Reflecting on I Cor. 15:1-11

That famous second reading today—I Corinthians 15:1-11—always fills me with hope. This is the chapter where St. Paul, writing to the church in the port city of Corinth, Greece, sometime between 53-55 AD, gives an account of who the people were who were eyewitnesses to the Risen Christ.

Now, this is a MUCH longer list than any given in the gospels, and it’s also coming at least fifteen years before even Mark, the earliest gospel, was written. That’s what makes it so exciting. St. Paul is giving a list of the known eyewitnesses to the resurrection, many of whom, he says, “are still living today.”

He lists Cephas (St. Peter) as the first eyewitness, followed by the Twelve, and then five hundred, then James (who became the leader of the Jerusalem church in the years after the resurrection), then other apostles, and, finally, to St. Paul himself. Mysteriously, none of the women who are so prominent in the gospel resurrection stories were mentioned, or probably even known by Paul.

The reason this stirs my faith so much is that if this weren’t true, it could easily be found out. All it would take would be to ask any of the people Paul named to confirm it. But Paul is so confident in this that he names the eyewitnesses, many of whom were very much alive in the mid-50s.

At a distance of 2,000 years, it’s a matter of trusting this account by St. Paul, and the accounts of the gospels. But in St. Paul’s day, he confidently assured his readers that these eyewitnesses were alive on the day he wrote his letter, and available for interviewing. That’s so exciting.

Imagine interviewing Mary Magdalene about her encounter with the Risen Christ.

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 2: 22-40

Simeon was ready to go. He’d longed to see the Christ of the Lord, and when he walked into the Temple that fateful day, he found him: an eight-day-old baby in his mother’s arms, ready to be consecrated to God.

Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, he cried. Everything he’d lived for and longed for was before him, and he was ready to go to God.

When we remember Simeon and the prophetess Anna on this Feast of the Presentation, it’s a good time to ask ourselves if we, too, will gratefully welcome our deaths.

What are we longing to see before we give Christ “permission” to dismiss us into the loving care of the Holy One? I have a whole list. Dismiss me, oh God, when everyone I love is healed of all the illnesses and sorrows that make their lives difficult. Dismiss me when the atrocities of all wars are finally, peacefully resolved.

And the list goes on. Can any of us possibly live long enough to be comfortable saying to God, “Yes, everything I’ve prayed for has been answered. Everyone I love is well and happy. The world is a safe and healthy place?”

There’s one thing, though, that we can do today. We can bravely recall the ways throughout our lives that we have “missed the mark,” when we have held back the fulfillment of our prayers by our behaviors. Simeon and Anna’s faithful lives led them to be present that day in the Temple. What disciplines can we adopt that will lead us to a peaceful death, when we, without regret,  give our lives back to the One who called us into being?

What are you waiting for before you are ready to go to God?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 1: 1-4; 4:14-21

Imagine this. You’re at your high school reunion. Much of the competition and insecurities of high school have faded, and you can truly enjoy renewing the friendships you had all those years ago. Each of the attendees is invited to give a one-minute reflection on who they are now, and who they hope to become.

When it’s your turn, all eyes turn to you, and you say: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, who has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor.

The same look of confusion you imagine on the faces of your old friends was very probably the look on the faces of those in the synagogue that day when Jesus, the famous rabbi who had returned to his hometown and was attending services, read those words from Isaiah and then announced that those words were talking about him.

They were shocked because Jesus was announcing that he was the fulfillment of Isaiah’s long-beloved words about a Messianic age, when captives would be set free, and those who were blind would see. But why would our old friends be shocked to hear any of us say, “The Spirit has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor”? Isn’t that precisely what each of us —what every human being, actually—is supposed to be doing? If we’re enjoying the endless gifts of being alive, aren’t we all “anointed” to share as much good news as we can?

Imagine some of those reunion reflections: I work with those who are blind. I work with the Innocence Project to set captives free. I bring good news to those who are poor. Now that’s a reunion.

What would you say about yourself at this reunion?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on John 2:1-11

Water, of course, is vital to every organ in our bodies. But I’m willing to bet that those wedding revelers, even in a land of intermittent and dangerous drought, would NOT have been happy to see their wine cups filled with water, even if, as was often the case, the wedding feast had already gone on for a week.

Can you imagine the riot that might have ensued if they had seen the servants pulling up water from those six stone water jars? What? They expect to entertain us with 180 gallons of water? Sure, we expect the next rounds to be the inferior stuff, but water? Wait ‘til word gets out about this!

