Reflecting on John 6: 51-58

Turn your radio on. That’s the only way to truly tune into the precise and beautiful wavelength of the Fourth Gospel. The author of the Gospel of John is determined to take his readers on a different, more intuitive, more poetic journey into Jesus’s signs, and the glory of his death and resurrection.

Take these five weeks of intense study of John 6. Did you notice, last Holy Thursday, that even though we always hear from John’s version of the Last Supper on that night, he is the only evangelist who doesn’t mention the words of Consecration? John doesn’t include them in remembering Jesus’ words and actions on the night of his arrest. Instead, it’s only John who tells us that Jesus took great pains to wash his disciples’ feet that fateful night.

Now, it’s very probable that John already knew the Synoptic (“same eye”) gospels well. The theory is that they had circulated widely in the decades after the Resurrection, so he wasn’t interested in repeating what Mark, Matthew, and Luke had already told so beautifully about the giving of the Eucharist on Holy Thursday. He chose, instead, to link the basin and the towel, where the glory of God is revealed when we serve one another.

Besides, as we see so powerfully these five weeks in the summer of Cycle B, where Mark’s gospel is interrupted so the whole Church can meditate on John’s lesson on the Eucharist, we learn everything we need in his sixth chapter. But this requires us to fiddle with the channels of our brains, quietly waiting for the John Channel to bring in the voice of Jesus, loud and clear.

How has your embrace of the Eucharist changed over your lifetime?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on 1 Kings. 19: 4-8

The one experience I’ve had of being hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and miles away from home was a boiling hot summer day in 1993. EKKLESIA, the Christian music group from Denver, was singing at the World Youth Day event in Cherry Creek State Park. We walked into the park, singing the psalms all the way. We were energized, and thrilled to be part of the historic event.

Coming out several hours later, I was sunburned, thirsty, hungry, and in pain. Hundreds of thousands were in the park, all jostling for the same resources. My endlessly merciful husband Ben carried me out of the park and gave me nearly all his water. Like Elijah, I “came to” and made the rest of the journey on my own.

Last week, my sister and brother-in-law were hiking in one-hundred-degree heat in Yosemite. Short on water, they somehow became separated, and both of their phones were nearly dead. Nearly unconscious from the heat, Mollie was miraculously noticed by a passerby, who took her to the lodge where she was staying. She and John were reunited soon after. Married for 55 years, this was the closest they’d ever come to something terrible happening. After water and food, they “came to” and continued their vacation.

I’ve written before about the heavenly strangers who saw 19-year-old Ben, lying in the desert heat next to his bike. At first, they drove by, but then, worried, returned. They lifted him into their station wagon and drove to the nearest Catholic Church, where the bishop’s housekeeper nourished him back from sunstroke.

That angel who revived Elijah for his long walk ahead has certainly been active in my life, too.

What angels have met you in the deserts of your life?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Manna. Yuck. Can you imagine a multitude of half a million people, hungry and thirsty, in a terrifying desert? Crying out to the mysterious God of Moses, they begged for food, and what did they get? Some evaporated dew. It seems it was a small, round, wafer-like cake that resembled hoar frost. The Israelites used it to make bread, which they called “bread from heaven.”

My friend Celeste remembers leading a group in the Sinai years ago, and actually seeing quail fall from the sky. Exhausted by trying to fly over the desert heat, they fell, giving the pilgrims a first-hand look at what the Israelites were given as food.

So, manna and quail. For forty years. No wonder they initially hungered for that place of slavery, where the fleshpots and bread filled their bellies, even though their cruel Egyptian masters administered it.

Little by little, though, they grew used to trusting that the same God who had called them to walk out of Egypt would provide their daily bread. Water from rocks, quail and bread from the sky,  at some point they adapted to the food God sent. They even learned to gather up the double portions God sent on Friday, so they would have food for the Sabbath.

Sometimes, I wonder how long we could last at our house if the grocery stores (and restaurants) closed and we had to make do with what we have in the cupboard right now. And that begs the question, why are our cupboards so full if we never take anything out? The lesson of the manna is to trust God, and not hoard. I’m making a run to the food pantry.

Have you ever had to trust God every day for food?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on John 6: 1-15

According to a (very flawed) survey from several years ago, many Catholics see the Eucharist as a “symbolic reminder.”

Does that seem plausible to you? I’ve never believed it. I think those who responded didn’t understand the meaning of “transubstantiation.” A Catholic who doesn’t believe in REAL PRESENCE is the equivalent of a science student who thinks the earth is flat. The most critical building block for Catholic faith is missing, and a house without a strong foundation cannot stand.

