CORPUS CHRISTI

Dt 8:2–3, 14b–16a; 1 Cor 10:16–17; Jn 6:51–58

The last two precious gifts given to us by Jesus were given in the final moments of His earthly life: the Holy Eucharist as our spiritual food on Holy Thursday, and His own Mother Mary as our spiritual Mother on Good Friday. These are not simply parting gestures, but enduring gifts that continue to nourish and guide the Church.

Today, on the feast of Corpus Christi, we celebrate the abiding presence of Christ among us as Emmanuel—God with us. This feast is our collective act of thanksgiving for the mystery that Jesus did not leave us as orphans but chose to remain with us in a profoundly intimate way in the Eucharist.

The readings of today give us a key word for understanding this mystery: “Remember.” In the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses urges the people of Israel to remember how the Lord led them through the wilderness, fed them with manna, and delivered them from slavery. This remembering is not a passive recalling of the past; it is an active, living memory that shapes identity and renews faith.

Memory is one of the most powerful dimensions of the human spirit. Without memory, we lose our sense of who we are. A person suffering from total amnesia may wander without direction, unable to recognize even their own name. Memory connects us to our past and gives meaning to our present.

This is true not only for individuals but also for communities. Families, nations, and religious groups are held together by shared memories. These memories are often preserved through rituals and celebrations. For example, Memorial Day in the United States honors those who died in war. Yet such remembrance, while meaningful, does not make the past event present again, does not bring the fallen back.

The Eucharistic memorial is different. When we celebrate the Eucharist, we are not simply recalling something that happened two thousand years ago. We are entering into that saving event in a real and present way. As we proclaim after the consecration, “We proclaim your death, O Lord, and profess your resurrection until you come again.” The past is made present, and we are drawn into the mystery of Christ’s saving work.

This understanding is rooted in the Jewish Passover. When the Israelites celebrated the Passover meal, they did not merely remember their ancestors’ liberation from Egypt; they experienced God’s saving action anew in their own time. Deliverance was not just a past event—it was a present reality.

At the Last Supper, Jesus took this Passover tradition and transformed it. He shifted the focus from the lamb to Himself. There is no mention of the Passover lamb in the Gospel accounts of the Last Supper because Jesus is the true Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. No other sacrifice is needed. Then He spoke the words that forever changed the meaning of this meal: “Do this in memory of me.”

From that moment on, the Eucharist became the memorial not of Israel’s liberation from Egypt, but of humanity’s liberation from sin through the death and resurrection of Christ. The Mass is therefore not a repetition, but a re-presentation of the one perfect sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. The word “re-presentation” is crucial. It does not mean a mere symbolic reenactment. It means that the one sacrifice of Calvary is made present again.

At every Mass, we are not distant spectators recalling an ancient event. We are mystically present at Calvary. We stand at the foot of the cross. We witness His suffering, His love, and His total self-gift. That is why the Church calls the Eucharist “the memorial of His Passion.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus addresses a crowd that is seeking Him after the multiplication of loaves. They are hoping for more bread, more physical sustenance. They recall the manna given in the desert and expect Jesus to provide something similar. But Jesus challenges their understanding. He tells them that the manna, though miraculous, was temporary. Those who ate it still died.

In contrast, He offers a food that gives eternal life: Himself. He reveals that our deepest hunger is not physical but spiritual. We hunger for meaning, for love, for lasting fulfillment, and ultimately for eternal life. No earthly satisfaction—whether wealth, success, or comfort—can fill this hunger. Only Christ can.

Then Jesus makes a remarkable promise: “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.” This word “remain” or “abide” expresses deep union.

When we eat ordinary food, it is transformed into us. It becomes part of our body. But in the Eucharist, something extraordinary happens. We do not transform Christ into ourselves; rather, Christ transforms us into Himself. We are drawn into His life.

This can be understood through a simple analogy. In nature, the stronger reality assimilates the weaker: grass is eaten by the cow, the cow by the tiger, and not vice versa. The higher transforms the lower. In the Eucharist, God, who is infinitely greater, draws us into His divine life. Though it appears that we consume Him, in reality, He assimilates us into Himself. He allows us because he loves us deeply and wants to remain with us and in us. Love desires to be in the other person.

