Reflecting on Matthew 10: 26-33

If you spend much time in the company of Jesuits who lived in Latin America in the eighties and nineties, it won’t be long before you hear the name Mev Puleo. I’ve noticed that she is the dearest friend, the most beloved companion of the Jesuits who were alive and living in Central and South America during those wrenching years of war and struggle.

She was, by all accounts, a radiantly joyful young American woman whose life changed on a bus ride, much like that world-changing train ride St. Teresa of Calcutta took in 1946. Both women looked out a window—Mev as a teenager on a family trip to Brazil in 1977, Mother Teresa traveling from Calcutta to Darjeeling —and observed the staggering distance between the world of the privileged and those who never had a chance.

Mev lived and worked as a photojournalist in El Salvador, Haiti and Brazil. She documented, from the eloquent silence of her camera, the daily courage and kindness of those who are poor, and the malevolent oppression of those who prey upon them.

She spoke in the light what she witnessed in the dark. She even, of all terrifying things, once witnessed a rape in progress. She drove her old Volkswagen up to the sidewalk and shone her headlights right onto the scene. The rapist hollered for her to leave, and when she held fast, he left instead.

Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed. She used her camera to announce far and wide the atrocities suffered by the “least” at the hands of the “greatest.” If this gospel passage (Matthew 10:26-33) brings to mind some times when you held your tongue when someone told a racist joke, take it as a nudge from the Holy Spirit to be more courageous next time.

How will you proclaim from the housetops what God has whispered in your heart?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on John 6: 51-58

This will be the strangest celebration of the Body and Blood of Christ—more familiar to most of us as Corpus Christi—in my lifetime.

Separated from our communities of worship, most of us are connecting through the excellent virtual Masses our parishes are providing. A small percentage of us are venturing back to the churches that are open, wearing masks and keeping our distance.

But keeping our distance from the Eucharist is an oxymoron. Draw near to me, says Jesus. Remain in me. But how does one draw close to the Body and Blood of Christ when one is home, worshiping from the bedroom?

I’ve been thinking a lot about hummingbirds during this quarantine. Think of the effort it takes for the hummingbird to extract nectar from a flower. It must hover in mid-air, flapping its wings at rates up to 80 flaps a second. And it remains in that posture, using every ounce of its strength, until it has all the sugars it needs to fuel its rapid flight.

Are you hovering near Jesus as you watch the thousands of young people who are peacefully begging for real change? Drink from the life-giving nectar of their thundering calls for conversion of heart.

Are you using this sacred time at home to draw near to spiritual reading you may have neglected in the past? There is an explosion of magnificent Catholic writing all over the ‘net, and I’ll bet your own library at home has some great books—maybe something of St. Augustine, or C.S. Lewis—you haven’t discovered yet.

We aren’t together in our churches quite yet, but we remain in the Body. Hover close, and drink.

How are you enriching your spiritual life during this quarantine?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on 2 Corinthians 13: 11-13

One of the many touching things I’ve learned through the years of writing this weekly column is how seriously Christians take the gift of their faith. It’s different these days, I think. Catholics who have withstood the many horrible sexual abuse scandals, and financial scandals, that have staggered faith and hardened hearts through the past decades are not just holding on because their parents baptized them as babies.

They hold on because they read, and pray, and are constantly learning about the faith they love. When we arrive at the Solemnity of the Trinity, for example, I’m always inspired by the deep and intuitive reflection in which today’s Catholics have invested in order to come to their own understanding of what it all means.

For example, if you asked any adult Christian what the first part of that closing blessing St. Paul offers in today’s second reading—“The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ”—means to them, you’ll get a rich reflection on the ways grace has directed their lives.

The second half of the blessing—“the love of God”—is probably the easiest, because all Christians can tell you how the love of God is living and active in their lives.

The third part of the Trinitarian formula—”and the fellowship of the Spirit”—will be easy too, especially since we are smack in the post-Pentecost octave. I can’t imagine active Christians who can’t relate the ways in which the Holy Spirit lives in their hearts and spirits.

We don’t need theological explanations for what we’ve experienced through lifetimes of prayer and attentiveness to the liturgy and scripture. Grace, and love, and intimacy. That’s the meaning of the Trinity.

Why do you think one of the Persons of the Trinity might attract you more than the Others?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on Acts 2: 1-11

Come, oh Holy Spirit, come!

We feel You ever more, our own.

It’s You who’ve sent the personnel

Who’ve risked their lives to get us well.

It’s on You scientists alight

To give them wisdom in this fight.

And You, oh Spirit, whose cool breath

Companioned those we won’t forget.

Those loved ones, left alone, it seemed.

But You, sweet Spirit, who redeemed

Those last sad moments, with Your grace,

When they met Jesus, face to face.

It’s You, Oh Spirit, we received

On that day we first believed.

Please dwell in us, Spirit, once again.

We ask, in Jesus’ name, AMEN.

In what ways can you sense the Holy Spirit working in the events of these past months?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on John 17: 1-11A

I almost never get to talk about today’s gospel reading. I’m so glad I finally have the chance to tell you the greatest news you’ve ever heard. Here it is: YOU ARE ALREADY IN HEAVEN.

Now, at this moment in history that may seem like very bad news indeed, as in Seriously? Heaven is being stuck in the house all day and night, terrified of a horrible virus? If this is heaven, what’s hell?

Well, you make a point. It doesn’t seem like heaven, except for the most important fact about your life: you know Jesus. Now this is eternal life, that they should know you, the only true God, and the one whom you sent, Jesus Christ (Jn. 17:3).

If you were an infant on the day of your baptism, your Godparents answered those all-important questions for you: Do you believe in God? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his Son? They answered YES for you, and your life’s task has been, with all your heart, to answer YES on your own.

It’s in that YES that eternal life begins right here on earth. That YES lifts the believers up into that realm that holds them, through sickness, and loss, and grief, and even pandemics. I can do all things in Christ, who strengthens me (Phil. 4:13),says the one whose YES has taken him or her into eternal life right here on earth.

The one who knows Jesus already has a taste of heaven. That does not mean that we are immune from the terrors of this life. It means that holding fast to Jesus anchors us to Him whose comfort and healing is a foretaste of the next.

How has knowing Jesus throughout your life lifted you up?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on 1 Peter 3: 15-18

How often do you cry these days? I admit that I cry nearly every day, always in response to some heroic act I see featured on tv. When I hear the first responders–the ambulance drivers and EMTs, especially–describe desperately trying to get a patient to the hospital before they die, I can barely watch.

But when they interview the exhausted nurses and doctors, and hear their answers to the inevitable questions about how they are getting through their shifts without breaking down, I long to hear just one of them reference that scripture text we have today from I Peter: Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.

In Catholic New York, I Iong to hear at least one baptized and confirmed health care hero say, “Well, I’m Catholic. That means I’m never alone. I bring the whole Body of Christ with me when I put on my protective equipment and enter the ward. And, of course, I have all the angels and saints holding me through my shift every day.”

In my daily prayer I picture those angels and saints holding parents tight, giving them patience and strength as they face another ALL KIDS ALL DAY marathon. I picture angels guiding and holding every kind of First Responder .

The reason for our hope, right in the middle of this terror, is that the Holy Spirit is guiding the researchers and every person placing their precious lives on the line. Where is God in all of this? Right there in the ambulance, right there in the ventilator. God did not make death. That is the reason for our hope.

Do you ever share with anyone the reason for your hope?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on Acts 6:1-7

Every time I read that account from Acts that admits that the Greek-speaking widows were being left out of the daily distribution of food by the Hebrew-speaking men, I remember that horrible scene from Titanic. You know the one, where, in the panic for the lifeboats, those in third-class steerage were locked out of the gate that led to the boats so that as many of the wealthier passengers as possible could board.

It turns out that wasn’t actually the case. They weren’t “locked out,” but, in fact, a far higher percentage of those in steerage died that night than those on the upper decks. One explanation posited was that many of them were immigrants who didn’t speak English, and therefore didn’t understand the instructions that came over the loudspeaker.

It’s not hard to imagine that those earliest Christians, forming those communities of believers who “shared all things in common,” simply didn’t see the Greek-speaking widows. They were foreigners, and they didn’t speak the language of the dominant culture. The fact that the leadership assigned Greek-speaking deacons to make sure their widows were being fed betrays a huge crack in the Church from the get-go. If those in the minority were going to be fed, they had to find people who actually saw them so they could feed them.

This quarantine period has exposed the fissures in our own culture, hasn’t it? Today I saw a heartbreaking and inspiring story of an African-American mother who drives her two honor-roll students to the bus stop every morning and sits in the car with them all day so they can keep up with their school work. Why? Because they can get an internet connection there. I see her now.

