One of my favorite moments of the long liturgical year is coming up soon. I’m thinking of the drama of the Easter Vigil. As we listen to the many readings, we can sense that something’s up. That dark altar looks laden with some kind of sweet perfume. All around the dark sanctuary we can see shadows of things wonderful and wise. What are these silent sentinels saying to us? We just commemorated The Triumph of the Cross the day before, with its terrifying Good Friday Passion. When we left the church, the altar was empty and stark. But now…

As soon as the last Old Testament reading is read, and the accompanying responsorial psalm is sung, something shifts. Like a heavy rain moments before the first sound of thunder, the smell of resurrection stirs in us. Could it be?

And then the lights begin to lift the darkness of Good Friday. We see now what was just shadows before. The sanctuary is filled with glorious lilies. The bells begin to ring. The first notes of the Gloria, not heard for forty days, strike up. Easter banners, hidden in darkness, are unfurled. The Elect come forward, beaming, in their beautiful Easter clothes. Spring flowers of every hue appear all over the church.

And then the fortunate reader charged with reading the first New Testament reading, the reading that precedes the Easter gospel, proclaims “Are you not aware… that if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall also be in the likeness of His resurrection?”

Lazarus, come out. All of our beloved dead, come out. Our broken hearts, come out. It’s Easter. You don’t’ want to miss it.

Do you sense that you are being united in Christ’s resurrection?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on John 4: 5-42

Nearly every story in John’s gospel has an underlying meaning. His imagery and symbols lure us into the story, and then astound us with the true meaning, which we somehow glean without anyone explaining it to us (but please, let me explain it anyway).

Take those five husbands of the Samaritan woman, for example. Hmm… Was it possible for a woman to have married five different men? She certainly could have been widowed many times, given the dangerous times her husbands must have experienced, either as soldiers or the victims of soldiers.

Could she herself have initiated and carried out even one divorce on her own? It’s doubtful that this woman of suspicious marital history just recklessly went from one man to another.

But remember, this is John’s gospel. So what’s the brilliant, hidden meaning? Might the “five husbands” actually be the five pagan tribes, each with its own pantheon of gods, that the conquering Assyrians sent into Samaria after their conquest of that land in 722 BCE? Over time, they sent tribes from other conquests of Babylon, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim into what was, at one time, Jewish Samaria.

Hence, the five “husbands,” the pagan overlords who brought apostasy to Samaria. And that last husband, who’s not her husband at all? Chances are that’s the strange mix of those five religions that she has pulled together for herself.

Or maybe the “five husbands” represent the Samaritan insistence on only following the first five books of the bible, the Pentateuch. Jesus loves quoting the prophets, the Law, and the Psalms. He wants to offer the “living water” of full revelation to this bright, thirsty Samaritan woman.

In what ways do you have layers of meaning in your life?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Matthew 17:1-9

My great friend and eloquent scripture scholar, Steve Mueller, has a compelling take on the Transfiguration, published in the winter edition of his daily scripture journal, Words of Grace.

Echoing Fr. Richard Rohr, he says that the three disciples Peter, James, and John (often the three eyewitnesses to cornerstone events in Jesus’ life) got a “peek at the really real” when Jesus was transfigured before them. In one flashing moment, they “saw” the ‘normally hidden divinity embodied in Jesus blazing forth for this one tiny moment in all its dazzling beauty.’

I’ve had lots of moments like that. Something a beloved family member or friend says or does suddenly reveals to me the dazzling beauty of their inner spirit.

Remember Thomas Merton’s famous reflection upon leaving his Trappist monastery for a medical appointment in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1958. While standing in the middle of a busy shopping district, he was overwhelmed with the realization that he was connected to all the strangers around him, even though he lived a monastic life. “There’s no way of telling people,“ he famously mused, “that they are all walking around shining like the sun.” I absolutely believe that, and am thrilled at the many experiences I’ve had, and continue to have, of the radiance of the brilliance and goodness of people around me, all “shining like the sun.”

But why did this moment cause such fear in the disciples? I wonder if they, utterly immersed in the Hebrew scriptures, trembled because they remembered that Moses’ face was radiant when he encountered God. Were they actually encountering God? And what did that mean for their own lives? Now that’s something that causes me to tremble.

In what ways have you encountered God through people “shining like the sun”?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Matthew 4:1-11

Hey, Big Shot. Yeah, you, the one cowering in the corner. You seemed like such a scary demon when you slinked out from under your desert rock and audaciously challenged the Alpha and the Omega, our Lord Jesus, before whom every knee shall bend.

