Category: Lectio Divina

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” (Mt 28:5-7)

You who are busy, burdened, and weary—
you who wake each day to a world filled with uncertainty, division, and need—
this Easter moment is for you.

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary quietly, perhaps anxiously, set out to the place of their sorrow, where their Lord was laid in a tomb. They were not rushing. They carried no plans, no solutions—only sorrow.

It was dark. What were the thoughts that swirled in their hearts in the early hours after the Sabbath. Images of the Friday before, of Calvary, of the cold tomb, of the stone rolled between them and Jesus. They came to grieve, and yet, their desire to be near the Master they loved—and who so loved them—placed them at the heart of the greatest moment in history.

Suddenly the earth trembled. An angel of the Lord descended from heaven, rolling back the stone. Flashes of lightning lit up the inner shadows of their sadness, wiping away tears and memories and fear-filled anticipation, replacing it with a Face.

As they ran with hearts racing—carrying both fear and joy—Jesus met them himself. He met them on the road, right where they were.
And he repeated the words the angel had said moments before: “Do not be afraid. Go… I am going ahead of you.”

Benedict XVI declared at Easter in his Urbi et Orbi address in 2012: “Every Christian relives the experience of Mary Magdalene. It involves an encounter which changes our lives: the encounter with a unique Man who lets us experience all God’s goodness and truth, who frees us from evil not in a superficial and fleeting way, but sets us free radically, heals us completely and restores our dignity.”

Friend, in all your busyness, in your care for others,
in your worry over the state of the world,
hear this: you also are standing right now at the greatest moment in history as the clap of victory and the trumpet of glory announce: The tomb is empty. And Jesus is already ahead of you.

You do not carry this day alone.
You are not holding the world together by your effort.
You are not running toward an uncertain end—
You are being met by the Risen One who has already gone ahead of you.

So breathe.
Let this be your resurrection morning, too.

Once more, let us listen to Benedict XVI describing the power breaking into the world that morning of the resurrection: “Dear brothers and sisters! If Jesus is risen, then – and only then – has something truly new happened, something that changes the state of humanity and the world. Then he, Jesus, is someone in whom we can put absolute trust; we can put our trust not only in his message but in Jesus himself, for the Risen One does not belong to the past, but is present today, alive.”

Jesus, Risen One, let your joy rise in my heart at dawn. Bring me comfort in my fears, certainty and security in your love that will never let me go, never let us go. Let me run this day in a world bright with your glory as a quiet bearer of the truth every soul so longs to hear: The tomb is empty. Christ is alive, present today among us. All is made new. Alleluia.

Image credit: Photo by Josh Withers

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

“All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:14)

It’s a phrase that’s made its way into everyday wisdom—even outside of religious settings. We say things like:

“Pride comes before a fall.”
“What goes up must come down.”
“The higher you climb, the harder you fall.”
“Empty vessels make the most noise.”

And while all these sayings carry a certain truth, they don’t quite capture what Jesus is saying here.

In the parable, Jesus describes two men going up to the temple to pray. One is a Pharisee, the other a tax collector.

The Pharisee is confident. He recounts his spiritual résumé—his achievements, his goodness, his image.

He’s not exactly lying—he probably does fast and tithe. But he missed the point. He wasn’t praying to be known by God. He was performing. Sometimes when we pray we offer to God what we think will impress him. Or we simply remain wrapped in ourselves and chatter about the things that make us comfortable.

The Pharisee came to God to present an image of himself, not to have a relationship. He trusted in what he had made of his life.

But whatever we accomplish on our own steam—
even if it brings influence, power, success, or admiration—
it doesn’t last.
It can’t give us life.
It crumbles.

And God isn’t interested in images.
He wants us.

The tax collector shows us this: he speaks directly to God a humble, honest, vulnerable prayer that opens the door to a relationship with God even though he knew that what he was doing with his life was not something he was proud of.

He doesn’t pretend. He just shows up—with all of his regret, his weakness, his need. And that’s what moves the heart of God.

I remember the day I realized this in my own life—
that all that is good within me, any good that I do, is a gift of the Spirit.
I remember the freedom that swept over me.
The relief.
The tears.
The gratitude.