The next step in dismantling the faith would be to believe that the gospels are “symbolic reminders” too. Every miracle is symbolic; every story involving Jesus is an invention of the evangelists. Let’s test that theory with today’s gospel, the first of our four-week interruption of Mark’s gospel with the Eucharistic stories in John 6.

Did the multiplication of the loaves and fish really happen, or is it symbolic? All four gospels assure us that it REALLY HAPPENED, and, as usual, John’s gospel gives us some new information. For example, why does Jesus ask Philip where to go to buy food for the massive group of followers? Because Philip is from Bethsaida (the likely locale for this miracle), and the word Bethsaida means “fishing village.” Philip was precisely the person to ask.

Why barley loaves? Because the feast of Passover, which only John tells us was “at hand,” coincides with the barley harvest. And why did Jesus choose this particular day in the Jewish calendar to feed the multitudes? Because it echoes the story of God feeding the hungry, wandering Israelites in the Exodus from Egypt, which is, of course, the Passover story. (Ex. 16).

So beautiful. So REALLY TRUE.

How does learning the background of the gospel stories stir and build your faith?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on Mark 6: 30-34

There are shepherds in our lives who may have gone to God decades ago but live in our DNA so deeply that, without our realizing it, are still touching us many times a day. I’m sure dear Miss McMurria, my kindergarten teacher, would be shocked to know that a photo of our play (I was a stalk of corn) rotates with hundreds of other photographs on my computer screen. My life flashes before me every two to three days, and there she is, young and beautiful, smiling at the camera. That was 68 years ago. That was yesterday.

When I stand in front of a classroom of adult students, I bless my high school speech teacher, who taught me how to quiet my nerves and project to the end of the room. And I never teach a word of scripture without channeling my own scripture teachers. They are with me in every word.

And yes, there have been some terrible shepherds, too. Every math teacher I ever had made me cry, and I realize now how I must have made them cry, too, when they saw me walk into the room. I’ve heard some terrible homilies. I’ve listened to many stunningly beautiful ones.

What kind of shepherd are you? Are you the friend who glibly promises to pray for a friend’s teenager but never does? The parent who checks your phone hundreds of times daily but checks in with your kids far less? The aging parent who tells your aching adult child that you refuse to revisit the past? Or are you that strong, wonderful shepherd whose sheep feel utterly safe and loved?

Each of us is shepherding someone. How will you be remembered?

Who is a particularly great shepherd in your life?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on Amos 7: 12-15

Sometimes, when I read a beautiful scripture text, I wander off into the world the text describes. It’s fun to imagine little Amos talking back to the big-shot priest in the king’s sanctuary. Amaziah isn’t happy with the challenges Amos presents to him and to the affluent Jews living in the North. Amos keeps harping on the scandal of the financial inequities that exist in the North. The rich have found a way to make many times more than those who are poor, and they don’t care about the suffering of those who missed out on the big economic windfalls. Sound familiar?

Amaziah is cozy with the king. And then this Amos shows up, as annoying as sand in your swimsuit. Go back and make a living as a prophet in your own hometown! They don’t have any money there. They’ll like your rampages against unethical business practices!

This is funny. Amaziah assumes Amos is in the prophecy business because he can make a living from it. Why else would someone set up shop in a new town and start criticizing the (deeply heretical) status quo? Amos rails back that he was just a shepherd and dresser of trees, minding his own business, when God called him to leave it all and move up north to speak of God’s great displeasure with how religion and royal power have converged there.

But then my mind wandered to this from the responsorial psalm, another convergence, but the kind with God in the middle of it: kindness and truth shall meet, justice and peace shall kiss. Imagine kindness and truth meeting. Imagine justice and peace kissing. Imagine that world. Amos imagined it, too.

How have you tried, in your own way, to build a more just society?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on 2 Corinthians 12: 7-10

This is the fifth Sunday in a row in which we’ve read from 2 Corinthians. I’m so glad we conclude today with my favorite phrase from that entire letter: My grace is sufficient for you (12:9). I must remind myself of that promise a few times every day, and it’s true every single time.

Now, there were times when I experienced grace in droves—tons and tons of it. And there were a few times—getting further and further in the rearview mirror, thank God—when the only grace I could cling to was that exact scripture, hanging under a photograph on my bedroom wall. It became my mantra, and, over time, the grace I begged for visited me again.

I suppose it depends on what the word “sufficient” means. Today, healthy and robust, sufficient grace means the grace to meet the world with competence, preparation, and prayer. Many, many years ago, sufficient grace meant enough strength to breathe. I need more grace, I told God. My grace is sufficient for you, the poster on the wall replied. Just barely, I returned. Just barely.

It’s possible that some dear reader out there today is hanging on by the barest thread of grace. Maybe it’s a terrible physical illness. Perhaps it’s a terrible loss. Perhaps it’s despair. It’s possible that some reader has already begged God for more grace already today. Okay, Church, let’s do this:

Imagine that person. God knows who it is, so we don’t have to. Pray for sufficient grace for him or her. As Elizabeth said to Mary at the Visitation, “Happy are you who believed that the promise of the Lord would be fulfilled” (Luke 1:45).

Do you need more grace today? Expect that you are included in this prayer.

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on Responsorial Psalm 30: 2, 4, 5-6, 11, 12, 13

Every time that refrain for the Responsorial Psalm comes up in the lectionary—I will praise you, Lord, you have rescued me—I find myself singing it all week. I hope you do, too. I hope you feel rescued.

Just in case you don’t, practice this for a week. Several times a day, notice how you were rescued. Maybe you delayed changing lanes for a second, and then saw that speeding car come tearing down the lane into which you nearly drove.

Maybe you were out for your walk and happened to notice the crack in the sidewalk that wasn’t there yesterday, just before you went careening into it. Maybe you had something gossipy and mean on the tip of your tongue, and you stopped just before spitting it out into the world. Good for you. You grabbed God’s grace, and you were rescued.

Sometimes, the very thing that looks like failure ends up being rescue. Aren’t you glad you DIDN’T end up with your junior-high girlfriend/boyfriend? (But apologies to those who did. Congratulations!)

It causes me to tremble when I think of all the things, terrible or just inconvenient, from which God has rescued me. (Someday I’ll regale you with my medical history.) And you know what? All of those Rescues have built up a history of faith in me, so that when the day comes when, for any reason, I am beyond rescue, I’ll remember that the same God who was faithful to me in the past will be faithful to me as I pass into the valley of the shadow of death.

That’s where the greatest rescue of all is waiting for each of us.

What is your best story about being rescued? Tell someone today. It builds a reservoir of faith.

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on Mk. 4: 35-41

Is there any silence as palpable as the silence of God? Those disciples in that quaking boat railed against it so much that they were able to wake Jesus, who was serenely asleep during the storm. Sure, he rebuked them and wondered at their paltry faith, but the scolding was worth it. He did, after all, arouse and calm the terrifying sea.

If only we could be in that boat and scream so loud that Jesus would wake and heal all the storms in our lives. If only he would wake from his deep sleep and heal every person we love who needs his healing gaze so much.

I just finished reading Richard Gaillardetz’s stunning memoir of his terminal illness, While I Breathe, I Hope (Liturgical Press, 2024).  Every chapter of the book takes the reader further into the last months of his illness from Stage Four pancreatic cancer. Terrible as his suffering was, he graciously included in each chapter short passages from some of the great Christian writers throughout history. Each of them had wrestled with the silence of God, and each had come to the same conclusion:

In God’s seeming silence, there is the clear voice of the Body of Christ. As my great friend Father Patrick Dolan says, “When we say that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, the operative word there is WE.” If the Body of Christ rallies around, supports, prays with, and pulls as hard as it can to release us from the terrors of death, there is Christ in the midst of us.

Find someone who needs your strong, fierce love today. That’s Christ himself, roaring at the sea.

What experience have you had of the Body of Christ standing with you?

Kathy McGovern ©2024

Reflecting on Mk. 4:26-34

It’s that time of year again, and it shocks me every time. The perennials on the side of our house have come up, with absolutely no effort or attention on our part, dancing in the breeze and saying, “Surprise! We’ve been here all along, just waiting for sunshine and rain!”

I can’t get over how KIND they are to keep popping up, riots of purple and pink, in spite of our profound neglect for the past nine months. Of its own accord the land yields fruit. God has created this brilliant memory in our gardens and fields. Of their own accord they come back, year after year.

Now, all you farmers are nodding, but also vehemently noting that EVERY harvest requires the back-breaking effort of sowing and tilling the grain, year after year.  But still, the wheat secretly grows beneath the winter snow. That’s God’s creative, utterly dependable work. And the rest of our lives are like that, too.

It took seventeen years, but I am finally in remission from my (easy) chronic leukemia. Around the same time, my veins healed from damage done during the original diagnosis all those years ago. And just last week I slipped into a cute pair of summer sandals, after clogging around in orthopedic shoes for a decade.

If given the blessing of time, we’ll see healing in many parts of our lives. Huh, we might say. When did I stop feeling resentful toward that person? Or,  Huh, I can see now why I got that poor job evaluation.  Or even, Huh. When did my cold go away? I didn’t even notice.

It’s God’s great secret, this healing. We know not how.

What healings have you noticed over time?

Kathy McGovern ©2024