Fr. Jo's Reflection for Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, Year C, April 13, 2025

If you have a pet, you can sense the idea percolated in today’s gospel about the sheep hearing the voice of the shepherd, and the shepherd calling the sheep by name. In a certain small-claims court where two individuals fought over the ownership of a puppy, the judge decided the case by letting loose the dog to determine the party in whose direction the puppy would proceed. That clearly decided the case. There’s also reason why a dog would bark at strangers as opposed to its owner to whom it wags its tail. Every year, on the Fourth Sunday of Easter, the gospel reading is taken from the 10th Chapter of St. John’s Gospel where Jesus teaches lessons on the sheep, the sheepfold, the gate or door of the sheepfold and about shepherds—good and bad. He tells us that He is that Good Shepherd who lays down His life for His sheep. The reference to laying down His life for the sheep and taking it up again has a resurrection motif and explains why the Easter season is the opportune time to reflect on the Good Shepherd. Hence, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is normally called the Bonus Pastor or Good Shepherd Sunday . Lest someone misunderstands the use of the metaphor of the shepherd and the sheep or feels demeaned by being called sheep, Jesus makes a direct connection of His being a shepherd with the paschal mystery through which He laid down His life, took it up again—resurrected—in order to gather together the flock entrusted to Him—whether they are currently part of the sheepfold, the Church, or exist in various sects and traditions of the world religious bodies. By calling Himself the Good Shepherd, and we, the sheep, Jesus shows that there’s an intimate relationship between Him and us, fostered by prayer and the sacraments offered to us through the Church, His true sheepfold. The Catechism teaches that “the Church is, accordingly, the sheepfold, the sole and necessary gateway to which is Christ. It is also the flock of which God himself foretold that he would be the shepherd, and whose sheep, even though governed by human shepherds, are unfailingly nourished and led by Christ himself, the Good Shepherd and Prince of Shepherds, who gave his life for his sheep” (CCC 754). We must therefore learn the voice of our shepherd in the intimacy of prayer. Many who dog-sit or pet-sit for another may get quite acquainted with the pet, but not as much as they would were they the pet’s owner. Jesus says that there lies the difference between the hireling and the owner. The extent to which the good shepherd would zealously guard the sheep is shown by his readiness to have himself torn to pieces by a wolf than let the wolf scatter and make a meal of the sheep. You may wonder what sense there is in dying to save mere animals. It’s even more astonishing to think of God dying to save mere mortals. In this, there can be no presumption of equivalence. Hence, St. Peter, in the second reading, considers it the greatest act of love that He bore our sins in his own body upon the cross. Similarly, no event, no idea or name would suffice for our salvation other than the name of Jesus. St. Peter declares today: “for the promise is made to you and to your children and all those far off” (Acts 2:39). What about non-Christians and non-believers? Leave it to God to work out how, in His inscrutable wisdom, He will unite all the other sheep that do not belong to the sheepfold of the Church, teach them the voice of the Shepherd, and bring them to pasture. Do I think that the various branches of the Lutheran, Presbyterian, Methodist traditions that all identify as “First” leaving no room for a “Second” will someday unite? It’ll be a miracle. How about the Jews, Muslims, Confucianists, Hindus, Shinto, Tao and the Nones? With God nothing is impossible. We’re to be content with knowing that the Good Shepherd , the Great Gatherer has provided space for all and His watchful eyes are upon all His sheep wherever they may currently be. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Emmaus was a city in the Shephelah or “lowland” of Palestine, noted for several Jewish historic conquests. In 166 BC, it was the site of the victory of Judas over Gorgias in 1st Maccabees 4:1-22, including the first Old Testament reference to the resurrection. Earlier, Joshua had defeated the Canaanite league around this region (Joshua 10). It was also where the Samson’s exploits occurred, as well as David’s duel with Goliath. It’s mostly a residential part of town with limestone foothills that made the area fortified against enemy attacks. Emmaus is the earthly city. In today’s account of Jesus’ appearance, Luke doesn’t tell us why the two disciples are going to Emmaus or whether they reside there. However, Luke’s reference to the town might point to its relative importance as a hideaway or “cool off” town from the buzzing in Jerusalem. The two disciples appear to be leaving behind the ‘spiritual angst’ of Jerusalem with a ‘failed Messianic hope’ in Jesus, an empty tomb, and a hollow echo to the mundane fortifications of the limestone foothills of Emmaus. It is a journey from the spiritual height