Reflecting on John 6: 51-58

My friend John’s story about going to the football game with his dad comes back to me every year on this feast day. “I’ll never give up my season tickets. I go to every game. It’s the place where my dad and I have our best talks.”

His dad died nearly thirty years ago. Growing up, John and his dad enjoyed the entire Game Day ritual―Mass, breakfast, driving to the stadium, firing up the grill, hamburgers, and football. They talked, and ate, and shared in the triumphs and humiliations of the game. And the next week, if the team was in town, they did it all again.

John grieved horribly when his dad died in the spring of 1990. He was his best friend. They had built so many memories. He would never see him again.

Except, of course, on Sunday afternoons, in the sun and wind and cold, and the hot dogs and beer, and the cheering and the booing, and memories so real that John feels his dad next to him at every game. He goes to see his dad, to really feel his presence.

There are many sensory triggers that can transport us. Think about pipe smoke. Can you smell it? I can, and suddenly my grandpa is with me. A Beach Boys song on a summer day can bring childhood friends right into the room. These cues make the past Really Present.

As Catholics, we get that. Every Sunday we place ourselves in the position to Re-Member the One who loved us to his death. In the Eucharist the Beloved Past becomes the Real Presence. This is the feast that tells us who we are.

What sensory experiences bring the past right back to you?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on 2 Corinthians 13:11-13

One of the many touching things I’ve learned through the years of writing this weekly column is how seriously Catholics take the gift of their faith.

Catholics today read, and pray, and are constantly learning about the faith they love. When we arrive at the Solemnity of the Trinity, for example, I’m always inspired by the deep and intuitive reflection in which today’s Catholics have invested in order to come to their own understanding of what it all means.

For example, if you asked an adult practicing Catholic today what the first part of that closing blessing St. Paul offers in today’s second reading—“The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ”—means to them, you’ll get a rich reflection on the ways grace has directed their lives.

The second half of the blessing—“the love of God”—is probably the easiest, because all Catholics can tell you how the love of God is living and active in their lives.

The third part of the Trinitarian formula—”and the fellowship of the Spirit”—will be easy too, especially since we are smack in the post-Pentecost octave. I can’t imagine active Catholics who can’t relate the ways in which the Holy Spirit lives in their hearts and spirits.

We don’t need theological explanations for what we’ve experienced through lifetimes of prayer and attentiveness to the liturgy and scripture. Grace, and love, and intimacy. That’s the meaning of the Trinity.

Why do you think one of the Persons of the Trinity might attract you more than the Others?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Pentecost Sequence, 2026

Reflecting on Acts 2: 1-13

At first we understood them not at all.

      What were these utterances―

         This glossolalia pouring off their tongues

                  And into the street                  

And into the world?

In time, though, our clogged ears opened.      

We saw enemies begin to speak to one another

            And those who were estranged                  

Join hands in friendship.

We saw hospitals built, and the sick healed.     

We saw Francis and Clare, Vincent and Louise,

Francis de Sales and Jane de Chantal, Benedict and Dominic

and Ignatius, Catherine and Jeanne and Elizabeth,            

The contemplative Johns and the powerful Teresas,

And ourselves―yes, ourselves! ―Radically forgiving

Radically listening

Radically understanding 

           Those who don’t see things the way we do.

And then, like a mighty wind, a new heaven and earth began to take shape.      

And from then on there were no “foreign” languages.                     

From then on we all spoke just one language

           The Holy Spirit’s language                        

The first language, the only language

The language of Love.

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on 1 Peter 3: 15-18

Last year we resolved to begin our Pentecost novena either last Thursday, or today. Imagine that all the readers of this column around the country are praying together, right now. Our prayer is that we would be ready to give a reason for our HOPE.

It’s hard to find HOPE at times, I know. As I read back on last year’s novena, I see heartfelt prayers for a swift end to Russia’s war in Ukraine. We prayed that Vladimir Putin would have a conversion experience. We prayed that those who were trapped in Ukraine would find a safe way out.

We prayed this novena for nine days, right up to Pentecost of last year. I’m going to pray it again this year, and for as long as it takes. But I want to suggest another novena that’s closer to home this year.

