From Carpenter to Cornerstone: Jesus the Builder of God’s Home

 6 Sunday of Easter, Year A

Jesus is not only a carpenter but a builder, the one who prepares a dwelling place for us in the Father’s house. Through his rejection, self-sacrifice, forgiveness, and love, Christ becomes the cornerstone of the spiritual home God is building. As members of his Body, we are called to become a place of welcome, light, hospitality, and hope for the world.

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From art, movies, and holy cards, many of us are used to seeing images of Jesus growing up as a carpenter. Perhaps we picture him working alongside St. Joseph, making a table, shaping a piece of wood, or building something useful with his hands. This image is not wrong, but the Scriptures give us a slightly broader picture.

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is called a tekton. This word can be translated as “carpenter,” but it can also mean a builder, a craftsman, or a labourer, someone who works with wood, stone, or other materials. So yes, we can call Jesus a carpenter. But even more broadly, we can call him a builder.

That image of Jesus as builder comes through very clearly in today’s second reading and Gospel.

In the Gospel, Jesus tells us that in his Father’s house there are many dwelling places. He goes to prepare a place for us. This is a beautiful image when we remember that Jesus’ foster father, St. Joseph, was a builder. Jesus, who grew up in the home of Joseph, now speaks of building together with his heavenly Father.

This image can resonate very powerfully for us who live in the Lower Mainland. We know that housing can be scarce, precious, expensive, and a source of real anxiety. People worry about finding a home, affording a home, and holding on to a home. Good housing can feel difficult to obtain.

Against this experience of scarcity, Jesus speaks of the generosity and abundance of God. In the Father’s house, there is room. There is a place prepared for us.

Jesus does not speak as though he has prepared some anonymous hotel room. He speaks personally. He prepares a place for each of us. His language is full of openness, care, welcome, and love. Jesus is creating a home for us, and a home is something we need in order to flourish as human beings.

Jesus, together with the Father, has built an eternal dwelling for us. This is not only something we hope for after death. It is a reality that begins even now, because through Christ we already begin to live in communion with God.

But Jesus builds this home in an unexpected way. In the second reading from 1 Peter, we hear that Jesus is the stone rejected by the builders who has become the cornerstone. This is another image of construction. The cornerstone is the essential stone, the one on which the rest of the building depends. We might also think of a keystone in an arch, the stone placed at the centre that holds everything together.

However we understand the image, the meaning is clear: Jesus is necessary. He is the foundation. He is the one who holds together the building that God is creating.

And yet Jesus is an unexpected cornerstone. He was rejected. Christ was rejected because his way of being Messiah and Saviour was not what many expected. Jesus did not come to save through power, wealth, violence, or domination. He came as a healer. He came close to those on the margins. He created acceptance, mercy, and kindness.

At the end of his life, when Jesus was met with violence, he did not respond with violence. He responded with forgiveness, self-sacrifice, love, and reconciliation.

This is the life and mission of Jesus. This is the way by which he builds a home for us with God. This home is a beautiful image of our salvation: our relationship with God, and our relationship with one another.

But Jesus has not only prepared a place for us with God. He has also built us into a spiritual home here and now.

Often, and rightly, we think of the church building as a place where we encounter God. We gather here to pray. We celebrate the Eucharist here. We meet Christ here in a special way. But we should never forget that the church building is not the only place where Christ is present. In fact, it may not even be the main place.

The community, the Body of Christ, is the presence of Jesus in the world today. As 1 Peter tells us, we are being built into a spiritual house. We are called to be the presence of God in the world.

We have been brought from darkness into light. We are called to offer spiritual sacrifices. We are called to be a presence of goodness, hope, and mercy in the world.

This leads us to an important question: what kind of home do we create for others?

When we think about our Christian witness, our parish community here at St. Peter’s, our families, and even ourselves as individuals, what kind of home are we building? Are we creating a home truly founded on Jesus Christ, the cornerstone? Or are we sometimes creating a home that feels dark, uninviting, closed, or difficult for others to enter?

Christ calls us to be a different kind of home. He calls us to be a place where light streams out. A place of hope. A place of welcome. A place with open doors. A place where people are received, accepted, given life, and shown hospitality.

Today, Christ is presented to us as a builder. He has built a home for us eternally with God, and he has built us, his community, into a home of welcome for the world. From this home, his light is meant to shine out to those around us.

Let us pray that we may always be founded on Jesus Christ, the cornerstone. Let us pray that we may not be scandalized by the kind of Messiah he is, but instead come to live his way of forgiveness, mercy, welcome, and love each and every day.

Hearing the Voice of the Good Shepherd in a Noisy World

 4 Sunday Easter, Year A, Good Shepherd Sunday

We live in a world filled with competing voices that shape our thoughts, emotions, and decisions. The voice of Christ, like that of the Good Shepherd, can be recognized by the lasting peace it brings, even when it calls us to change. The Christian task is to create space to hear that voice and to follow it with courage in both large and small ways.

Good Shepherd floor of Basilica of Santa Maria Assunta, Aquileia,1st half of the 4th century

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I took my phone out of my pocket and unlocked the screen, and I was struck by how many different messages and notifications were there. I had a couple of missed calls, something like seven unread text messages, a number of WhatsApp messages, and various news notifications. All those messages, all those voices, made me feel a bit overwhelmed, so I just put my phone down for a moment.

The smartphone, while it can be a blessing at times, is also a bit of a metaphor for the world in which we live today. We live in a world where there are so many voices, so much information coming our way, that it can be overwhelming. It is not a question of whether we follow voices or messages, because we always do. The real question is: which voices are we listening to?

We have the voices of the media, whether news or social media, that shape how we think, how we view the world, and even how we feel. We have voices coming to us through family members and friends. We also have voices within ourselves, that inner dialogue that can sometimes be positive, but can also reflect a certain brokenness within us, fear, a sense of being unloved, or anxiety. We all have various voices and messages coming to us throughout the day.

In the Gospel today, Jesus uses a powerful image. He describes himself as the Good Shepherd, the one who calls his sheep, and they recognize his voice. When Jesus calls his sheep, he leads them to good pastures. There are others, however, who also try to call the sheep, but they lead them somewhere that is not good for them.

Jesus presents himself as one voice among many. The question is: do we hear him, and do we respond?

This has always been a challenge. Many spiritual writers have reflected on the difficulty of discerning Christ’s voice among the many voices we hear. Jesus speaks to us in various ways, through friends, through family, even through the media, through Scripture, and through many other means. But how can we know whether a voice we hear, an idea, an inspiration, or a message, is coming from Jesus or not?