But what? The water has now become the finest wine of the wedding! Water has been transformed into intoxicating wine. How can this be?

In this new year, take a few moments to reflect on the miraculous transformations in your character and spiritual life. How can the resentments and grudges we’ve nourished for years have long since disappeared? How can the destructive habits we allowed to go unchecked for years have been replaced with healthier and more life-affirming lifestyles?

God is always about the work of transforming us and giving us the grace to be better. But I ask us all to resolve this year to pray for all those in the grip of addiction, the most complex transformation of all. O healing Christ, we beg you to touch all who struggle to maintain sobriety of any kind. Turn the water of their cravings into the new wine of confident and secure recovery. And we will do whatever you tell us.

Readers, imagine those who need this healing, and remember to pray for them this year.

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 3: 15-16, 21-22

Here’s an interesting tidbit. The ancients believed that conception of a child happened this way: the man deposited a miniature, fully formed human being into the woman’s uterus. She served only as the carrier. This connects with this powerful gospel event of the baptism of Jesus by John. Since paternity could never be proven—which is why, traditionally, the mother is the parent who passes on Jewish identity to the child—this event, where the Father opens the heavens and claims Jesus as his beloved son, is treasured by those who were there to hear the Voice, and to those who would hear of it.

A Father claiming his Son as his own had a receptive audience in that day and ours. How many sons today take dangerous risks, or achieve impossible goals, in order to hear their father say, “This is my son! I’m so pleased with him.” Pleasing the father is still an enormous goal (and often an impossible challenge) in many families.

What a joy for Jesus to hear his Father’s voice. We know that he was a man of deep prayer, but it’s only this event and the moment of the Transfiguration on Mount Tabor that we know for sure that Jesus heard the Father’s voice.

But WHY did he request the baptism of forgiveness of sins? Recall any friend of yours who excels in everything, including humility. Recall that feeling of relief that poured out of you when that friend laughingly recounted how she can’t put down a bag of potato chips. Oh! She’s human like me! I can be her friend.

Oh! The onlookers must have said. Jesus is human, like me! I can be his friend.

In what ways have you sensed friendship with Jesus because of the stories about him in the gospels?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Luke 23: 35-43

Every year at this time I remember my great friend, Auxiliary Bishop George Evans. He died on the evening of the vigil of the Triumph of the Cross, September 13, 1985. It seemed an appropriate day for this gracious, prophetic man to go to God. Lift high the cross, we sang at his overflowing funeral at the Cathedral. It was that cross to which Bishop Evans clung every day of his priesthood.

When we come to the end of the Church year, with this Solemnity of Christ the King, the message is clear: Our King died a horrible death on a cross. There is no other story in human consciousness that asserts a God who is so vulnerable that he actually, truly died a vicious, horrible death.

And the hardest part, I think, of Luke’s account is that he was mocked even as he fought for every breath on the cross. Hey, I thought you were a king or something. Now’s the time to whistle for your army and have them deliver you (and us) from the monster Romans.

I am one of those who cling to the old rugged cross. I’m in a situation right now where I really can’t get control of pain. I thank God every day that we have a God who suffered horribly, and who died. I cling to the sufferings of Christ. Are you in pain? Jesus knows. Are you lonely? Have you been betrayed by those closest to you? He knows that pain too.

The message couldn’t be clearer: this is our God, utterly destroyed on the cross. Cling to his cross. The kingdom is at hand.

Jesus, remember us when you come into your kingdom.

In what areas of your life do you cling to the Cross?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Lk. 21: 5-19

There have been some horrible days in history, days for which we give thanks we weren’t alive to see. Most of those reading this were alive on 9/11, and a good many of us were around for Kennedy’s assassination on November 22, 1963. Fewer, but still many readers, were alive the day of the Japanese invasion of Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941. Fewer still, but some, witnessed the day the stock market crashed, October 29, 1929.

But no one alive today witnessed the horrifying invasion of Jerusalem by the general, and future emperor, Titus, at Passover of the year 70 of the Common Era (CE). Anyone could have seen this coming. The Jerusalem Temple had become an unwitting sanctuary for the Zealots, a terrorist group whose mission was to so demoralize the Romans that they would scatter and leave Jerusalem for good.

Think of the Resistance Movements all over Europe during the war. Those courageous citizens risked everything in order to free Europe of tyranny. Were the Zealots of the first century heroes too? Their usual method of terror was to ambush a group of Roman soldiers and murder them. The Romans were the Occupiers, of course, and despised and dreaded. But the Zealots also preyed upon Jews whom they deemed collaborators (like

Zacchaeus, the tax collector). Jesus invited himself into friendship with tax collectors. The Zealots murdered them.

