Reflection for Sunday, May 12, 2019 (Fourth Sunday of Easter) by Eleanor Rabnett

World Day of Prayer for Vocations – May 11/12, 2019

First Reading:  Acts 13.14, 43-52

Second Reading:  Revelation 7.9, 14b-17

Gospel:  John 10.27-30

Today on this World Day of Prayer for Vocations and the 4^th Sunday of Easter our Gospel is very short as Jesus speaks about his sheep – Jesus knows them and they know Jesus. He is speaking of relationship. When Jesus said: ‘I and the Father are one,’ he was moving in the world of personal relationship and it is this which he shares with us – it is this we are invited to join in – a personal relationship with Jesus and the world.

Jesus speaks to us today in his own voice using words like shepherd and sheep; he is not quoting scripture but stating who he is – this is his voice. He speaks of how he and the Father are one and then invites us to enter into relationship with him just as he is with the Father.

This is what vocation, a call from God looks like. More than a job or career it’s the relationship that we have with God and then with all those around us.

We heard in the first reading what Paul and Barnabas were responding to what the Lord told them:  “I have set you as a light for the Gentiles, that you should bring salvation to the uttermost parts of the earth.” Paul and Barnabas responding with their lives and entering into a new relationship with Jesus and with the rest of the world.

I mentioned earlier that Jesus was responding using his own voice – he was stating who he was and how he was living.  I think maybe that is what we do when we respond to God’s invitation – our lived response is our voice which speaks more loudly sometimes than any words we might offer.  Our relationships of love speak volumes.

John Shea focuses on us finding our own voice which might be slow and tentative at first and only as time progresses do we find ownership in our voice that God has given to us, called us to live. He tells us an old Jewish spiritual teaching story: “When Rabbi Zusya grew old and knew that his time on earth was nearing a close, his students gathered around him. One of them asked him if he was afraid of dying. “I am afraid of what God will ask of me,’ the Rabbi said. “What will he ask you?’ “He will not ask me, ‘Zusya, why were you not like Moses?’ He will ask me, ‘Zusya, why were you not Zusya?”

God calls us, speaks to us, leads, holds, guides and invites us to be who we have been created to be – ourselves.  That is our vocation – that is what the Church prays for today – that we all hear God call our name.  It’s a one step-at-a-time, one day-at-a-time. To be mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers; doctors, lawyers, teachers, waiters, sales persons, carpenters, priests, religious… It’s not so much of the ‘what we do’ but how we do it.

Sometimes God speaks to us – whispers directly in our hearts but at other times God uses us as his instruments, as his voice.

God does not just call us once and then walk away – we hear Him during the course of our life-long journey. I am called to be a Lay Oblate Associate and member of the Mazenodian Family. It is most perfect for me and I love who I am called to be, and how I am called to live. It is from this way of being, seeing life through this lens that I respond to God’s invitation. Each of us are invited to be as God creates us – that is what is perfect for each one of us.

Joe Gunn – a member of St. Joe’s wrote a short reflection for today’s scripture readings in this months’ copy of Living with Christ”. In it he poses a question that we might all ask ourselves: “how can I respond to the loving call of the Good Shepherd?”

How do we respond to the loving call of the Good Shepherd?

We respond from the heart as we continue to hear God whisper our names. We need only listen – to our spouses, our parents and our children, our colleagues and students; to patients we might be caring for or lawyers who might be guiding us; our friends, any and all that we come together and meet with. It is not what we do, but rather “how” we do.

I am blessed every single weekend to come to St. Joe’s to share in the liturgy with all and each of you.  You are God’s instruments – we are God’s instruments with and to each other. You – we – are the light that has been set for the world.

If is for this that I give thanks and I celebrate with you.

Reflection for Sunday, April 28, 2018 (2nd Sunday of Easter) by John Mark Keyes

This Sunday’s readings contain three intertwined ideas: seeing, writing and believing.

The first reading is about the growth of the early Christian community. Its members are described as believers and its growth had much to do with healing those who were sick or disturbed.

The second reading is John’s account of a vision he saw and was told to write down and send to the seven churches.

And the Gospel is perhaps the most famous biblical account of seeing and believing: Thomas declares he will not believe Jesus has risen without not only seeing him, but actually touching the wounds Jesus suffered in his crucifixion.