This is a question that Ignatius of Loyola grappled with in the sixteenth century. Ignatius was one of the most influential spiritual writers on discernment. He recognized that many thoughts, images, and ideas come to us, but asked how we can distinguish what comes from God, from what comes from our own woundedness, or even from evil.

Ignatius experienced a breakthrough in his own life. He was a soldier in Spain at a time when different regions were at war, and he suffered a serious injury to his leg. While recovering, he asked for books to read. The books he preferred were stories of chivalry, tales of knights performing heroic deeds. Instead, he was given books about the life of Jesus and the lives of the saints.

As he read these, he began to notice something. When he imagined returning to a life of adventure and glory, he felt excited for a time, but that feeling did not last. It faded. However, when he imagined living like the saints, following Christ more closely, he experienced something different. He felt a deep and lasting peace, even though the path seemed more difficult.

From this, Ignatius discovered an important principle. The voice of Jesus, even when it challenges us, brings a sense of peace. It may call us to change our lives, but it does not shame us or break us down. Instead, it calls us out of ourselves, to serve others and to give of ourselves more generously. The voice of Jesus brings a lasting peace, even in the midst of difficulty.

Because of this, we need to create space to hear that voice. As we all know, we live in a noisy world, filled with constant messages and distractions. We hear the voice of God when we take time for silence, when we allow ourselves to be quiet and attentive, so that the deeper movements of our hearts can rise to the surface. We hear the voice of Jesus in Sacred Scripture, when we listen to God’s word and reflect on it, asking what it means for us. We also hear the voice of Jesus in those who are in need, both those close to us and those further away.

Jesus presents himself as the Good Shepherd. He speaks to us, and we are his sheep. But we need to listen carefully, to discern his voice among all the others.

The Gospel also reminds us that it is not enough simply to hear the voice of Jesus. We are called to follow it. We are called to act on what we hear.

This brings us to the theme of vocation. The word “vocation” comes from the Latin word meaning “to call.” Each of us has a call from Jesus. As the document Lumen Gentium from the Second Vatican Council reminds us, our primary call is to holiness, to live like Jesus and to follow him. Each of us also has a particular vocation, whether it be marriage, the single life, the priesthood, or religious life.

Within our daily lives, we also experience many smaller vocations, moments when Christ calls us to respond, perhaps to help someone in need, to serve, or to give of our time, talents, and resources in a new way.

Today’s Gospel reminds us not only to hear the voice of Christ, but to have the courage and perseverance to follow where he leads.

We are living in an increasingly noisy world, and that will not change. But the voice of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, continues to resound. He continues to call us to what is good, to a life that is full and meaningful.

As we enter into this Eucharist, we are invited to ask ourselves a simple question. If we look back over the past week, which voices have we listened to most? Have we followed voices that lead us away from what is good, or have we listened to the voice of Christ?

Let us pray for the grace to recognize and to follow the voice of Jesus, our Good Shepherd.

Did We Miss the Resurrection? Finding Christ Today on the Road to Emmaus

 3 Sunday of Easter | Lk 24:13-35

The feeling of missing out, so common in a world shaped by social media, can also affect how we view the resurrection, as though we were born too late to encounter Christ. The road to Emmaus reveals that the risen Jesus is still present today, especially in the Scriptures, the Eucharist, community, and acts of charity. With the eyes of faith, we come to see that we are not at a disadvantage, but are continually invited to encounter him along our journey.

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Nowadays, with social media, people have the opportunity to share their experiences constantly. If you use platforms like Instagram, you may have had the experience of looking at someone’s post and feeling a bit jealous, as though you are missing out. We all know those people who seem to be travelling, having incredible experiences, maybe even meeting famous people. It can leave us wondering why we cannot experience those same things.

Now imagine for a moment that social media existed during the time of the disciples. You could picture people in first-century Israel scrolling through their feeds and coming across posts from Peter: “So happy to be here with our risen Lord. We didn’t think he would rise from the dead, but here he is.” As time goes on, there are more posts, and then finally one saying that the risen Lord has ascended into heaven. Those reading might think, “I’m too late. I missed it.” They would feel that sense of having missed something extraordinary.

In a similar way, we can sometimes feel this when we read the Gospels. We might think we were born two thousand years too late, that we missed the resurrection, that we do not get to experience Christ as the first disciples did. Because of this, we may feel at a disadvantage, as though we cannot be disciples in the same way.

When we feel like this, the story of the road to Emmaus is incredibly important. It teaches us that we are not at a disadvantage at all. It shows us how we, too, experience the risen Jesus in our midst if we know where to look.

The story describes a journey, and that journey reflects our own lives. Two followers of Jesus are walking along, feeling downcast and heartbroken. They had placed their hopes in Jesus, and now they are disappointed. We can relate to that. Along our own journey, we experience discouragement, confusion, and fatigue. We ask where Christ is and how he is guiding us.

Then comes a remarkable detail. Jesus is walking beside them, but they do not recognize him. This is an important message. The risen Christ is present, but not always immediately visible. This happens in other resurrection accounts as well. In John’s Gospel, Mary Magdalene encounters the risen Jesus but mistakes him for the gardener.

Luke is teaching us that we are like those disciples. Jesus walks with us, even when we do not recognize him.

The Gospel then shows us how we encounter him. First, through the Scriptures. Jesus explains the meaning of the Scriptures to the disciples, and their hearts begin to burn within them. Second, through the breaking of the bread, which is Luke’s way of referring to the Eucharist.

This is why the Mass is so central. In every Mass, we encounter Christ in these same two ways: in the Word and in the Eucharist. We listen to the Scriptures proclaimed, and Christ speaks to us. A word or phrase may stand out, encouraging us or challenging us. Then, in the Eucharist, we receive his presence in a profound and tangible way.

But there is more. The disciples are not alone; they journey together. Christ is also present in community. Whenever we gather in his name, he is there. We encounter him in one another.

We also encounter Christ through acts of charity. The disciples show hospitality to the stranger on the road. They invite him to stay with them. They offer him a meal. It is through this act of kindness that they come to recognize him.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus teaches that when we serve those in need, we serve him. Christ is present in those who are hungry, lonely, or in need of encouragement. When we care for others, we meet him there.

There is a powerful image sometimes called “Christ in the breadline.” It shows a line of people waiting for food, ordinary and tired, and among them stands Christ. The message is simple: he is present in those who are in need.

The Gospel reminds us that we are not missing out. We have not been born too late. The risen Jesus is still present. He walks with us, speaks to us, and reveals himself to us if we have the eyes to see.

Let us ask for the grace to recognize him in the Scriptures, in the Eucharist, in our community, and in those we serve. Along our journey, he is always there.

