Blog & Pastor Letters

On the first Sunday after Pentecost of each liturgical year, the Church bids us celebrate in a special manner “the central mystery of the Christian faith and life,” the mystery from which “all the other mysteries of the faith flow” (CCC 234). The mystery in whose name we sign ourselves with the sign of the cross and receive the Sacrament of Baptism. The mystery of God in Himself. That is, the mystery of the Most Holy Trinity. The mystery that God is one in three and three in one. One in essence and three in persons — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. “One God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity” as the Athanasian Creed tells us.

The Church is very wise in the planning of the liturgical calendar. It seems like we are always in preparation for the next big thing in the cycle. As you will no doubt recall, the liturgical year begins with the season of Advent, a time of preparation for the coming of Christ. However, even in Advent, this holy time can be viewed as a kind of two-part season. Beginning with about the first three weeks, the focus is on the figure of Saint John the Baptist, the forerunner of the Lord Jesus, and the coming of Christ in glory at the end of time. Following this remote preparation for the Lord, from December 17 onward, we kick into high gear with the proximate preparation for the recalling of the events of the Incarnation and Birth of the Messiah, marked with the use of the “O” antiphons in the Liturgy of the Hours.

On this Seventh Sunday of Easter, the last before the great Solemnity of Pentecost, we find ourselves with the nascent Church as she patiently and prayerfully awaits the “promise of the Father,” who is the Holy Spirit in whose power the disciples would burst forth from the upper room, like the blood and water that burst forth from the heart of Christ, to sanctify the nations, gathering them into the Kingdom of Heaven through their witness to the risen Christ.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another . . .” In our readings on this Sixth Sunday of Easter, we hear much about Our Lord’s commandment to love. Yet this seems a strange thing to modern ears: a commandment to love. For many in our society today believe that love is simply a feeling, an inclination caused in us by encountering someone or even something outside of us. And so, some may ask, “How can we be commanded to love?” More than this, though, even if we can will ourselves to love, what kind of love is Jesus commanding us to give?

Thinking back to when our neophytes were catechumens prior to the Easter Vigil, I always appreciate hearing their stories about how they came to the Catholic faith. For some, it was a spiritual conversion, maybe witnessing a healing or being directed in prayer. For others, it may have been more intellectual, asking questions and investigating the answers, leading them to the truths of the faith. Either way, the Holy Spirit’s presence is quite apparent whenever we examine the trajectories of these individuals.

I used to be a babysitter for several young children when I was a teenager. I took the certification classes, I knew basic first aid, I was comfortable with the parents, and I landed a few babysitting jobs and had the opportunity to earn a few dollars. And although I did indeed care about the children I babysat and we had some fun playing games, I obviously could never be a replacement for their parents. In that sense, I was the “hired man” to take care of the child.

It’s been said that the more you get to know someone, the more you realize that there is so much more to know about that person. If I learn tomorrow that my friend is a rock climber, all of a sudden more questions pop up: When did you start? Where do you go? How do you train? Learning this one fact makes me realize there’s a whole lot more I don’t know about the person.

What does it mean to “bear witness” to something? If we witness a crime, we can report that to the police, and they will take a witness statement to record what we’ve seen or heard. If we witness an event, we might be called upon to give an interview for a news story about our experiences.

When we read the accounts of the Lord Jesus’ appearances in his resurrected Body, we find some curious things. First, people that know him well, those whom he taught and with whom he lived and loved, somehow don’t recognize him at first; and second, these people who encounter the Risen Lord Jesus only recognize him at the Lord’s initiative.

When I was leaving my very first priestly assignment as a young parochial vicar, I was, naturally enough, very sad. I was speaking to a brother priest who worked with me in the parish as the other parochial vicar, and, with the arrogance that can only come from inexperience said, “At least I know that, as I leave this parish, all the people really loved me.” My friend, older, with a few more years of priesthood under his belt, laughed hard and said, “No, no they didn’t! What, are you crazy? Not everyone loved you!” I was horrified! I was dismayed!

When we encounter the Lord Jesus in today’s Gospel, he is at his low point, at the nadir of his popularity. He’s away from the main stage, away from Jerusalem. He received word that one of his closest friends, Lazarus, is dead. Jesus waits three days, foreshadowing the time He will spend in the tomb, before going to see Lazarus’ sisters, Martha and Mary. The Lord loves these women. They are his friends and he delights in their company. He delays his arrival outside of Bethany so that the glory of God can be shown.

I recall being in fifth grade when my teacher told my parents that I was having some problems reading what was written on the blackboard. My perceptive teacher, Mrs. Joy Agresto, noticed my squinting and my struggling to write down what was on the blackboard in that venerable grammar school, which is now known as Saint Joseph the Worker Catholic Academy. This would have been in 1982, a very long time ago.

My parents took me out to a Cohen’s Fashion Optical and I had my eyes tested. About a week later, my father took me out to the eyeglass store and I tried my glasses on the first time. I vividly recall being able to see so much better; it was like a new world of details was opened before me which I had not realized was there.

Of the many powerful scenes in the epic biopic Pope John Paul II, starring Jon Voight and Cary Elwes, one continually sticks with me. Early in the movie, in a flashback to his childhood, the young Karol falls to the ground and awakes, injured, to his mother’s voice of comfort. Here we have a beautiful example of a parent handing on, in the truest sense, the Faith of the Church. His mother tells him (and I am paraphrasing), Karol, life is confusing and complicated, God is simple. Let me show you the simple way: “In the Name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”