Living Bread

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Eating is necessary for life. Do we eat to live, or live to eat? With respect to the Eucharist, the answer to this question—both parts of it—is yes. Eating and drinking the risen Christ’s Body and Blood gives us a share now in divine Life: we eat to live. Further, we must daily deepen our hunger for this divine Food that leads to eternal Life: therefore, in a real sense, we live to eat.

Jesus makes clear in this gospel that he is giving himself—his very flesh and blood—to us as our “living bread.” This “living bread” nourishes us now for our life in the risen Christ, and it also nourishes us on our journey toward Life everlasting. Jesus always invites us to his banquet table; it is ours to choose to take, eat and drink, and live this mystery.

Jesus’ invitation to eat and drink his flesh and blood is an invitation to enter into his own mystery of self-giving dying and rising. Eucharist is self-giving. We can be self-giving like Jesus because by eating his flesh and drinking his blood we become more perfectly the Body of Christ. This is why we can “re¬main” in Jesus—we are transformed by what we eat. Our relationship to Jesus, then, becomes a relationship of indwelling, of divine Life. This is why Eucharist is a promise of eternal Life: because we already have divine Life within us.[Living Liturgy 2021]

It is easy to choose to take part in the Communion procession at Mass—to take and eat and drink. It is the more difficult choice to live the mystery in which we have participated. This is daily living: to choose to nourish others who are hungry both physically and spiritually, to choose to invite others into deeper relationship with ourselves and the risen Christ, to choose to take time to savor the mystery with which God in Christ has blessed us. In this kind of daily living we answer for ourselves and for others the central question of this gospel: Who is “this man”?


Bread From Heaven

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We seek success, but often misunderstand its allure. We seek happiness, but often misunderstand its source. We seek love, but often misunderstand its cost. We seek Jesus, but often misunderstand where we find him, how he nourishes us, who he really is.

When we realize through an encounter with Jesus what it is he desires to give us—bread that lasts—we ask him to “give us this bread always.” But, like the crowd in this gospel, we do not always fully understand what Jesus is actually giving us—not bread but his very Self. This Gift is the work of God; our work is to receive this Gift. [Living Liturgy 2021]

We grow in our understanding of Jesus as the Bread of Life by counting the many ways he nourishes us. He nourishes us through the witness of people who are remarkably self-giving, by the kind word or smile of a stranger, by the challenge to grow that comes from a true friend, by the calming presence of a beloved family member, through our own quiet moments of prayer. In all of these examples we receive life from another. This life is Jesus’ gift of Self. This Life is what we ultimately seek.

Adapted from Renew International Year B


God Cares

What are you hungry for? Really hungry for? Stop for a moment, right now, wherever you happen to be– reading these words, stop for just a moment and ask yourself this question: “What am I hungry for? And how hungry am I?”

Whatever your response to that question, God cares about your answer. God cares about your hunger, your desire. God cares about whatever it is you are longing for, hunting for, hoping for. If there’s one thing to be said for certain about today’s Gospel reading, it is surely this: God cares about your hunger.

Where is Jesus in all of this? And what does this story say? In John’s version, Jesus has been in Galilee healing the sick. The people have noticed the signs he’s been up to, so a crowd follows him to the place where he’s gone with his disciples. There are so many of them, and Jesus looks at Philip and says, “Where are we to buy bread for all these people? They’re hungry. So what are we going to do?” It’s telling that in John’s version Jesus asks the disciples, while in Matthew and Mark and Luke it’s the other way around. The disciples ask him. In this case, Jesus looks at his followers, looks at the likes of you and me and says, “So what are we gonna do here? How are we going to deal with this problem of hunger?”

It is clear that Philip reaches for the usual kinds of categories and expectations. He begins to calculate how much money they need to buy supper for all these folks. He begins to work on logistics. “Half a year’s paychecks won’t do the trick. Our budget just isn’t big enough. Our resources are just too few.” But Jesus knows that conventional answers aren’t what’s called for here. Aren’t what’s really needed.

