Monthly Archives: April 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