It is like a mother’s love for a child. When she feels strong love for him or her, she hugs the child and presses it to her heart. She nibbles it and feels like she wants to eat the baby, but she knows that she cannot do that because if she does, the child will die. Like a mother God desires an intimacy beyond human limits. But unlike human love, which has boundaries, God makes the impossible possible. He gives Himself as food so that we may share in His life.

Finally, Jesus calls His flesh “true food” and His blood “true drink.” Food is meant to nourish, strengthen, and energize. We do not eat merely to exist; we eat to live fully. In the same way, the Eucharist is not meant to remain within the walls of the church. That’s why at the end of the Mass we are told: the Mass is ended, go. We become living tabernacles, we are send forth to carry Christ into the world.

The world today is hungry—hungry for hope, for mercy, for truth, and for love. The Eucharist strengthens us to respond to that hunger. Thus, the Eucharist is both gift and mission. It transforms us interiorly and sends us outward in charity.

May this heavenly food transform us, sustain us in the wilderness of this life, deepen our communion with Christ, and lead us safely to the joy of eternal life.

Amen.

 

  HOLY TRINITY: Ex 34:4b-6, 8-9; II Cor 13:11-13; Jn 3:16-18

The mystery of the Most Holy Trinity is a basic doctrine of Faith in Christianity, understandable not with our heads but with our hearts. It teaches us that there are three distinct Persons in one God, sharing the same Divine Nature, co-equal and co-eternal. Our mind cannot grasp this doctrine which teaches that 1+1+1 = 1 and not 3. But we believe in this Mystery because Jesus, Who is God, taught it clearly, the Evangelists recorded it, the Fathers of the Church tried to explain it, and the Councils of Nicaea and Constantinople defined it as a dogma of Christian Faith.

There are only vague and hidden references to the Trinity in the Old Testament. But the New Testament gives clear teachings on the Holy Trinity.

1) At the Annunciation, God the Father sends His angel to Mary, God the Holy Spirit comes upon her, the Power of the Most High overshadows her, and God the Son becomes Incarnate in her womb.

2) At the baptism of Jesus, when the Son receives baptism from John the Baptist, the Father’s Voice is heard, and the Holy Spirit appears as a Dove and descends upon Jesus.

3) At the Ascension, Jesus gives the missionary command to his disciples to baptize those who believe, in the NAME of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Indicating this basic belief in the trinity, All prayers in the Church begin in the Name of the Holy Trinity and end glorifying the Trinity. 2) All Sacraments are administered in the name of the Holy Trinity. 3) We bless ourselves, and the priest blesses us, in the Name of the Holy Trinity.

There are some today who would not be unhappy to leave the Trinity to one side, to be able to dialogue better with Jews and Muslims, who profess faith in a unitarian God who is rigidly one. Jesus himself said, believe in God, and believe also in ME. So, believing in a unitarian God is not sufficient. Belief in the trinitarian God is the most sensible one.  

The Trinitarian doctrine says that the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit are different from each other yet one God. Just think of one molecule of water (H2O) that is composed of two Hydrogen atoms and one Oxygen atom. Hydrogen is not Oxygen, nor oxygen same as hydrogen. But when they come together it becomes one molecule of water. Same way Father is not the Son nor the Son the Father or the Holy Spirit. But all the three are one God.

We profess that the Son and the Holy Spirit proceed from the Father: This we can think of as light and heat two different things coming from one source: a flame. But all the three are different things, not one thing. Flame is not heat, heat is not light and vice versa. The same way Father is not the Son, not the Son the Holy Spirit or the Father. The one divine nature exists fully and simultaneously in three divine Persons, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Christians believe that God is triune because they believe that God is love! It is the revelation of God as love, made by Jesus, which obliges us to admit the Trinity. It is not a human invention. There is no love for the void, no love that is not directed to someone. So, we must ask: who does God love to be defined as love? A first answer might be: He loves mankind. But we have not existed for more than some millions of years, no more. And before then, who did God love? He could not in fact have begun to be love at a certain point in time, because God cannot change.

Who did God love, to be able to define himself as love, before the world or human beings existed? We cannot say that he loved himself because to love oneself is not love, but egoism or, as psychologists say, narcissism.