At this point, Andrew walks up. “Well, there is someone here,” he says. “There’s this kid with some barley loaves and a couple of fish.” Andrew looks at who’s around. Who’s on hand? Looks at what’s available. And what’s available is the lunch of a boy who is clearly not a power broker, clearly not someone with rank. Because barley flour is the flour that poor folks used for their loaves, not what the rich folks used. It’s a little detail that only John mentions. Andrew sees that perhaps real needs aren’t necessarily filled by the folks that we’ve often looked to to meet them.

But Jesus is saying more than that. Jesus is saying that the hunger goes deeper. The way John tells the story, it’s clear that Jesus is the One who can end real hunger–of every sort, not just the kind that makes for growling stomachs an hour before lunchtime. Because John changes another detail in the story: He makes Jesus the host of this meal, the one who distributes the food. In the other gospels, it’s the disciples who take up the work, and those stories say important things too. But, here for John, there’s something else going on. Something else we’re to hear and see and know. In this version, it’s Jesus who hands out the food.

Because in John, it’s Jesus himself who will become the real food; Jesus who will say to us just a few verses later, “I am the bread of life. Those who come to me will never hunger.” Here in John, as in the other gospels, the crowds eat till they are filled, till their hunger is gone. But in John, Jesus also adds, “Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost,” because Jesus’ real purpose is to keep things from being lost. To keep us from being lost. From perishing is what the word means. His real purpose is to provide sustenance that lasts, that keeps us truly alive, that won’t feed us one moment then leave us hungry the next.

Jesus is saying, “I am the real food. The most important food. Don’t spend your lives on food that spoils. Don’t stock the shelves of your life with perishables. Put me there instead. Make me your staple, the food that’s going to last. When you’re hungry,” says Jesus, “then reach first for me.” [Living Liturgy 2015]

It is strange food, this food called Jesus. We consume it, take it into ourselves like ordinary bread. We begin to digest it, till it becomes part of us. But then this bread of life does something else, something the ordinary bread doesn’t do. This bread, this food, this Jesus begins to consume us, begins to make us part of him. We are used to consuming our food, but now our food consumes us. And in that consumption, we ourselves become a non-perishable. We ourselves become food for the world — living loaves. Through our Gospel living we are chosen, blessed, broken and given for the world. Jesus says to us, “Give them yourself.”

Adapted from PrayerTime by Renew International


Who Does He Think He is?

He came to his own, and his own people did not accept him.

John 1:11

This Sunday’s Gospel is one of the saddest in the New Testament. Jesus returns home, with his disciples, as a teacher and preaches in the synagogue. At first, all looks promising. They recognise his wisdom and power. They marvel, realising that something more than human is at work in him, and they discuss.

Then something goes wrong. Is it that they were challenged by his teaching? They couldn’t remain the same, listening to Jesus. Conversion was at the heart of his teaching. But you can just hear that first criticism: ‘But he is only a tradesman!’ then ‘We know his Mum!’ And it goes downhill from there.

You can be sure that the relatives named were not the best people in town. Notice, there is no objection to his teaching or to his miracles. Rather than be honest and admit that his teaching is challenging they find anything they can to ridicule him. Then they close off.

Interesting, here. Jesus could face the storm and calm it, confront the demonic and free him, heal sickness and overcome death but against indifference, coldness and disinterest, he is powerless. His love, divine love is constrained by human indifference. This should give us serious pause. He, who will confront death and overcome it, is powerless in the face of indifference and rejection.

Maybe we should all pause. Maybe this is an area in which we should often examine our conscience: with whom and regarding what, am I indifferent. For where we are indifferent, we know God’s love is not at work there. [Living Liturgy 2021]

When Jesus came to Nazareth he could work no miracles there because of their lack of faith.  

