:11-12

High water

 

We have had a bit of rain here lately. It finally stopped this morning; during the previous 36 hours, I'd estimate we had somewhere between 6 and 7 inches of rainfall. Needless to say, many low-lying areas have flooded, including much of the valley directly below Saint Meinrad Archabbey, in and around the town of St. Meinrad. Several roads around the Hill are covered. Earlier today, nearby Interstate 64 was reportedly closed due to high water in a few locations. Above is the view from near the Abbey Press (Plant 1) downhill toward the St. Meinrad community center and park just across the road. Below are a few more shots I took this afternoon.

 

 

The appropriately named baseball field in the park.

I'd say today's game is a rainout.

The nearby community park.

Looking toward the other end of the valley, toward the gift shop.

Looking toward the St. Joseph Shrine, barely visible in the center of the
photograph. Somewhere beneath the water is a state highway.

The parking lot of the Archabbey Gift Shop.

 

Looking up toward the Hill from the gift shop.
The lake in the foreground should not be there.

 

Lectio for Lent: Week Five

NOTE: Each week during Lent, I am posting a set of reflection questions based on the Sunday Gospel. There are no "answers." The questions are simply meant to help the reader (or group of readers) engage the Scripture for the corresponding week in the context of the Church's observance of Lent. Ultimately, the goal is to help one meditate on the following questions: What does this text mean for me? What is God saying to me through his Word--here and now? How ought I respond to it? I encourage you to spend some time reading and thinking about the Gospel passages indicated before turning to the reflection questions here. In the process, if you discern the "still, small voice" of God speaking to your heart and leading you into prayer, then go with it! -- Br. Francis

 

FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT (YEAR A)

The Raising of Lazarus

(John 11:1-45)

 

In John 5:28-29, Jesus says, "The hour is coming in which all who are in the tombs will hear his voice and will come out."

 

In today's Gospel passage, Jesus provides a foretaste of what he means by raising Lazarus from the dead. Jesus is the source of life, and has power over death and all spiritual darkness--in the life to come, yes, but also in this life here and now.

 

Consider for a moment your darkest moments in life, your deepest disappointments, failures, and fears. Place yourself in the tomb as Lazarus, and listen for Jesus' life-giving words: "Come out! Untie him and let him go."

 

How will you respond?