WINDOWS
February 28, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

I T IS SAID that all love relationships flourish only when there is freedom to let go of what is
precious. Parents know that there comes a time when they have to let go of their sons or daughters, even though they are more precious to them than anything else. They may have to let them go to another country or to the person whom they have chosen as their future spouse.

In today’s Gospel reading (Mark 9:2-10) Peter, James, and John were taken up a high mountain by Jesus, and there they had an experience of Jesus which took their breath away. It was an experience that was so precious that Peter could not let it go. He wanted to prolong it indefinitely, and so he said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is wonderful for us to be here! So let us make three tents: one for you, one for Moses
and one for Elijah.”

He and the other two disciples had a fleeting glimpse of the heavenly beauty of Christ, and did not want to let go of it.

However, at some point we must begin to discover the God who is beyond the circumstances. This is the God who is. This is the second part of the spiritual journey. Jesus is leading Peter, James and John up the mountain to discover the God who is beyond circumstances. Here their pictures of life’s circumstances will become windows by which they move into the depths of God’s life, God’s light, and God’s love.

There on the mountain they saw Jesus “transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” The cloud overshadowed them and the Father’s voice spoke of his beloved Son. Peter wants to build dwelling places. He wants to frame Jesus, Elijah, and Moses. “It is good for us to be here,” he says. He wants to preserve those precious moments. He wants to keep a picture.

Pictures, however, are static. On the Mount of Transfiguration, our pictures of life’s circumstances become windows through which we step into a new world, a new way of seeing, a new way of hearing, and new way of being. That’s what happened for Peter, James, and John. Jesus did not suddenly light up and become something he was not. No, their eyes were healed and opened so they could see Jesus as he had always been. The …their ears were opened, and they heard the voice that has never ceased speaking from the beginning. The transfiguration is as much about them as it is Jesus.

Whenever our picture of life’s circumstances becomes a window into new life, we stand in a transfigured moment. Circumstances haven’t changed. We have changed, and that seems to change everything. Those transfigured moments are all around. Every one of us could tell a story about stepping back from the picture of our life, seeing with new eyes, listening with different ears, and discovering a window that opened into another world and another way of being.

MAYBE it was the day you revealed to another person the secret you had carried for years. In telling the secret, the picture of your life as one of guilt and shame became an open window through which you stepped. The darkness gave way to light, the chains fell off, and forgiveness overcame sin.  

I was reading in an article: “I will never forget the day we buried our older son. We came home from the cemetery, and I was lying on the bed. I could not see him, but he was present – a little boy being given a piggyback ride. I could not touch him, but I felt the warmth of his life, his weight on my back, and his right knee gouging my ribs as he bounced up and down. The picture of death and loss had become a window through which I stepped into the mystery of life, hope, and resurrection.”

Think about the day you held your child for the very first time. Yes, it was a picture of a newborn, but it was also a window through which you stepped and were forever changed. You experienced a new vocation as a parent. You became a part of the mystery of creation.
Dear brothers and sisters, we often want to go back to those transfigured moments. We are tempted to build dwellings places for those moments, but those dwelling places will only keep us in the past. To the extent we cling to the past we close ourselves off to the future God offers.
So Jesus, Peter, James, and John came back down the mountain. They could not stay there – but neither did they leave the mountain.

They took it with them. It is what would carry them through the passion and crucifixion to the resurrection.

Transfigured moments change us, sustain us, prepare us, encourage us, and guide us into the future regardless of the circumstances we face. They show us who we are. We are the transfigured people of God. Open your eyes, and see a transfigured world. Open your ears and hear the transfiguring voice. Open your heart and become a transfigured life.  

IN OUR STRUGGLE…  
February 21, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

We have just begun the Season of Lent. There are no flowers decorating our altar. The color of vestments is no longer green. Today’s gospel reading (Mark 1:12-15) gives us the rather disturbing image of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted by Satan. 

Satan recognizes Jesus’ identity as Son of God, as proclaimed by God at the time of
Jesus’ baptism: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Satan puts that identity to the test by suggesting that Jesus use his power as the Son of God to work extravagant miracles. His very identity and the character of his life’s work were put to the test.  