Divine Mercy Sunday: Living God’s Mercy in a World That Needs Peace

 2 Sunday Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday

Divine Mercy Sunday reminds us that God’s mercy is active, reaching out to those who suffer and meet us in our struggles. In a world marked by conflict and indifference, we are called to live that mercy concretely by working for peace and building loving communities. Trusting in Christ’s victory, we are invited to repeat with confidence: Jesus, I trust in you.

Image: OSV/Reuters/Lola Gomez, Claudia Morales

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Jesus, I trust in you. Jesus, I trust in you. This is a prayer many of us know well. We have likely heard it before or seen it on images associated with Divine Mercy. It has become very popular as this devotion has spread throughout the Church.

The devotion to Divine Mercy, which we celebrate today, began about one hundred years ago when a Polish nun, Saint Faustina Kowalska, began receiving revelations from Jesus that emphasized God’s great mercy, his love for those who are in need. This devotion spread through her diary and, in a particular way, through the witness of Pope John Paul II, who canonized her and established this Sunday as Divine Mercy Sunday for the whole Church.

The message of this feast is simple and powerful. God’s mercy is greater than any of our sins and any of our sufferings. In the Gospel today, we see that mercy is not passive. Mercy is active.

On Easter, we celebrate Christ’s victory over sin and death. On Divine Mercy Sunday, we see what that victory looks like in our daily lives. Mercy can be better understood through the Latin word misericordia. Miseria refers to those who suffer, and cor means heart. Mercy means having a heart for those who suffer.

God’s mercy is not distant. It moves outward. It draws close to those in need. We see this clearly in the Gospel through Thomas the Apostle. Thomas is struggling with his faith. He was not present when the other disciples first encountered the risen Lord. Like all of us at times, he struggles to believe. Yet Jesus does not reject him or scold him. Instead, Jesus returns. He seeks Thomas out. He gives him exactly what he needs and invites him to touch his wounds. This is mercy in action. Christ sees someone who is struggling and goes out to help him.

Divine mercy shows us that the resurrection is not just an event of the past. It continues to shape our lives today. Jesus continues to come to us, to accompany us, and to help us in our struggles.

Mercy also has very concrete implications for our world today. Recently, Pope Leo XIV has spoken strongly about the need for peace in the midst of ongoing conflicts. He reminds us that we are living in a world that is becoming increasingly accustomed to violence, a world where the suffering of entire peoples risks being met with indifference. He has challenged world leaders with these words: “Let those who have weapons lay them down. Let those who have the power to unleash wars choose peace.”

Working for peace is one of the most concrete ways we live out mercy. War brings immense suffering, and God’s heart is especially close to those who suffer because of conflict and violence. If we want to be instruments of God’s mercy, we are called to be people of peace.

At the same time, we may wonder what we can actually do. The problems of the world can feel overwhelming. One helpful way to think about this is through the expression: think globally and act locally.

To think globally means to be aware of the suffering in our world and to respond first through prayer. We are called to pray for peace and for all those who suffer. We are also called to act responsibly in our civic life, including how we form our conscience and make decisions that affect society.

To act locally means to live mercy in our daily lives. The first reading from the Acts of the Apostles gives us a beautiful image of the early Christian community. They gathered together in unity. They shared what they had. They worshipped God together. They worked toward reconciliation and welcomed others into their community.

We are called to do the same. We live mercy by being generous, by practicing hospitality, by building community, and by working toward peace in our relationships. Mercy becomes real in the small, daily choices we make.

During this Easter season, we are reminded of the presence of the risen Christ through the Easter candle. Its light reminds us that Christ has conquered darkness. Even in a world marked by violence and suffering, his light continues to shine.

We are also reminded of our baptism. In baptism, we receive that light and are called to carry it into the world. We are called to be signs of Christ’s mercy wherever we go.

As we continue this celebration, we are invited to trust. Trust that Christ is at work. Trust that his mercy is greater than sin, greater than suffering, greater than the darkness we see around us.

Let us repeat often the prayer of Divine Mercy: Jesus, I trust in you

How the Resurrection Changes Everything: A New Perspective for Easter Sunday

 Easter Sunday

The resurrection of Jesus is a truth that radically changes how we see the world, just as major discoveries in history reshaped human perspective. Like the first disciples, encountering the risen Christ transforms fear into courage and despair into hope. When truly believed, the resurrection calls us to live differently, allowing Christ’s victory to shape every part of our lives.

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Have you been following the journey of the Artemis spacecraft? Maybe just a few of you, but it really is incredible. The world has once again sent people toward the moon. Just a few days ago, an image was released as Artemis made its way from the earth to the moon. Looking back, we see that iconic image of the earth in the distance, small and fragile.

Many have compared this to the images taken in the early 1970s. When you see the earth from that distance, it changes your perspective. It makes you see things differently. Questions that seem so important begin to shift. Do national borders matter in the same way? Do conflicts and divisions look the same? Even our care for the environment takes on a new urgency. Simply seeing the earth from afar changes how we understand our place in the world.

There was a similar shift in perspective in the 1600s with Galileo Galilei. He was not the first to propose it, but through his observations he helped demonstrate that the earth is not the center of the universe. Until then, it was widely assumed that everything revolved around us. That belief shaped not only science, but also how people understood their place in creation.

When that truth became known, it changed everything. People began to see the vastness of the universe, the countless stars and planets, and the grandeur of creation. Humanity was no longer at the center in the way it once imagined. A new perspective reshaped how people understood reality itself.

There are truths that, once we see them, we cannot unsee. They change how we live.

Today we celebrate the most important truth of all: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. If we truly believe that Jesus has risen from the dead, then nothing in our lives should remain the same.

We see this transformation clearly in the Gospel. Think of Peter, John, and Mary Magdalene. Peter, in particular, had left everything to follow Jesus. He placed all his hope in him. And yet, when Jesus was arrested, Peter denied even knowing him. Then he watched as Jesus was condemned, tortured, and crucified.

When Peter went to the tomb that morning, he did not go expecting the resurrection. He went with grief, with regret, and with confusion about his future. But everything changed when he encountered the empty tomb.

Imagine the transformation. From mourning to hope. From fear to courage.

We see this change most clearly in the Acts of the Apostles. Peter, who once denied Jesus, now boldly proclaims him. He is no longer afraid. He is willing even to give his life for Christ.

The resurrection changed everything for the first disciples. And it should change everything for us.

We celebrate with joy today, but it must go deeper than that. The resurrection must change how we think, how we act, how we see others, and how we live each day.