Here is the answer of Christian revelation. God is love in himself, before time, because he has always had in himself a Son, the word, whom he loves with an infinite love, that is, in the Holy Spirit. In all love there are always three realities or subjects: one who loves, one who is loved, and the love that unites them.

As one of the saints said, If God is LOVE he HAS to be two. Because love has to go out of oneself to another. If God is joy he has to be three. Joy is what originates when two people share love each other. Just like when a loving couple share their love, a new child is born. So, Trinitarian concept of God is the most sensible one. Only a trinitarian God can be present in Heaven and here on earth at the same time and be one God. Allah is present only in heaven, not here.

The God of Christian revelation is one and triune because he is communion of love. Theology has made use of the term "nature" or "substance" to indicate unity in God, and of the term "person" to indicate the distinction.

The message of today’s gospel reading is, ‘God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not be lost but may have eternal life’. The gospel reading doesn’t just speak of God’s love for a particular people, but of God’s love for the world, for all humanity, the whole created world. God looks upon the world as one entity, all of which he passionately loves.

To draw us into God’s life of love, eternal life, God not only sent us his Son, God also sent us the Holy Spirit through his Son. Jesus came among us to pour this divine love into our lives. Saint Paul expresses this wonderful truth very simply in one of his letters, ‘God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us’. If Jesus shows God to be God with us and God for us, the Holy Spirit shows God to be God within us. The more we open ourselves up to the gift of the Holy Spirit and the more we are filled with this Spirit of God’s love, the more we will be drawn into God’s own life, which is a life of love. Because the love within God is not closed in on itself but is a love for the world, the Holy Spirit of God’s love in our lives will inspire us with a love for the world. The Spirit of God’s love within us is a love that embraces all humanity and all creation. This Spirit of God’s love will move us to draw people together. It will inspire us to be bridge builders and peacemakers, builders of communities that are characterized by great diversity, where everyone is treated with equal dignity and respect. That is why, in the blessing at the end of today’s second reading, Saint Paul refers to the fellowship or the communion of the Holy Spirit.

God’s love poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit creates communion. This is a vital task in an increasingly divided world. The life of God is a communion of love and God desires humanity to be a communion of love, a reflection of God’s life.

The life of the Trinity is reflected where people in our parishes give of themselves to bring together in community those who would otherwise live isolated and lonely lives.

Today’s feast is not, therefore, just about God. It is very much about ourselves and how we are all called to live.

May the Holy Trinity who lives within us and outside of us, who engulfs us and penetrates us and all our thoughts, give us the grace to live a trinitarian life reaching out to others in love, peace and joy. 

 Pentecost: Acts 2:1-11; I Cor 12:3b-7, 12-13; Jn 20:19-23

 

Today’s Gospel opens in a scene that feels strikingly familiar: a room with locked doors.

The disciples are not simply being cautious; they are paralyzed by fear. The one they followed, trusted, and loved has been executed, and they are certain they could be next. So, they hide. They shut the doors. They withdraw from the world.

But that locked room is not just a detail from the past. It is a mirror held up to our own lives.

How often do we lock the doors of our hearts? We lock them because of past wounds, promising ourselves that no one will hurt us again. We lock them because of shame, hiding behind carefully constructed appearances. We lock them because of uncertainty, afraid to step forward into change. We build walls to keep danger out, but in doing so, we often trap ourselves inside.

It is precisely into that locked space that Jesus comes.

He does not wait for the doors to be opened. He does not stand outside until they are ready. He enters directly into their fear. And his first word is not accusation or disappointment. He does not ask, “Where were you?” or “Why did you fail me?” Instead, he says, “Peace be with you.”

This is not a casual greeting. It is a creative word. Just as God spoke into the darkness at the beginning of creation, Jesus now speaks into the chaos of fear and brings forth peace. He shows them his hands and his side—not to shame them, but to reveal that even the wounds of the cross have been transformed. What once signified defeat now proclaims victory.

Then comes a moment of profound significance: Jesus breathes on them.

This gesture takes us back to the very beginning, when God formed humanity from the dust and breathed life into it. Now, in this upper room, Jesus inaugurates a new creation. The old world marked by sin, fear, and death is giving way to a new life animated by the Holy Spirit. The breath of God is no longer distant; it is given directly to the Church.

