Reflecting on John 3:13-17

This feast is especially precious to me because Denver’s radiant and godly Bishop George Evans died on the vigil of the Triumph of the Cross forty years ago. As the years have passed, the warm memories of this great man have become stronger, and his mission of reconciliation comes into even sharper relief.

I knew him because he lived in the rectory of the parish where I worked. In those heady days of the 1970s and 1980s, it wasn’t uncommon to walk into the rectory, where the parish offices also resided, and see the governor, the mayor, and many of the most prominent people from the Justice and Peace offices gathered at Bishop Evans’ dining room table. I recall that numerous maps were displayed on the walls. Downtown Denver, and, in particular, the university catering primarily to working adults, was undergoing a makeover, and Bishop Evans was committed to ensuring that the university would be accessible to all.

One day, when Bishop Evans was a young, overworked monsignor, he visited a low-income housing project with a friend who would become his great partner in housing, Sr. Lucy Downey, SCL.  He was utterly stunned at the poverty and lack of resources in the projects. When he returned to the Cathedral that night, he had an announcement. “For the rest of my life,” he said, “housing will be my #1 priority.”

What a huge dream that was, to provide housing for Denver’s low-income residents in seven apartment buildings around town. Today, Archdiocesan Housing, Inc. manages thirty properties that house up to three thousand residents. And that’s just a drop in the bucket of housing needs today.   

Lift high the cross today.  Bishop George Evans processes with us.

What people have you known who continue to inspire you?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 14: 25-33

What charisma did Jesus possess that he was able to draw The Twelve, as well as many dozens of unnamed disciples, into mission with him? I imagine him as this young, warm, kind rabbi, whose very presence compelled James and John to drop their nets (and thus to evaporate the family business) and follow him.

But at what cost! They would have to love their families “less”—the proper translation of “hate” — than they loved him. They would have to love their own lives less than they loved him! They would have to be willing to “take up the cross”— surely the most dreaded image for anyone living in an occupied country–and follow him.

What kind of recruitment poster is that? Leave your families and vital love them less than you love this highly controversial man whose promises are sacrifice, privation, death, and eternal life?  Apparently, those who chose a life of hardship with him did it with great joy. They were utterly devoted to him.

It’s good to be cautious when you make a commitment, of course. You need to make a list of pros and cons. You need to determine whether you can succeed before taking on a new project or job. But the cost of this discipleship? To be a faithful follower of Jesus, you must renounce all your possessions!

What an impossible call this is. The Catholic tradition reserves this particular sacrifice for those who embrace poverty in Religious life. But all of us are called to love Jesus more than possessions, family, or even our own lives.

Do I do this? The answer is: sometimes. And those times have brought me my greatest joys.

When have you found deep joy in following Jesus?

Kathy McGovern ©2025 

Reflecting on Luke 14: 1, 7-14

It’s shocking, the number of life lessons I’m still learning. Aren’t we supposed to reach a point where we know enough to get through the day without making huge, embarrassing mistakes?

My most recent revelation is that I must always assume that every person in the room knows at least as much, if not much more, than I do. I’m noticing this about the great friends I’m making in my Senior Exercise Class at the gym.

We’re all around the same age, with the same aches and pains. But ask just any random person how she completes a particular exercise so effortlessly, and chances are she’ll share about her award-winning college career in soccer, or softball, or where she ranks in the neighborhood pickleball league.

I have a little job, speaking to medical students about how to diagnose ovarian cancer. This disease strikes women of every background, yet every woman I’ve ever been on a panel with is as comfortable speaking in front of large audiences as I am. It’s a huge mistake to think that we are more important, more experienced, more knowledgeable about anything than anyone in the room.

Jesus was swaddled in humility from the day of his birth. Though he was in the form of God, even when confronted by the terrifying Roman soldiers, he did not deem equality something to be grasped at, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave (Phil. 2: 6-11).

How embarrassing to take a place of honor at a banquet and find out that other, more accomplished people were meant to sit there. If we’re honest, we admit that being humble isn’t a virtue; it’s just acknowledging the obvious.

How is humility the most valuable trait in your spouse or friends?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 13: 22-30 

My cheeks burn with embarrassment when I think about those who knocked on the Master’s door to ask admittance, only to have him say, “I don’t know you or where you come from.” It always reminds me of a conversation I had with an elderly parishioner many years ago. I knew his name, and several things about him because others who had taken the time to be his actual friends had told me about his fascinating life.

I approached him one day, acting as if we knew each other, and his response was, “I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before.” It was so embarrassing to be called out on my presumptuousness, that just because I knew OF him, that meant that I was privy to a friendship with him I’d never earned.

I’ve written once before about the MOST mortifying moment of my life, when, during COVID, I failed to recognize my oldest friend at an event, just because she was wearing a mask. And,  yesterday, I asked my friend, whose retirement party we were celebrating, who that VERY warm and sweet woman was who greeted me at the door when I arrived. “Um,” she said, “that was me. I was the one who greeted you.”

It had been a few years since I’d seen her, and her hair was different, but shouldn’t I have recognized her voice, or known her immediately by her warmth? Will things about us have changed so much through the years—our thoughtlessness,  our outreach to strangers, our faith itself— that the Master will say, “Who are you? I don’t know where you come from”?

Recognize us, Jesus. Help us recognize you more.

Have you changed so much that Jesus might not recognize you?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Jeremiah 38:4 6. 8-10

King Zedekiah is the hero of the story this weekend, although things could definitely have gone the other way. He seemed to be passively, rather than actively, evil.  He was a reed shaken with the wind, listening to whoever had his ear at the moment. Unfortunately, the princes came from the palace and convinced this weak king that Jeremiah, the prophet who had told him the frightening truth about the devastation of the Babylonian army, had demoralized the people so much that he needed to be killed.

What an awful death that would have been. Jeremiah was lowered into the empty cistern with ropes, and as he descended, he was thigh-deep in mud. Imagine the dark, and the terror. Thank God a valiant court official took his life in his hands (for coming into the king’s presence without being summoned was a capital offense), and pleaded for Jeremiah’s life.

The weak king then saw the other side of the story, and quickly called for Jeremiah to be brought up from the cistern. How terrifying for Jeremiah to be at the whim of this vacillating king. Jeremiah had, at times, been the king’s confidante. In fact, shortly after this terrible episode, he summoned him and, asking him to hold their conversation in strict confidence, revealed his own fear of the future.

It’s strange to us, reading it at the distance of these 2,500 years, that a king could be influenced so easily by one group, and swayed again by just one member. How many innocent people are held in terrible prisons today because no one stepped up for them? This story shows that it takes just one courageous person. Is it I, Lord?

What small thing can you do to advocate for peace?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Lk. 12: 32-46

I love watching people who don’t know they’re being watched. I mean that as people come into our orbit, it’s edifying to see how they behave when they don’t know we’re watching them.

I remember my friend Celeste, decades before the environmental movement really got going, painstakingly removing a single sheet of paper from the printer and turning it over, so that the subsequent text could be printed on it. What really stood out about that to me was not only that she took the time to save a single piece of paper, but that, at some point, she took the time to memorize how to turn the paper around in the printer so the next page was printed correctly, not smashed on top of the previous text. (These are the technological skills that still impress me, all these years later.)

We should all be like the servants who are ready to open the door to their Master when he returns. They don’t have anything to hide, because they’ve been diligent and disciplined in doing the good work they’ve been assigned. I love those people, the ones who keep their homes bright and cheerful, by doing the tasks they perform when no one is looking.

Like Celeste, the servants faithful to the Church’s mandate to care for our common home are careful with every piece of paper, every recyclable plate, even when no one is watching. That is so hard! I worry about what my Master might say to me, asking why I haven’t been more careful with the earth’s resources.

Oh, but I’ve got DECADES to do better, right? No, the hour comes when we least expect it.

What good habits keep you ready for the Master?

Kathy McGovern ©2025 

Reflecting on Ps. 90:12

The readings are fascinating and rich this weekend, but it’s the Responsorial Psalm that catches me by the throat.

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom, says the psalmist (90:12). Especially in these long days of summer, I always reproach myself for not making the most of the sunshine, of the times with friends, of summer concerts, and even drives in the mountains.

Our days are numbered. We know this with every sunrise, and every end of day. Why, then, do we let the days roll by, one after the other, as if our time isn’t finite, and the sand in the hourglass isn’t relentlessly flowing south? 

As you study the readings, either before or after Mass this weekend, don’t skim the psalm. Stop and pray it, and let its wisdom fill you: 90:3-4. 5-6. 12-13. 14 and 17.

A thousand years are to God like a single watch in the night. The Creator of all galaxies holds us, and sustains us, through all history.

Fill us at daybreak with your kindness. Oh, that we would greet every stunning summer morning with gratitude, and every gorgeous summer sunset with awe.