to a disappointing spiritual lowland. Little do they realize that the Lord who gave His people a number of victories near Emmaus is on the way with them to make their troubled hearts burn within them . He will turn their bread of tears into a joyful presence, and return them to the beauty of spiritual elation. Hence, they’ll hurriedly leave the ‘lowland’ (Emmaus), and return to the spiritual highlands of Jerusalem with the joyful news of His presence. The Eucharistic motif of this story is unmistakable. Every Eucharistic gathering echoes Emmaus. Christ inspires us with words of scripture, and breaks His journey to be with us at the evening of our lives, when we have grown weary. The Church adapted the words of the two disciples in her prayer: “Mane nobiscum Domine, quoniam advesperascit”—“Stay with us Lord, for the evening falls. ” As we offer gifts of bread and wine to the welcome guest of our soul, He breaks the Bread of Presence and shows Himself to us. With joy, we go out to announce Him in the heights. He’ll continue to walk seven days a week with us and our Christian neighbor, as He walked seven miles with Cleopas and his unnamed companion. He already told us that where two or three of us are gathered, He’ll be there with us (Matt 18:20). He’ll speak words that burn within our hearts, until our journey finds us once again at a new Emmaus (another Sunday), where we break bread and experience His Real Presence. It is easy to notice that the Mass was modeled after the Emmaus journey, with the two parts of the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist. At the outset of the first part, we lay our disappointments, failures, negligence, and contrite heart in the Penitential Rite , as the two disciples on the road to Emmaus told Him about their failed hopes. In the Readings of the Day , we listen to Him as He draws from scripture a tapestry of God’s salvific mystery realized in Him. Every good Homily should make our hearts burn within us. At the Universal Prayer , we invoke Him, like the two disciples to stay with His Church, at this evening of life and be our welcome guest. The second part of Mass starts with Offertory , where we offer bread and wine and gifts from our treasury of His blessings. At Consecration , He takes the bread, blesses it, and breaks it. At Holy Communion , He opens our eyes to recognize His presence. Ite Misa Est is a call to carry the joy of the Lord’s presence to the wearied, the sick in need of His healing, the unbeliever to whom we reveal Christ’s light. Why was He revealed only at the breaking of bread, and not when He spoke to them? Because our faith would not terminate at the Table of the Word . The real presence of the resurrected Christ is perceived only at the Eucharistic Table; that is why the Church calls the Eucharist, “the source and summit of our Christian life.” Next time you’re at Mass, try to locate yourself in Emmaus. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

You’ll perhaps think that if Jesus had shown Himself to more people besides His disciples, everyone would believe that He rose from the dead. Suppose He made sudden appearances at Herod’s palace, at Pilate’s and Caiaphas’s, and showed up at the temple, that would be impressive; but He would need to perform more feats. Even if He dashes into the Synagogue in Capernaum like a conquering war general, disrupt the Torah lesson of the day and frighten observers with portents that show Him as the enemy they couldn’t conquer, that would not have been enough to make everyone believe He’s the Messiah? To win over the crowd by miracles would require unending miracles. The resurrection did in fact frighten the guards stationed at the tomb who reported their experience to the chief priests. Yet, the effort by the chief priests to bribe them so they could lie about the resurrection, and the press release by the authorities: “His disciples came during the night and stole him away while the guards were asleep” (Mtt 28:11) show that no amount of physical evidence would have been enough to convince the Jews. Something different would be required—namely, faith. Today’s appearance of Jesus to the apostles touches on a number of themes. He came to make peace with them; hence, they were filled with joy when they saw the Lord. He also meant to confirm their faith in Him. Therefore, He breathes on them the breath of the Holy Spirit, through whose power they will become witnesses of the resurrection. He commissions them to continue the work He began. We heard Luke report in the first reading that the community they left behind devoted themselves to (1) the teaching of the apostles (2) to a communal life (3) to the breaking of bread, that is, to the celebration of Mass, and (4) to prayers. His appearance was also a salutary lesson on the fragility of human nature and an assurance of divine mercy. These men must have been extremely embarrassed at their tepidity, denials and abandonment of their Friend and Master. Their hearts must have reeled in utter shame and remorse. But He forgives them, and right there, commands them to forgive others in His name. By this He establishes an avenue or sacrament of God’s mercy. Hence, this Sunday all over the world has been designated ‘Divine Mercy Sunday.’ A disciple, therefore, is one called to carry the message of God’s mercy to a world that is broken, yet claims self-sufficiency. He will have to contend with a powerful force that opposes God with the agenda to destroy faith. Our first glimmer of Him attempting to confront the world’s modus operandi came with the reaction of Thomas to the report by his fellow apostles. Thomas represents the world—the so-called scientific community—for whom the criteria for truth and any possible cognition of reality will be limited to concrete observable data. Hence, if you cannot touch, feel or measure it, then that idea falls within the realm of unverifiable conjecture to be rejected. Yet, the second appearance to Thomas reveals more than effort at evidentiary proof. Here, Thomas represents each one of us with a tinge of vertigo, an inner restlessness or torment which requires destruction in order that it might be refashioned by the risen Lord. Christ makes clear that beatitude is guaranteed only by faith: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe” (John 21:29). Faith will become a struggle to overcome the collective mentality of the world, its fears and anxieties, its vanities and lusts, and its refusal to undergo the destruction to which it’s destined in order to be recast in the image of Christ. Thomas’ inquiry turns to a prayer that the Lord may assuage our inner restlessness and give solidity and permanence to our faith in Him. At the revelation of Jesus, Thomas exclaimed, “My Lord and my God.” John makes the point that the exchange between Jesus and Thomas is a story told to help us “believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, so that through this faith you may have life in him.” Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

I recommend that every Christian should have on their bucket list of things to do before they die, two pilgrimages: one to Rome, specifically for the celebration of Easter, and another to Jerusalem for the celebration of Holy Week. It’ll be a kind of ‘reverse pilgrimage’ to attend the Easter event in Rome before the Passion pilgrimage in the Holy Land. Conventional wisdom would suggest doing it the other way round, but that’s not how majority of us started our faith journey. We first became believers before we learned what we believed; something like St. Anselm’s “fides quaerens intellectum” (faith seeking understanding) or like an adopted child growing up in her adopted family, then after many years goes in search of her natural parents. An Easter pilgrimage to Rome will find you one among nearly half a million Christians at the vast piazza of St. Peter’s Basilica. You’ll be stunned at the number of people who share the same faith as you, especially when after Mass, the pope greets you and your fellow Christians, “Happy Easter” in different languages to loud cheers and applause. You’ll be amazed at the unity expressed at the one altar of the Risen Lord. Your next pilgrimage to celebrate Holy Week in the Holy Land will certainly be subdued as you’re led to the actual sites of Jesus’ Passion, Death and Resurrection. If a walk through the “Via Dolorosa” on Good Friday doesn’t leave tears in your eyes, you should see a therapist because you may not be truly human. You’ll also see that Jesus remains a sign of contradiction for that land when you notice that there’s still division among different Christian sects who claim a section of the churches to themselves. Many a time, fights will break out between the Franciscans and the Greek Orthodox or the Armenians and the Syriac Orthodox. Several Jewish (or Arab merchants) will yell at you to buy fake Christian artifacts—just for the money. Remember, they still think Jesus was an impostor, and their Messiah is yet to arrive. And your greatest misery will come from seeing the staggering Dome of the Rocks —the largest religious edifice in Jerusalem—a mosque, erected on the Temple Mount, from where Muslims claim Mohamed ascended into heaven. (I must have spoiled your Easter). You can see why I suggested the Rome pilgrimage first. Yet, everything I’ve told you is true. There is about 20 centuries separating the events you experience in Rome and the ones in Palestine, but there’s a tapestry of connection between them. The sad events in Jerusalem gave rise to the joy of Rome. The Hosanna and Alleluia you hear in Rome are, after all, Hebrew words, but they resound everywhere they’re announced; they have remained words untranslatable. During my visit to Korea years ago, they were the only words I understood at Mass. Truly, a radical overturning of the entire history of humanity took place this morning. There’s hardly one of us who has not experienced the death of a loved one or friend or someone we admire. I can give anything possible to have my mother back to life. Yet, for me, the consequences of Jesus’ resurrection remain enormous or even incalculable. A new kind of existence which cannot end for my mom or our departed loved ones is ushered in for all of us. It’s as if some sort of implacable, underground vitality surfaced from the innermost depths of humanity, flooding everything and imposing itself irresistibly on us (Motte). Though I still fear bodily death, I’m assured that death would not annihilate me; rather, it has been turned to a tool for my transformation unto glory. And the greatest news is that sin is conquered . My failures that stream from a complicity with entrenchment to worldly power and security, which constantly beguile human existence has been dealt a fatal blow. The resurrection of Christ has defused this seductive power of sin and granted me freedom through His life-giving Spirit. Happy Easter to you all!!! Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Psalm 122:3 says: “Jerusalem is built as a city strongly compact; it is there that the tribes GO UP, the tribes of the Lord.” And so, there’s this imagery of Jerusalem as a city to which people go up. From whichever direction you’re taking to Jerusalem, you’re going up. Located 2400 feet above sea level, Jerusalem, the ancient city remains the center of religious activities in the world. If the war would allow it, the Patriarch of Jerusalem Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa will ride a donkey into the city. The teaming number of pilgrims who normally participate in this time-honored annual ritual recall with great emotion the event that took place at that same road nearly 2000 years ago. From there too, one can see the Mount of Olives towering even higher by almost 300 feet, named after the olive groves that once covered its slopes. The Kidron Valley , also mentioned today is found between Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives . It is deep and dangerous, with peaks and valleys that, without question, would create the aura of the slips and tumbles, the highs and lows of the drama of salvation that we reenact today. Also, right at the base of the Mount of Olives is the Garden of Gethsemani, where Jesus sweat blood, the apostles slept, and the ultimate betrayal by Judas took place. A large surface rock at this garden has been used to form the sanctuary of the Church of All Nations to remind us that the love we celebrate today reaches to the ends of the earth. The liturgical name for today is Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, juxtaposing the victory of redemptive love and the fatality of ancient pride. Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday thus marks the beginning of the Christian Holy Week after the long period of Lenten fast and prayer. Today, the Church enters the most important week in the life of believers when the entire event of salvation becomes real in Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection. Jesus enters as a triumphant king into His city, Jerusalem, the city of destiny. Yet, there’s much less to indicate triumph. He chose to ride not a horse but a beast of burden. Roman military generals rode on horses when returning from successful expeditions. The donkey reflected the animal of the poor. The singing of Hosanna (in Hebrew: “Save us, we pray”), the spreading of cloaks and branches did not take His focus away from what awaited Him. The drama of His conviction, sentencing, inhumane treatment by the Jews and Roman soldiers that culminated to His death cannot fail to move the heart once it is read. Regardless how many times you’ve heard it, each time it is read, we feel our spirit moved as whenever we watch The Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. The death of the Lord was followed by earthquakes, tombs splitting open, and the raising of the dead, as we heard in Matthew’s account today. These events caused those hired to keep watch over Him to cry, “Truly, this was the Son of God.” But the most important lesson is to realize that Jesus needn’t suffer so grievously if not for our sins. Hearing these words today and looking at Jesus hung on the cross, we should sense the full gravity of sin. According to Sheen, a personal equation must be established between the crucifix and us, where each of us should read his or her autobiography. We see our pride in the crown of thorns, our lusts and carnality in the nail and the torn flesh, sins of avarice in the poverty and nakedness, our wandering from the path of goodness and forgetfulness of God in the pierced feet, our thievery in the riven hands, and our sins of alcoholism in the thirst. God’s love and infinite mercy is also written there as part of our autobiography. The cross is the parchment on which it is written and Christ’s blood is the ink with which it is written. By His wounds we’re healed; by His blood, we’re ransomed. Right there on the cross, He forgave our sins and nailed them finally. Our hearts are filled with wonder and gratitude at so great a gift. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

