Easter changes everything

 

Pic: Moira Lynott

Easter Sunday 5 April 2026

[see, also, Blog for Easter Saturday- Where O Death is your sting?]

Meditatio:

‘ but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead’ (Acts 10:40-41)

 Commentary: It was early in the morning - cold and dark. Something extraordinary awaited the two disciples. The Gospels differ in detail, but they agree on the essential truth: the tomb was empty, and Jesus, who had truly died, had truly risen. There was no CCTV, no forensic reconstruction, no modern reporting. What we have is the testimony of those who saw, heard, touched, and were changed. And that testimony has carried the Church for two thousand years.

Where O death is your sting?

Holy Saturday

Yesterday, there was a funeral in a local church. Someone remarked of the deceased, “It was nice to be buried on the same day as Jesus was.” True. And, death comes for each of us. But it is not the end. What marks us out as a people set apart is our conviction that Jesus truly rose from the dead and is risen still. We believe what the world often dismisses as fanciful. We hope for what many have long abandoned. Even now, in this “valley of tears,” we live in the gift of eternal light. The darkness is overcome by the Light of Christ.

As we reflect today on the Lord’s Passion, we wait with joyful expectation for the spark that will be lit at the Easter Vigil this evening. We can hardly wait for sunset, when we will taste and sense the joy of the Risen One on this holiest of nights. From a single flame, light will spread from candle to candle. We hear the Deacon or priest sing out the  great Exsultet which includes the following verses:

This is the night when Jesus Christ
broke the chains of death
and rose triumphant from the grave.

And again:

Accept this Easter candle,
a flame divided but undimmed,
a pillar of fire that glows to the honour of God.
Let it mingle with the lights of heaven
and continue bravely burning
to dispel the darkness of this night.

Whether just after sunset or just before, this is the moment we have been waiting for. Our song is one of triumph over death. Death does not have the last word. In our Easter Eucharist we proclaim Christ crucified and risen. He is in our midst, and we rejoice.

Some day the Easter candle lit on the previous Easter will be lit for our passing from this world.

Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting? (1 Corinthians 15:55)

Why is there no mass today?

 Good Friday.

There is only one day in the entire year when the Roman Catholic Church does not celebrate Mass. At first this may seem surprising. If Good Friday commemorates the death of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, why would the Church refrain from celebrating the Eucharist, especially since:

‘For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes’. (1 Cor 11:26) 

A threefold gift

 

Holy Thursday

The Easter Triduum opens with Holy Thursday. According to Catholic tradition — shared by Orthodox Christians and many high‑church Anglicans — this first day of the Triduum reveals a threefold gift at the heart of Christian life:

Waiting for the heavenly bread

 Jesus and the Jewish roots of the Eucharist #3

In the time of Jesus — as in every age — the Jewish people lived in hope. Many longed for a Messiah who would come in glory to liberate Israel: a prophet like Moses who would renew the covenant, lead the people forward, and even bring once more the manna from heaven. Some expected a royal figure who would reign over the nation and subdue its enemies.

Seeing the Eucharist through Jewish eyes

 

Picture: Ahawah Children's Home, Berlin; Passover Seder Table

Jesus and the Jewish roots of the Eucharist #2

Spiritually, we Christians are rooted in Jewish faith and spirituality. This can feel slightly disconcerting because it is difficult to disentangle the historical, tribal, and political threads that run through Jewish and Christian history. Yet one thing is clear: Jesus was Jewish—completely and faithfully so. The Gospels testify that He and His family observed the Law of Moses. In His teaching and His life, Jesus never allowed any legal precept to override the Great Commandment to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind (see Deuteronomy 6:5; Matthew 22:37). In this, He fulfilled the Law.

An important work (Jesus and the Jewish roots of the Eucharist #1)

 

Six years ago we were in the throws of the first ‘Covid lockdown’.  At this time I read a very interesting book entitled:

Jesus and the Jewish roots of the Eucharist – Unlocking the secrets of the Last Supper’ by Brant Pitre. 

A priest friend of mine had recommended the work of Pitre in 2019. I got around to reading the book and, on 4 May 2020, I wrote the following on the inside cover:

“I read this gem of a book over a period of weeks – a lot of it during the ‘lockdown’ of 2020 (Covid19).  The book is well written and easy to follow.  It allows gaps in which the reader may draw their own conclusions after reflection and prayer.  The author demonstrates, persuasively, the prefiguring of the Eucharist in the writings and lived experience of the Hebrew people. The Bread of Presence and the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on Calvary are inextricably linked and grounded in scripture. I highly recommend this book. Take and read!”