You tried appealing to his hunger, fresh from his forty-day fast. How good those stones might have looked to him when you tempted him to turn them into loaves of bread. But no! He rebuked you, reminding you that the Word of God is the food our souls crave. How strong you were, O Christ. We beg you to give us that strength when hunger gnaws at us these forty days.

We’ve got to give it to you, Liar. You know how to throw the scriptures around. But we’re confused. When you invited Christ to throw himself from the pinnacle of the Temple, you dredged up the convenient passage from Psalm 91 about angels being in charge of him, and bearing him up with their hands (vss 11-12). All true, by the way.

But oh, past master of all evil, why suppress the verse that follows? You know, the one that says that he will “tread on you as on a cobra, and trample on you as on a serpent” (vs. 13)? Not your favorite verse, I suppose?

And get this. You tried to get the Author of All Life to believe that you, you penniless impostor, held the power to give him all the kingdoms of the world. You own NOTHING but your own eternal damnation. Jesus owns the heavens and the earth. Oh, and our souls, thanks be to God, forever and ever. AMEN.

My dear friends, we begin our fourteenth Lent together! You will each be in my prayers all season.

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Matthew 5: 17-37

Therapists and marriage counselors all agree on the number one behavior of engaged couples who aren’t going to make it: contempt. The rolled eyes, the crossed arms, the incredulous stare—these are all signs that at least one of the partners holds spoken (or maybe unspoken) contempt for the other. That’s a huge red flag, and a warning that there are many serious issues that need to be brought to light before this couple attempts to marry.

Sure, we all know the Ten Commandments, especially “Thou shalt not kill, “ but dig deep into the reasons for this command, and we find unspoken anger, violent language, and quiet contempt for the other. It’s usually considered bad form to bring this contempt into the light by actually saying out loud the ugliness we harbor in our hearts towards the people we secretly despise, but unless we truly repent of this contempt, it will eventually find its way out of our hearts and into malicious gossip, simmering rage, and, in the worst cases, physical violence.

This portion of the Sermon on the Mount thwarts our attempts to compromise our faith.  If your right hand is your trouble, gouge it out and throw it away. Yikes. Who among us hasn’t broken promises, harbored resentments, imagined the vengeance we would take if given the opportunity? I think this hyperbole that Jesus uses, to gouge out our eyes rather than be thrown into Gehenna, is a good example of the reasonable way to approach a challenging text like this. Everyone has temptations. Has anyone ever actually gouged out their eyes?

The greatest danger is to bask in our contempts. Pray that another isn’t doing the same towards you.

How will you use the upcoming Lent to disarm your resentments?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on Matthew 5: 13-16

Here’s an earthy explanation for Jesus’ words about salt, and how, after it loses its taste, is good for nothing but to be trampled underfoot.

In Israel, even today, many prefer cooking in clay ovens rather than on electric stoves. These ovens have been around since ancient times, and are undoubtedly what Jesus refers to when he speaks of the importance of salt.

The common fuel for these communal ovens was camel or donkey dung. It was the task of the girls in the family to gather the dung, mix salt in it, mold it into patties, and leave them in the sun to dry.

A slab of salt was placed at the base of the oven, and upon it the salted dung patty. Salt has catalytic properties that cause it to burn, so food can be cooked. Dung fuel is still used today.

Eventually, of course, the salt loses its catalytic capacity and becomes useless. Jesus says it’s good for nothing but to be thrown outside, where it can still provide a sure footing in a muddy road. Jesus is so earthy, so at home with the family life of his listeners. No wonder crowds followed him everywhere he went.

I recently read a book that I think you would love. Theo of Golden (by Allen Levi), demonstrates for the reader how to bring light to the world. As one reviewer put it,  You think you’re settling into a quiet story about companionship, but before you know it, you’re rethinking what it means to live a meaningful life. 

It’s like receiving a warm hug, or someone turning on the light in a dark room. It’s what the world needs now.

Who in your life is like salt, bringing joy and Light?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Matthew 5:1-12 

Most weeks, when I start this column, I bring up many of my favorite spiritual writers to see what they have to say about that week’s readings. But this week, when praying about the Beatitudes, one name surfaced loudly and clearly: Father Greg Boyle, SJ, founder of Homeboy Industries,  the world’s largest gang intervention and rehabilitation program, ( and yes, there is now Homegirl Industries, too.)

Greg Boyle understands those who are poor, and weak, and grieving. He employs hundreds of them, some right out of prison, in his bakeries and restaurants in Los Angeles. He also understands, intimately, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. He’s at the top of that list.

His teaching on the Beatitudes is simple. It’s just geography. It’s not about WHAT to be, but WHERE to be, which is always with the vulnerable. True blessing isn’t health or wealth, but finding life and joy in solidarity with those the world rejects, even if it leads to crucifixion, since that’s where Jesus is.