It was the Zealots who so enraged the Romans that they marched into Jerusalem and destroyed it. This is the terrible event about which Jesus warns in the gospel today, when “not one stone” of the Temple would be left standing.

These end-of-the-world readings always precede the season of Advent. Ready the way.

How has the war in Ukraine made your prayer life more urgent?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on 2Mc. 7:1-2, 9-14

We don’t pay attention to it, probably, because that gruesome story of the murder of the seven Maccabees and their steadfast mother takes our breath away, but there’s a great theological leap at the end of that passage. The fourth brother says he is dying, “with the hope God gives of being raised up by him.”

WAIT, WHAT? A Hebrew man, one hundred and seventy years before Christ, expressing belief in the resurrection? It was not in his tradition, but somehow he knew. God, says Ecclesiastes 3:11, has given us wisdom for the day, yet has set eternity in our hearts.

We’re marching forward to Advent, each week’s readings taking us closer to what the ancients thought the end of the world might look like. That’s why we start all over again every Advent, because no one yet, even Jesus, has let the world know exactly what happens to us after our last breath. So we keep repeating the Story, waiting in joyful hope for the day when we see Jesus face to face, a day when, apparently, no words will ever be enough.

But still, Advent carols looming on the horizon, I’m thinking about last year’s Easter Vigil. That dark church, that flickering fire, that Easter Candle, and then, one by one, the candles of every believer in the church lighting up. And here’s what we heard, although no one said a word: Pass this on, what was passed on to you, and what will be passed on until the end of time: Christ is risen. And he is taking you with him. ALLELUA.

So pass it on. The world has changed. You may be the only person to tell someone about the resurrection. ALLELUIA.

In what ways do you sense that eternity is set in your heart?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Lk. 19:1-10

It’s that gorgeous time of year again, and our street is the most jaw-dropping parade of golds and reds in town. This morning, without thinking, I just stopped walking and looked up into this shimmer of yellow. I don’t know how long I stood under that tree. It’s as if I were hypnotized by color. I sang to myself the beginning of Psalm 19: The skies declare the glory of the Lord, and the earth proclaims God’s handiwork. Day by day they pour forth speech to declare the knowledge of the Lord.

I  don’t suppose they had the kind of autumns in Jericho that we have, given that it’s not only the oldest city on earth, but, at an elevation of 864 feet below sea level, also the lowest. But the sycamore-fig tree that Zaccheus climbed was probably rich in fruit, which made it a popular destination for the whole city. But it wasn’t the fruit that caught Jesus’ eye, but the tenderness of someone so broken, and so longing, that he had shimmied up a tree to see him whom his heart already loved.

There’s a connection here, I think. In gazing at our silver maple trees this time of year we are gazing at death, in its stunning disguise of cherry-red leaves. Zaccheus, his pockets lined with gold, was dying too. But some lifesaving instinct made him climb that tree. He turned his eyes upon Jesus, and when Jesus invited himself for dinner, he immediately changed his life. Yes, he was watching for Jesus up in that tree. But  you get the sense that Jesus was on the lookout for him from the start, maybe from the beginning of the world.

Was there a moment when Jesus “saw” you that changed your life?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Lk. 18: 9-14

What if today’s gospel story had ended this way?

It turned out that there was construction going on in the Temple that day, and the spot where the Pharisee always prayed was full of stones. Well, he had to move all the way into the center of the Temple, and had barely begun to thank God for the many ways he was righteous, when a tax collector, of all unclean people, moved right next to him. He, too, had been pushed out of his humble prayer place by the construction, and was mortified to find himself right next to the Pharisee.

O God, said the Pharisee, I can’t pray properly with this obscene tax collector next to me. Look at him, bowing and weeping and beating his breast! And the tax collector, glancing at the Pharisee, wondered what it would be like to approach God with such confidence, with such assurance that God was pleased with his behavior out in the world.

Now, it happened that there was a Teacher in the Temple that day, a man named Jesus. Both men had heard of him, of course, and drew even closer to each other so they could hear him better. And what astonishing words he spoke! He looked at both of them with such love, such deep understanding of the detours their spiritual lives had taken that caused them to pray in such different ways.

And when it came time for the two men to leave, they embraced as dear friends. They had encountered the Healer. The first had been healed of his arrogance, the second of his shame. And from that day forward they always prayed TOGETHER, since praying apart had caused them so much sadness.

How does your parish help people of different pieties pray TOGETHER?

Kathy McGovern ©2022