The gospel reading suggests that what allowed Jesus to come through this time of temptation was the word of God. Jesus resisted each temptation, by quoting from the Scriptures:
•• “We do not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
•• “You must not put the Lord your God to the test.”
•• “You must worship the Lord your God and serve him alone.”
The word of God guided and empowered him in this time of great vulnerability. 

When Jesus gave his disciples – and all of us – the prayer that has become known as the Lord’s Prayer, it included the petition: “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Jesus seems to have been aware that, just as he was tempted in a very fundamental way, so too would his followers be tempted. Just as his identity as Son of God was put to the test, so too would our own baptismal identity be tested. This gospel reading is placed at the very beginning of Lent because Lent is a season when we are invited to become more aware of the reality of our baptismal identity.

What does our baptismal identity look like and mean in the wilderness? The wilderness temptation isn’t so much about choosing what we will do or not do, but rather choosing who we will be or not be. The identity we choose will determine what we do  or don’ t  do. Jesus didn’t go to the wilderness to prove something to his Father but to learn for himself who he is, what it means to be a beloved child of God, and the cost that carries. That’s true for us as well.

That’s our wilderness journey – whether in the wilderness of social problems, the wilderness of a broken marriage or friendship, the wilderness of chronic illness, the wilderness of sorrow and loss, or the wilderness of a shattered dream. The wilderness tempts us to forget who we are or to believe we are less than who God has declared us to be.

The temptations we face come from within, not from outside of us. The deceiver and adversary that tempts is a voice from within us. See if any of this sounds familiar:
A.  Have you ever acted a particular way and presented a particular persona in one situation or with one group of people but in a different situation or with a different group changed how you acted or the persona you presented?
B.  Haven’t there been times when you were conflicted, when one part of you said this and another part said that? I know it has happened to me. When my parishioners in United States belong to two different political parties, and the parties hold different moral values and political values, I always thought I needed to keep a balance between them for the good of the parish.
C.  Have you ever claimed a particular value or belief for yourself, but then said or did the exact opposite, contradicted your own values and beliefs?
D.  Have you ever kept quiet and been afraid to speak the truth because it was unpopular or costly? Do you ever go along just to get along?
Ultimately, those conflicts and contradictions are about our identity.

If we are baptized into the life of Christ, declared to be beloved children of God, if that is our given identity, then shouldn’t it also be the identity that governs who we are, the words we speak, and the actions we take? Shouldn’t that be the thread that runs through our life with all people and in all situations? It’s where we discover for ourselves who we are and to whom and to what we give our loyalty. It’s where we see the values that govern our lives.

We happily wear Christ’s cross around our necks, but are we willing take up our own and follow him? At what point do we risk betraying our baptismal identity? Dear brothers and sisters, St. Paul puts it very clearly:

“Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.” In our struggle with temptation, we have wonderful resources at our disposal: the Holy Spirit, the word of God, the sacraments, the inspiration of faithful followers of the Lord. We enter Lent in the knowledge that the Lord was tempted, and he answered every temptation with the Scriptures. Let this Year of the Bible help us to overcome temptations by the grace that we receive from the word of God.  

We need not hesitate…
February 14, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

People who feel isolated appreciate it when someone enters their isolation and tries to connect with them. There are various reasons why people can find themselves isolated.

•Old age and failing health can make it difficult for people to make the kind of contact with others they deeply desire. That is especially the case if people are homebound.

•There is a certain kind of temperament that can leave people somewhat isolated. The shy, retiring, introspective person who finds it difficult to make friends can become very isolated over time. It can be a struggle for others to connect with them.

•To be a stranger in a land or an environment that isforeign to us can also be a very isolating experience.

I experienced an initial sense of isolation when I came to my first parish in 2004. I told my friends that I felt very lonely and thought I might have to go back. A priest who was working in North Dakota urged me stay for at least for couple of months; let us see if it will change. Then the whole situation changed for good. I am still here – joyfully with you!

Any one of us can experience a sense of isolation from time to time. We may feel isolated even when surrounded by people, friends, and family. We can be struggling with personal issues that we find very difficult to share with others, even those closest to us.

In the time of Jesus, the disease of leprosy left a person totally isolated. If you were a leper, there was no one for company except other lepers. The community needed to protect itself from a highly contagious disease, and the only effective way was to isolate the leper from all human interaction.