C. S. Lewis once posed a powerful question: what would change in your life if you truly believed in the resurrection and in eternal life? What if you truly believed that every person you encounter is destined to live forever?

It might even change how we drive or how we speak to others. But more seriously, it would change how we love, how we forgive, and how we carry hope.

What would it change in how we grieve those who have died? What would it change when we face struggles, bad habits, or discouragement? What would it change if we truly believed that Christ has conquered sin and death?

The resurrection tells us that Christ is victorious, that he is king, and that his kingdom will endure forever. This is not just a belief to celebrate once a year. It is a truth meant to transform our entire lives.

And yet, it is easy to forget. We become busy. We get caught up in daily concerns. For this reason, we are given the gift of Easter each year, to return to this central truth and allow it to renew us.

Before us stands the Easter candle, blessed at the Vigil. It is the sign that Christ is the light of the world, the sign of his victory over death. In baptism, we received that same light and were called to carry it into the world.

Today, we will renew our baptismal promises. Many of us had these promises made for us as children. Now we renew them ourselves.

We will also be sprinkled with blessed water, a reminder of our baptism and the new life we received in Christ.

As we do this, let us ask ourselves a simple but important question: what do I want the light of the resurrection to change in my life today?

Perhaps it is an area of discouragement or hopelessness. Perhaps it is a struggle to forgive or to move forward. Perhaps it is a call to deeper faith.

Let us ask Christ to bring the light of his resurrection into those places.

Some truths, once we truly see them, must change everything.

Jesus Christ is risen from the dead. And because of that, our lives can never be the same. 

Easter Vigil Homily: From Tomb to Womb, How the Resurrection Changes Everything

 Easter Vigil

The resurrection of Jesus is the turning point of history that brings about a new creation and a new way of life. Through baptism, believers die to the old life of sin and are reborn into the life of Christ, called to live as light in the world. This new life is not lived alone, but with the constant presence of Christ, who goes before us and frees us from fear.

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The Lord is risen, alleluia. Alleluia!

Today, my dear brothers and sisters, is an evening of great joy. It is so beautiful to see so many people here this evening as we celebrate what is, for us, the central and most important aspect of our faith: the resurrection of Jesus Christ, which changes everything.

This is a very important night in particular for those here in the RCIA, the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. Each of you has been journeying for many months, preparing for baptism and preparing to enter the Catholic Church. For all of us who accompany you and rejoice with you this evening, this is also an important moment, because at this Mass we affirm our faith in the resurrection of Jesus and recommit ourselves to living our baptismal calling.

In the Church, there are many ways that we speak about the resurrection. We use language like victory, glory, and Christ conquering death. But this evening, in the readings and gestures we have experienced, the Church uses the language of birth and rebirth.

It always brings great joy when parishioners present a newborn baby. Many of you have experienced this, especially those who are parents. There is joy and relief when the baby is healthy and the mother is well. When you see that newborn child, it fills you with joy. There is so much promise and hope in that new life that has come into the world.

Birth and rebirth offer us a powerful image. Throughout the readings and rituals this evening, we are experiencing this theme of new birth.

The first birth we celebrate is that of Jesus Christ into eternal life, into a new form of existence. St. Paul describes Jesus as the “firstborn from the dead.” In our tradition, the tomb of Jesus can be seen as the womb from which Christ is born into this new life.

In the great hymn we heard at the beginning of Mass, we heard the words “O happy fault of Adam, that earned for us so great a Savior.” St. Paul makes this comparison clearly. Before Christ, we were in the lineage of Adam: we sinned, we suffered, we died. But now, in Jesus Christ, the new Adam, something entirely new has entered the world. Christ has risen from the dead and no longer dies. With him, we are being transformed into a new way of life.

One of the most beautiful moments at the beginning of the Easter liturgy is when we enter the darkened church after the blessing of the fire. Then we light our candles from the Easter candle. To see that flame spread throughout the congregation is powerful. Each of us holds that light, the light that Christ brings into our world.

We have heard many readings this evening that tell our story: a history of sin and defeat, but also a history of the victory that Christ brings. In Jesus, there is a new creation. He is the firstborn from the dead, and this is the first birth we celebrate tonight.

We also celebrate another important event: our rebirth in baptism. Later in this liturgy, we will renew our baptismal promises and recommit ourselves to following Jesus. Tonight reminds us of what baptism does. We are blessed to have about seventeen individuals being baptized this evening, which is a great gift for our parish.

To those who will be baptized, I would like to speak the words of St. Paul from Romans 6: “Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.”

When we look at the baptismal font, we can see it as both a tomb and a womb. In baptism, we die to the old way of life, the way marked by sin and death. And from that same water, we are born into new life in Christ. As Jesus told Nicodemus, we are born again into eternal life.

Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, we are gradually transformed to become more like Jesus, until that transformation is complete when Christ returns.

We also have among us individuals who were previously baptized in another Christian community. Baptism is so important that it is done only once. These individuals now reaffirm their baptismal commitment and enter into full communion with the Catholic Church through confirmation.

For all of us, this is a moment to renew our baptismal commitment and remember how deeply it changes our lives. We are people who believe in the resurrection and in eternal life, and this changes everything.

The symbols of this evening speak to this new life. Water reminds us of creation, when the Spirit hovered over the waters. Now, in baptism, we are made a new creation.

The newly baptized will receive a white garment, symbolizing that they have put on Christ. They are conformed to Christ as priest, prophet, and king.

In confirmation, they will be anointed with chrism oil, which carries a fragrance meant to remind us of the Holy Spirit. This anointing sends them on mission to proclaim the Gospel and build up the Kingdom of God.

The candle they receive reminds us that we are called to be the light of Christ. Alone, our flame may seem small, but together, we can bring Christ’s light into the world.

Most importantly, in this new life we are not alone. Jesus is always with us.

To those in the RCIA, I offer the words from the Gospel: “Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.” Do not be afraid. You will see him.

There is a prayer we often say: “May Christ, who began the good work in you, bring it to completion.” This reminds us that even the desire to seek God comes from him. God always takes the first step. He invites us, and we respond.

The Lord will be with us. He goes before us. He is present in the sacraments, in Scripture, and in this community that you are entering tonight. For this reason, we do not need to be afraid.

So let us pray in a special way for those about to be baptized, for those entering full communion with the Church, and for all of us, that we may remember deeply our baptism. Through it, we are joined to Christ and transformed.

Let us accept once again our calling to live as his light in the world, without fear, because the Lord is risen and goes before us.

