Fr. Jo's Reflection for the 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A, June 28, 2026
June 27, 2026
When we accepted faith in Christ, here are the things we signed up for: 1) We’ll love Jesus more than our father, mother, son, daughter, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, brother, sister, nation, tribe; 2) We must love Jesus more than ourselves, our personal needs, our desires and comfort, our possessions; and 3) We must take up suffering (i.e., the cross) daily and endure hardships, criticisms, putdowns, hatred, etc., daily for the sake of Christ. That doesn’t sound like a great seller in an age of self-cult age, like ours. And this explains why we have many half-baked Christians. It must be either that many who signed up for the Christian life didn’t read this memo—hence, are unaware of what the Christian life entailed, or they simply don’t care, being Christians by default. Some may also be the so-called “cradle-Catholics” with their “God-degree” earned after Second Grade in Religious Education class.
Several modern egotists, including a number of professing Catholics and so-called born-agains, believe that the Christian life is intolerable utter cruelty. And when you call Christianity a religion of love, they feel insulted because they can’t imagine such love that demands renunciation, self-abasement, sacrifice, and abandonment to the will of Someone whom you do not even see. We spend a lot of time, energy and resources teaching our children to grow in self-esteem in order to be able to compete and successfully outsmart others in the world while Christianity turns it around asking us to develop rather, Christ-esteem. The path to Christianity appears paved with steep narrow stairs that could give a follower a feeling of vertigo: a self-destruction and deliberate denigration of the impulsive self as naught. You’ll think that Jesus would deny that this is the path to discipleship. Not so. He says, “Yes, you must carry your cross; Yes, the road is narrow and steep; Yes, you’ll be hated by people; Yes, they’ll persecute and imprison you; and Yes, some of you will pay with your lives.”
St. Paul was an apostle who understood this and speaks about the juxtaposition of love and death in the Christian life. In today’s second reading, he asks, “Do you not know that those of us who have been baptized in Christ have been baptized into his death?...so we may walk in newness of life” (Rom 6:3,4). Both Christ and St. Paul aren’t saying what we do not know or even put to practice. Consider, for instance, the extent to which the sport enthusiast or the body-builder punishes his body in order to grow the abs that he desires; or the amount of torment you endure from the dentist in order to have clean and healthy teeth. I hate to use such worldly analogies but the one who thinks that Christianity is all about inner euphoria completely misunderstands the love of Christ. It is called “agape” or sacrificial love, which reserves nothing to self but gives all. The emotional toll that sacrificial love exerts on the believer becomes no longer a mutilation but a transforming sincere love, i.e., love that is whole, clean, pure, unmixed, and without wax (sine-cera: Latin for sincere). Sincere love sells the disciple to the world, making them nuncios of the eternal city, and drawing people to Christ. Christians are called to become effervescent couriers of grace to anyone who shows them kindness.
You need look no further than the first reading of today to notice how the disciple is an effervescent courier of grace. A Shunammite woman extended hospitality to Elisha, the prophet, and won divine beatitude, becoming a mom at an advanced age. No surprise, even modern research shows that altruism, service, and going out of one’s way to offer help to others have both additive and synergistic effects on personal well-being. Research conducted with a sample of cancer survivors showed those who picked up volunteer works, service projects and community outreach having less cases of recurrence of cancer than survivors who went back to profitable work. Love and kindness heal; selfishness and hatred hurt. The disciple of Christ, in turn, loves till it hurts.
Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
I challenge you to openly assert that something considered wrong or immoral ten years ago is still so today. You’ll be scurrilously denounced by the enforcers of modern orthodoxy in the media and Hollywood. The tyranny with which the new police of contemporary ethos operate often takes on the contours of a gang in which it is not permissible to be a non-conformist. A false consensus with all trappings of pluralism and liberation unleashes a centrifugal motion that doesn’t just seek to expunge the non-consenting but confines them to a social doghouse. If they fail to dig up stuff on you, they make something up which they hang on your head, and watch you spend the rest of your life defending your tarnished name. Our modern society looks every way like a replay of “Jeremiah Inside the Trenches .” You might have felt like Jeremiah those times you saw or heard truth, goodness and right conduct painted as lies, treachery, and outrage while evil is glamorized with bold, rash, and useless temerity. As society continues to slide into nihilism, the sad fate meted to truth and goodness makes it tougher for our generation to distinguish right from wrong, truth from falsehood, and the benign from the odious. The level of confusion to which society has been thrown forces the few who still believe in anything with the semblance of truth to either cower in silence or join the train and water down their convictions. You may or may not be a fan of any particular public official. However, if there is any modicum of objectivity in your brain, you’ll recognize that our political media have ceased to be disseminators of information and turned into blinded partisans and devotees. If they agree with a particular official, they’ll institute a cause for political and moral canonization of the official, their family, their wardrobe and their missteps. Should they disagree with an official, they turn into witch-haunters with a barrage of negative information about the official, their family and even their virtues. Like a script out of this line from Jeremiah: “Denounce! Let us denounce him!” you can feel the thirst for vengeance. They go to bed plotting lies and evil and wake up with the hope that “Perhaps he will be trapped; then we can prevail.” And this goes across political divides—right, left or center. The script for religious, moral and political intrigue was not written today; it was written in Eden and made part and parcel of fallen humanity. Jeremiah was its victim. Many righteous kings and rulers experienced it. You’ll experience it as a parent, a teacher or student from the agents of hate. When Jesus steps into this fray, He brings a message of reassurance and vindication for the cause of goodness and right. He says to His apostles and those who believe in Him: “Do not be afraid.” I read from a certain scripture scholar that the expression, “Do not be afraid” is found 365 times in the Bible — meaning that we’re encouraged by the Lord to rid fear from our lives. St. John Paul II has the expression “Do not be afraid” as his life and missionary principle. The point John Paul makes is that if we resign our lives to God, we need not be afraid of those who’ll attack us. It was with that conviction that he energized Poland to reject and overthrow Communism. The same conviction led Stanley Rother back to Guatemala to bring Christ to his parishioners of Santiago Atitlan and speak truth to power. Jesus tells us that the real spiritual danger we face is not losing our mortal life. The real danger is that the evil one may cause a soul to reject and deny goodness, virtue and truth, and steal one’s eternal inheritance. The devil steals eternal life that he may turn it into eternal death. St. Paul adds that death is an irreversible power but there is another reality far superior to death, which is the gracious gift of the one man, Jesus Christ. Only when we lose our mortal body in death would we realize how fleeting physical existence, which the world glamorizes, is. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
Nine out of ten funerals I have presided over in the past ten years have had the song “On Eagle’s Wings” sung at the Mass or service. When Fr. Michael Joncas wrote the song, it was his way of consoling his friend Doug Hall, who got the news that his dad had died of a heart attack. Earlier that evening, the two men had enjoyed dinner together but the sad news turned the sweet taste of the food into a bitter pill. Fr. Joncas who never met his friend’s dad thought the song was just something that would be both prayerful and comforting to his friend. Never did he know that he was that day penning down what would become a funeral classic. Since that funeral, the song has featured in, among other events, the funeral of the great Italian tenor Pavarotti (in Italian) and sung at the memorial for the victims of the Oklahoma City Murray Building bombing. This song drawn from the words that God gave to Moses when he addressed the Israelites appears in today’s first reading: “You have seen for yourselves how I treated the Egyptians and how I bore you up on eagle’s wings and brought you here to myself” (Exodus 19:4) extolls the protective power of God over his people in times of danger and hardship. John Walvoord and Roy Zuck describe how the eagle does this: “When young eagles