That makes me pause and ask:  

  • How many miracles has God not been able to work in my life because I have been closed to God’s ways?  
  • How much good have I rejected because it has not been offered in ways that I am comfortable with?  
  • How often have I not heard the message of God because it has been spoken by someone not respectable enough, someone who is not ‘one of us’? 

As any parent knows, attitude makes the decisive difference 

  • Preaching is in vain if people, if we, are closed.  
  • Peace-making is in vain if people, if we, are closed.  

If we are not prepared to consider another point of view, there will be no conversion, no hope, no grace in our lives.  

Well, we may think that our point of view is right. But nobody has a monopoly on the truth and God can choose to speak the word of grace through the most unlikely people. Even in disagreeing with someone we may find God’s ways in the discussion. So we should pause as ask ourselves: ‘Where am I stopping the miracle of grace in my life?’ 

Adapted Renew International  Year B 


Be Set on Fire

As I was preparing for the feast of Pentecost, I came across this reflection. In my experience, nothing is by happenstance. Always, it’s filled with a message I need:

There is a dangerous tendency in human nature to try to domesticate the spiritual world. Beings and events beyond our comprehension become tame or even silly.

Compare Ezekiel’s cherubs, with their bodies covered with eyes, with the fat little babies that we find so often in Christian art. Or think of how absorbed we can become, at Christmas time, with the innumerable variations on the sweet, docile image of the baby in the manger, sleeping quietly or smiling beatifically, surrounded by animals and angels, and sideline the unthinkable reality and awesome mystery that the infant soiling his swaddling clothes is the same God who created the universe and continually holds it in being. How much easier it is to create nice, cozy, safe images of a world that is not only terrifyingly incomprehensible but also very real.

Pope Francis has warned against this tendency to bring the uncontrollable under the semblance of our control. Most recently, he has counseled us against underestimating the devil, of taking him too lightly. But he is also fond of reminding us of the immense power and unpredictable nature of our great friend: the Holy Spirit.  He is the Paraclete, our advocate and helper, but he is also like the wind, which “blows where it wills” (John 3:8).

This image of the Holy Spirit as wind is an important one. It is linked to the understanding of “spirit” evident in the Hebrew word ruah, which means “wind, spirit, breath.” Indeed, we find Jesus in John’s Gospel breathing on his disciples as He tells them, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:22). And every year in the Chrism Mass, in which a bishop consecrates all the sacramental oils to be used throughout his diocese for the coming year, there is a solemn moment in which this successor of the Apostles breathes into each of the urns filled with oil.

But wait. Haven’t I just domesticated the Holy Spirit by downgrading it from wind to breath? Not a bit of it. Because the wind/breath identity of the Holy Spirit is closely linked to the image of the Holy Spirit as fire. Don’t forget that before the flaming tongues appeared above the disciples’ heads at Pentecost, they first heard “a noise like a strong driving wind” (Acts 2:2). Under certain conditions, the interaction between oxygen (in other words, the air that we breathe) and some type of fuel causes a chemical reaction, one product of which is heat and light – commonly known as fire. Consider the air, or the breath, as the Holy Spirit, and the fuel as a human soul: your soul, my soul. Given the right conditions – an openness and a willingness on the part of the “fuel,” spontaneous combustion takes place.

Have you ever watched a piece of wood being consumed by fire? Sighing and crackling and glowing, getting blacker and blacker until it falls apart completely and nothing remains but ash? It doesn’t just look different from the original piece of wood. It is different, at the very core of its being. Its chemical composition has changed. It has been transformed.

[Salt and Light  May 20, 2018]

This is what we are called to as Christians and what awaits us when we invite the Holy Spirit into our lives. Let yourself be set on fire by the Holy Spirit. Let yourself be transformed.


Be Still

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Growing up on Lake Erie, I had opportunity to see small vessels caught in storms, buffeted by wind and rain. And as a child, storms frightened me. My mother would light a blessed candle, reassuring me that all would be well.  Today violent storms cause me to pause. I have expensive surge protectors to protect my electronic equipment. Yet, when a storm arises, I am still fearful and I disconnect everything.
 