It was still dark as I was returning from early Mass at the convent. As I pulled to the driveway of the rectory, a middle-aged man was standing there looking downcast. I could read intense trepidation in his face. I didn’t recognize him as a member of St. Andrew’s (the parish I was serving then). I drew close and asked why he looked awestruck. He started: “Reverend Father Sir, please help me; I just woke from a terrible dream.” Taking him to a corner where there was a bench, we sat, and I said, “Relax and share the experience with me.” He continued: “Fr., I dreamt that I died. I saw myself laid in state. Everyone was coming to view my corpse. Suddenly, the casket was closed on me, and then, and then...I saw myself lowered into the grave and in just seconds, heaps of sand falling on me. Then I woke up.” He ended with a plea: “Fr., is there something you can do about it? Let this not happen to me.” I did my best to hold my laughter. I asked if he was a parishioner to which he answered in the affirmative. I told him that I hadn’t seen him anytime around the parish. He concurred and added that I won’t remember that three years before, I had baptized his son. That ceremony was the last time Tim stepped into any Church. “What about confession and communion?” I asked. It was the morning he was to wed his wife—18 years before—that the priest pulled Tim aside and heard his unprepared confession. The rest of the story is that I had before me a walking spiritual corpse who’d been rotting in a grave for 41 years. The dream was a knock by Christ on Tim’s tomb to wake him from death, unbind him, so he could live again. I visited St. Andrew’s a couple of years ago and saw Tim. He rushed out and gave me a big hug and told me he was the chairperson of St. Andrew’s Lay Discipleship. He said he was grateful for the dream that liberated him from the chains of death and the grave. Quite a long story; quite a resurrection story! “Do you hear this knock on your own grave?” Maybe you are someone, who today are wearing the accoutrements of death and need to be freed. Sin does hold its captives in chains. Lack of prayer and spirituality, pride, forgetfulness of God, impurity, love of money and security, consumerism, and neglect of the poor are all outfits of death and form a huge stone at the door of a sin-laden soul. Would you permit today that the stone be rolled away? Martha complained that Lazarus’ body would have started smelling after four days. Your soul could be as stinking as Lazarus’ dead body. No perfume can cure the smell of a sin-smeared soul. Only the Lord can roll away the stone and smear you with the scent of freedom, wholeness, and holiness. Hugh of St. Victor said: “Damp wood kindles slowly...so are our carnal hearts. Touch them with the spark of the fear of God, or Divine Love, and the great clouds of evil passions and rebellious desires roll upwards. Then the soul grows stronger, the flame of love burns more hotly and brightly, the smoke of passion dies down, and the purified spirit rises to the contemplation of Truth.” Men are not free until they are set free by Christ. Death, grave, sin, slavery, oppression, and even law equally hold men and women in chains. By swapping these chains with that of Christ we become truly free, for “only the Christ-fettered are free” (Sheen). Lazarus’ resurrection is not the resurrection that we await—he had to die again to attain that resurrection. His resurrection is one that is repeated each time we enter with true sorrow into the confessional. There, the grave is busted and new life is gained. That is why the Church refers to baptism and penance as sacraments of the dead; they are sacraments given to those who are spiritually dead because of sin. Lent is a sure invitation to repentance that leads from death to life. Where sinful decay has set in, Lent and repentance bring rebirth and a flowering of Easter joy, especially for our dear brothers and sisters who are to be born again at the Easter sacraments. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Imagine that all of us were blind with the exception of the Thompson’s, and they tell us that they could see the sun appear in the morning, and after twelve hours of daylight there’s night. Would we believe them? A fraction of us may, but there’s a large number who would tag their claim “delusional.” With our knowledge of psychometry, we can statistically poll the number of people who strongly agree or not, and infer that since we’re blind, they ought to be blind, too. If they hold to that claim and say that there’s something like a rainbow, a blue sky and green trees, we’ll suggest that their claim was a complex based on wishful thinking and propose they see a therapist to cure them of their curious wish for color. This is the attitude of people who live in sin and unhappiness, who call divine truth a superstition or a myth? In their arrogance and blindness, they turn their backs on God with familiar statements, like: “I believe only what I see, feel or touch; ...I make my own decisions about what is right or wrong; ...there is no God; or at best, he is absentminded; ...the Church is a bunch of power-hungry men who love to control others, especially women; ...priests are hypocrites and creepy men who sleep with children, etc.” A little extra wealth will make some boast that they’re happy here, and have no need of heaven hereafter. Compare this attitude to that of the Pharisees in today’s Gospel. They were convinced that there was no way Jesus could be the Christ and added a threat: “If anyone acknowledged Him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagogue.” So, when the former blind beggar told them that Jesus could be the Christ, they quipped: “Are you trying to teach