In the coming days, I will review and reflect on a few key ‘takeaways’ in the book.

Holy Week and the Eucharist

 

File:Sunday mass at st Augustine Chapel.jpg - Wikimedia Commons

Today is Palm Sunday, the doorway into Holy Week for Christians in the West. Much lies ahead in the liturgy, culminating in the greatest feast of the year – Easter. We follow a familiar pattern:

Why Mass?

 

An imaginary conversation:

Another: “Why go to Mass? None of my friends go. It is meaningless and irrelevant. Anyway, the Church is a completely discredited and misogynistic institution. Nobody should be supporting it by attending their rituals or encouraging any role for it in society”.

Offering our own prayers with the Mass

 

Last Wednesday, on the Solemnity of the Annunciation, I reflected on the wonderful mystery of the Incarnation and its inseparable link to the infinite value and dignity of every human being -  from conception to natural death. Today, I happened to come across an item: Pope backs “spiritual adoption of the unborn”. It resonated deeply with a practice I adopted some years ago: to choose one living person each day – known or unknown – and include that person in my morning offering, consciously uniting them to the offering of the Mass being celebrated anywhere in the world at that moment. One might even give that person a name.

Why this blog?

 

The Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christian life. It stands at the centre of our identity, our worship, and our belonging as a Eucharistic community. Yet for many, the Eucharist can seem like a strange ritual, disconnected from their experience, needs, or understanding.

What I’m trying to do in this series is to share my own understanding and experience, grounding it in Scripture, Catholic tradition, and the realities of the world we inhabit. In a fragmented culture marked by polarity, distance, noise, and confusion, I want to point to the Eucharist as the wellspring of hope, life, unity, and intimacy — the very things we thirst for.

This is not about nostalgia or longing for some imagined past. It is about renewal here and now, in a world crying out for justice, peace, and solidarity.

If these reflections help even one person, somewhere, at some moment, to pause and consider the mysteries explored in Bread for theJourney, that is consolation enough. I am grateful for the chance to offer something of value. I have received much, and I simply wish to share it.

We need to talk about Peter

 

Basilica of Saint Apollinare

Sunday 29 March 2026

 Palm Sunday

Lectio Divina:*

Isaiah 50:4-7 Psalm 22(21)

Philippians 2:5-11 Matthew 26:14 — 27:66

Meditatio:

‘And he went out and wept bitterly’  (Matthew 26:75))

Commentary:

To experience betrayal is a gutting experience. This is all the more when the one who betrayed us was, perhaps, the closest and most loved of persons.  To experience betrayal as one who has perpetrated betrayal is also a gutting experience. This is all the more when the one who does the betraying does it to the closest and most loved of persons. 

Preparing for Christmas

 

Adoracja z Niepokalanowa

You read that right.  Today, the feast of the Annunciation, marks the moment in time when God became one of us –  a unique human being beginning to unfold according to the laws of nature. To some, this seems like a crazy idea: that God would become something so small, so hidden, so apparently insignificant that many today would dismiss it as disposable tissue.

The forgotten sacrament

 

How our parish churches might look like in 2050 #7

A casual look at an old missal from my home parish in Dublin got me thinking.  It dates from the early 1980s and was published in the 1970s.  In the parish schedule printed inside the cover, it gives Mass and confession times.  In addition to confessions during masses on Saturday morning as well as on the evenings of the first Friday, a total of 3 hours put aside for the hearing of private confessions in that parish each and every Saturday - an hour and a half in the morning and an hour and a half in the evening.  At that time, three priests served a parish of very roughly 5,000 Roman Catholics.  Today, one priest serves a bigger population.

How might our parish churches look like in 2050 #6

 

The sanctuary is the focal point of the celebration of Mass. Three elements stand out: the Altar or table, the Ambo, and the Presider’s Chair. Each carries its own symbolism and meaning.

The Altar is the place where bread is taken, blessed, consecrated, broken, and given to the faithful. It is usually raised slightly so that it can be seen clearly, set apart from the rest of the sanctuary and the wider church.

Why Sunday matters #3

The Irish Catholic Bishops Conference issued a short but significant document last year entitled “Why Sunday Matters”.  This Sunday, I address the following question they posed:

Do we need to review Mass times or the number of weekend Masses?

The answer to that, I think, is patently obvious: yes! 

How might our parish churches might like like in 2050 #5

 

The Roman Catholic Church recognises seven sacraments. Most Christians agree that Baptism – the sacrament of initiation – and the Eucharist – the sacrament of unity – are foundational, and that the other sacraments, sacramentals, and rites flow from them. Every sacrament is an outward sign and a means of inward grace. In Baptism, water and oil form part of the celebration; in the Eucharist, bread and wine – which become the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ – are essential.

How might our parish churches look like in 2050? #4

 

How do we make space for people in church?  Could we run an experiment in one parish in just one diocese?  A practical step for pastor and people might be to remove the fixed pews and introduce comfortable, upright chairs. These could be stacked neatly to the side when not needed. For Mass, the chairs could be arranged in a semi‑circle around a central communion table, creating a stronger sense of community, participation, and closeness.

How might our parish churches look like in 2050? #3

 

What is the first thing that catches your eye when you enter a Roman Catholic church? For many, it is the altar—and often the tabernacle. In older churches these were usually aligned on the same visual axis, the altar built into a retable that housed the tabernacle. Since the late 1960s, however, altars have been brought forward so the priest can stand behind them facing the people. In some churches the tabernacle was also moved, either to a side altar or to another clearly visible and dignified location. Where this happened, the altar naturally became the dominant feature on entering the church.

How might our parish churches look like in 2050 #2

 

To look forward we need to look back first.   It appears that most Roman Catholic Churches, in Ireland, were designed, constructed and laid out in the early to mid-19^th Century. It was a time of rising confidence and a thriving but small Irish middle class after the catastrophe of the famine years.  The long persecution of penal times largely ended with the Emancipation Act of 1829.  Some churches, including my own parish church here in Goresbridge, were built some years before official Emancipation.

Typically, rural churches or chapels were simple but functional laid out in a cruciform shape with the sanctuary in a small space at the Eastern end of the central nave or aisle.   There were statues of the Blessed Virgin Mary and often of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the side altars to the right and to the left of the sanctuary, that is, in the North and South transepts. Devotional candles were a frequent sight. 

The best is yet to come

Sunday 22 March 2026

Ezekiel 37:12-14 Psalm 130(129)

Romans 8:8-11 John 11:1-45

“Lazarus, come out!” he cries in a loud voice.
“Unbind him, and let him go,” he commands.
breathe upon us with the power of your Spirit, that we may be raised to new life in Christ, and serve you in holiness and righteousness all our days; through the same Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

 Lectio Divina:*

Meditatio:  “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)

 Commentary:

We stand before the sealed tomb with the two sisters of Lazarus, their much‑loved brother now dead and laid to rest. Jesus himself is “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved,” and he weeps for his friend. It is a moment of suspense. What will happen next – and where do I stand in this story?

St Patrick helped bring the Eucharist to Ireland

What would Saint Patrick make of St Patrick’s Day in Ireland in 2026?  One thing is sure – faith in the living Christ is his message to us today. Although we do not find explicit references to the Eucharist in the two writings associated with his name – the Confessio and the Letter to the Soldiers of Coroticus – we can be sure that Patrick brought with him the Christian faith and the associated practices, understanding and established norms of the land from which he came. 

How might our parish churches look like in 2050? #1

 

In this and following blogs I explore some possible ideas for making better use of existing spaces in our churches. 

A word by way of context: as we are only painfully aware, Mass attendance is in freefall over recent decades, priests are ageing but here and there a few little green shoots of hope are sprouting up, unexpectedly. 

Why Sunday matters #2

 

Last Sunday I reflected on how our experience of Mass might be enriched. Today I turn to a related question: what makes our Sunday celebration come alive?

From time to time it does us good, I think, to step outside our own parish and savour a different atmosphere or approach. Earlier today I attended Mass in my local “Mother Church”: the Cathedral of the Assumption in Carlow, a town of some 30,000 souls in the South East of Ireland. The Cathedral serves one of the town’s three parishes.

I was not disappointed.

Rays of light and truth

 

Yesterday evening I was kindly invited to join Muslims at their centre in Kilkenny to share an iftar meal.  The iftar is the meal Muslims share beginning precisely at sunset each day of Ramadan. It was a privilege for me to join the event.

Of course, as a Christian I did not participate in the religious rituals and prayers used by Muslims.   I remained in my place quietly and prayerfully as others recited the prayers including the various postures used throughout the world. It was a humbling experience to be welcomed and to show solidarity with those who share a common humanity and a common belief in the One, Merciful and Almighty God.  Though we understand and relate to God in different ways we are called to live in friendship and mutual care according to the precepts of good religion.

A child-friendly Eucharist

 

My late uncle, a Columban missionary priest, served in China and Burma at various stages between 1946 and 1966.   I recall his stories about children playing at an open-air mass in some very basic conditions in a village mountains.  This was a far cry from the fine architecture and marble church of Dalgan Park where he completed his seminar training in the early 1940s.  For Fr Michael, children were always of central importance in any family gathering. And, on those occasions when mass was celebrated, devoutly and properly, on the kitchen table there was a job for everyone including the smallest.

Introducing children to the mass takes time and patience especially when they are not used to the surroundings, actions and sights associated with mass.  If a kind, calm and warn environment is created this can help to put children at ease and lead them in curiosity to a place of encounter.  

Bringing the children to mass

 

When I was a child, going to Mass was simply what families did. In this part of Ireland, well over 90% of households attended every Sunday. When I stopped going as a teenager in the 1970s, it was unusual enough to be noticed.

About thirty years ago, I first became aware of a real shift. Sunday congregations were suddenly older. Families still came, but in smaller numbers, and the age profile was unmistakably changing.

The full armour

 

Continuing on from yesterday's blog, I consider once again the grounds for the practice of first Holy Communion in the Roman Catholic Church. The present-day sequence is as follows:

Baptism → Holy communion → Confirmation

This sequence, which has been in place since the early decades of the last century is a relatively modern practice and was fairly unique among the main branches of Christianity up until recent times.

Welcome little children

 

At this time of year, most parishes across the world in the Roman Catholic Church are preparing children for the reception of first Holy Communion. It is a special moment on the spiritual journey undertaken by families who wish that their children be admitted to full eucharistic communion with the worldwide church.  It is no small thing to receive the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ. Jesus once told his disciples:

‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs’  (Mark 10:14)

Hopefully, all of these children will continue to experience the blessings of attending Sunday Mass on a weekly basis wherever they are.  It is, of course, a family choice and parents are the guardians and the exemplars. If the Eucharist means a huge amount to us then we will take the time, effort and trouble to make it a top priority every weekend no matter what.

As one sent only for today

 

Sunday 15 March 2026

 Lectio Divina:*

1 Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23(22)

Ephesians 5:8-14

John  9:1-41

 

Meditatio:

“We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day” (John 9:4)

 Commentary:

What? A blind man presents himself to Jesus in the presence of the disciples. Immediately the question arises: Who sinned? Who was to blame? You see (pardon the pun), a condition like blindness—or poverty, or any of the many burdens known to modern humanity, from divorce to exclusion—must surely be someone’s fault. It couldn’t simply be. It must have a cause rooted in someone’s bad behaviour, or in the failings of their parents. If we are honest, we may even detect traces of this warped thinking in ourselves.

Wanted and welcomed

 

Sometimes people question why bother with church or prayer or mass?  We search for reasons as to why, nowadays, so few attend mass on a regular weekly basis. We speculate about the manifold influences of secularism, popular culture, relevance, the scandals, the pressures of life and so on. But, perhaps there is a more basic root cause of a lack of attendance?

What if people really felt wanted and welcomed at their local parish mass and community? What if their experience of joining with other believers (including people with doubts, questions and struggles) was so uplifting and so life-giving that they wanted to come back the next week? 

Why Sunday matters

The Irish Catholic Bishops Conference issued a short but significant document last year entitled “Why Sunday Matters”.  In the remaining Sundays of Lent I am going to explore, a little, a few aspects of this document and some of the questions raised therein. Today, I explore the following question:

“How can I enrich my experience of Mass and make it a central part of my life?”

I suggest just a number of approaches:

Thirst for honesty

 

Sunday 8 March 2026    Lectio Divina:*

Exodus 17:3-7

Psalm 32(33)

2 Timothy 1:8-10

John 4:5-42

 Meditatio:

“If you knew the gift of God” (John 4:10)

 

Commentary:

Typical of Lent as we draw closer to The Great Feast of Easter the tone and length of Sunday gospel reading become heavier and longer.   Enter John this Sunday.  Jesus crosses a ‘frictionless and seamless border’ as he left Judea and started back to Galilee going through Samaria. 