In our Gospel today, Jesus is with experienced fishermen who knew the peril of a storm at sea. When a “violent squall” arose, the disciples thought that Jesus didn’t care that they were “perishing.” But Jesus did care; he came precisely to save humanity from perishing. The boat was filling up with water from the waves, while the disciples’ hearts were empty of the depth of faith needed to be calm, to be still, to know that Jesus surely does care for them. The disciples’ faith is weak because the disciples do not yet know who Jesus is and why he came. What they did not yet know was the extent of Jesus’ power and his care for them. From what disaster does Jesus really save the disciples? From a storm? Yes, but much more. Jesus saves them from their lack of faith and trust in him.[Living Liturgy 2017]
 
After Jesus commanded the sea to be quiet, there was a great calm. Were the disciples calmed? Did they grow in faith?
 
The “storms” of our own lives become occasions for us to grow in faith and trust that God is ever present to us, calming whatever threatens us, bringing us to a deeper relationship with the God who cares for us. We have an advantage over the disciples in that boat on a stormy sea: we know who Jesus is. But nevertheless we must still ask the critical question: how strong is our faith?


This Is How It Is

As a child, I listened to the news each night, not really understanding what I heard. However, one phrase repeated each night: “And that’s the way it is.” The familiar voice of Walter Cronkite, his factual details and his faithful coverage all helped us to believe ‘And that’s the way it is.” It was his person that made that line believable. It was his person that entered homes each night for so many years.

Our Gospel today, points to “This is how it is.” Jesus shares with us more than events, more than facts. He is reporting the “mystery of the kingdom.” A kingdom not of this world, but it is in this world. It is divine presence, our growth and eternal life. The kingdom of God is a call to us to live lives as faithful disciples. It is a call to live divine life even while we are caught up in our own human life and events.

The kingdom is found in the intersection of our work [plant the seed] and God’s work [mystery of life growing and bearing fruit]. The Good News is that God’s kingdom is assured – the seed will yield a harvest; the tiny seed will grow into a large plant. [Living Liturgy 2015]

It doesn’t matter if we do tiny things or earth-shaking things. What matters is that we take up God’s work of planting life.

Our cooperation with God is simply to be faithful followers of Jesus. Our tiniest acts of kindness – a simple smile or hello- bring forth life and make the kingdom present. Our lifelong journey is to live the gospel making the kingdom of God present. God uses us to make the divine presence known. This is how it is!


Corpus Christi: Chosen, Blessed, Broken, Given

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Jesus’ actions in this Sunday’s Gospel – choosing, blessing, breaking and giving – foreshadows the total gift of self on the Cross, in the Eucharist. The fullest presence of the kingdom of God is revealed by the total gift of self. When we receive Jesus’ gift of self in the Eucharist and choose to be transformed into being that same gift for others, we are the visible presence of the kingdom of God. The kingdom of God comes to fulfillment in every act of total self-giving. Jesus is the one who gave himself totally and continues to give himself to us in the Eucharist. In this gospel, Jesus not only fills the hungry with good things, he fills them to overflowing.

Human food leaves us hungry and desiring more. Jesus’ food leaves us satisfied. But the satisfaction comes from what the eating and drinking lead us to do: give ourselves over to others in self-surrender as Jesus did. The focus of this feast is not limited to the Eucharistic elements but leads to our pledge of self-giving.

When we eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ we are transformed more perfectly into the presence of the risen Christ for others. This transformation is both a gift and a challenge. It is the challenge to spend ourselves for others, to give of ourselves.

The deepest mystery of this feast is that we, too, must give our very own body and blood to others so that they may be satisfied. And when the leftover fragments of ourselves are gathered up, we will find ourselves sharing in the everlasting abundance of the banquet! Such a mystery!