are learning to fly, the mother eagle flies under them with her wings spread out to catch them,” should they be in danger of falling or targeted by archers. While other birds carry their young in their talons, the mother eagle carries hers upon her wings, so that even the archers who aim at them cannot hurt the young eagles without first hurting the mom. This is an expression of the mighty power of God, who at the Red Sea caused a pillar of cloud and fire to interpose itself between the Israelites and their Egyptian pursuers, forming an impenetrable line of defense for His people (Henry Matthew, Commentary on the Bible ). The Gospel passage from Matthew 9:36 highlights how the condition of God’s people stirs His compassionate heart and moves Him to reach out to them. Hence, the passage says that Jesus’ heart was moved with pity for the crowds who were “troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” Many have been concerned recently about the ongoing war that has brought a lot of hardship, not only to us but to the entire globe. Sifting the true grains from the chaff of ideological pandering would help us understand the true nature of the war and to properly address what is today a true humanitarian crisis. The genocidal quest of the war warmongers and the greed of those who benefit from war must be condemned as vehemently as regimes that unleash and sponsor terrorism. Families and helpless children cut in-between are the true victims of the crises—sometimes having to leave the only homeland they knew to seek refuge where they are not even wanted. Their situation is not unlike the journey of the Holy family from Israel to Egypt. Jesus did experience Himself the plight of having to desert homeland to seek refuge in a foreign land . All of us are like the apostles sent to bring God’s compassion to the most vulnerable. In the face of the current day humanitarian crisis, St. Paul might be reminding us of the power of Christ who came to our aid when we were helpless and poured out His own blood wholly for us. Through the sacrifice of His life, He, like the mother eagle, spread His wings to support us under His pinions. To yield a harvest of good works in our time, should we not in a similar way be concerned about the needs of others, especially victims of hunger and war who seek refuge at our shores? “When I am a stranger, you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35) are the words that should penetrate our hearts and form our consciences as we await for the coming of the kingdom. Such should also inform our policies toward the weak and impoverished. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
Hunger is a natural instinct which every creature fights hard to contain with food and drink. Humans have the added need of shelter and clothing. Birds, rabbits and a few other creatures seek shelter but have no interest in clothing. Many animals spend their entire life doing nothing but search for food and drink. For example, the migration of the Manx Shearwaters birds before winter from their north breeding grounds to the south, as far as Hawaii—a distance covering nearly 8,700 miles—is driven particularly by food. But it’s not only food and drink that creatures hunger for; we also hunger for peace, justice, safety, friendship, intimacy and love. Above all, we hunger for meaning, direction, and purposeful existence. Maslow was nearly correct in identifying a hierarchy of needs on which his theory of human motivation is based. However, placing self-actualization at the top of the chain limited the theory to the touchy feely, willy, nilly. In his later years though, he self-critiqued his theory, elevating self-actualization to mean a search for some higher goal outside the self, in altruism and spirituality. By that, Maslow recognized a much greater hunger: the hunger for transcendence, the hunger for God. Whether one is a card-carrying atheist or a pious believer, we are simply hard-wired for transcendence. God put a hunger in us that only He can satisfy. And to assist in satisfying this hunger, God progressively gives His people bodily food, then food for the mind, and finally the spiritual food of His own life. Corpus Christi as Viaticum (food for the journey) manifests the various steps along this track. 1) Hunger drove the Israelites to Egypt; 2) After a prolonged stay, food no longer satisfied; they hungered for freedom; 3) No sooner had they found freedom than the hunger for food resurfaced; and in answer, God gave them the manna; 4) They still hungered for a homeland to dwell in peace, safety and security, especially from the desert serpents and scorpions and attacks from other nations; 5) Possessing this homeland, they found that they’ll continually fight to keep it from their foes; 6) An eternal homeland is sought. Jesus draws our attention today to the fleeting nature of earthly solutions to this hunger by inviting us to partake of the food that will truly satisfy: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven, ...Whoever comes to me shall not hunger and whoever believes in me shall not thirst” (Jn 6: 51; 6:35). Not even the manna sufficed: “Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died...Whoever eats this bread will live forever” (Jn 6:49, 58). In the world, we are tormented by a plethora of deserts in the form of temptations, hunger and thirst, and opposition to God often as fierce and cunning as serpents and scorpions. By nourishing ourselves with the food of the Lord’s Body and Blood, we’ll escape the death, which the manna couldn’t solve for the Israelites. Consider also that in this food—the Eucharist—we do not only eat the Body and Blood of the Lord, we literally become one body with Christ. St Paul alludes to this when he said: “The blessing cup we bless is a communion with the blood of Christ, and the bread that we break is a communion with the body of Christ. Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body” (I Cor 10:17). In the Eucharist, we partake of the body of the Risen Lord, which unites us to an intimate and immortal life, love and friendship with Him. If you need a “bet” or pledge for the life of heaven, the Eucharist is your best bet. The feast of Corpus Christi evokes memories, solidifies us with the here and now gift of the Lord’s presence, and is a “bet” for future life with Him. We remember the giving of His Body as food for us at the Last Supper; a giving that was effected prior to the tainting of this body by His foes. Thus, He fulfils His promise to remain with us as the Living Bread uncontaminated by even corporeal death and pointing to a future life with Him in eternity. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
Around the year AD 200, one of the early Church Fathers, by name Tertullian, used the word “Trinity” to describe God. 125 years later, at the Council of Nicaea (AD 325), the Church adopted this term in expressing God’s nature as we proclaim every Sunday in the Nicene Creed . The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that “the mystery of the Most Holy Trinity is the central mystery of Christian faith and life. It is the mystery of God Himself. It is therefore the source of all the other mysteries of faith, the light that enlightens them. It is the most fundamental and essential teaching in the ‘hierarchy of the truths of faith.’” What does this mystery teach? To sound really theological, one can employ the Greek term “perichoresis ” used by Sts. John Damascene and Gregory Nazianzus. Perichoresis in theological parlance describes the mutual interpenetration of the hypostasis (persons) of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit who are individually and together of one ousia (essence). That sounds abstract, and I admit to that. However, you can forget about those high-sounding philosophical terms and look at it plainly. Take for example, the idea of the family. No single person talks about herself or himself as a family. Even when someone marries, she’s reluctant to refer to herself and her husband as a family. But once a child comes into the equation, individuality and spousal categorizations give way to family relationship. The mutual interpenetration implied in the trinity is similar to the change that results in the formation of the family unit, which consists of a husband, wife and child(ren). Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, and Ms. Smith are all of the same Smith family. In the trinity, the Church teaches that the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are all one God, but exist as three persons. God is essentially family. Does that explain the mystery of the trinity? Of course, not. While we can know something about a mystery, we cannot fully understand or explain it. It is beyond our capacity as mortal creatures to grasp immortal or supernatural reality. It shouldn’t surprise us that we’re incapable of understanding God fully. Just like a kindergartener is incapable of understanding algebra and calculus, in the array of possible knowledge of reality, humans are kindergartners in relation to divine realities. It’s not only arrogant but also stupid to claim that if we cannot fully know God, that makes God unknowable or inexistent. Even in the natural universe, we are incapable of knowing everything contained therein. My grandfather who only knew about telegram would have dismissed the possibility of email messages. Is it possible that God is too great for us to understand Him fully? Yes, because we do not possess the same level of knowledge as God and do not exist at a level contemporaneous with God. When we meet God face to face, we’ll no longer seek any understanding of Him because we’ll be filled with extreme delight at His presence. The book of Revelation sums it: “His name will be written on their foreheads and there will be no need for lamplight or sunlight because the Lord God will shine on them, and they will reign forever” (Rev 22:4). Having said these, the question remains: “Of what relevance is the doctrine of the trinity to believers?” The trinity teaches love, unity, and mutual understanding. These qualities subsist in the trinity and preclude the possibility of tension, discord, and unfaithfulness. When we learn to live like God, we’ll overcome the tensions in human relationships, which result from lack of unity and love. Tensions in marriages, friendships, alliances, as currently very deep in our national discourse result from lack of love and unity. Unlike God who is unity, the devil, whose essence is division sows discord among us, causing us to tear each other down. Abandonment of God results in making idols of ourselves and our desires, leading to disunity. Friendships, alliances, and laws not built on God, on the inner life and love of the trinity, are destined to collapse. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
It requires more than a course in public speaking to turn around minds and hearts caught in the paralyzing fear of public speaking. Several years after I became a priest, my mother revealed to me that her greatest concern about my becoming a priest was how I would be able to speak to people and deliver homilies Sunday after Sunday. And my mother was right: because I was one of those individuals scared to death about standing in front of an audience. Yet, I knew that there were convictions clear as light to me. For example, I never doubted that I was called to be a priest. Hence, I told my parents and siblings when I was four years old that I wanted to be called Fr. Jo. I didn’t start to answer Father Jo in 1997 when I eventually became a priest. Yet, I’ll admit that nearly 29 years after ordination, I’m still uncomfortable in crowds and have not overcome totally the dread of public speaking. What have remained strong and unshaken are my convictions; and I’m never shy to express them. The apostles had a different reason for fearing to speak to people after Jesus ascended into heaven. They found themselves locked inside a room, floundering in the helpless fear that gripped them. They had been with Jesus for three years and had seen Him perform many miracles and speak words that pierced people’s hearts. They had seen that despite His kindness, love and compassion, people still hated Him and accused Him of being an impostor. They killed Him amidst two thieves, suggesting that He was an evildoer. The apostles could not shirk from these thoughts as they wondered how to confront the crowd that “put away” their all-powerful Master. He’d assured them of His presence to the end only to suddenly disappear from their sight. Then came this noise like a violent wind that burst through the house. Strong winds create violent stirs, bending, breaking, and uprooting things. The apostles felt the stir in their hearts as they saw tongues of fire resting on the head of each one of them. Their perspective about the future became shaken; their fears were broken and uprooted. The apostle learned that “not all storms come to disrupt your life; some come to clear your path.” They felt the new wind of God’s Spirit refreshing their lives, as rain refreshes the earth, fertilizing their thoughts and transforming them from fearful to courageous people. The effects of such sudden outburst were felt all through the city. The apostles felt emboldened to go out and speak of that about which they had feared. Fear could no longer hold them captives of the cenacle. The sound propped not just the apostles but devout Jews who had come to Jerusalem to celebrate their Harvest Festival, from which we derived the name, “Pentecost,” meaning “fiftieth”—that is, fifty days after the Passover. These people did not all speak the same language but each heard and understood the apostles who spoke only Aramaic. Two things happened here: First, a new Pentecost came about. Fifty days after our own Passover, which is Easter, the Catholic (Universal) Church was born through another harvest of regeneration by God’s Spirit. Second, the barrier in language that came as a result of Babel was reversed. The Spirit united all the different languages and peoples of the world into a single people. St. Paul references this in the second reading: “For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit” (I Cor 12:13). Henceforth, only one language can be heard—the language of the Holy Spirit, which is love. Perhaps you have heard people tell you they’re ‘spiritual’ but not religious. No problem! Demons too are spiritual, in fact, they’re pure spirits. Being spiritual says nothing special about us. However, only those united by God’s Spirit know the true love of God. God’s love connects us to the Catholic Church, which is the one universal community of believers in Christ. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
We seem to have inside us a switch of rebellion turned on at the moment someone tries to tell us what to do. Don’t we? We dislike authority—from the authority of parents to those of teachers, the Church, the police, and so on. The abuses of power and authority to which the world has many times been exposed through the course of history make us suspect authority and to be on the alert against authority figures. The only exception is when the authority figure is us; then, we complain that people under us won’t do the right thing. On this feast of Ascension, we learn that Jesus’ parting words to His remaining eleven apostles invoke the uncomfortable term and idea of power and authority: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt 28:18). He goes as far as transferring the authority to them for the purpose of mission, sanctification, teaching, and the building up of His body: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them...teaching them to observe all I have commanded you.” Jesus makes explicit that His commands are not for us to pick which ones agree with our sensibilities or the general events or thinking of our time. He demands observance of all His commands. Finally, He assures His presence: “And behold, I am with you, until the end of the age.” These parting words clearly reveal that Jesus endorses at least three forms of authority: first, the authority of His Father; second, the one He hands on; and third, the authority given for mission. Hence, divine authority is the highest form of authority . When it collides with human authority as often happens with several unjust laws promulgated by people on suit and tie or black robes, “we must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). Secondly, authority is given, not taken . If someone tells you he or she is a minister, ask who ordained or commissioned them and whether the claim streams from apostolic succession. Prophets and ministers like Jim Jones and David Koresh made such claims and history teaches that it’s a bad idea to follow self-proclaimed prophets. Yet, not only fools, but many intelligent people get trapped in their nets. Thirdly, be suspicious of any Church that appears self-serving, even with the best motives . Every Church authority worth obeying must hinge on the mission to serve and sanctify. Somewhere else, Jesus shows respect for local and public institutions—Remember when He miraculously raised money from the mouth of a fish to pay some form of tax that He needn’t pay, and when He enjoined His listeners to render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God’s. He even told Pilate during His trial that his authority (Pilate’s) was given to him from above. It’s not alright to think that authority or authority figures (especially the ones we don’t like) are always evil and we have to resist them. We must be discreet about our resistance. Yes, the misuse of authority throughout history has been well documented. The abuses of authority in God’s name are also well known—from the Crusades to the forced conversion of the natives, to the genocides, beheadings and zealotry of attacking innocent people on the streets, trains, buses, airplanes, marketplaces, or wherever terror can be unloaded. God never endorses such use of power; even should it be preceded by a proclamation of —‘Allah Akbar’ (God be praised). How we know that someone is using authority in the name of God is when the person is using it to serve. The last demonstration of authority by Jesus bears this out. After washing His disciples’ feet, He told them: “You call me Teacher and Lord, and you speak well: for so I am. Therefore, if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash each other’s feet ” (John 13:12-14). He demonstrates authority through service, commanding that, among His followers, all who exercise authority must be servants of all (Matt 20:26). These are parting words of the Lord that should remain deep in our heart. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
I recently learned from an episode in the History Channel that there are coal fires burning underground in this country and that some of the fires have burned for decades, with no way to put them out. I’m unaware of the facts behind that area of geological science. All I heard was that the fires thrive on the oxygen provided by the mazes of mineshafts; and these special types of coal can burn and burn, with steam rising from the ground with multifarious effects. The fires smolder relentlessly, without end. Interestingly, there’s such fire burning daily inside each of us. You have heard me say that Morning Prayer in the family in which I grew up started daily at 5am. We start with the Sign of the Cross and the invocation: “Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful; and kindle in them the fire of your love . ” How does the Holy Spirit do this? And what is this fire that He kindles? Jesus tells us in today’s gospel: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you forever, the Spirit of truth whom the world can never receive since it neither sees nor knows him; but you know him, because he’s with you, he is IN you” (John 14:16). Yes, God’s Spirit dwells in each of us, alive and well—“...alive,” yes…; but “well,” it depends. Similar to the coal fire mentioned earlier, the Holy Spirit is inside us like the “fuel,” but He needs the oxygen that we’ll provide to manifest Himself fully so the spark can fan into flame God’s love deep in our hearts. Unfortunately, we often clutter our senses, hearts, mind, and spirit with the clouds of passion and rebellious desires that dampen the fire of God’s Spirit. In today’s second reading, St. Peter encourages us to fan into flame God’s Spirit in us, so that we may have clear answers to those who ask or challenge us about the reason for the faith we hold. Note that St. Peter didn’t suggest that when asked about our faith, we refer the inquirer to our priest. Many of us stopped learning about the faith in second grade when they ‘graduated’ from CCD class. They live their adult religious experience with the mindset of adolescents. Would you even permit a physician who learned only general medicine to fix a tumor in your brain? Across the board, many Catholics appear to be concerned only about the “how,” and not the “why” of their faith. For example, how to receive Holy Communion—in the tongue or hand, rather than why we receive it; how to process in for wedding—with rock or classical music, rather than why the sacrament is needed for their life-together in God, etc. Many opportunities are provided for us to grow in our faith but many Catholics don’t seem to care. When their life becomes crushed by the dominance of ego, they demur and seek solace in drug, alcohol, and an infinity of trifles. A little openness of mind and heart mixed will the flame of God’s Spirit will cause an explosion of light and warmth and goodness. Then the soul, according to Hugh of St. Victor, will grow strong, the flame of love will burn more hotly and brightly, and the smoke of passion will die down, letting God’s love to burst from us into the lives of those around us and into the world. Have you ever wondered why some people, like St. Teresa of Calcutta, are able to forget themselves to accomplish acts of love and kindness beyond measure? Is it because God gave them more than He gave us? No! People who do incredibly good and selfless things are not different from you and me. They have only had an openness and willingness to provide the oxygen for the Spirit to burn within them. God’s fire never goes out, but we can help it burn a little brighter by eschewing selfishness, nonchalance, and indifference. We are invited this sacred season to open ourselves to learn our faith by reading quality spiritual books, good Catholic programs online or in the television. Practice prayer, meditation, and Bible reading, and you’ll become equipped to warm your neighbor with the Spirit’s fire. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
A frequent Protestant defense for the Reformation was that Christians got along very harmoniously for 1500 years until the Catholic Church got corrupt, leading to the reforms orchestrated by Martin Luther. My history professor often said that “ignorance of history is the greatest defect of Protestantism.” Does the first reading of today suggest that there was always such kind of harmony? Greed or corruption are human experiences not new in Christianity. Archbishop Judas Iscariot was a thief (John 12:6). Ananias and his wife Safira (Acts 5:1-11) were liars and corrupt Christians. There was racial discrimination in the early Church (Acts 6:1). Simon Magus committed simony (Acts 8:9-25). Christians were never immune from corruption; but the church was equipped with mechanisms to handle it. The Holy Spirit instructed her to replace Judas with Matthias (Acts 1:12-26); to appoint deacons to serve food (6:1-6); to call councils to debate issues of faith and morals (Acts 15:8-29); to determine that people can worship God in their native tongues (Vatican II), etc. The Holy Spirit remains with the Church, directing her along the way, teaching her the truth, and filling her with an enduring life. When Jesus says in today’s Gospel that He is the Way to the Father, He is not speaking merely of a smooth highway like the Indian Nation Turnpike . He indicated that the road would be more like the rough McAlester streets and as winding as the mountain trails of Colorado, which require consummate attention to navigate. It’s hard to fall asleep driving on such trails. People will fall asleep on the Easy Street . The Truth to which Jesus refers Himself is not the valid demonstrations or proven hypotheses of scholars. It is the truth that doesn’t need continuous validation because it doesn’t change. The Life which Jesus is, transcends the smooth, polished, unruffled reveries that can be bought and paid for by the affluent. He is life that does not end in death but endures unto eternity. Hence, St. Peter in the second reading admonishes us to keep our gaze on Christ the Living Stone, so we may be built into a spiritual powerhouse. Tired of the constant propaganda in media, I took my attention away from them, and currently juggle from EWTN to the soccer channel, the National Geographic and the History Channel . I recently watched an episode of “Modern Marvels” in the History Channel—about the building of the Hoover Dam . I was amazed to learn that 90 years after its completion in 1936, the concrete in the dam is still cooling. I was more confounded by the episode on the construction of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. The engineers built the arch from ground up on both sides simultaneously; with the two giant “legs” reaching hundreds of feet in the sky. As the two “legs” curved closer to each other, it was as if they were yearning to be connected. Then came the piece that connected the two: that one piece put the entire structure in harmony, fitting perfectly and unifying the whole just as the designers envisioned. The engineers reported that it was more a work of faith than of technical ingenuity. That final piece was called “the cornerstone,” giving the state of Missouri its name, the “Keystone State,” Gateway to the West. Quite true, the cornerstone isn’t just one at the base but the stone that holds the two “legs” together. The second reading today tells us that Jesus is this stone which joins the divine and the human, the bridge between heaven and earth. Psalm 118 describes Him as “the stone rejected by the builders that has become the cornerstone.” When next you’re at Mass, watch the priest as he mixes water and wine together before consecration. He prays silently: “By the mystery of water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled Himself to share in our humanity.” Jesus does not just give us a glimpse of heaven; He also gives us a glimpse into our very selves. He is the true keystone and gateway to heaven. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo
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