Whom do you see more clearly now that the isolation period is winding down?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on John 10: 1-10

It’s so funny, isn’t it, watching the videos of lions sunbathing in the streets, and goats cavorting through towns as if they owned the joint? The delicious irony is that the humans are locked up, and the animals are running free.

I suspect that they are just as curious as we are about what’s going on these days. It must be surreal for them to have cities all to themselves. Where are all the humans? Is this a thing now, or will they be back tomorrow, shouting at us to get back to our designated habitats?

While they’re looking for us, we’re looking at them, and laughing. We can see firsthand what life was like before humans invaded, and dominated, the spaces once ruled by wildlife.

That will all change, of course, and humans will tame their plazas and streets soon enough. But for this one moment, writing as I am on this cleanest Earth Day ever, we can observe our beautiful planet from the magnificent views of pristine Los Angeles air, clear Venetian rivers, and the gorgeous snow-capped Himalayas.

Oh Jesus, Shepherd of our souls, take loving care of us during this most upsetting time. As we ask You, with every breath, to wipe the scourge of this virus from the earth forever, we also ask You for the wisdom and the will to change our hearts this time.

Good Shepherd, hold us carefully as you guide us through the months and years to come. Our planet cries out for You. Give us wise guidance and global solidarity. In these weeks before Pentecost, give us the wisdom to partner with your Holy Spirit in  renewing the face of the earth.

What will you ask the Good Shepherd for today?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on Luke 24: 13-35

It takes about two months to form a new habit, but I’ll bet collective trauma bakes in a new habit a lot faster. I suspect that because, after just eight weeks or so of maintaining a six-foot distance from everyone, I’m shocked that the “Stranger” just walked right up to the two disciples (Cleopas and Mrs. Cleopas) and started talking to them.

Was he wearing a mask? Were they? More disturbingly, when he broke the Bread with them, did they all share it from a common plate? Probably. There would be hundreds of devastating plagues in the two millennia to come. There is no evidence there was one in that room that night.

These disciples of Jesus had been in Jerusalem for Passover, and had (perhaps) even witnessed his horrifying crucifixion. And yet, they didn’t recognize him until his Risen Body broke through time and space, met them on the road, revealed the scriptures to them, and then revealed himself to them (and us) in the breaking of the bread.

Do you feel like your eyes have been opened during this strangest of all seasons? Mine are opened wide. The healed air quality is breaking through a century of brown cloud. I stand outside at night and see the STARS! Then, our young neighbor comes outside and plays a beautiful piece on his flute. All the neighbors applaud. Our hearts burn within us.

My eyes are opened wide about who the essential workers are, too. From now on, every teacher of any grade gets a 100% raise. Grocery store workers get our warmest respect. And health care workers? They own our hearts. And our hearts burn within us with gratitude.

How have your eyes opened since this experience?

Kathy McGovern ©2020

Reflecting on John 20: 19-31

Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.”

And there you have it. The doors were locked, but Jesus came in anyway. Apparently they had been social-distancing all week, ever since Easter night when Jesus appeared to them while Thomas was away. They were quarantining—which means “forty days,” of all sublime things—from the Jewish leaders. They were terrified of the highly contagious virus of Fear and Power that was apparently driving a search for them in the city.

Mary Magdalene had come tearing through town on Easter morning, crying out that the stone was rolled away and Jesus was not in the grave. After the footrace to the tomb, the two male disciples entered. Jesus had left his face mask behind. (When One is bursting from death to life, the old restrictions are superfluous.) They saw, and believed.

The female disciple, however, remained at the tomb, and her great love was rewarded. She raced back to that locked room, weeping and laughing and shouting, “I have seen the Lord!”

So, the quarantined disciples first heard the news from Peter and the Beloved Disciple, then from Mary Magdalene, and then from Jesus himself! And Thomas wasn’t there for any of it. No wonder he needed to place his hands in the Wounds. His own dark doubts had taken him to a terrible place.

Are your doors locked and your windows closed, sheltering while the Surge races through your city? No worries. The Divine Mercy has already come through the door and is with you, comforting your wounds and placing your trembling hands in his.

Jesus, we trust in You.

In what mysterious ways have you felt that resurrection is afoot?

Kathy McGovern  © 2020