Adapted Renew International Year B


Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had ordered them. When they all saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted. Then Jesus approached and said to them, ‘All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 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 28:16-20)

In the event described in this Gospel reading, the disciples were invited to a special encounter with Christ, and, through them, the whole world was invited as well.

Imagine the fear and doubt the disciples must have experienced as they made their way toward the meeting place in Galilee. They must have hoped that the words the women spoke were true, that Jesus was no longer in the tomb and had risen from the dead, yet they probably tried not to get their hopes up too high. They may also have been afraid of what Jesus would say to them. They had, after all, abandoned him after his arrest.

Jesus did not only appear to them. He told them some of the greatest news in the Gospel, that he would be with them (and us) always! He commissioned them to go and make disciples of all nations and to baptize them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. This encounter helped the disciples move from hiding in fear to being courageous evangelizers.

Like the disciples, we may at times be hesitant to believe that God will meet us where we are, and to allow our encounters with God to make a difference in our lives. However, having faith and responding to our encounters with the Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – will open up new horizons for us and may help us to find needed direction in our lives.

What encounters have changed the direction of your life? How did you see God in those encounters?

Adapted from “Word on the Go”, a downloadable resource from RENEW International


Feast of Pentecost

Artist He Qi
Artist He Qi

As the saying goes, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” Horses can have a mind of their own and be stubborn. So can humans! We often need prodding—motivation—to do something, especially if it’s something we don’t enjoy. When it comes to us humans, motivation plays a huge role in why we do anything and how we do everything. Need is a strong motivator, as is love.
 
This solemnity is really about motivation, the reason why we listen to Jesus and choose to follow him. We followers of Jesus never stand alone. We have each other to motivate ourselves toward faithful action. But even more: we always have the Spirit who dwells within and among us and binds us into one. Through the Holy Spirit we all share in the same risen Life, the same saving mission, the same love. There is strength in numbers. There is motivation in numbers. Our strength is the gift of the Spirit who binds us in love and unity as the one Body of Christ. Our motivation is that with the gift of the Holy Spirit we become one with God’s love in a unique way. We become bigger than ourselves. 
 
In today’s gospel, Jesus reminds us that our love binds us together and to him. Our love motivates us to keep his commandments and word, the measure of our being together in community. Love is a strong motivator. The strength of our love for Jesus is the measure of how well we keep his commandments and word, how well we care for each other. Why and how we keep Jesus’ command¬ments and word is, in the end, keeping him—the divine Word who was sent by the Father. Pentecost is a celebration of both the gift of the Spirit and the effects of that gift—we are sharers in the one Body of Christ who take up Jesus’ mission to preach the Good News of salvation. [Living Liturgy 2013]
 
The Father sent the “Advocate, the Holy Spirit” to teach us “everything.” What is this “everything” we need the Spirit to teach us? Why and how keeping Jesus’ commandments and word is the unconditional condition of loving him. Why and how this love is the wellspring of our relationship to Jesus and his Father in their Spirit. What the Spirit teaches us, in the end, is why we do anything and how we do everything.
 
 


The Ascension of The Lord

We, who have lost a loved one, know that their “spirit” often lives on long after their death. Certain situations will trigger our memory of them. Recalling what they said or did, we are inspired to live up to the legacy they have left us. In this way their presence continues through our words and actions.

We might well imagine the disciples overwhelming sense of grief and absence when Jesus ascended into heaven. As time will tell, Jesus’ absence will really mark the beginning of a new kind of presence. We, his followers, are commissioned to preach that suffering and death lead to new life and that forgiveness will be granted to all who seek forgiveness. His ascension is our commission because we are now His presence on earth.

His very absence calls us to be and do as Jesus. To put another’s needs above our own desires; to seek amends when forgiving another or letting go of grudges. And we don’t do this on our own, we are gifted with the very power of the Holy Spirit. Having experienced God’s saving action, we can be that saving action for others.

Adapted from Renew International Year B