As Christians we seek to follow the example of Christ, who poured himself out in love.  Love know no limits and there is not a point when we say “enough”.  Love sees the other as another self, so that the needs of the other are as important as our own.  When modern communication has made the world a global village, the needs of our neighbors can seem overwhelming.  Where do we stop?  Yet, we are called to move beyond ourselves as Jesus did and to place our lives in service of the other, in imitation of him.  Then we may merit the name “disciple,” when we are known by our love.

The relationship between Jesus and the Father cannot be reduced to a mathematical formula; it is not an engineering problem.  It is a dynamic rather than static relationship.  It is not reducible to quantifiable precision, as we might expect in a chemistry lab.  Ultimately, we are dealing with imagery, metaphor, and analogy for the divine, which cannot be boxed up, packaged, and distributed in discrete packets of knowledge.  The gospel reading invites us to center into this dynamic relationship between the Father and the Son, God and the Word.  Once engaged, this dynamic relationship never ends, but only continues, often deepens, and typically changes.

We are sheep; Jesus is the gate for the sheepfold.  The imagery is simple and ancient.  Here there is not “heaven” but instead a place of safety and security from the world with its dangers and threats.  Even this place of safety is not entirely secure, as there are some thieves and robbers who would climb the fence, not entering through the gate.  Our only “protection” from such dangers is that we would not follow their voice.  Let us know the gate through which we enter the sheepfold and not be called away by other voices.

After Easter, the disciples come to know Jesus in the breaking of the bread.  He is present among his followers as he was prior to his death and resurrection, but now, he is present in a new way.

Of course, as Catholics, we see this clearly in the Eucharist, when we take bread, bless it, break it, and give it.  The bread broken is Christ himself.  He is our nourishment both spiritually and physically, metaphorically and actually.  When we participate in the Eucharist, we call to mind his passion, death, and resurrection.  We consume him who is the Bread of Life.

On the evening of Easter Sunday, Jesus makes his appearance to the disciples, though Thomas is absent.  It is only one week later when Jesus appears again.  During this intervening week, what did the other disciples say to Thomas?  Why was he obstinate in the face of their witness?  Thomas experienced Jesus throughout his earthly ministry and heard the eyewitness testimony of his friends.   Still, his lack of belief persisted.  Only a personal experience of the risen Christ would melt away his doubt.  Such is a model of how individuals come to faith.  Sometimes, like Thomas, despite all the testimony of believers, faith does not take root unless one personally encounters the risen Christ.

Much as it may sound surprising to us, the resurrection of Jesus seemed to be a surprise to his disciples.  May of Magdala’s first reaction is logical:  the body was stolen.  Peter and the Beloved Disciple see for themselves that the tomb is empty, but only one believes.  They did not understand the Scripture.  We are reminded that we live by faith and we seek understanding.  Easter gives us our north star, the guiding light by which we live our lives.  On this Easter morning, may we be open to the unexpected ways that God may work in our lives.

Palm Sunday is a commemoration of highs and lows, exaltation and tragedy.  We enter the church bearing palms singing Hosanna, and only minutes later we cry in unison. “Let him be crucified.”  The liturgical juxtaposition is certainly intended and representative of fickle humanity, not only during the events of Holy Week, but quite regularly, down into our modern era.  Profound themes of betrayal, trust, friendship, power and humility are present in the gospel reading from Matthew.  The example of Jesus inspires us to be true to God’s will in our own lives.  We are called to remain faithful to God, ever trusting in his wisdom and providential care.

After Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, many began to believe in him – that he had been sent by the Father.  What do we believe about Jesus?  Do we believe he is the author of life with power over death?  Are there any people like Lazarus in our own lives who need to be raised to new life?  Lazarus was a prefiguring of the resurrection.  And yet, even Lazarus died again.  Jesus’ own resurrection is no a mere resuscitation, but a raising to new life, qualitatively different, never subject to death again.

Jesus heals the man born blind. The story is masterfully and artfully complex yet succinct. Drama abounds and intrigue develops with each verse. Fundamental themes and metaphors such as light versus darkness, sigh versus blindness, knowing versus not knowing, and more, including willful ignorance in the face of demonstratable evidence, all are woven together in this gospel passage that is the source of tremendous insight and wisdom. Jesus takes the initiative. He creates cognitive dissonance in the minds and hearts of many, demanding that they make a decision for or against him. When do we face such encounters with Christ? What is our response?

Each of us came to faith through someone else. The woman at the well shared her experience with the townspeople. Many believed upon hearing, and many more heard for themselves and believed. Even the process of believing, or rather, coming to faith is gradual. Terms like “prophet” give way to “Christ” and ultimately (in this story) to “Savior.” Jesus cannot be encapsulated by one title or in one encounter. The initial experience leaves the woman and the townspeople wanting more. Such is the life of faith. We do not have a once-and-for-all encounter. But a relationship with Jesus unfolds over time, ever deepening, ever revealing, until we ultimately encounter the cross and the exaltation.