I didn’t have to prove anything anymore. I didn’t have to earn the love that was already being given. All I had to do was receive it. And let it change me.

Humility opens the door to relationship and grace. God doesn’t want your résumé. He wants your heart. So whether it is pride or fear that leads you to chatter about yourself to God, today come before him and simply say:

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Just a simple offering of your heart to the One who loves you.

And if you’re afraid that God doesn’t love you—or afraid to come close to Him—hear this: God doesn’t want your résumé. He doesn’t need your achievements, your image, or your explanations. He just wants you.

Image credit: Photo by Arina Krasnikova

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:43-45)

So who are those people or groups that you tend to push away from your heart and your compassion? What stirs in you as you hear these words of Jesus and look closely at these others, as you bring them near to yourself, as you make yourself aware of the realities that are a part of their life?

Jesus is not simply giving you a command here: grit your teeth and do the right thing. He is offering you an invitation to become whole, to grow into the fullness of your humanity by loving as God loves. Can you imagine yourself whole—completely free from fear or resentment… Complete in love… In a love that pours itself on the “deserving” and the “undeserving”? What would feel different for you? What would be different? How would the world be different?

This is the world God is creating: a world without hatred, without division, without fear. A world of peace, of justice, of wholeness. Jesus is calling us to imitate the very love of God, a love that gives freely, indiscriminately, and unconditionally. “For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (v. 45).

But such love is not within our reach by human effort alone. To love enemies is not a skill we can master through discipline or sheer will. To love in this way is to live now as citizens of God’s future kingdom.

Those who first heard the Sermon on the Mount were “astonished” at Jesus teaching as much as we are today each time it is proclaimed. It is beyond anything we, left to our own devices, could ever muster. Such a love can flow from our hearts if we have taken in the divine love that God has extended to us even though we haven’t deserved it (we don’t), often forget about it in our interest in other things, and could never return this love to God in the same measure. This is the love out of which we were created and the love we were created for: a love with open hands and open heart.

By loving in this way—by loving even our enemies and those who hate us—by imitating God, we make a current reality the love of the Kingdom of God and participate in building that reality even here and even now in whatever situation we live in, and with whoever is our “enemy.”

Image credit: Carl Bloch, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. 

John 1:1-18

Jesus the Christ, the Light of the world, the true Light of the world that pushes back the powers of darkness, lives and reigns! Christmas is a once-a-year revival of the fires of love and belief that burn in our hearts that there is more than what we see.

There is more than what is on the surface.

There is more than what tears at the fabric of human decency and moral integrity.

There is God.

And God is here.

There is more to Christmas than the cultural debate about what to call these sacred days which are celebrated by many in sacred but, by many more, in secular ritual.

There is more to Christmas than the holiday sparkle and warmth and nostalgia of the music and worship and memories that form our Christian identity.

There is more to Christmas than celebrating the “birthday” of Jesus Christ.

To discover the “more,” we need to dive deep, to sink below the surface of controversy and outrage, and open up to the mystery of God-with-us-here-and-now.

The essence of Christ’s coming to earth was to remain on this earth, to be here-and-now with each person, until the end of the world. Christ Jesus is here in his Body and Bride the Church. He is here in his eucharistic presence—the very present representation of the Incarnation—in churches and chapels great and small that stand in most cities in every country, flooding the world with the grace flowing from the Holy Mass offered almost continuously across the globe.

Christ Jesus is here in you and me, who remain before the world as its conscience, reminding people here-and-now that there is a God who loves them and calls them to holiness and to live in justice and to show mercy.

Jesus is “the true light, which enlightens everyone. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.”

We should not be surprised then, if we are not recognized by the world as one of their own. Outrageous responses when culture and media blatantly counter our way of life with displays of morality that counter the Beatitudes proclaimed by Jesus, miss the mark. For we also are Christ here-and-now. We are also called to be the light that pushes back the powers of darkness and the presence of despair. We are given the role of offering our lives as Jesus on the cross. We are lifted up as a lantern to point the way, to proclaim the truth, to provide sustenance from our Eucharistic living for others who long to know their life can find meaning.  