From our perspective thousands of years later, it is not hard to understand the connection between seeing and believing and the role writing has played in fostering our beliefs.

Although many religious traditions are oral, ours is rooted in the written word, which has until recently enjoyed a certain credibility.

My grandfather was fond of saying, “believe none of what you hear and only half of what you read”. He did not tell me which half.

Now, you might think that belief is entirely subjective – you can believe whatever you want and it becomes your belief. And different people can believe different things.

Some people believe building walls is a good thing. Others don’t. Discussions about building walls lead nowhere. Beliefs become walls.

However, there is another way to see beliefs. And their connection to seeing and writing illustrates how belief is not completely a subjective act of will.

Our beliefs are often founded on some rational explanation or evidence. This is borne out in the many accounts of healing in the scriptures.

Many people were attracted to Jesus because he brought healing. Indeed, it is hard to think of a more compelling reason to believe in someone, particularly for the person who is healed.

And so, in the first reading we hear about the growing number of believers in tandem with healing.

And then there is Thomas in the Gospel. Death is quite final. People don’t rise from the dead. His disbelief in Jesus’s rising is entirely understandable and aligns with the overwhelming experience we have of death.

He is not prepared to believe in Christ’s rising just because the other apostles said they had seen the risen Christ. Resurrection, particularly after the horrific death Christ suffered, is not something he can believe without concrete evidence.

And so, Jesus returns and shows Thomas the evidence, including the traces of his wounds. Thomas finally sees and believes.

But what about the rest of us, 2,000 years removed from the events that took place. What is the basis of our belief?

This is where the written word comes in. What was written about Christ’s death and resurrection provides a basis for our belief.

It is also the foundation for the traditions and rituals that have grown up to keep this event alive for us today.

Much of what we hear and say in the Mass is taken from the scriptures including the words we hear Jesus say when he appears to the disciples: “Peace be with you…”. Father Richard will say them to us today after the Our Father (which is also taken from the Gospels) and then we will say it to each other.

Our belief in Jesus is based on a belief in the written word, the scriptures. But why do we believe them, especially in an age when so much of what is written is doubtful if not false?

The scriptures have been around for a very long time. The Old Testament pre-dates Jesus and the New Testament was written within about 100 years after his death.

They have probably been the focus of more study and scholarship than any other written text and they have been part of the spiritual life of countless generations.

They link us not only to Christ and the God he is part of, but also to an enormous community of believers.

The beliefs we hold individually are shared and mutually supported by the many others who hold them too.

I am frequently reminded of this precious quality of our beliefs in my day-to-day life.

I have spent most of my life working in secular, public institutions where I maintain a non-religious posture.

But from time to time, the secular veil slips and I either reveal something about my own beliefs or I learn something about the beliefs of others.

At these moments, the bonds of belief appear and join us together. They reinforce my belief in my beliefs. The belief of others affirms my belief.

And so, I wonder when Jesus said to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe”, was he acknowledging the importance of belief that arises from being part of a community of believers rather than empirical evidence?

What we believe is not what we have seen, but rather what has been instilled in us by those who form our communities, beginning with the primary community of family.

The story of Thomas is precious to me because of how my mother spoke about it. She had a well-developed critical eye for just about everything and well understood Thomas’s scepticism.

But her critical eye was balanced by unshakeable beliefs in some things, most especially in Jesus, in what he said, did and promised.

In the world we live in, with the events that happen, I sometimes wonder about my own faith. The tragic events in Sri Lanka come to mind.

Last Saturday I received an email message from a Sri Lankan friend wishing me a Happy Easter. I had met her through my work. Some years ago we discovered we were both Catholic, which I found surprising for someone from Sri Lanka.

On Easter Sunday I awoke to the news of the bombings. I replied to her Easter message expressing my shock and offering my prayers. Gratefully, she had not been caught up in the bombings. She wrote in reply:

I am numb. When I look at the pictures of the bombed church I feel so helpless and wonder where will I go to light a candle and pray to this beloved saint? My journey to this shrine began over 40 years ago.
But then I know that St. Anthony will ensure the church will be rebuilt in double quick time. I can light my candles to him at home. I can say the prayers to St. Anthony from home. It’s the people the ones who sold candles, the ones who swept the church the ones who have been begging there, the ones who helped us to park our car that keep coming to mind

Our beliefs are the anchors that keep us from being swept away. They are the bonds that hold us together.