us?” And because he was born blind, they added an insult: “You were born totally in sin.” But that man had much better vision than they did. His healing came progressively, unlike Christ’s other miracles. He was first healed of physical blindness, then followed the miracle of spiritual sight, which also happened progressively. In the first miracle, he gradually started to see physical objects like everyone else, but in the second, faith was awoken in him; he had a spiritual insight that put him above, especially, the “blind-know-it-all-Pharisees.” Today’s miracle is a reminder that spiritual blindness wreaks more havoc than mere physical blindness. A man or woman caught up in the blind alleys of hatred, resentment, prejudice, passion and falsehood may refuse to see a better world. For example, you would have noticed that majority in today’s media, of either persuasion, suffer from such terrible blindness that it would require extraordinary divine intervention to dig them out of the dark alleys in which they’re trapped: Pure demonic infestation of anger, hatred, and hysteria. The blind man of today has something to teach all of us: we need to progressively encounter Jesus anew. In his case, the progression is made from seeing Jesus as a mere man to seeing Him as a prophet . Eventually, when his spiritual sight is totally restored, his gift of faith proves even more miraculous than his physical sight, when he says, “I believe you are the Christ.” Like him, we received at the baptismal font the gift of faith, curing us of our spiritual blindness. We grew with that, and as our faith matured, our perception of Jesus also matured. We’ll keep maturing till our perception of Jesus reaches its richest form. The exciting thing about Jesus is that the more we learn about Him, the greater He becomes. Sadly, in other relationships, the more we learn about our wife, husband, friend, or neighbor, the more their shortcomings are revealed. Going back to our earlier story, suppose one of the Thompson’s who could see becomes so ridiculed that she finally plucks out her eyes. That would correspond to abandoning one’s faith because of the derision of the world. This Lent, resolve never to judge your life by the candlelight of the mediocrity and ordinariness of your spiritually blind neighbors; instead, glow in Divine Light. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Life came from water , or as Thales of Miletus philosophized, “Water is the urstoff of all things,” and it appears the Lord agrees. When He asked the Samaritan woman for water, He needed that commodity which was most essential to life. Nothing can replace a person’s thirst for water: not Coke, not wine, tea or juice. Water is the basic amenity which we didn’t make and which we cannot live without. The Igbos of South-eastern Nigeria have a saying: “Mmiri enwe iro” (water has no enemy); so, when it rains, it doesn’t discriminate. Water is so gentle that it follows the line of least resistance. But when ruffled, it can also be destructive, unleashing floods and tsunamis. When calm, it provides avenues for voyagers to traverse the earth and goods and services to reach their destinations. In the first reading, we learn that God can make water gush out of the rock to satiate the thirst of His people who cry out to Him. The desert thirst was, however, both a warning and an invitation for Israel to trust that their God is always in their midst. Our Lenten desert or fast is an invitation to an arid land where our trust turns from worldly allurements to the provision made by God’s spirit who leads our spiritual journey . When Jesus asked the Samaritan woman for water, it was her life (and ours), empty and lacking in the proper spiritual nutrients to support it that He beckons us to offer to Him. His request for water was an allurement to inveigle and seize our utterly worldly and sin-laden soul—represented by the reprobate woman of Samaria—for the unction of the Spirit. It was a betrayal of sort, from the recklessness of sensual pursuits to the inebriation of the Spirit. Jesus asks us to turn our poverty over to Him and become enriched, to give our distress and gain joy, to surrender our chains and become free. When the strong asks help from the weak, it should be provided in haste with the hope that such help would attract greater benefits. When God asks you for life, you need not be stingy in offering Him that which belongs to Him. God is much more generous with His spirit than the rich man with their money. To the woman at the well, He says, “Whoever drinks the water that I will give will never be thirsty again.” He makes the point that we have a spiritual thirst, more profound than our physical thirst for water. It happens that some do not recognize this; hence, they’re unaware of their inner poverty and nakedness. But the Lord knows. He knew that the woman of Samaria—five times divorced—hasn’t had any good fortune finding the perfect guy. But she could find in Jesus her soul’s desire. He is the one of whom the Psalmist says: “As a deer yearns for running stream, so my soul is yearning for you, my God” (Psalm 42:1). Isaiah similarly prophesied, “Come to me, everyone who is thirsty” (Isaiah 55:1). Jeremiah