Now we are sitting near a well in a place called Sychar. It is a special place of religious significance. It is in the middle of the day. A traveller stops there for rest and for some of that precious cool water.  ‘Give me a drink’ says the traveller.  That was fairly direct and concise!  The conversation opens up. There is a play on words with deep, deep significance like the well of Jacob.  Jesus reveals himself as an unusual Jew. He is speaking in a public place to a woman and a Samaritan woman at that (‘They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman’ - v. 27). 

Now, Samaritans were a somewhat different breed to the Jews but not that different as not to share Jacob as their common ancestor and the first five books of what we know as the Bible as authoritative scripture. In other words, they were very much outside the pale as far as Jews were concerned but they were frustratingly near enough in theology, expectation and ethnic roots. Does any of this even sound remotely familiar to an observer of religious-political-ethnic identity on the island of Ireland?

 What do I thirst for?

When Jesus said to the Samaritan woman ‘Give me a drink’ he was about to prompt a discussion that led from the ordinary and immediate thirst for water to a deeper, spiritual and lasting thirst for new life. On the latter point, it is us – the Samaritan woman and everyone no matter what tribe or creed or colour or orientation – who thirst. We thirst to be understood. We thirst to be set free of the images and representations that in which others may try incarcerate us.

The conversation at the well leads to a realisation on the part of the Samaritan that she is speaking to someone extraordinary. She returns to her family and tribe and something has started. Other outsiders from this Samaritan tribe seek out this unusual Jew.  They invite him to stay in their town and Jesus ‘stayed there for two days’.  We have no further details but we may assume that, according to John, at least, there were some interesting conversations happening over 48 hours or so.  They knew, also, that they had encountered something wonderful and precious for ‘many more believed because of his word’ (v. 41). 

They said to the woman, ‘It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.’ (v. 42). 

There are many strands to this story from the 4^th chapter of John but we should not miss that point that Jesus is, here, signalling a new departure from the religious culture he grew up in.  He is reaching out to other tribes and ‘religions’. It sits uncomfortably with the way we might want to represent Christ through our own particular tribal or nationalistic lens.

Talking and hanging out with the ‘wrong’ people

Talking to people who are very different by reason of background, orientation, status or outlook in life says something about us. Not infrequently, to be seen talking and associating with the wrong people – people who do not belong to ‘us’ or who come from the opposite or even enemy side in whatever stance, struggle or contestation ‘we’ are part of – attracts negative comment. Taken to its extreme, expulsion or marginalisation may be the price of ‘talking to the other side’ or sharing in their feasts. Hard borders and high walls run deep in our societies and in our hearts. The physical and visible borders and walls are not even as significant as those invisible ones that separate us from each other. This is where enmity and strife originate.

The unfortunate aspect of many human associations and belongings is that such belonging can be exclusive, excluding and sectarian. We are right; they are wrong. Justice and truth is on our side; wickedness, folly and betrayal is on the other.

 Even today, many who claim to follow Jesus operate like as if they are part of a doctrinally pure, liturgically valid-only and error-excluding self-contained island. The One True Island with the drawbridges pulled up and everyone safe and cosy on the inside.  Sharing the Table of our Master’s Word let alone his Bread is seen as betrayal of first principles. One must ask what principles and whose principles?

Honesty with ourselves

For the approaching week we might reflect on the very first line of the ‘Confessions’ of the spiritual patron of our island:

I, Patrick, a sinner, a most simple countryman, the least of all the faithful and most contemptible to man.

(see also 1 Timothy 1:15).

Perhaps a ruthlessly honest appraisal of where one is at is the best antidote to sectarianism, superiority, presumption and exclusion.

We would do well to aim to live by the Wesleyian maxim of ‘friends of all; enemies of none’ even if it is not possible to fulfil this at all times and with all peoples. It is worth the try.

Gratitude to my mother

 

Everyone has made their own journey of human development. Along the way we were nurtured physically, emotionally, culturally, linguistically and spiritually by our parents.  Twelve years ago on this day I said goodbye to my mother who had lived a good and long life.  Her quiet, unassuming and warm personality helped shaped my experience of childhood.  For her and, indeed, for most of her generation faith was a key part. And the practice of one’s faith was very much centred on the Mass. I am very grateful for that.  