In that context and in today’s Gospel (Mk 1:40-45), the action of Jesus touching the leper would have been considered subversive. His touching the leper was putting the whole community at risk. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. Here was a weak link, someone who risked the health of the whole community by touching an infected person They are banished into the darkness; they are treated like lepers.

Yet, in touching the leper, Jesus did not in fact infect the community. He healed the leper and, thereby, strengthened the community. In responding to the cry of the leper and in reaching into
his isolation, Jesus released him into the community again. Having healed the leper, we are told that Jesus had to stay outside in places where nobody lived. His touching the leper cost him something; he took upon himself something of the leper’s isolation. This kind of ministry would eventually lead Jesus to become totally isolated

The Gospel reading reveals Jesus as someone who desires to enter into our isolation, who seeks to release us from our isolation, even at the cost of experiencing great isolation himself. He continues to enter our experiences of isolation today if, like the leper, we invite him.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “Anyone who comes to me, I will never drive away” (Jn 6:37). When the leper came to Jesus, he half expected to be driven away. This explains his rather tentative request: “If you wish, you can make me clean.” He needs to be declared clean in order to return to his family. He did not desire a piece of bread, some water, a blanket; rather he said, “If you wish, you can make me clean.” That is a cry from isolation and loneliness. In reply Jesus said, “Of course I am willing.”

We can be equally tentative in our own approach to the Lord. Like the leper, we may feel unclean in some way. Something in our lives, in our past or in our present, can make us hesitate to draw near to the Lord. We may wonder if the Lord is willing to draw near to us. Yet, there is no part of our lives which the Lord will not gladly touch with his compassionate and life-giving presence. There is nothing in us that would keep him from us.

He does not hesitate to touch, even to embrace, those parts of our lives we may consider ugly and infected. It is we who need to rise above our hesitation. The letter to the Hebrews puts it well when it encourages us, “Let us approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need” (Hb 4:16).

Dear brothers and sisters, the Gospel reading encourages us to approach the Lord with the same assurance with which he approaches us.  In touching the leper, Jesus reveals a God who wants to make contact with us in all our brokenness. Jesus was declaring that there is no human life that God cannot touch. Everyone kept a distance from the leper. In touching the leper, Jesus was declaring that God is not like everyone. We may keep our distance from God for various reasons, but God never keeps a distance from us.

That reading also challenges us to be as alert to those who may be crying out to us in their isolation as Jesus was to the leper. That cry is not always easy to hear, even when it comes from those close to us. It can be subtle and faint. It can be hesitant, as it seeks out whether we are willing.  

Our own preoccupations can prevent us from hearing it, and can make us hesitate to respond. We may sense that it will cost us something to respond. Yet, to hear and respond can be truly life-giving for the one who cries out to us and for us. We ask the Lord to give us the willingness to heed the cry of those who cry out to us in their isolation.

Christ’s Hand
February 7, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

In the Gospel we heard that Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law. She is in bed, flat on her back. No energy. No enthusiasm. She is separated from family, friends, and her usual activities. It is not that hard to picture this in our mind – every one of us has been there at some time or another. We’ve all had fever. Now let us take this passage we just heard, and think about it a little differently.

To grasp the message from this gospel, let us not talk about the kind of fever that comes with the flu or a cold. It is not about an increased body temperature. I’m talking about those times in our lives when we have a fever of disconnection – the kind of fever that disconnects us from the divine life and a transcendent existence. It disconnects from the source and origin of life; disconnects us from love, joy, forgiveness, beauty, justice, mercy, compassion, generosity, wisdom, and all the other divine attributes that give meaning to our lives, content to our relationships, and direction, energy and enthusiasm for the purpose behind what we do.

Sometimes there is not a clear explanation for how that disconnection happened. Sometimes it is the circumstances of life and not really anyone’s fault. Other times it is our fault: choices we’ve made and things we’ve done. Every time we make a confession, privately or corporately – and we name the things we have done and left undone, and the ways we have not loved God with our whole heart, not loved our neighbor as ourselves – we are diagnosing the fever of disconnection.
Have you ever had times in your life when you were so tired, so busy, so preoccupied, so overwhelmed, or so whatever that you just skimmed the surface of life, and there was no depth or dimension to what you were doing or who you are? Everything felt, looked, and sounded shallow? In those times we are disconnected from the vertical axis of our life. Fever has overtaken us, and there is only the horizontal.

Most days I read the news and cannot help but wonder if we are standing at the edge of a flat world, disconnected from something greater than ourselves. War casualties, the poor, the hungry, the homeless, battered women, abused children, refugees, those denied education or healthcare are just some of the degree markers on the world’s thermometer, and the temperature is rising. The pandemic fevers of power, greed, hatred, prejudice, injustice, and violence are raging, and human beings are dying. Perhaps the only fever worse than these is the fever of apathy and indifference, to be so disconnected from the vertical axis of God’s life that the life and well -being of another are not our care or concern.

There is a kind low-grade fever that is hard to recognize; still it can be life threatening. Like too much focus on self-importance, excessive busyness, the desire for control and security, the drive for success and perfection, the need for approval and recognition. They   might be disguised as hard work, but the disconnection is still real.

Some of you might recognize in yourselves the fevers I have described. Others might not. But I’ll bet every one of you could name times when you have been feverish, times when you felt disconnected, flattened, and confined to a horizontal existence. The fevers of our lives and world are many and varied. Regardless of how it comes about, THE FEVER OF DISCONNECTION KILLS; sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally, always spiritually.

So, we have to think about how to reconnect with the vertical axis of our lives. Christ is both our vertical connection and the means by which that connection is restored and sustained. He knows and reveals the way of restoration. That’s what he did for Simon’s mother-in-law. Jesus “took her by the hand and lifted her up.” She was no longer confined to a horizontal existence. She stood upright. Jesus broke her fever and restored her vertical connection.

With that restoration all the other connections of her life were renewed. She was returned to do everything she was doing for her family and community, and “she began to serve them,” not as an act of submission but as evidence of life and as an offering of hospitality and gratitude. That Jesus “lifted her up” is about more than just changing positions. It’s more than just getting out of bed. This woman has been healed, made whole, and raised to new life.

St. Mark has a few other stories about Jesus “lifting them up”: 1) a paralytic man “stood up,” took his mat, and walked (Mark 2:9-12); 2) Jesus took the hand of a dead girl and told her to “get up,” and she did; she “got up and began to walk about” (Mark 5:41-42); 3) Jesus took the hand of a boy most people said was dead “and lifted him up and he was able to stand” (Mark 9:27). Jesus has restored their vertical connection just as he did for Simon’s mother-in-law, and just as he does for us. He gives us a hand in our daily struggles to stand upright and maintain the vertical connection. Christ’s hand touches our lives, breaks the fever, restores the connection, lifts us up, and raises us to new life.    

Dear brothers and sisters, CHRIST’S HAND of forgiveness breaks the fever of guilt. CHRIST’S HAND of mercy breaks the fever of condemnation. CHRIST’S HAND of consolation breaks the fever of sorrow and grief. CHRIST’S HAND of hope breaks the fever of despair. THERE IS NO FEVER THE HAND OF CHRIST CANNOT OR WILL NOT BREAK. In him every broken connection is restored, every flat life is lifted up, and every horizontal existence is raised to a new life. 



 

S I G N S O F H O P E
January 31, 2021
Dcn. Dennis Walters

OUR SECOND READING TODAY is taken from Chapter 7 of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, in which he answers their questions about state-of-life issues. The chapter is complex; but its general point is that, because “the world in its present form is passing away,” the Christian should live as the Lord has assigned, whether to marry or remain single.

Of course, since most people would marry, Paul wants to address some confused notions about what happens when they do. For example:  

•Do the partners in a marriage have authority over their own bodies or do they give that authority to each other?
•Should baptized spouses who separate divorce or try to reconcile?  
•What should a Christian spouse do if his or her unbaptized partner wants to separate?
•Should widows and widowers remarry?
•What about unmarried singles?  And so on.

The passage we just read comes from near the end of that chapter. After reminding his readers that “the world in its present form is passing away,” Paul expresses a wish that they be “free of anxieties” – in other words, that they be able to live their lives for the Lord “without distraction.” To make his point, he contrasts the spiritual prospects of married couples with those of unmarried people, probably persons committed to celibacy.