The Way of Christ vs the Way of the World: A Good Friday Reflection on Peace, Power, and True Victory

 Good Friday

There are two ways before us: the way of violence, power, and retaliation, and the way of Christ, marked by love, sacrifice, and peace. In the Passion, especially as presented in John’s Gospel, Jesus reveals that true victory comes not through force but through self-giving love. We are invited, especially as we venerate the cross, to choose again the way of Christ, which alone breaks the cycle of violence and leads to life.

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In Jerusalem stands what is, for us, the most famous church in the world, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built by Constantine in the fourth century. The Church stands above the place of Golgotha, the hill where Christ was crucified. Within it is a small chapel called the Aedicule, which contains the remains of the cave where, as far as we can tell, Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. It is a sacred site, and each year pilgrims stream constantly to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, especially during the days of the Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

These celebrations are led by the Patriarch in Jerusalem, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, who has presided over the Triduum liturgies for several years. This year, however, the celebrations are very different. They are taking place almost in silence. There are no pilgrims and no faithful permitted to attend in person. The liturgies unfold with only a few priests present. We are witnessing a dramatic juxtaposition. On the one hand, the Church celebrates the love, service, and peace of Jesus Christ. On the other hand, these celebrations take place in a region marked by war, with violence affecting Gaza, Lebanon, and beyond.

This contrast highlights two ways of living. In the early Church, one of the earliest names for Christians was “the Way.” Before the term “Christianity” was widely used, discipleship was understood as following a particular way of life. The Acts of the Apostles reflects this. The early Christians recognized that there are fundamentally different paths we can choose.

One path is the way of violence, oppression, warfare, and greed. This way is well summarized in a line from the Greek historian Thucydides, written about five hundred years before Christ: “The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.” This way continues to appear in our world. It is tempting to respond to violence with violence, to injustice with retaliation, to seek more at the expense of others. Yet this path solves nothing. From the story of Cain and Abel onward, Scripture shows how this way leads only to cycles of destruction and suffering.

Jesus offers a different way. In the Passion account from the Gospel of John, we see this clearly. Jesus is in a context of oppression and injustice, yet he does not respond with violence. He responds with peace, self-giving, and love. John presents the Passion not simply as suffering, but as glory. This section of the Gospel is often called the Book of Glory.

John’s account emphasizes that Jesus remains in control. When the soldiers come to arrest him, there is no kiss of betrayal as in the Synoptic Gospels. Instead, Jesus steps forward and asks, “Whom are you looking for?” He freely gives himself over. On the cross, he does not cry out in despair. He speaks with authority, entrusting his mother and completing his mission. He chooses the moment when his work is finished. John wants us to see that this is not defeat, but victory. Christ overcomes violence not by greater force, but through love and self-sacrifice.

This is the way we are called to follow. It is a way of forgiveness, charity, justice, and peace. Throughout history, Christians have embraced this path. Saint Francis of Assisi, during the time of the Crusades, chose not to fight but to seek dialogue. He crossed into enemy territory and met with the Sultan. Although peace was not achieved, they parted with mutual respect.

Centuries later, Pope Francis demonstrated this same spirit. During the conflict in South Sudan, he invited leaders of opposing factions to Rome. In a remarkable gesture, he knelt and kissed their feet, pleading with them to seek peace. This is the way of Christ.

Each of us faces this choice. We may be tempted toward the way described by Thucydides, but we are invited again and again to choose the way of Christ. As we come forward to venerate the cross, we not only express our love for Jesus but recommit ourselves to this path. It is a path that may not appear powerful in the eyes of the world, but it is the way that leads to true victory, peace, and life.

Let us pray for the grace of the Holy Spirit to recognize what Christ has done for us and to follow the way he has shown us, the way of love, peace, and life. 

What Does It Mean to Be Human in Christ? Holy Thursday, Service, and the Transforming Power of the Eucharist

 Holy Thursday

Holy Thursday invites us to reflect on what it truly means to be human in Christ: to live in communion, to serve others, and to be transformed by grace. Through the Eucharist, we are drawn into unity and shaped into the likeness of Jesus. Ultimately, it is not our own effort, but Christ himself who makes us fully human.

Listen to Homily

 

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Earlier this week, I received a message from a Purolator courier that my package was on its way. When you see those messages, you get excited, and of course I went online to track it as it made its way across the country. I went to the website, and suddenly a chat window popped up. I know it was a computer, but as I typed back and forth, it seemed surprisingly human. It asked how it could help me, I said I wanted to track my package, and we had a pleasant exchange. At the end, it said, “Have a nice day,” and I replied, “Have a nice day to you as well.” Then I stopped and thought, I just wished a computer a good day.

Artificial intelligence is all around us. There are many debates about what impact it will have. Some say it will change everything. Others think it may be overhyped. But regardless, it raises deeper questions. If we speak of artificial intelligence, what is human intelligence? What does it mean to be human? What makes us unique? And ultimately, how does God want us to live as human beings in Christ?

Over these three days, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil, we enter into what is really one continuous liturgy. You will notice that after this evening and after tomorrow’s liturgy, there is no formal dismissal. Each celebration flows into the next. Through the readings, rituals, and prayers, we are drawn into the central question: who is God, and how are we to live as human beings in Christ?

This evening, the liturgy of Holy Thursday helps us reflect on what it means to be truly human. First, we see that to be human is to live in community, especially a community that includes those on the margins. In the second reading, St. Paul writes to the Corinthians, addressing divisions within their community. They had formed factions and excluded others, even during the celebration of the Eucharist. The wealthy gathered and ate first, while the poor were left out and made to feel ashamed.

Paul strongly rebukes this behavior. The Eucharist is a celebration of Christ’s total self-gift, and such exclusion contradicts its meaning. When we receive the Eucharist, we are formed into one body. To live as human beings in Christ means to live in communion, to recognize the dignity of every member, and to build unity rather than division.

Second, the Gospel shows us that to be human is to serve. Holy Thursday is also called “Maundy Thursday,” from the Latin mandatum, meaning commandment. In John’s Gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a new commandment: to love one another as he has loved them. He then shows what this love looks like by washing their feet.

After the homily, we reenact this moment. It is a powerful reminder that as disciples, we are called to serve. True love begins when it becomes inconvenient, when it costs us something. There is a well-known story about Mother Teresa. A wealthy man once saw her caring for a dying man with severe wounds and said, “I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars.” She replied, “Neither would I. But I do it for Christ.” This is the kind of love we are called to.

Finally, we learn that to be human in Christ is to be transformed. The Eucharist is not simply a symbol; it is the gift of Jesus himself. Through it, we are changed. St. Augustine once said, “Be what you see; receive what you are.” Pointing to the Eucharist, he taught that what we receive is Christ, and in receiving him, we become more like him.