So, a re-write of the Beatitudes might be, “You know you’re in the right place if…you are singlehearted, working for justice, showing mercy, working for peace.”

But how do we who have never been materially poor crowd in with, as Richard Rohr writes, the poor in spirit, whose “material poverty has broken their spirit”?  My only answer is to hang out with people who serve those who are poor with abundant love.

Christ, who will always side with the poor, begs us to place ourselves in proximity to “the weak of the world,” so that we too may learn from them. Theirs is the kingdom.

Have you ever been inspired by someone who is “humble and lowly”?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on Matthew 4: 12-23

And so it begins. Jesus learns that John has been arrested (Matthew 4:12-23) and is being held in Herod’s terrifying, lonely dungeon.  The back story of his arrest isn’t given to us by Matthew for another ten chapters (14:1-13). I

It’s then that he tells the whole ghastly story of John’s arrest by Herod Antipas, and his beheading at the behest of Herod’s illegally wedded wife, Herodias.

But this is all to come. When today’s gospel opens, we only know that John has been put in prison. This event marks the end of John’s ministry, and the beginning of Jesus’ public life. One senses the strong foreboding Jesus must have felt. His forerunner is gone, and now he must fulfill the words of his baptism: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

At first, he retreats to Galilee, perhaps realizing he may have no other time to be with his Mother. When he leaves Nazareth, it’s crucial to note that he travels north, straight to the lands of Zebulon and Naphtali. These were called the “Galilee of the Gentiles” because, eight centuries earlier, the violent nation of Assyria had invaded those lands, dragged the Jews away, and repopulated the land with Gentiles.

Jesus is the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy about those lands: “On those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death, a light has arisen” (9:1-2). It’s to these “half-breed” people, forgotten Gentiles living in Jewish territories, that Jesus’ first words of hope and consolation are preached.

Imagine living there and seeing Jesus before anyone else. Wherever we are, Jesus will go and find us.

What would you say to Jesus if he came to find you?

Kathy McGovern c. 2026

Reflecting on John 1: 29-34

I don’t generally think of John the Baptist as a dreamer, or a star-gazer. But today he admits to seeing a vision: I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from heaven and remain upon him.  

Why do these biblical figures have visions and dreams, and we don’t? My great Denver friend Fr. Pat Dolan thinks that modern humans have “evolved” away from the deep gifts of intuition and “seeing” that was common to the ancients. Two thousand years ago, the great Baptizer met Jesus, reluctantly complied with his wish to be baptized, and then actually saw the Spirit descend upon him.

But here’s the thing: I think we, too, often see the Spirit descend. Think of your favorite homilist. Don’t you “see” the Spirit descend when he digs deep into the scriptures and gives you something rich and beautiful upon which to meditate?

Watch your friends with their grandchildren. Years and years of parenting seem to have given them a sixth sense about how to listen to these dear ones, how to truly “see” them, and how to navigate their temporary whining and bring them back to that gentle place of delight and content that makes being with them such a joy.

Or think of the musicians you know. Watch them sit down at the piano and take mastery of it. Can you see the Spirit descend? Think of any person you love, really. Aren’t there many times a day when you “see” the Spirit descend as they bring kindness into the world?

Make this the year when you pay closer attention to the Spirit’s “descent.” Chances are, the Spirit hovers over you all the time.

What person in your life seems to have the Spirit’s presence always?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on Matthew 3: 13-17

He says many fiery things in the gospels, this cousin of Jesus. He rants about broods of vipers trying to escape the coming wrath. He rails against adulterous Herods and their adulterous wives. But the sentence I most associate with him—other than his embryonic announcement of the Messiah from his mother’s womb—is what he says about Jesus: I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals. It touches me deeply that, at the height of his renown in the desert, he was willing to step out of the frame so that Jesus could come into perfect focus.

Oh, to see Thee more clearly, Jesus. I long for it. The entire Catholic Culture presses me to see You in Your most distressing disguise, those who are poor in all kinds of ways. I try not to know about them, but, of course, that will be a ridiculous defense when I meet you. I will never be able to say I didn’t know.

Maybe I try not to know because I so deeply recognize that I’m not worthy to loosen the sandals of those whose lives are so challenging. I couldn’t do for one day what aging grandparents are doing to keep their imperiled grandchildren safe and sheltered. I know I couldn’t do for more than a few hours what those caring for spouses and parents with dementia do, endless day after endless day.

I am aware of the giants around me. But this year, I resolve to look for Jesus in the daily courage of the unseen, people whose challenges I could never, never meet. Step into the frame, Jesus. I long to see You.

Who are the people whose sandals you are unworthy to loosen?

Kathy McGovern ©2026