This breath is not meant to remain in that room. Immediately, Jesus gives a mission: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” He sends them not to condemn, but to reconcile. He entrusts them with the ministry of mercy: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them.”

The Spirit is given so that what was locked may be opened. Where there was fear, there may be courage. Where there was division, there may be communion. Where there was sin, there may be forgiveness.

St. Paul writes about the different aspect of the Spirit’s work in a Christian’s life. He says, you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you (I Cor 3:16).  It is the Holy Spirit who develops our intimacy with God.  “God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts crying, ‘Abba!‘ (‘Father!’)” (Gal 4:6).  “God’s love has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us” (Rom 5:5). “No one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit” (I Cor 12:3).  Moreover, we know that it is the Holy Spirit Who teaches us to pray (Rom 8:26).  By the power of the Spirit, we also know the Lord Jesus through His Church.  

The early Christian community in Corinth faced some disorder. They had received many spiritual gifts, but instead of building unity, those gifts became a source of competition and division. People began to rank themselves, deciding who was more important, more spiritual, more valuable.

Into that confusion, St. Paul speaks a word that is just as necessary today: “There are different gifts, but the same Spirit.” If you have faith—however small, however quiet—the Spirit is already alive in you. Your worth is not determined by visibility, talent, or recognition. Your worth is rooted in belonging to Christ.

From that shared foundation, God creates diversity. Paul describes it beautifully: different gifts, but the same Spirit; different ministries, but the same Lord; different works, but the same God accomplishing all of them.

God is not a manufacturer producing identical parts. He is an artist who delights in variety. The differences among us are not flaws to be corrected; they are part of God’s design.

But Paul adds an essential truth: each gift is given for the common good. A spiritual gift is not a personal possession to be admired; it is a grace meant to be shared. If you are given a gift, it is because someone else needs it. And if it is withheld—whether out of fear, insecurity, or pride—the whole body suffers.

This is why Paul turns to the image of the body. “As a body is one though it has many parts… so also Christ.” Every part is necessary. No part can say to another, “I do not need you.” In Christ, there is no hierarchy of dignity. All are baptized into one body, all are given to drink of the same Spirit. This vision was revolutionary in Paul’s time, in a world divided by class, status, and power. It remains just as challenging today. The Church is meant to be a living sign of unity—a place where differences do not divide but enrich, where each person is recognized as essential. So, on this Pentecost, we are invited to examine both the locked doors of our hearts and the comparisons that divide us.

Today is a great day to ask the Holy Spirit to rekindle in us the spirit of new life and enthusiasm, the fire of God’s love.  Let’s close with the short little prayer of Saint John Henry Cardinal Newman to the Holy Spirit.

“Come Holy Spirit
Make our ears to hear
Make our eyes to see
Make our mouths to speak
Make our hearts to seek
Make our hands to reach out
And touch the world with your love.  AMEN.”   

 ASCENSION: Acts 1:1-11; Eph 1:17-23; Mt 28:16-20

 

A little boy returned home from Sunday School and seemed very concerned. His mother asked him what was wrong, and he said, "The teacher told us today that Jesus is sitting on the right hand of God."

His mother smiled and said, "Yes, that’s right. But why does that upset you?"

The boy looked at her with wide eyes and asked, "Well, if Jesus is sitting on His right hand, then how does God get any work done?"

We profess every Sunday in our creed that Jesus ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father. Today we celebrate that Solemn event of faith.

The Ascension is the culmination of Jesus’ earthly ministry—his “mission accomplished”—but it is not a conclusion. Christ, now seated at the right hand of the Father, continues to guide the unfolding plan of salvation through the Holy Spirit.

The phrase “seated at the right hand of the Father” signifies authority and sovereignty. As the Catechism reminds us, this fulfills the vision of the prophet Daniel: a kingdom that is everlasting, embracing all peoples and nations (CCC #664). The Ascension, therefore, assures us that Christ reigns even now, beyond the limits of time and space.