Normally, when we eat food, it becomes part of us. But in the Eucharist, the opposite happens. We become part of Christ. We are drawn into his life, his love, and his mission.

At the end of this Mass, there is no final blessing. Instead, we continue in prayer. We will process with the Blessed Sacrament and place it at the altar of repose. You are invited to remain in silent prayer, recalling Jesus in the garden and preparing to enter more deeply into his Passion. The church will remain open until midnight.

Tonight, we reflect on what it means to be human in Christ. We are called into community. We are called to serve. And above all, we are transformed by the Eucharist. It is not by our own efforts that we become fully human, but through the grace of Jesus Christ, given to us in this sacred gift.

The True Story of Holy Week: Why Jesus Is Not the Messiah We Expected

 Palm Sunday, Year A

Holy Week invites us to reflect on whether we are truly hearing the story of Christ or projecting our own expectations onto him. While many expected a Messiah of power and violence, Jesus reveals a radically different path of love, service, and sacrifice. The rituals and stories of this week are meant not just to be observed, but to transform our hearts and renew our lives.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Recently, there was a film released called Wake Up Dead Man, part of the Knives Out trilogy. I am not recommending the film, as it contains some coarse language, but it has generated significant discussion because of its religious themes. In the movie, we encounter two priests. One is not portrayed particularly well, while the other is a former boxer who experienced a profound conversion and became a priest.

One of the main characters, played by Daniel Craig, is the detective Benoit Blanc. He is something of an exaggerated character. At one point, he enters a church and speaks with the former boxer priest, leading to a striking conversation about faith.

Benoit Blanc admits that he has no faith. When asked how he feels in the church, he initially describes the emotional effect created by the architecture and the light through the windows. But as he continues, something shifts. It becomes clear that his past experience of religion was negative. He says that being in the church makes him feel as though a story is being imposed on him, one he does not believe, a story he associates with violence and misuse.

The priest responds thoughtfully. He acknowledges that the Church is full of rituals and rites, and that these are indeed forms of storytelling. But he poses a deeper question: do these stories convince us of something false, or do they resonate with something profoundly true within us, something that cannot be expressed except through story, ritual, and symbol?

That question leads directly into what we celebrate this week. As we begin Holy Week, we encounter a series of powerful rituals, rites, and stories. We enter into the Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. We will witness the washing of feet, the veneration of the cross, and the blessing of the fire at the Easter Vigil. These are not random actions. They are stories enacted.

Holy Week draws us into what is most central to our faith: who God is and how we are called to live. These rituals and stories are meant to transform us, to shape our understanding and deepen our faith.

Today, on Palm Sunday, we are presented with two different stories, and we are invited to ask which one we are truly hearing.

When we hold palms, we are not simply reenacting a moment of praise. We are also being challenged. The people who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem had expectations. They believed he would be a Messiah like Judas Maccabaeus, who, about 150 years earlier, had driven out foreign oppressors through force. In the Book of 1 Maccabees, we read that palms were waved as he entered Jerusalem in victory.

So when the crowds waved palms for Jesus, many expected a similar story: a Messiah who would come with power, overthrow Roman rule, and restore their nation.

But that is not the story Jesus fulfills.

The Passion account shows us a very different kind of Messiah. Jesus does not come with military strength or political power. He comes in humility and service. He washes the feet of his disciples. He is betrayed, suffers violence, and responds not with retaliation but with forgiveness. He lays down his life in love.

This is the story we are invited to enter during Holy Week. It is not a story of domination, but of self-giving love. Not a story of overcoming violence with greater violence, but of transforming it through sacrifice and mercy.

Palm Sunday is our moment to choose which story we will embrace. It is an invitation to let go of false expectations and to receive the true story of Christ.

These rituals and stories are not meant to remain external to us. They are meant to shape us from within. As we enter this Holy Week, we are encouraged not only to attend the liturgies of the Triduum, but to participate in them deeply. To allow this story to enter our hearts, to change how we understand God, and to renew how we live as his disciples.

From Tomb to Life: Finding Hope in Christ’s Resurrection

5 Sunday Lent, 3rd Scrutiny, John 11

The raising of Lazarus reveals that while death brings real grief, Christ transforms sorrow into hope through his power over death. By pointing to his own resurrection, Jesus shows that the life he offers is not temporary but eternal, a victory we share through baptism. Even now, this new life is at work in us as Christ frees us from what binds us and invites us to live in hope.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Water, light, and life. These are the three themes we have been contemplating over these past Sundays as we have listened to these important stories from the Gospel of John. They invite us to reflect more deeply on our baptism: the light of faith we receive, the cleansing water that makes us a new creation, and the gift of the Holy Spirit poured into our lives.

Today, we turn to the theme of life. In the story of the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to reflect on how, in baptism, we are joined to the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ. We receive the life of Jesus not only for the present, but also the promise of resurrection after death.

As we have seen in recent weeks, John tells his stories with multiple layers, offering different ways of seeing so that we may grasp a deeper truth. Today’s Gospel is no exception. In the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to contemplate three different tombs and to see how what Jesus does speaks directly to us, especially in relation to our baptism. 

The first tomb is the most obvious: the tomb of Lazarus. This is a deeply emotional story. Lazarus, a close friend of Jesus, has died, and those around him are filled with grief. Mary and Martha mourn. The community gathers in sorrow. And we hear one of the shortest yet most powerful verses in Scripture: Jesus wept.

Here we are reminded that death touches every one of us. When a loved one dies, grief is real and profound. There is a story told of a child at a funeral who asked his grandmother, “Why do people cry if we believe the person is with God?” She replied, “Because love does not end when someone dies, and when love has nowhere to go, it becomes tears.” The child paused and said, “So crying is just love that is missing someone.” “Yes,” she said, “exactly.”

Jesus weeps. He knows the pain of loss. In the tomb of Lazarus, we see how death brings grief into our lives.

But John does not want us to remain there. He does not want us to stop at weeping. He wants our sorrow to be transformed into hope.

This leads us to the second tomb: the tomb of Jesus. Throughout this Gospel, John intentionally draws connections between the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Christ. Both tombs are caves sealed with a stone. In both stories, Mary is present in mourning. In both, there is an important role for Thomas. And in both, there are burial cloths.

When Lazarus comes out of the tomb, he is still wrapped in burial bands, with a cloth covering his face. Jesus instructs those present to unbind him. Lazarus is restored to life, but he will one day die again. He still needs those burial cloths.

By contrast, when Jesus rises from the dead, the burial cloths are left behind in the tomb. They are found there by Peter and the beloved disciple. Jesus does not need them again. His resurrection is not a return to earthly life but the definitive victory over death. He will never die again.