May the gracious care of the Lord be ours. Prosper the work of our hands! Pray today for all farmers, who watch the skies for rain, and who provide food for the world.

Don’t let these grace-filled days slip by you. Listen for God in every birdsong. If today you hear God’s voice, harden not your heart.

What phrase from today’s psalm most touches you?

Kathy McGovern © 2025

Reflecting on Genesis 18: 2-32

Should not the judge of all the world act with justice? Abraham is cajoling God, trying to manipulate God into sparing the towns of Sodom and Gomorrah because of the innocent citizens who live there (including his nephew Lot and his family). And you know what? It worked!

This odd story from the 18th chapter of Genesis is hard to hear. Is God really that petulant and out of control? God is the victim of anthropomorphism here. Humans are vengeful and violent, and so their God is made in their image. But God can be walked off the ledge with flattery, and so the towns are saved.

What an unsettling image of God. Our own experience of God, incarnate in Jesus  and radiating from the works of the New Testament, is so different. Jesus implores us to keep asking, keep knocking. Then we remember Abraham, whose love for his family living in those towns compelled him to continue in that Oriental bargaining so common in his time. He asked, he knocked, and God acted.

I’m thinking of the First Baptist Church in Kerrville, Texas. This church has become the north star for the town, the place where they come to grieve, to bring food, comfort, and prayer. One of their members is still unaccounted for. Twenty-eight of their children have died.

The whole world is asking, seeking, and knocking, begging  God to intervene in this horror. We all need to ask for the Holy Spirit. That’s the promise, that no one who asks for the Spirit will be denied.

Come, Holy Spirit, and bring Divine comfort to all the grieving in the Hill Country of Texas.

When have you asked, and been given the Spirit?

Kathy McGovern © 2025

Our lives are full of mystery. How did our future spouses happen to be in the grocery store, the bookstore, or the same class we were taking, at the exact moment when we “bumped into them,” all those years ago? How did all those moments line up to put us in the right place at the right time? It’s a mystery.

Is our solar system unique? Until as recently as the 1990s, the answer would have been “yes.” But today, we know that we are not alone. And then a million new mysteries confound. Is there “conscious” life outside planet Earth? That’s the question that informs every science fiction book and movie. Will some of those mysteries be solved in our lifetimes?

I think that Jesus was mysterious. His birth was announced by angels, and a STAR in the heavens. Two elderly prophets recognized him when his parents brought him to the Temple, and, twelve years later, teachers in the courtyard of that same Temple were amazed at his questions.

Years later, surrounded by the hungry and the sick, he promised that everyone who asks will receive, and everyone who seeks will find (Lk. 11:9-10). With what assurance? It’s a mystery. And then there was the time he encouraged his friend Mary to sit at his feet and learn, and nudged her sister Martha to leave her work to join him (Lk. 10:38-42). How did this first-century Orthodox Jew understand what would take another two thousand years to finally enter the culture?

But the greatest, and most indelible mystery? Christ in you, your hope of glory (Col. 1:27). He lives in you. He is in you every moment. Be at peace.

What mysteries most fascinate you?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

“For this command that I enjoin on you today is not too mysterious and remote for you.”

Whenever I read that beautiful passage from Deuteronomy 30, I remember my friend Becky, who wandered into the parish where I worked many years ago and immediately fell in love with the whole “Catholic Thing.”

She’d never been in a Catholic Church. She stared at the statues of the saints. When the Bread and Cup were elevated, she could scarcely breathe.

She became the most devout student. She could sit with the missalette for hours, asking questions about why we do what we do.

She was baptized, confirmed, and received her First Communion one Holy Saturday night. She was a true convert, joyfully brought into the Church she loved.

One day she said to me, “Catholics are so sophisticated. They know all about all the sacraments, and the saints, and all about the Mass. I never thought I was smart enough to be a Catholic. It’s so intimidating.”

Are we sophisticated? Intimidating? Of course not. But our rituals and traditions seem mysterious and remote to those joining us for the first time.

When you notice someone new in the pews, think about sitting next to them. Ask if they’d like some help following the Mass. Take a missalette and show them how to follow it.

Help a newcomer navigate the missalette. Explain those remote and mysterious parts of the Mass. I bet they’ll join us next Easter, grateful for the gifts we often take for granted.

Remember that Ethiopian eunuch who was reading the book of Isaiah when Philip asked him if he understood it. “How can I understand, if no one explains it to me?” (Acts 8).

Are there still some mysterious and remote parts of the Mass for you?

Kathy McGovern ©2025