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

Image: Myriams-Fotos; pixabay.com

“Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”

Luke 21:34-36

A tender reading for the day before Advent. Be on guard. Don’t be lulled into sleep. Let not  dissipation and worry take you captive. Hold carefully and warmly those places in your heart that break—the disappointments, the losses, the depressing burdens. Be alert. The Son of Man, the Child of Bethlehem comes. Cling to the light that Advent promises, to the stars that brighten the darkened skies.  

It’s the eve of the glorious season of Advent.

The Gospel reminds us today to look around and take note of the need for Light, for Hope, for Mercy. A mother tells me her teenage daughter still hasn’t recovered from the isolation imposed in the Covid-19 lockdown. The tears almost capsize her. A grandpa worries his granddaughter will lose her way at college. A friend texts that her cousin has set a date for an abortion.

Be not weighed down by the worries of life, because God has entered into this life to be here with us as our very Life. Be not blinded by the darkness, because we begin from today to prepare for the birth of the Light of the world and the ultimate end of the night. Be not feeble of heart because Jesus conquers every death and restores joy.

Advent is about renewing the fires of joy and the eagerness of hope. It is for the child in us that needs innocence restored by the Child of Bethlehem.

Advent is about walking through the dark that surrounds us with eyes translucent with eagerness for the Kingdom.

Advent is about knowing that the victory of Christ is our victory, that God holds the power in love, and that nothing can wrest us out of his hand.

Image credit: Photo by Rebecca Peterson-Hall on Unsplash

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

Image: Myriams-Fotos; pixabay.com

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.

Luke 19:1-9

It was, it is true, a simple out-patient procedure: metatarsal surgery. It was simple, that is, until I had a stroke the evening of the surgery. Eleven days later I was still in the hospital—struggling to walk, to eat, to talk. That was forty years ago, and I can say that “most” of my life has been lived post-stroke. The confusion of those first weeks and months opened up into the quiet desperation of years of rehabilitation…, flowing into a mighty struggle to uncover my fear of God’s power over my life…, surrendering into the trust that this was and still is a moment of a grace for me through which God gathered the direction of my life toward himself forever.

With the stroke, God took me from the outside to the inside, from the surface to the deep, from the visible to the invisible, from ambition to powerlessness, from earth to heaven, from complacency to a wrestling with him, from healing to more healing to more brokenness to even deeper healing. It is kind of like Zacchaeus. Let me explain.

The little man we call Zacchaeus had his life all figured out. He knew who he thought he was. He knew what he was about. He knew what he wanted, what he had, what he could get when he needed it. On the surface, in what was visible, he was settled in a complacency that isolated him from the others in the village charged that day with the electric excitement of the arrival of Jesus.

Around the passing of Jesus through their town swirled stories of people freed from demonic possession, the lame and the blind and the mute and the deaf and the lepers suddenly released from the captivity of illness, sinners casting themselves down before him in sorrow and repentance and love only to become one of his traveling companions. There was something more to Jesus than the ordinary roving teacher who passed through their village of Jericho now and then. But Zacchaeus didn’t need any of that. He was fine the way he was. But he was just a little bit, just the tiniest bit, curious. And that curiosity sent him up the tree to stake out a spot as an observer, and an observer only.

That was me. No, I’m not short and I certainly don’t climb trees. But I thought, at twenty-one, I had my life all figured out, the externals of my vocation mastered. I didn’t know that I needed healing, that I needed Jesus to make an intervention so decisive in my life that it would bring me face to face with him, that I needed my expectations and strategies upended and the rug ripped out from under me, as Jesus so mercifully did for Zacchaeus.

“I mean to come to your house for dinner today.”

Friends, when Jesus calls you out of the tree, when he moves you from the efficiency of life-all-planed-out, when he intervenes in your plans with a graced but often painful stroke of mercy, climb out of that tree with Zacchaeus. Stand with your head held high. Commit yourself to this new and deepening relationship that Jesus is initiating, and bring the Master within to the areas of your life that are the most broken, and let him change you forever.

Saint Paul points to the truth of these “Zacchaeus moments” in this way: “So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure” (2 Cor 4:16-17 NRSVCE).

Image credit: James Tissot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Praying with this Passage of Scripture

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