It was so inspiring—so HOPEFUL—to see the lines of cars lined up last month in our parish parking lot. They had come to surrender any weapons from their homes. We recovered 108 guns, several of which were assault weapons. It’s a drop in the bucket, of course, but there’s no stopping a moment whose time has come. And so, I offer this Novena Prayer:

O God of peace, save us from ourselves.

This year has brought another terrible war, and so much suffering.  But this is the reason for our HOPE: hearts can be changed. Change our hearts this day. We pray in Jesus’ Name. AMEN.

Who are you praying for in your Pentecost novena?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on 1Peter 3: 15-18

Remembering the Pandemic.

How often do you cry these days? I admit that I cry nearly every day, always in response to some heroic act I see featured on tv. When I hear the first responders—the ambulance drivers and EMTs, especially–describe desperately trying to get a patient to the hospital before they die, I can barely watch.

But when they interview the exhausted nurses and doctors, and hear their answers to the inevitable questions about how they are getting through their shifts without breaking down, I long to hear just one of them reference that scripture text we have today from I Peter: Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.

In Catholic New York, I Iong to hear at least one baptized and confirmed health care hero say, “Well, I’m Catholic. That means I’m never alone. I bring the whole Body of Christ with me when I put on my protective equipment and enter the ward. And, of course, I have all the angels and saints holding me through my shift every day.”

In my daily prayer I picture those angels and saints holding parents tight, giving them patience and strength as they face another ALL KIDS ALL DAY marathon. I picture angels guiding and holding every kind of First Responder . The reason for our hope, right in the middle of this terror, is that the Holy Spirit is guiding the researchers and every person placing their precious lives on the line. Where is God in all of this? Right there in the ambulance, right there in the ventilator. God did not make death. That is the reason for our hope.

Do you ever share with anyone the reason for your hope?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Acts 6: 1-7

That first reading from Acts always makes me cringe. It’s at the very beginning of the section, where it says, “…the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution.”

That’s so evocative of the cultural blindness that continues to plague the Church and society. Can you imagine this? It’s just months, or a very few years, from the resurrection of Jesus. Communities of faith have joyfully sprung up all over Jerusalem and parts of Asia. They are so on fire with Jesus that they even share everything in common. Except, apparently, when the members of the community are Greek (not Jewish) women. Then it’s okay to ignore them at the distribution of food. I’ll bet it was less being ignored and more just not being seen at all.

Thank God for Rosa Parks, who sat in the “White’s Only” part of the bus until she was “seen.” Her courage and witness paid off fairly soon. It was exactly one year later that the Supreme Court ruled the law allowing racial segregation on buses to be unconstitutional.

I remember a sad scene from my years as an elementary school teacher. Taking my turn on lunch duty, one day a group of distraught little girls came to me and said, “Miss McGovern, Elliot is crying!” Sure enough, there was little Eliott, crying, while his “friends” were utterly oblivious, throwing their lunch bags around and doing the things fourth-grade boys do. It took the girls from a table across the cafeteria to see this poor child in his misery.

Good for those Greek husbands who stood up for their wives. Who should we “see” today?

Do you feel seen by everyone in your life?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Jn. 10: 1-10

I have come that you might have life and have it in abundance.  Who can resist the One who promises that to each of us? I can’t. I never have been able to resist Jesus, and that grace has brought me nothing but blessing every day of my life.

Imagine Jesus, using the language of sheep-tending, trying to draw the Pharisees into the new life that is their inheritance. He reminds them of the sheep-gate, and how the sheep won’t enter until the gate-keeper opens it. The Pharisees just stare at him. Okay, he says, let’s try this: the sheep will only follow the good shepherd. They know the voice of the shepherd who truly cares for their welfare, and they won’t follow the thieves and robbers. The Pharisees look dumbly ahead. They’re just not getting it.

LOOK, says an exasperated Jesus. I AM THE GATE. I AM YOUR LIFE, YOUR HOPE, YOUR SECURITY, YOUR PEACE. He can’t say it more clearly than that. But how can he be the long-awaited Messiah when he has no army, no generals to command, breaks the laws of the Sabbath, he let that adulteress go free, and he eats and drinks with sinners?

Oh, says Jesus, if today you would just hear my voice. I’m calling you―that’s YOU he’s talking to, by the way. Dig deep. Listen with all your heart. Tune out all soul-deadening clamor of the culture. If you seek me, says Jesus, you will find me. If you seek me with all of your heart I will let myself be found by you.