likewise calls Him, “the Spring of living water” (Jer 17:13). St. Augustine found after a life of desolation that our hearts are made for God, and can rest in him. Someone else wrote: “Our hearts have a God-shaped hole in them; that only God can fill.” Charlie Brower wrote about the foolishness of attempting to satisfy spiritual thirst with material things: “My friend Bill is one of those guys who’s still searching for success, even though he’s already found it...still scoring touchdowns, even though the game is over and won. He’s come to the end of the rainbow, but there’s no pot of gold there. He’s found the buried treasure, but it’s empty.” The point is: material success alone leaves us empty. There’s a void in us that no material object can fill. Man cannot live without God; the infinite haunts him constantly. As the sun rises without asking permission of the night so divine life invades us without consulting the darkness of our mind. Even when our intellects bar God’s passage by the false obstruction to belief that unsound thinking erected, He is able to penetrate to us through the secret door we have not known how to bolt (Fulton Sheen). Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

If you think you’re too old to change course, take a cue from Abraham and his wife Sarah. Abraham was 75 years old when God called him to abandon his native land to head out to some unknown land for a mission not too clear. It was an adventure that he undertook based solely on the strength of God’s word. Thus, Abraham’s journey to an uncharted future began—a journey which saw him depart from current day Iraq to Palestine. Had that journey not happened, we won’t be talking about a place today called the Holy Land. God might still have sent Jesus to us, but it is possible He would be called ‘Jesus of Bagdad’ rather than Jesus of Nazareth. We often speak of our “Spiritual Journey” or our daily journal—coined from the French word jour, to describe a daily record of events. Here is a lesson to learn from Abraham’s journey, unlike Adam and Eve presented to us last Sunday: We should never think that we know better than our Maker whose predilection is that we find happiness in him. We should never think that we are too old to start over or to make a change for the better. The perduring reality of our existence suggests that the invisible and the unknown are much truer than what we can see, feel, or touch. From our naked world of nature, we often realize surprisingly that deep beneath a flowering meadow, a volcanic eruption has been forming for many years. And that leads us to the mountain experience of Peter, James, and John, reported in today’s Gospel. The Evangelist, Matthew, masterfully related the story of the Transfiguration. He was not at the scene, and thus didn’t own this story. He was a reporter of an experience that Peter, James, and John recounted to the Church. Hence, like the other evangelist, he unleashes his journalistic skills to report an experience so strange that it was almost impossible to sketch. We find him groping for the most striking terms, yet unsatisfied as he notices that his expressions were far too inferior to describe the reality. Mark, who is known for brevity in expression sounded even more laconic in his description of the event. For each of the apostles present at the Transfiguration, it marked a turning point in their perception of Jesus. For them, it remained an experience unlike no other in the visible world. Jesus took Peter, James, and John. Why not Judas, Thomas, and Phillip? Because He knew those who best understood His teachings, as well as those whose pantry of spiritual foods needed more supplies. Next, He led them up a high mountain. Why not the plain? Because divine realities are to be perceived from an exalted position, not in the plain. Spiritual life involves climbing a mountain from where we can be given the vision to perceive ultimate things. St. Theresa of Avila notes that there are no plains in the spiritual life. One must continue to climb and should double up effort when the journey becomes tough. The spiritual plain is the cafeteria where the gullible pick and choose what aspect of God or His word to accept. Intentional Catholics remain on the incline. We’re invited this Lent to climb the mountain with Jesus, experience His glory, and become similarly transfected (as scientists through a process called transfection introduce purified nucleic acid or DNA into mammalian cells to produce a desired protein). Introduction to the life of Jesus is our way to glory. Hence, Transfiguration is “the sacrament of our second regeneration” (CCC, 556). Unlike Moses, who coming from Sinai as mediator between God and Israel exuded a reflected glory, Christ entered the cloud with a glory that is His own: a glory He revealed to the apostles who saw Him converse with the greatest of the greats—Moses and Elijah. Eternal reality dawned on them and they begged to not go. But Jesus was preparing them for the Scandal of the Cros s so that amidst the doom and gloom that will accompany His saving death they may be strengthened by this vision of the likeness of the glory of heaven . Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo