If we consider the scant details the Gospels give us about the early life of Jesus, we might be surprised to find the contrary. Jesus, Mary and Joseph faced struggles and challenges, too. Some were challenges common to all families; others were unique to their situation. We can learn much from contemplating the lives of the Holy Family, from the “school of Nazareth” as it were.

First, we learn from Jesus, Mary and Joseph that saying “yes” to God’s will in our lives does not mean we will be free from trial and tribulation. It does not mean that our faith will not be tried and tested in some way. Our Lord makes it quite clear during His public ministry that if we wish to follow him we must be prepared to take up a cross. This lesson is driven home by the lives of Joseph and Mary.

Both listen and respond to a message from an angel. With humility, faith, and even fortitude, they say “yes” to God’s will for them. That “yes” has its consequences. The Child of Mary, conceived by the Holy Spirit and whose birth was announced by an archangel, will come into the world in a stable. His family will be forced to flee their home and settle in a foreign country to escape a jealous, power-hungry, homicidal king. Mary’s Son is supposed to inherit the throne from the line David and His kingdom is not supposed to have an end … and yet Jesus’ life does not get off to an auspicious start. The “yes” of Mary and Joseph was just the start of a life that had its peaks and valleys, just like many others. They moved forward with faith and hope, knowing that God’s will was being done even though it must have seemed like such a strange and circuitous path.

That brings us to the second lesson: God works even in the midst of the chaos that is family life. As this week’s Gospel relates, the Holy Family traveled to Jerusalem for the Passover, the most important and sacred of Jewish feasts, established in the days of Moses. Jerusalem would have been thronging with pilgrims, many traveling in large groups from their homes outside the city. It is no surprise that Our Lord, as a 12-year-old child, might get lost in the crowd. What follows is three days of searching and worrying. The anguish of Mary and Joseph is something that any loving parent can identify with.

That anxiety would be enough for any parent to handle, but there is more to come. When they finally find Jesus, He makes a startling declaration: “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

Joseph is standing right there and Our Lord makes the distinction between His foster father and His heavenly Father. This is a startling revelation, and Mary ponders it in her heart. She is given a little glimpse of her Son’s unique relationship with the Father, a revelation that would eventually have a profound impact on their own relationship. Mary and Joseph are taking their first steps in understanding that Jesus is true God and true man. He has come into the world not for them, but to save all men from sin.

The point is that the Holy Family had their frustrating and anxious moments, but God reveals Himself to them even in those moments. Sometimes it just takes a while to grasp that. Family life in the modern world is chaotic, with parents and children running in different directions and its complex weave of interpersonal relationships. In the midst of that chaos, however, we can learn something about how God loves each of us. Mother Teresa used to say that the family that prays together stays together because such a family learns something about how God loves each one of us.

When spouses are able to forgive one another, when parents love their children despite the fact that the little ones can drive them up the wall; or, perhaps most challenging and painful of all, when parents or siblings love each other despite having that love unrequited, we learn something about unconditional love – the same kind of love God has for each of us. Strong family life is so important and critical to us because it is the first and best place to learn how to love unconditionally. If we do not learn how to love there, we may be hard-pressed to learn how to love at all. It is not impossible, but it is more difficult if we do not have a strong family to help guide us along our way.

In other words, in the midst of all that chaos, God may be working in ways that we may not see or appreciate right away. But, if families strive to practice the love and mutual respect that formed the heart of the Holy Family, God’s love can become visible and concrete. It may not be a gift that is always appreciated or understood, but sacrificial, unconditional love is a gift that is still worth giving.

We might lament that retailers are in such a hurry to celebrate the season, but they are simply doing what they need to do in order to survive. They need us to spend our money so they can stay afloat. But, as every Catholic knows — or should know — it is not Christmas yet. There is a time of preparation for the celebration of this glorious feast.

By preparation, I obviously mean more than simply decorating the house, buying presents and writing Christmas cards. There are spiritual preparations to be made as well.

Because of our faith in the saving death and resurrection of Jesus, Christians may rightly be called an Easter people. But, it is just as fitting to say we are an Advent people. We are a people waiting for Christ to come again in glory, just as he assures us he will in today’s Gospel reading: “People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with great power and glory.”

The season of Advent invites us to look backward, to the past. Specifically, we recall the days of the law and the prophets, when God established a covenant with the people of Israel. During their long history together, God spoke to his chosen and beloved people through the prophets. He spoke of a Suffering Servant who would take upon Himself the sins of the world. During the advent and Christmas seasons, we recall how that promise was fulfilled when the Son of God took to Himself a human nature and dwelt among us. In looking back at the moment of our redemption, we see one promise fulfilled and eagerly await the sure fulfillment of the promise to come again.

As an Advent people, we look to the present, living as a people redeemed by the blood of Christ. We listen to the words of Our Lord in today’s Gospel: “Stand erect and raise your heads, because your redemption is at hand. Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy … Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.” We can listen also to the words of Sts. Peter and Paul, whose writings constantly exhort us to make our call and election a permanent one, to avoid falling once more under slavery to sin and grieving the Holy Spirit with which we were sealed for the day of redemption. This is no time to be lazy in the practice of every virtue and work of mercy. This is no time for being lazy in doing penance for our sins.

Finally, as an Advent people, we look to the future. It seems rather ironic that even as the stores go all glitzy and glamorous while promoting their wares, as we sing and speak of peace on earth, that we have a reading telling of dismay and fright, of signs in the moon and stars. Our Lord is simply telling us that, while there is nothing wrong with giving and receiving gifts, we should not lose sight of the fact that things pass away. In fact, all things will pass away. There will one day be a new heavens and earth where God dwells in peace with His people. Advent invites us to look ahead, to end of the story of salvation history. Advent invites us to reflect on the fact that history is going somewhere.

It is customary for us to make Lenten resolutions, but it might not be a bad idea to make some resolutions for Advent. Amidst the tasks of decorating the house and writing cards, it would be a good idea to spend a little more time with the scriptures, the word of God. The infancy narratives along with the chapters of Isaiah speaking of the suffering servant give us sufficient material for our reflections. It is also a good idea to go to confession. How much better can we celebrate the birth of the Holy One of God than with hearts free from sin? How much better will we be ready to stand before the Son of Man when He comes in glory?

Francis de Sales wrote in Introduction to the Devout Life, “Imagine yourself to be in an open field, alone with your guardian angel. … Imagine that he shows high heaven open before you with all its joys … and that he then shows you hell lying open beneath you with all its torments … Each of these lies open to receive you according to the choice you make … the choice of one or the other that we make will last eternally in the life to come. … God desires with an incomparable desire that you choose heaven.”

As the liturgical and calendar years draw near an end, the Church invites all of us to carefully reflect on what we call the four last things: death, judgment, heaven and hell. In the weeks to come, his is a theme that will feature prominently in some of the readings at Mass. It all begins, however, by going straight to the top.

It is with joy that we celebrate the feast of All Saints. In celebrating this feast, we give thanks to God for raising to the glories of heaven the souls of all His faithful ones. We also give thanks for the communion we share with the saints through Christ.

If we should wonder how such a communion is possible, we have only to listen to the words of Our Lord: “I am the vine, you are the branches.” He goes on to say that the branch which bears no fruit is pruned away and cast into the fire. Fruitful branches remain upon the vine.

In other words, in death and in life, faithful witnesses of Christ whose lives bear fruit in works of faith, hope and charity remain upon the vine and form one body in Christ. We remain in communion with the saints of heaven and they with us through Christ. To use the words of the Letter to the Hebrews, the saints of heaven make up the vast cloud of witnesses which surrounds us and spurs us on to victory. They have run the race, and they know that the race — with all its trials and tribulations — is worth running, the prize worth striving for.

The saints of heaven are the poor in spirit who have inherited the kingdom. They are the ones who once mourned with us in this valley of tears, yet now know peace and rest. They are the ones who showed mercy and forgiveness and through God’s mercy have obtained true pardon peace of their own. In other words, they are the ones who lived the Eight Beatitudes and desired to have the mind and heart of Christ. In the words of St. Bernard, “Calling the saints to mind inspires, or rather arouses in us, above all else, a longing to enjoy their company, so desirable in itself. We long to share in the citizenship of heaven, to dwell with the spirits of the blessed, to join the assembly of patriarchs, the ranks of the prophets, the council of apostles, the great host of martyrs, the noble company of confessors and the choir of virgins. … We must rise again with Christ, we must seek the world which is above and set our minds on the things of heaven.”

Of course, living the beatitudes is about as counter cultural as you can get. Sanctity involves being clean of heart, having no attachment or desire for sin. We live in a culture that seems to pride itself on its sinfulness. In fact, we want to deny the very reality of sin. That is no way to be a saint.

To be a saint means to be poor in spirit, desiring nothing more that what is pleasing to God and knowing that we are only passing guests in this world. We live in a culture that is rooted in self-indulgence. I want what I want when I want it. I want this world to be my paradise.

To be a saint means that we will be persecuted or insulted simply because, as disciples of Christ, we set ourselves against the ways of the world.

As Francis de Sales, Bernard — and every other saint would tell us — we do have a choice about who we aim to please above all. If being a saint means possibly bringing trouble on ourselves, perhaps it is not all that attractive a proposition. Considering the joys of all the saints in heaven, hopefully we will begin to realize that the race is worth running.

Made in the image of the triune God, Adam is also made to love, to be in relationship. But true love requires two things: a lover and a beloved, someone who is willing to make a gift of himself to another, and someone who can receive that gift and reciprocate it. Adam needed a suitable partner, so God fashioned the woman Eve, made in His image and likeness. Here we have man and woman, lover and beloved.

The union of man and woman in marriage is so deep and intimate that the two become one flesh. This is not simply a union based on loving thoughts and feelings. In consummating a marriage, a husband and wife make a complete, total, unconditional gift of themselves to each other. This is a total gift of the person, body and soul. This deep, personal, intimate union is called a covenant. More than a contract, which might expire when all conditions are fulfilled or involve an exchange of goods and services, a covenant is an exchange of persons and a lasting pact.

In marriage, the union of husband and wife is meant to be a living image of God’s love for His people. This is pretty obvious even in the Old Testament. For example, the prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah and Hosea all use marital imagery when speaking of Israel’s covenantal relationship with the Lord. The union of husband and wife is also meant to be a living image of Christ’s love for his bride: the Church. For this reason, we call marriage a sacrament, an outward sign that points to a deeper spiritual reality. Marriage is meant, with the grace and help of God, to be a permanent, committed, faithful exclusive union until death. This is the model of marriage that Our Lord points to, and our own use of reason bears this out.

No one would point to divorce as a good thing, even where it seems unavoidable. It hurts spouses and children alike. Deep down, we realize that a relationship as intimate as that of husband and wife, that the good of a family, demands fidelity. Young couples that I prepare for marriage at least seem to have the understanding that a vow is something sacred and that any violation of it is truly a grave betrayal of trust. Still, I encourage these couples to sit down and have a good long talk about the meaning of fidelity and commitment before they say, “I do.” Future spouses should have expectations of each other when it comes to fidelity, but even more so, they should have expectations of themselves. A husband or wife should be asking themselves what they can do to make sure they remain faithful to their future spouse. Is work or hanging out with my friends going to be more of priority than being with my spouse and children? Is pornography a problem for me? Am I ready to make that commitment to one person for life? These kinds of questions demand complete and total honesty.

I recently came across an article on the Internet citing a recent “60 Minutes”-Vanity Fair poll that surveyed more than 1,000 people. The results indicated that only 2 percent of respondents felt extramarital affairs were a serious sin. As I tell couples preparing for marriage, we can never anticipate everything that comes along in marriage, but it is absolutely important to know something about the nature of the vocation to which one is called. In marriage, a man leaves his father and mother to be joined to his wife, and the two become one. This not one man’s idea of marriage, this is God’s plan for marriage.

In high school, camouflage briefly became the color choice for school apparel after the second Rambo movie was released.

Finally, it is not unusual in my family to lace conversations with movie quotes or references. What is true for my family, however, can be true for our culture as a whole. Think about how many classic film quotes or scenes have become a part of everyday vernacular: Clark Gable’s famous last words to Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind ; Dorothy’s maxim, “There’s no place like home”; and Arnold’s, “I’ll be back!” I cannot even tell how many conversations of late have included The Princess Bride . These are things that seem permanently embedded in our psyches.

All of this is simply a way of saying that we can be profoundly influenced by what we see and hear, perhaps more than we realize. Sometimes we have to stop and think about what we are actually letting in. What is it that is truly directing and forming my thoughts, words and actions?

In this week’s Gospel, a group of people bring before Jesus a deaf man with a speech impediment. It should be noted that the man is a Gentile. He is healed, and Our Lord instructs the people not to say anything about it. Mark tells us that the people — presumably including the man himself — could not keep quiet about it. This was simply too astonishing.

Of note here is the word that Jesus speaks as he touches the man’s eyes and ears: “Ephphatha,” or “Be opened.” These words have since found their way into the liturgical life of the Church. During the rite of infant baptism, the minister may touch the baby’s mouth and ears and say the following words: “The Lord Jesus Christ made the deaf hear and the dumb speak. May he soon touch your ears to receive his word, and your mouth to proclaim his faith.” The prayer concludes by saying that in listening to and speaking the word of God, we glorify God, just like those who witnessed the healing of the deaf man.

We can be pretty diligent about remembering something from a song or movie, but what about the Scriptures, the inspired word of God? There are stories of saints who memorized portions of the Bible. This was not done simply to have quotes to toss around and look pious, but so that the word of God would guide and form the saint’s every thought, word and action. The word of God became the native language of the saint.

There is something to be learned from this. It is no secret that there is much out there on television, the Internet, the radio, even in magazines that vies for our attention. Much of it — not all of it — is vulgar, crude, violent, pornographic and grotesque. These images can easily become lodged in our imaginations and thoughts. But, we have the antidote. In the Incarnation, the divine Word speaks to us clearly and personally, bringing us truth, goodness, beauty and everlasting life … if our ears are open to hear it and our hearts open to receive it. A good pace to start is participating fully in the Liturgy of the Word at Mass each Sunday. Fretting about people coming late for Mass seems like such a small thing, but the truth is, we are missing the banquet of God’s word. God’s word is food for the soul as much as the Eucharist.

Of course, participation in the Liturgy of the Word is only the beginning. We must undertake our own study of the word of God. Memorizing passages is not such a bad idea. We do not do so simply for the sake of memorizing the passage. Rather, like the great saints, we do so in order to make the word of God a living, active presence in our lives. For example, St. Benedict instructed in his monastic rule that a part Psalm 95 should be a part of monk’s daily prayer life: “Today listen to the voice of the Lord and harden not your heart.” Again, it was not simply a matter of memorizing the line. These were words for the monk to live by. The goal should be same for us as it is for those we honor as saints: to make the word of God the guiding force in our thoughts, words and actions.

In the end, we should let it be said of us as St. Paul once wrote about the Thessalonians: “We thank God constantly that in receiving this message from us you took it, not as the word of men, but as it truly is, the word of God at work within you who believe” (1 Thess. 2:13).

Being old does not necessarily mean that the writings of the prophets, the historical books or the Psalms/Wisdom literature are somehow outdated and obsolete. In fact, one could go so far as to say that we cannot completely understand or know Christ without them. Calling Jesus the “Lamb of God” means very little if we have no understanding of the Passover event recorded in the Book of Exodus.

Familiarity with the Old Testament helps us realize that we are a part of the story of salvation history. This is the story that begins with creation and the Fall, climaxes with the events of Calvary and the resurrection and Ascension of Jesus, and concludes with Christ’s return in glory. The stories of Abraham, Jacob and Moses are very much a part of our own history as a Christian people.

Being familiar with the Old Testament opens our eyes, our minds, and our hearts to the wonderful ways God works on behalf of His people. It opens us up to a better understanding of how God truly does make all things new. This week’s Gospel reading highlights one of those key moments: “Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died; this is the bread that comes down from heaven so that one may eat it and not die.”

The Book of Exodus recalls how God provided manna, a heavenly bread, as food for His chosen people as they wandered through the desert. This has obviously stuck in the minds and hearts of the people as a truly wondrous event, and they have asked Jesus if He can perform an even greater feat as a sign of his messianic authority. Our Lord tells the people that it was not Moses who gave them the manna, but God. He also tells them that God has gone one step further by giving them a bread that will provide them with eternal life.

Jesus identifies Himself as the bread that has come down from heaven. This raises a few eyebrows. His listeners know him as the son of Joseph and Mary — as one of them. How can He claim to have come down from heaven? Our Lord uses this occasion to speak once more about his relationship with the Father. Here we have a Gospel reading that allows us to reflect once more on the wonder of the Incarnation. Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life; He is the true bread that comes down from heaven.

This same Gospel reading invites us to reflect on the wonder of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. The passage concludes with Jesus saying that the “bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” Yes, He is speaking about the sacrifice of Calvary. But what happened on Good Friday is inseparable from what took place on Holy Thursday, when Christ instituted the Eucharist as the memorial of His saving death and resurrection. In the Eucharist, which is our heavenly food, Christ continues to offer His flesh for the life of the world through the sacramental signs of bread and wine. The Eucharist is our pledge of eternal life because it is a sharing in the risen life of Christ, who is the head of the Church, His mystical body.

What was given in the desert to the people of Israel was only a shadow of something greater to come. The manna gave new life to a people who were hungry and tired from the journey, but no more. The new bread of heaven, the Eucharist, gives life to the soul, a new and eternal life. Understanding the Old Testament, indeed, helps us to see how God can truly make all things new.

Whenever we travel, we certainly like to be well-prepared. We have directions to get us where we are going, we have a place to stay all lined up, and we make sure we have enough clothes and money to see us through. There are plenty of daring souls out there who do not mind roughing it — traveling light, sleeping under the stars, planning things as they go along — but most of us like to travel in comfort.

The kicker is that these daring souls can probably relate a little better to the Apostles in this week’s Gospel. Our Lord sends them out two by two to surrounding villages with instructions to take “nothing for the journey but a walking stick — no food, no sack, no money in their belts.” These guys are to travel light, taking only the clothes on their backs.

Why would Our Lord send them out on a journey and ask them to take almost nothing with them?

To begin with, there is a lesson in trusting God’s providence. The Apostles are not going out completely empty-handed. Our Lord gave them authority over unclean spirits and directions to heal the sick and preach a message of repentance. All they are being asked to do, they are asked to do in Christ’s name. They are doing nothing on their own, and they are to focus more on what they are to give than on what they are to receive. They are placing their trust in the word of their Master that all they need — the words to speak, strength and courage, even their material needs — will ultimately be provided for.

Second, the simplicity of the Apostles is truly something to be admired. Not bogged down with “things,” they can focus completely on their mission. They can go where they are needed at the direction of their Master. The example of these men, who gave up everything for the sake of the Gospel and Christ, has had a profound effect on some key figures in the history of the Church: St. Anthony of the Desert, St. Francis of Assisi, and Teresa of Calcutta to name a few.

Perhaps it is from these men who learned to do without that we can draw a lesson for life. The Apostles were to be concerned only with their mission. St. Paul tells us that all of us should be concerned with only one thing. We are to set our sights on heaven, where Christ reigns in glory. Part of the theological virtue of hope involves knowing that God has promised us a heavenly inheritance, and that we trust He will provide all that we need to enter into that inheritance. We may seek the grace of repentance and sorrow for sins, we may seek the strength to endure trials and sufferings, we may seek the grace to be more merciful and forgiving, to be more ardent in defending our Faith. These things are all gifts that come from God, and we are called to trust in His providence.

Keeping our eyes fixed on the kingdom also means not allowing ourselves to be bogged down by “things.” There was something liberating about that trip to Australia. The cell phone was off for two weeks, there was no easy access to computers and the Internet. In other words, there were limited distractions on what was meant to be a pilgrimage. For some, perhaps not having the iPod for two whole weeks was a challenge. But no distractions meant the heart was not divided. One could be open to hearing the Word of God.

Here we are in the middle of summer, a time of vacations and rest. Perhaps part of the rest should involve setting aside those “things” that keep us from seeing the big picture. Christians are called to set their hearts not on worldly things that are passing away, but on the good things of heaven — to pursue all that is good, virtuous, admirable and true. I suppose one last point we can reflect on with regards to this Gospel reading is that God does try to break through to us. Christ sends out the Apostles to proclaim that God is present with us. In the mystery of the Incarnation, heaven and earth meet. How sad if we were to tune out the voice of the Son of God, speaking to us through the Apostles and His Church, because we are too plugged in to everything else to pay attention. We are called to pay attention to the words of the Apostles as they proclaim, “Repent. The Kingdom of God is at hand.”

As we celebrate the Solemnity of Corpus Christi — the Solemnity of the Holy Body and Blood of Our Lord — perhaps we can alter that sign a little: “People of God, receive this holy Communion as if it were your first, your last, and your only holy Communion.” How much more we might be engaged if we participated in the Eucharistic sacrifice as if it were the first, last and only opportunity we would have to do so — not simply by singing and reciting the prayers, but uniting ourselves completely with Christ as He renews the offering of Himself on the cross. As we draw near the altar to receive the Blessed Sacrament, we ought to be mindful of what — or better yet, Who — we are receiving and not approach with a thoughtless or casual attitude, but with reverence, respect and humility.

Our Lord tells us in chapter six of John’s Gospel, “My flesh is real food and my blood real drink. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in him.” This week’s Gospel recalls the moment when Our Lord instituted the Eucharist and gave us the means by which we should experience true communion with him: “While they were eating, he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take it; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed for many.’” For these reasons, it has been the constant teaching and understanding of the Church that when Christ’s words are spoken at Mass, bread and wine become His sacred body and blood. Consequently, when we speak of the Eucharist, we dare to speak of the Real Presence. Yes, Christ is truly present in this holy sacrament. Yes, He provides us with real food and real drink, just as He said He would. Yes, He fulfills His promise to be with us until the end of time in a real, concrete way.

To speak of the Real Presence is the only way to make sense of several things Paul says in his first letter to the Corinthians. First, he says, “Whoever eats the bread and dinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord.” If the Eucharist was ordinary bread and wine, it is doubtful Paul would have used such strong language, telling the Corinthians, and us, that receiving the sacrament unworthily (i.e., in a state of mortal sin) is a sacrilege. Such language could only be used if Christ is truly present; a sin is committed against a person, not a piece of bread.

Next, Paul says, “The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread.” If we take the Real Presence seriously, then receiving the Body and Blood of Christ establishes the faithful as one body. The person sitting next to you in church on Sunday may be a stranger, yet he or she is one with you in the Body of Christ. In receiving the Eucharist, we become what we receive: the Body of Christ. This reality should have a tremendous impact on how we treat those around us. Through this holy sacrament, Christ comes to dwell in us. How much more seriously we as Catholics should take Our Lord’s words, “What you did for the least of my brothers, you did for me.”

When I say that we should receive each holy Communion as if it were our first, our last and our only holy Communion, it is for no other reason than to renew our devotion and love for the Blessed Sacrament. If we approach the sacrament in this manner, it will not become commonplace or routine, and we will be prepared to receive the Lord with a reverent and humble disposition.

The theme of Christ crucified looms large in Paul’s preaching. In fact, he tells the Corinthians: “I did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (2:1-2).

Why does the cross of Christ play such a prominent part in Paul’s preaching? Because he understands the cross, not as scandal or curse, but as the testimony of God, the ultimate sign of His love. As he says in his little catechetical formula, Paul knows that the death of the Son of God on the cross has a meaning and purpose: to free us from sin. As Pope Benedict XVI stated in one of his general audiences on St. Paul, “The crucified one is wisdom, for he truly shows who God is, that is, a force of love which went even as far as the cross to save men and women” (St. Paul, Ignatius Press, p.64).

But, Paul does not simply look at the mystery of the cross in a universal sense. He also speaks of a personal dimension: “The life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20). It is this personal dimension that makes all the difference for Paul: God loves me. His Son died for me. Paul considers all else as loss next to the knowledge of this love, and it is the driving force of his preaching.

Throughout the centuries, saints have spoken and written about the centrality of the cross in salvation history and the spiritual life. Among them is St. Thomas Aquinas, who spoke as the sufferings of Christ as the remedy for sin and an example of how to act.

This brings us to this week’s Gospel reading. Our Lord, gathered whit his disciples at the Last Supper, gives them a commandment: “Love one another as I love you.” Earlier in the same chapter of John’s Gospel, Our Lord calls this a “new” commandment. Given that the Old Testament speaks often about caring for the poor, the widow, and the orphan and about the justice and mercy to be rendered to others, the commandment to love one’s neighbors can hardly be called “new.” And yet it is made new because Our Lord says we are to love one another as he has loved us.