In the reading of the gospel, we would expect to hear the account of the Ascension in the gospel. But this account is missing from St Matthew’s gospel which ends with our Lord summoning His disciples to an unnamed mountain in Galilee where He commissions them to “make disciples of all the nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands” that He had given them. Both content and location differ sharply from Luke’s account of the Ascension which takes place on the Mount of Olives, just outside Jerusalem. This seeming discrepancy has less to do with a contradiction or an error than it must possibly do with two different events. The Great Commission, as many would call the episode described in today’s passage, would have taken place on a hill or a “mountain in Galilee, whereas the Ascension as described in the gospel of St Luke and the Acts of the Apostles, took place outside Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives.

Scholars and theologians suggest several reasons why Matthew chose to end his gospel this way instead of referring to the Ascension as do St Luke and the longer ending of St Mark’s gospel.

In Matthew’s Gospel, the evangelist begins with Jesus being called "Emmanuel" (God with us) and the gospel then ends with the Lord’s promise "I am with you always" which form a pair of literary bookends  emphasising that the Lord remains spiritually present with His Church despite His physical departure. The Ascension marks the completion of the Lord’s earthly mission. He came to teach, to heal, to suffer, die and rise again. After His resurrection, His final act was to return to the Father. This signals that His saving work was done. Mission accomplished! Yes and no. Although His work of salvation is complete and He is no longer present with us physically until His return in glory at the end of the ages, He continues to remain with us sacramentally through the Eucharist and continues to act in and through His Church, His Mystical Body on earth - teaching us, guiding us, and sanctifying us.

Hence, even though He is ascended, He is not absent. In fact, His presence has become all the more pervading through us, the Church and the Sacraments.

Finally, today’s feast is not just about a recollection of the story of how the Lord ascended to heaven, which is a nice thing to know, nor that we have been entrusted with a mission, which is something challenging if we truly grasped it. Today’s feast also provides us with the ultimate reason for our hope. Through our Lord’s Ascension, we know for certain that the gates of heaven are opened and He awaits to welcome us to stand before His seat of glory, where He is seated at the right hand of the Father. But His exaltation is also “our exaltation” (collect for the Vigil Mass). As the collect for the Mass of the Day tells us, His Ascension “is not to distance Himself from our lowly state but, that we, His members, might be confident of following where He, our Head and Founder, has gone before.”

As we celebrate this feast, let us ask for the grace of the Holy Spirit to strengthen us in our mission. May our lives become a living proclamation of Christ’s love, so that others, seeing our faith in action, may come to know that the Lord who ascended into heaven is still with us, guiding and sustaining us every day.

 

 EASTER VI [A]: Acts 8:5-8, 14-17, I Pt 3:15-18, Jn 14:15-21

The Promise in the Dark

Brothers and sisters, of all the things Jesus says in the entire Gospel, these six words may be the most tender: “I will not leave you orphans.”

Today, as we draw ever closer to Pentecost, the Church invites us to sit with that promise. It is not a historical footnote or a sentiment from a dead teacher. It is a living word addressed to us, right now, in whatever "orphaning" we may be carrying. Whether we are facing the loss of a loved one, the silence of a broken relationship, or the spiritual desert of feeling abandoned by God, the Risen Christ stands before us with a singular vow: You are not alone.

The Border-Crossing Spirit

In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we see what this promise looks like in action. We see the Holy Spirit moving like a wildfire—unpredictable, unstoppable, and crossing boundaries that human beings had spent centuries building.

The story begins with Philip going to Samaria. To a first-century Jew, Samaria was "out of left field"—a land of religious rivals and historical enemies. It was a place you bypassed, not a place you blessed. Yet, Philip doesn’t go there to argue; he goes there to proclaim the Christ.

The result is startling: “There was great joy in that city.” It is a fascinating detail. This joy didn’t come from a change in political status or a sudden influx of wealth. It came because the people were "cured" and "unclean spirits" were driven out. Joy is the primary symptom of God’s presence. If our faith isn't producing joy—even in the midst of "Samaria-like" challenges—we must ask ourselves if we have truly let the Spirit in.

The Samaritans had been baptized, but the Holy Spirit “had not yet fallen upon any of them.” This necessitated the arrival of Peter and John. When they laid hands on the new believers, they received the Holy Spirit. This "laying on of hands"—what we recognize today in the Sacrament of Confirmation—is the "fire" that empowers the Christian life. It is the difference between having a car and having the fuel to actually drive it. By sending the "heavy hitters" from Jerusalem to Samaria, the early Church made a radical statement: there is no "us" and "them" in the Kingdom of God. The Spirit is the Great Unifier; He doesn't erase our differences, but He makes them secondary to our shared life in Christ.