This is the heart of our hope. Jesus not only raises Lazarus but points forward to his own resurrection, which conquers death completely. And through baptism, we are united to him. Because Christ has died and risen, we trust that we too will rise.

This brings us to the third tomb: our own.

This Gospel invites us to reflect not only on the death of others but on our own mortality. Yet it calls us to face death with hope. As Saint Paul teaches, if we have died with Christ, we will rise with him. In baptism, we are already united to his death and resurrection.

Even more, this new life is not only something we await in the future. It is something we begin to live now.

We see this in Jesus’ conversation with Martha. She already believes in the resurrection on the last day. But Jesus deepens her understanding when he says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Eternal life is not only a future promise. It is a present reality for those who live in relationship with him.

Through baptism, we already share in this new life. We are made new in Christ.

And just as Lazarus is unbound, so too we are called to be unbound. The Lord desires to free us from whatever holds us back. As we approach Holy Week, we might ask: where do we need to be set free? From resentment, from fear, from habits that weigh us down, from anything that keeps us from living fully in the life Christ offers?

Today’s Gospel is about life. It is about seeing the tombs of Lazarus, of Jesus, and of our own lives in a new way. As we draw closer to Holy Week, let us ask for the grace to live more deeply the gift of our baptism, trusting that Christ has come to give us new life, both now and forever.

 

Seeing the World with the Light of Faith

4 Sunday of Lent, Second Scrutiny

Faith shapes the way we see and interpret the world around us. In the Gospel of the man born blind, Jesus not only restores physical sight but leads the man to a deeper vision of faith, recognizing him as Lord. Through the gift of baptism, Christ gives us the light to see God’s presence in both the blessings and struggles of our lives.

Listen to homily here:

Read Homily here:

Faith can be, for many of us, a struggle. Believing that God exists, believing that God is close to us and cares for us, can be difficult, especially at times in life when things are hard. At those moments we may ask ourselves important questions. What does it mean to have faith? How do I know if I have faith? What does faith look like concretely in my life?

Faith can be described in different ways, but the Gospel today, the story of the man born blind, teaches us that faith has something to do with how we see the world. Faith has to do with how we see reality and how we interpret what is happening around us.

When we think about it, all of us have different lenses through which we view the world. We interpret reality in different ways. Recently I have noticed that objects at the back of the church are becoming a little blurry. I am having a harder time seeing things that are far away. So last year I went to the eye doctor for the first time to have my eyes tested. The verdict was that my eyes are getting older and that I will probably need glasses soon, though not quite yet. Many of you who wear glasses know how much difference the right lenses can make. With the proper lenses we see things clearly. If we put on glasses with the wrong prescription, we cannot see properly at all.

The lenses through which we view the world matter greatly. Sometimes the lens through which we see reality is shaped by our temperament, our upbringing, or our personality. One common distinction people make is between the optimist and the pessimist. Neither way of seeing the world is perfect. The optimist sees things with hope but may sometimes overlook suffering or difficulty. The pessimist may see problems clearly and be pragmatic, but may also fall into discouragement or hopelessness. Another lens is that of cynicism. As someone once said, the cynic knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.

The way we interpret the world has a great impact on how we live.

In today’s Gospel we see that Jesus gives us something new. He gives us faith so that we can see the world differently. Faith allows us to interpret what is happening around us and to recognize God present in it.

At first glance the Gospel is simply about Jesus restoring sight to a man who was born blind. But this is the Gospel according to John, and in John’s Gospel there are always deeper layers. The story is not only about physical sight. It is about something more important.

We see this from the very beginning when Jesus says, “I am the light of the world.” Light and darkness are central themes in John’s Gospel. When we have light, we can see and walk clearly. When we are in darkness, we cannot see.

As the story unfolds, several people witness what Jesus has done, yet they interpret the event very differently.

Some respond negatively. The religious leaders investigate what happened, but they focus on the fact that Jesus performed the miracle on the Sabbath. Because of the lens through which they interpret events, they conclude that Jesus must be a sinner. They refuse to see the good that God has done before their eyes.

Others respond with hesitation. The parents of the man who was healed know that their son can now see, yet they remain cautious and distant. Their faith does not lead them to recognize who Jesus truly is.

Finally we encounter the man who was healed. He grows gradually in his understanding of Jesus. If we listen carefully to the titles he uses for Jesus throughout the story, we see the progression of his faith.

At first he simply calls Jesus a man. Later, when speaking to the religious leaders, he calls Jesus a prophet. His understanding has grown. Finally, when he meets Jesus again at the end of the Gospel, he calls him Lord and worships him.

This man experiences two miracles. The first is the restoration of his physical sight. The second is the growth of faith. He comes to see Jesus for who he truly is.

Faith allows us to see the world differently as well. We may see good things happening around us and think they are simply coincidences. We may encounter suffering and conclude that God is absent. Faith is the lens that allows us to interpret reality differently. Faith allows us to recognize God’s goodness in our lives and to trust that God is present even in difficulty.

To have the eyes of faith means recognizing that Christ, who suffered and died for us, remains close to us when we suffer. It means believing that God continues to accompany us.

This kind of faith is a gift that we first receive in baptism. Once again, John’s Gospel contains several layers. On one level the man receives his sight. On another level the story is about faith. On yet another level it points to baptism.

Consider the way Jesus heals the man. He makes mud with his saliva and places it on the man’s eyes, and then sends him to wash in the pool. There is an anointing and there is washing with water. Many commentators have seen in this an image of baptism.

In the early Church this Gospel was closely connected with baptism. Jesus, the light of the world, enlightens those who are baptized so that they can see the world differently. In fact, in the early Church baptism was sometimes called photismos, a Greek word meaning enlightenment. Catechumens preparing for baptism were called those who were about to be enlightened, and the baptized were called the enlightened.

In baptism we receive a new way of seeing.

As we continue our journey through Lent, we might ask ourselves a simple question. What is the lens through which I see the world? Do I see the world with the eyes of Christ? When I experience blessings in my life, do I recognize them as gifts from God? When I encounter suffering, do I trust that Jesus remains with me?

Let us pray for the gift of the Holy Spirit so that the grace we received in baptism may grow stronger within us. May we receive the faith to see the world with the light of Christ. 

The Thirst Only Christ Can Satisfy

3 Sunday Lent, year A, First Scrutiny

The first scrutiny invites both the catechumens preparing for baptism and all the baptized to reflect on the deeper meaning of baptism in their lives. In the story of the Samaritan woman, Jesus reveals that our deepest thirst for love, purpose, and acceptance cannot be satisfied by the many things we often turn to. Christ alone gives the living water of the Holy Spirit that truly fills the human heart.