We strive to be merciful toward one another because Christ showed mercy even to those who crucified him: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Many have become saints because they followed Jesus’ example (i.e. St. Stephen, St. Maria Goretti). We strive to be humble and patient because the Son of God humbled himself in becoming man and accepting the cross, though he himself was innocent. We strive to be poor in spirit — to be generous with our own talents and goods, to perhaps do without — because Christ himself became poor, stripped of everything when he hung upon the cross.

When we love one another as Christ loved us — a love revealed in the mystery of the cross — we become like mirrors, magnifying the love of God and radiating it outward. The best way to appreciate the power of the cross is to follow in the footsteps of St. Paul, never losing sight of the truth that the Son of God died not just for us, but for me. That is how far the Good Shepherd was willing to go to save our souls — to save my soul.

No matter how dear our loved ones are, no matter how much we may love someone, there are times when we have to say “I’m sorry.” Love moves us to say those words when we know we have sinned against someone — be it God or neighbor — in word or action. Love moves us to acknowledge that our actions, our sins, affect our relationship with those around us: God, our neighbor, the Church. Love is the very thing that moves us to say we are sorry and seek to heal the wounds caused by our sins.

Love moved Peter to weep bitterly the night he denied even knowing Jesus. This was not just some guilty feeling to be glossed over. This was true sorrow for having denied the Master who loved him, and the recognition of his own weakness. After the resurrection, love moves Our Lord to offer Peter a chance for reconciliation. Peter seems to jump at the chance. Three times he will express his love for Jesus, once for each denial.

What does this have to do with this week’s Gospel?

Plenty.

Our Lord’s first words to the Apostles upon His appearance in the Upper Room are not words of condemnation. He does not call them worthless louts for running off on Him. He does not take back the gift of the priesthood conferred upon them on the night of the Last Supper. Rather, His first words are, “Peace be with you.” These are the words the frightened, troubled Apostles needed to hear.

Then comes a great commission: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” The Divine Son came into the world to establish His kingdom on earth. The work of building up that kingdom — of building up the Church — would continue with the Apostles.

He commissions them to be ministers of reconciliation: “Whose sins you forgive will be forgiven, and whose sins you retain will be retained.” Jesus Christ, whose very heart is the fount of grace and mercy, commissions the Apostles to be the ministers of those very same gifts. Who better to carry out that task than those who understood the need for mercy? One can easily imagine Peter and Thomas being patient and understanding with the faults of others because they were fully aware of their own weakness and moments of doubt. One can also imagine them being firm in correcting sinners, knowing as they did the glory and power of God revealed in Christ.

This Sunday is a fitting day to celebrate this precious gift of reconciliation, the sacrament of mercy. The second Sunday of Easter was designated by Pope John Paul II as Divine Mercy Sunday. The Holy Father had a special devotion to St. Faustina Kowalska, a Polish nun whose diary spoke of Our Lord’s desire to have a special feast established on this day celebrating and exalting God’s powerful mercy.

Our Lord said to St. Faustina: “I desire that this feast of mercy be a refuge and shelter for all souls, and especially for poor sinners. On that day the very depths of My tender mercy are open. I pour out a whole ocean of graces upon those souls who approach the fount of My mercy. The souls that will go to confession and holy Communion shall obtain complete forgiveness of sin and punishment.”

Jesus also told St. Faustina: “When you approach the confessional, know that I myself am waiting there for you. I am hidden only be the priest, but I myself act in your soul. Here the misery of the soul meets the God of mercy. Make your confession before me. The person of the priest is, for me, only a screen. Never analyze what sort of a priest it is that I am making use of; open your soul in confession as you would to me, and I will fill it with my light.”

Such is the depth of love Christ has for each of us. Nothing stands in the way of our knowing and receiving that gift except the sins of pride, which prevents us from saying things like “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you,” and despair, which keeps us from thinking we deserve such a gift. What God is willing to give, we should not be so ready to shun or ignore. We may weep bitterly for our sins as Peter did, but we must never forget that God is ready to show us His mercy. He is ready to say, “I forgive you. “ First, we need to say we’re sorry.