Love as an Action

Turning to the Gospel of John, Jesus provides the "nitty gritty" of how this relationship with God works. He begins with a challenging premise: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

In our modern world, we often treat love as a fleeting feeling or a chemical reaction—the "spark." But for Jesus, love is a verb. It is measured by our alignment with His will. He isn't setting a trap or a "loyalty test"; He is explaining the mechanics of relationship. We cannot claim to love the Artist while intentionally destroying the Artwork. To love Jesus is to value what He values: mercy, justice, and sacrificial service.

The Advocate in the Trenches

Jesus knows that keeping His commandments is impossible by human strength alone. We cannot "measure twice and cut once" in the spiritual life without guidance. This is why He promises the Advocate.

The Greek word Parakletos literally means "one called to the side of." It refers to a legal advocate or a Comforter. Jesus is essentially saying, "I am leaving, but I am sending you a Helper who will never leave." The world cannot see Him because the world seeks tangible proof and immediate results. But the believer knows Him. The Spirit is known not through a telescope, but through the "quiet whisper" of conscience and the "fire" of charity.

Through the Holy Spirit, Jesus returns to us in a way that is more intimate than His physical presence. When He was on earth, He could only be in one place at one time. Through the Spirit, He resides within every believer simultaneously. This is the goal of the Christian life: not just to "follow" Jesus like a student follows a teacher, but to be in Him. This "indwelling" means that when you suffer, He suffers with you; when you love, He loves through you.

A Mother’s Mirror

Today we also celebrate Mother’s Day, and these readings speak to this vocation with a depth that goes beyond greeting cards.

Jesus says, "I will not leave you orphans." A mother’s deepest instinct—that bone-deep refusal to abandon her child—is one of the clearest human images of this divine promise. A mother who sits with a sick child through the night, who calls just to hear your voice, or who loves you even when you are not particularly lovable, is imaging the God who promises never to leave.

The Holy Spirit is sometimes spoken of in the Christian tradition using nurturing, life-giving imagery—hovering over the waters, drawing forth life. The Spirit who remains with us and teaches us from within is a love familiar to anyone who has known a mother’s presence. Today we give thanks for our mothers—those still with us and those who now see God face to face. We pray especially for those for whom this day is "tender": the grieving, the estranged, and the longing. We ask that the God who promises never to orphan us would hold them close today.

This week, when things feel uncertain or lonely, return to that single promise: I will not leave you orphans. Let it land. Let it be true. And then, let it change how we treat the people around us. The God who refuses to abandon us asks us to extend that same refusal to one another.

To every mother here: thank you for the ways, perfect and imperfect, that you have embodied that promise. And to everyone here: you are not an orphan. You are claimed. You are accompanied. You are loved—not as the world loves, but as only God can.

Amen

 

 EASTER V [A]: Acts 6:1-7, 1Pt 2:4-9, Jn 14:1-12

I. The Growing Pains of a Living Body

The readings for this Fifth Sunday of Easter provide a masterclass in the evolution of the Church. We often look back at the "early Church" with rose-colored glasses, imagining a period of perfect, unbroken harmony. However, the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles (6:1–7) offers a more grounded reality. The Church was a living, breathing, and multicultural organism, and like any growing body, it experienced growing pains.

The tension between the Hellenists and the Hebrews was a crossroads for the faith. This wasn't just a dispute over food; it was a crisis of inclusion. The Greek-speaking widows were being overlooked. In this moment, the Apostles demonstrated a divine wisdom that remains the gold standard for leadership. They realized that they could not do everything. To preserve the "ministry of the Word," they had to empower others for the "ministry of the table."

By calling the community to choose seven men—the first deacons—the Apostles taught us that the Church is at its best when responsibility is shared. The Church is not a theatre where the clergy perform and the laity watch; it is a workshop where every baptized soul has a tool in hand. When the Seven were ordained, the result was not a diluted mission, but an accelerated one: "the number of disciples increased greatly." Today, this serves as a reminder that our parishes flourish only when we stop asking, "What is the priest doing for me?" and start asking, "What is the Spirit doing through me?"