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Today we begin the first of the three scrutinies. The word “scrutiny” comes from a root meaning to inquire, to question, to examine more deeply. These three scrutinies, which take place this Sunday and the following two Sundays, are especially important for the members of our RCIA group who are preparing to enter the Catholic Church at Easter.

This year, however, we are reminded that the scrutinies are not only for them. They are an opportunity for all of us who are baptized to deepen our own baptismal commitments and to reflect on what baptism means in our lives.

As you probably know, the Church follows a three year cycle of Sunday readings: Years A, B, and C. Year A focuses on the Gospel of Matthew, and that is the year we are in now. In many years, the special Gospel readings associated with the scrutinies are used only at the Masses where the scrutinies themselves are celebrated. This year is an exception. During this Year A cycle, all of us at every Sunday Mass have the opportunity to hear these important readings from the Gospel of John that are connected with the scrutinies.

These three Gospel readings focus on themes that are closely related to baptism. Today we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, which invites us to reflect on the meaning of water in baptism. Next week we will hear the story of Jesus healing the man born blind, which invites us to reflect on the gift of light and the enlightenment that comes through baptism. Finally, in two weeks we will hear the story of the raising of Lazarus, which encourages us to reflect on the new life that Christ brings through baptism.

This first scrutiny, then, focuses on the theme of water.

Water, of course, is central to baptism. But in the Gospel of John, water carries a deeper meaning. To begin, we should appreciate how important water was in the time of Jesus. Here in New Westminster, sometimes it feels as if we have too much water. Just a few days ago it was raining, and you may have noticed that the water was flowing across Royal Avenue. At times it almost looks like a small river. Thankfully it bypasses the church and makes its way down the hill, eventually reaching the Fraser River again.

In the time of Jesus, however, water was not so plentiful. If you have visited the Holy Land or seen pictures of it, you may know about the wadis. These are riverbeds that flow during the rainy season but remain completely dry during the rest of the year. Finding water for crops, livestock, and drinking was often a real challenge. Because of this, wells were extremely important. People depended on them for their daily survival, just as the Samaritan woman does in today’s Gospel.

But we must also look deeper, because water in John’s Gospel often symbolizes something more.

In the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, there is a deeper, symbolic meaning. The Fathers of the Church noticed this very early on. For example, St. Augustine reflected on how the woman’s desire for water represents a deeper longing within her. Water becomes a symbol of the deeper needs of the human heart: the need for love, acceptance, and purpose. These are desires that every one of us carries within us.

St. Augustine also points out an interesting detail in the story. We learn something about this woman from the time of day when she comes to draw water. John tells us that she comes to the well at noon. In that part of the world, noon is the hottest part of the day. It is the time when you would normally avoid going out to draw water. Most people would go early in the morning or later in the evening when it is cooler.

The fact that the woman comes at noon suggests that she hoped no one else would be there. She seems to have been somewhat of an outsider in her community. For whatever reasons, she did not quite fit in. As the conversation continues, we learn one possible reason why. Jesus tells her that she has had five husbands, and the man she is now with is not her husband.

Because of this situation, she may have found herself on the margins of her community. She comes to the well not only for physical water, but also with a deeper longing. She is searching for love, acceptance, and purpose.

In this sense, she is very much like each of us. We all carry these same desires in our hearts. At times, however, we try to satisfy those desires in ways that do not truly fulfill us. The Samaritan woman, it seems, has been searching in different directions, perhaps looking for love in ways that have not brought her the happiness she hoped for.

Some interpreters have also suggested that the reference to her husbands might symbolize the different idols worshiped in that region. In that sense, the story can remind us that we sometimes try to find meaning, acceptance, or fulfillment in things that are not truly God, things that ultimately cannot satisfy our deepest thirst.

This Sunday invites us to ask ourselves what those idols might be in our own lives. Where do we look for purpose, meaning, or acceptance in ways that do not truly satisfy us?

Sometimes this can take very ordinary forms. It might be endless scrolling on our phones, constantly checking for new notifications in the hope that something will fill a certain emptiness within us. It might take the form of workaholism, alcoholism, or other habits that promise satisfaction but leave us still thirsty. It might even involve relationships that, in the end, do not bring us the love and peace we are seeking.

Like the Samaritan woman, we too can search for love, acceptance, and purpose in places that do not ultimately fulfill us.

In the Gospel, however, Jesus is presented as the one who can truly satisfy this thirst.

To appreciate this more fully, it helps to know something about the significance of wells in the Old Testament. Interestingly, wells are often places where people meet their future spouses. Moses meets his wife at a well. Jacob meets his wife at a well.

The other day I happened to see an infographic online that was showing how people have met their spouses over the past seventy years. In the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, most people met through friends, family members, or work. Those accounted for the great majority of relationships. Over time, especially with the rise of the internet and smartphones, online dating became increasingly common. Today, depending on the statistics you look at, a very large percentage of couples meet that way.

But before online dating apps, there were wells.

In the Old Testament, wells were places where people met and formed relationships. So when Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well, this detail is significant. In a symbolic way, Jesus is presented as the true bridegroom, the one who can truly satisfy what she has been seeking.

Notice also that the woman has had five husbands and is now with a sixth man. In biblical symbolism, the number seven represents completeness or perfection. In this sense, Jesus becomes the seventh, the one who finally fulfills what she has been searching for.

Jesus promises her not physical water, but living water, water that will become within her a spring welling up to eternal life. Later in the Gospel of John, we come to understand that this living water symbolizes the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is the gift we receive in baptism and which is strengthened in confirmation.

In this encounter, Christ promises to give the Samaritan woman the gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift that can truly fill her heart with meaning, love, and direction.

As we celebrate these scrutinies with the members of our RCIA group, this Gospel invites each of us to examine our own lives. Like the Samaritan woman, we all carry jars with us. Sometimes those jars are empty, and we try to fill them with things that do not truly satisfy.

What are the idols in our lives? Where are we searching for fulfillment in ways that leave us still thirsty?

At the end of the Gospel, the Samaritan woman leaves her water jar behind. She no longer needs the water she came to draw, because she has encountered something far greater. She has encountered Christ.

As we journey closer to Easter and the great celebration of the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ, we are invited to remember our own baptism. Christ desires to fill our hearts with the gift of the Holy Spirit. And like the Samaritan woman, we too may find that we are able to leave behind some of the jars we have been carrying, the things we have tried to fill with what does not truly satisfy.

Christ alone gives the living water that satisfies the deepest thirst of the human heart.