Until He comes again

 

A great plague has infected the world: sadness, anxiety, division, hatred and despair have invaded many minds and hearts.  Atheism has taken hold. There is no God, it is claimed and there is no life after death.  Ultimately, our lives are deemed meaningless except in so far as we subjectively give it meaning, so they say.  And this stance means that for us there is no absolute right or wrong except what I think or what we think;  there is no ultimate reality or truth outside opinions, interpretations and self-determination. 

Honouring the gifts of creation

 

In the offertory of the mass the bread and wine are taken, blessed and offered. They are not, yet, consecrated.  This part of the Eucharist is particularly important because it links directly the temple liturgy of the Hebrews with the Christian Eucharist.  The early celebration of the Eucharist among Jewish Christians shaped the mass as we know it today. The Jewish table blessings - Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu – are incorporated into a new celebration initiated by the Lord Jesus at the Last Supper.

One reality - many names

 

The one sacrifice and memorial of the Lord’s passion and resurrection has many names:

Eucharist – eucharistein or giving thanks. 

Breaking of bread – found in many places of the New Testament including 1 Corinthians 11:24 (“and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”).

Peace on earth starts in the human heart

 

Every part of the Mass echoes scripture from start to finish.  In the communion rite the Priest says:

Lord Jesus Christ, who said to your Apostles: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you…

This comes from John 14:27:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.

Silence

 

Silence is increasingly rare in the noisy, fast‑moving spaces where we work, socialise, and even worship. Noise has its place when it carries good conversation, shared purpose, or lively activity. But it becomes a burden when we grow dependent on it—when every pause must be filled, every gap bridged, every quiet moment avoided.

Our liturgies, too, have become crowded with words. Jesus cautioned against multiplying words in prayer, yet the way we engage in Holy Mass often leaves little room for stillness. We feel compelled to speak – aloud or inwardly – and we hurry to fill every space. In doing so, we risk losing the eloquence of silence.

Living and dying

 

It is often said that the Irish “do death well.” A time of bereavement is usually marked by deep family and community support, and it is taken for granted that friends, neighbours, and extended family will show their respect for the deceased by attending the funeral Mass. In many other cultures, funerals are more private occasions, attended only by invitation. Not so in Ireland.

Transfigured bodies

 

There is a risk that in focussing so much on the  external reality of the Blessed Sacrament offered in the Holy Mass and reserved for adoration and communion of the sick between masses that we neglect the very real presence of the Eucharistic Jesus in us in the moments, hours and days following Holy Communion. We should receive with the same attitude and expectation that we might have that this could be my last communion. Today’s Gospel reading from Matthew about the transfiguration of the Lord reminds us that death and resurrection are never far even as Jesus’ transfigured being was revealed to his disciples in a moment of profound insight and joy.

Our bodies and souls live in hope, awaiting the glory that faith assures us will one day be ours.

Bowing low

 

In Psalm 95 (v6) we shout out at the beginning of the day:

O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker!

The greatest act of humility by our saviour is that he became a tiny, vulnerable human being in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This is our faith.

The next greatest act of humility is that Jesus made himself the living bread broken, shared and given for us on the night of his betrayal and finished on the cross on Good Friday.

Who is the Word?

 

The Word is Jesus the Christ who was made flesh for us.  He gave us himself – body, blood, soul and divinity.  In the Eucharist he gives us Himself both in his Body and in his Word. True, the words of scripture were composed by human beings but they were directly inspired to write and their writings became over time authoritative in the church and were, eventually, entered into the ‘canon’ of the New Testament.

From a distance

 

Sunday 1 March 2026

 Lectio Divina:*

Genesis 12:1-4

Psalm 32(33)

2 Timothy 1:8-10

Matthew 17:1-9

 Meditatio:

“…they saw no one except Jesus himself alone” (Matthew 17:8)

The Word at work

 

And we also thank God continually because, when you received the word of God, which you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word, but as it actually is, the word of God, which is indeed at work in you who believe.

So write Saint Paul in his first letter to the Christians at the church in Thessalonika (2:13).  The Word is always at work in us. It is the seed of our faith in Christ as Paul indicates in his letter to the Romans (10:17).  We hear the Word, it sinks deep into us and change happens. Maybe it is the work of a lifetime before the fruits are evident (let’s hope that it does not take so long!).