II. Built on the Living Stone

If Acts shows us the structure of the Church, the second reading from 1 Peter 2:4-9 shows us its substance. Peter uses the imagery of architecture to describe our spiritual identity. He calls us "living stones" being built into a "spiritual house."

This is a profound metaphor. A stone by itself is just a rock—heavy, cold, and stationary. But when it is shaped by the Master Builder and fitted against other stones, it becomes part of a cathedral. Christ is the "Cornerstone," the one that determines the alignment of every other stone. If we are out of alignment with Him, the whole structure of our lives—and our parish—becomes unstable. Peter reminds us that we are a "chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation." Our purpose is to "announce the praises" of the One who called us out of darkness. Our identity is not found in our careers, our politics, or our social standing, but in our proximity to the Living Stone.

III. The Revolutionary Claim: "I Am"

In the Gospel of John 14:1–12, we enter the Upper Room. The atmosphere is thick with anxiety. Jesus has just told the disciples He is leaving. Thomas, ever the realist, voices the collective fear: "Lord, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?"

Jesus responds with a declaration that remains the most controversial and revolutionary claim in human history: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life."

To a Jewish ear, this was explosive. In the Hebrew tradition, Yahweh (God) was the source of Truth and the author of Life. By using the "I Am" formula, Jesus was not merely claiming to be a good teacher or a wise philosopher; He was claiming equivalence with the Creator of the universe. He was asserting that the "map" to God is not a set of rules, some moral codes, but a Person.

IV. Confronting the "Many Roads" Myth

In our modern, pluralistic world, there is a strong social pressure to claim that "all religions are essentially the same." While this sounds tolerant and "open-minded," it is often a product of what we might call "intellectual laziness." To say all religions are the same is to ignore the fundamental, often contradictory, truth-claims they make.

Christianity is fundamentally different from the human quest for the divine. Most world religions represent man’s heroic effort to climb the mountain to find God—through meditation, law, or ritual. Christianity is the story of God coming down the mountain to find man. It is not a "man-made" road; it is a "God-made" rescue mission.

As the text reminds us, if God had provided dozens of contradictory paths to salvation, He would be a "fickle and schizophrenic deity," content to leave His children in a fog of confusion. But God is Love, and Love is clear. He provided one definitive path: His Only Begotten Son. To accept this is not "arrogance"; it is the highest form of humility. It is the humility of a lost traveler finally accepting the only map that actually leads home. As St. Peter boldly declared in Acts 4:12: "There is salvation in no one else."

V. The Narrow Way of Abundant Life

However, we must be careful. While the path is exclusive in its source (Christ), it is universal in its reach. The Second Vatican Council (Nostra Aetate) beautifully balanced this. It acknowledged that there are "rays of truth" in other faiths that reflect the light of Christ. We respect the sincere search for God in every heart. Yet, we can never "relativize" Jesus. If someone is saved without knowing the name of Jesus, they are still saved by the merit of Jesus. He is the bridge, even for those who do not yet realize they are crossing it.

Jesus calls this way "narrow." It is narrow because it requires the "stripping away" of the ego. You cannot carry the baggage of pride, hatred, or self-centeredness through the "Gate" that is Christ.

Let me close the homily with this anecdote: Evangelist Billy Graham tells of a time during the early years of his preaching ministry when he was due to lead a crusade meeting in a town in South Carolina, and he needed to mail a letter.  He asked a little boy in the main street how he could get to the post office.  The boy gave him directions.  Billy said, “If you come to the Central Baptist Church tonight, I’ll tell you how to get to Heaven, God the Father’s house.” The boy replied, “No thanks.  You don’t even know how to get to the post office, and you are going to teach me how to go to Heaven?!”

This is the case with most religious founders. They didn’t know about their own destiny. Like Muhammad who said, “I do not know what Allah do with me.” (Q 46:9). If he wasn’t sure of his own destiny how can we believe what he taught about God and our destiny. Let’s trust the words of Jesus, I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father, but through me.