Abundant life? Oh, yeah. Call us by name, Good Shepherd. You’re coming in loud and clear.

In what ways are you tuning in to the voice of Jesus?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on Luke 24: 13-35

My husband Cleopas and I decided to leave Jerusalem. We were heartbroken. We had hoped that Jesus, our beloved friend, would redeem Israel. But instead, the Romans crucified him. The Romans are beasts.

Our group spent the next hours huddled together, terrified of the soldiers. This morning, three of the disciples went to the tomb with spices to anoint his body. They came running back with the wildest tale! They were screaming that his body is gone, that he has been raised! And even Peter ran to the tomb and found the burial cloths just lying there in the empty tomb.

People are crying and laughing and screaming and singing, “He has been raised!” But we aren’t naïve. We won’t be taken in by wishful thinking. The Jerusalem group can keep their joy. We saw him crucified. He had no power over the Romans. He wasn’t the one we’d hoped for after all.

But here’s the thing. On the road back to Emmaus, a stranger appeared on the road. He asked us why we were weeping. How could he not know? We started from the beginning, from the day three years ago when we heard about Jesus, and came to find him, and fell so in love with him. We told him about the friends we had made, friends we thought we’d have forever. It felt good to tell the story. In fact, our hearts were burning within us, just remembering him.

That Stranger was a good listener. Ha! How did we not recognize him? It was Jesus! As usual, we thought we were running away from him, but he was running towards us the whole time.

How does remembering the Story bring Jesus nearer?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on John 20: 19-31

This Divine Mercy Sunday gives us, once again, the touchingly familiar story of Thomas coming to faith through the invitation of the Risen Lord to touch his wounds. Put yourself in that room—probably the same room where they had gathered for the Last Supper, and the same room where Mary joined the apostles to wait for, and experience, the descent of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost.

Imagine that you are heartbroken Thomas, wanting so badly to believe the report of the others that the Risen One had appeared to them, but deeply afraid to find that the reports of his resurrection were just group hysteria.

And then, there he is, standing in your midst. “Peace be with you,” he says. Try to imagine that moment. Try to imagine your heart, bursting from your chest with joy. And then, because he knows YOUR wounds, he tenderly places your fingers in his hands, and your hand in his side.

He knows all the times you’ve been disappointed in life. He knows the times you’ve been betrayed, and the times you’ve been the betrayer. He knows the sicknesses you’ve suffered, and the times you’ve wept at the graves of your loved ones.

He holds you as you touch his wounds. He grabs you to keep from falling from astonishment, and joy.

Can you imagine the joy in that room? The One for whom they had grieved so hard, the One they had longed to see just one more time, was standing in their midst. And then, this: Thomas, you believe because you see me. But blessed are those who have not seen, yet believe.

That’s you. That’s me. Jesus, we trust in You.

What wounds will you let Jesus touch with his divine mercy?

Kathy McGovern ©2026 

Reflecting on John 20: 1-9

It’s Easter.  Can you feel it?  Here in Denver, we don’t feel as if we earned it, because it’s been deliciously warm all winter. Our friends back east, though, really worked for it this year. But, whether we deserve it or not, birds have suddenly found their way back to our back yard and are greeting us with Easter song.  Every spring it’s a delightful surprise when the perennials pop up on the south side of our driveway. You again!  We forgot all about you.  How sweet of you to keep popping up in our neglected yard, reminding us that Easter happens, ready or not.

How was your Lent?  Was your fast helpful in pulling you back from the things that are hurting you?  Are you more who you want to be, more determined to “not go back to that place of slavery” that keeps you dependent, or powerless?  That’s always my goal, and once again I didn’t achieve it.

But God brings Easter anyway, whether we had a successful Lent or not.  Our relentlessly loving God keeps sending flowers and rains, lilacs and lilies, baby chicks and baby humans.  An endless Lent is just not in God’s nature.  Easter is God’s nature, with its resurrections and Alleluias, its promise of new life, its memory of an empty tomb, and our Christ, whose triumph over the grave has opened the graves of all believers.

So once again I’ll shake off the ashes of failure, lift my face up to the sun, and hold my hands open wide.  It’s Easter, and the powers of hell cannot prevail against it.  Let the feast of the forgiven begin.

How will you celebrate this Fifty Day Feast?

Kathy McGovern c. 2026