 

 

 

 EASTER IV: Acts 2:14, 36-41; 1Pt 2:20b-25; Jn 10:1-10

The Jews tell a beautiful legend about why God chose Moses to lead His people. One day, while tending the flock of his father-in-law in the wilderness, a young lamb wandered away. Moses followed it until he found it at a ravine, drinking from a well. When he reached it, he gently said, “I did not know you ran away because you were thirsty. Now you must be tired.” He lifted the lamb onto his shoulders and carried it back to the flock. Then God said, “Because you have shown compassion in caring for a lamb that was not even your own, you shall lead My people, Israel.”

This simple story captures the heart of what it means to be a shepherd: attentiveness, compassion, and a willingness to seek out and carry the weak. It is this same image that Jesus uses in today’s Gospel when He declares, “I am the Good Shepherd.”

A striking modern example of this shepherding spirit was seen in the life of Pope St. John Paul II. The evangelist Billy Graham once remarked of him, “He lived like his Master, the Good Shepherd, and he died like his Master, the Good Shepherd.” In those words, we hear the essence of Christian leadership and discipleship: to reflect Christ, who gives Himself completely for His flock.

Today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is known as Good Shepherd Sunday. It is also the World Day of Prayer for Vocations. The Church invites us to reflect on God’s call in our lives and to pray for those who are called to serve as priests, deacons, and religious. Vocations are not just personal decisions; they are gifts given for the good of the entire community. Every member of the Church shares responsibility in fostering and supporting these calls.

The image of the shepherd runs throughout Scripture. In Psalm 23, we proclaim with confidence, “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.” God is portrayed as the One who provides, guides, protects, and restores. The prophets echo this image: Isaiah speaks of God gathering lambs in His arms, while Ezekiel foretells that the Lord Himself will search for the lost, bring back the strayed, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak. Again and again, God reveals Himself as a shepherd who is personally involved in the care of His people.

In today’s second reading, St. Peter reminds us that Jesus, the innocent sufferer, is the model for all who endure hardship. He calls Jesus the shepherd and guardian of our souls. Through His suffering, we have been brought back into relationship with God. Like sheep who had gone astray, we have been gathered again by the One who knows us and loves us.

In the Gospel, Jesus presents Himself not only as the shepherd but also as the gate for the sheep. These two images are deeply connected. As the shepherd, He knows His sheep, calls them by name, and leads them to safety. As the gate, He is the only way into the fold—the one path to salvation. “Whoever enters through me will be saved,” He says. This means that true life, true security, and true freedom are found only in relationship with Him.

At the same time, Jesus warns us about false shepherds—thieves and robbers who come not to care for the sheep, but to exploit and scatter them. These false voices are not always obvious. They can be subtle, persuasive, and even appealing. They tell us, “Everyone is doing this—why shouldn’t you?” or “Times have changed; you need to move on.” These voices invite us to compromise our values and drift away from the truth.

But Jesus tells us something important: His sheep know His voice. This means that, as believers, we are called to develop a deep familiarity with Christ—through prayer, Scripture, and the life of the Church—so that we can recognize what comes from Him and what does not. When we listen to His voice, we are led toward life, peace, and fulfillment. When we follow other voices, we often find ourselves lost, confused, and spiritually empty.

The image of the shepherd is not meant only for Christ. In a real sense, each of us is called to be a shepherd in our own sphere of life. Parents shepherd their children. Teachers guide their students. Priests care for their parishioners. Doctors, nurses, leaders, and caregivers—all are entrusted with the well-being of others.

To be a good shepherd means more than simply fulfilling a role. It means loving those entrusted to us, being attentive to their needs, protecting them from harm, and guiding them toward what is good and true. It requires sacrifice, patience, and a genuine concern for others. For parents especially, this responsibility is profound. By their example, their prayer, and their teaching, they shape not only the lives of their children but also their faith.

Ultimately, today’s Gospel invites us to reflect on two questions. First, are we truly listening to the voice of the Good Shepherd? In a world filled with noise and distraction, this requires intentional effort. Second, are we reflecting the heart of the Good Shepherd in the way we care for others?

Jesus assures us that He came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. This abundant life is not found in following the crowd or chasing fleeting pleasures, but in walking closely with Him, trusting His guidance, and remaining within the safety of His fold.

Like the lamb carried by Moses, we too are often weak, wandering, and in need of care. Yet the Good Shepherd does not abandon us. He seeks us out, lifts us up, and brings us home.