What anxieties does Paul have in mind? The Greek word for anxieties appears five times in the space of four verses. The word translated “anxiety” comes from a set of Greek words meaning “having a care or concern for.” It’s not “anxiety” in the sense we commonly use it to mean emotional fretting over problems.  

What Paul is saying is that the married man has ongoing concerns about important matters of the household and the direction of the family; these would include the typical marital concerns over spousal relationships, home maintenance, mortgages, jobs, and so forth. In relation to his prayer life, these can divert a lot of time and attention away from the Lord. Likewise, the married woman has a care and concern for the business of the household, her relationship with her husband, care of children, social contacts, and the like. Every mother of small children knows how hard it is to find time to pray when they’re not asleep.

Paul is not saying that married people can’t have a fruitful – even intense – relationship with the Lord. Quite the opposite. Marriage is a path to holiness. The challenges inherent in it provide all kinds of opportunities for growth in virtue and personal maturity. But Paul is correct in saying that these challenges can be spiritually distracting. Husbands and wives need to please each other in order to maintain a peaceful home. Even within a peaceful marriage — and not all Christian marriages are –– it becomes all too easy for domestic issues to take priority.

When Paul says that the unmarried man can focus  all of his concerns on the things of the Lord and the unmarried woman or virgin can likewise concentrate on growth in holiness, he’s got a point. Celibacy does have spiritual advantages. Single men and women are free to arrange their personal and family lives as they see fit. They can spend as much time with the Lord in prayer as they want. They can practice a devotion or decide on a ministry to the Church and act on it without having to consider the needs and priorities of a family. They can, if they choose, support and be supported by others in the same pattern of life, often by deciding to live together in some kind of community. The celibate life can be very attractive.

Deciding whether to live a married or celibate life, therefore, calls for discernment. In verse 7 of this chapter, Paul remarks:
“Indeed, I wish everyone to be  as I am, but each has a particular gift from God.” The word for gift in that verse is charisma, charism. In Chapters 12, 13, and 14, Paul will develop his theology of charismatic gifts; but it’s significant that he uses the word here.  

When it’s  done in the Holy Spirit, marriage is a charismatic gift. Celibacy is a charismatic gift. Which means that both are given to individuals by the Holy Spirit for the upbuilding of the Church. True, Paul was celibate; to him, celibacy was  preferable. But he quickly adds that some people have gifts of one kind and some of another.

It’s worth noting that he says nothing about remaining single without choosing either state in life. The inference should be that one decides on one vocation or the other.

The form of this world is passing away. We live at a time and in a culture where folks believe that “what you see is what you get.” In a time of material comfort and technological progress, compounded by political division, racial tension, and economic uncertainty, many young people are turning away from marriage because lifelong commitments are rare and divorce is always a threat; plus, this world is too broken to bring children into. Not that celibacy is the alternative, because celibacy also implies lifelong commitment.  

Yet God is still the Lord, and He still calls people to both ways of life. Marriage and celibacy are signs of hope for a world that has lost it. Not everyone is called to the married life or to celibacy. Each person needs to discern which of these charisms he’s been given, both for his own happiness and the sake of the Church.    ✟

Will we drop our nets?
January 24, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

“AND JESUS SAID TO THEM, ‘Follow me.’” What if “Follow me” is Jesus’ invitation to every one of us to step into the fullness of our life? It is the call to become fully alive and about becoming more authentically ourselves, living with integrity, and discovering our truest self.

Have you ever had the feeling that you just had to do something even though you didn’t exactly know where it would take you or what would happen? It didn’t just feel right. It felt necessary. Maybe that’s what how Simon and Andrew, and James and John felt. Maybe that’s what it feels like to answer Jesus’ call, “Follow me.” There’s something holy and sacred about that. Regardless of who we are, how old we are, or our life’s circumstances, I think we’re all trying to grow into our truest and most authentic self. That growing into ourselves seems to happen in the “follow me” moments of life.

These moments come to us in thousands of ways that sounds crazy, impulsive – even though faithful and sincere. There we declare that life has changed, not ended. Have you ever looked at your life and wondered and longed for something new, or wanted a different way of living and being? And then you made changes? That’s a “follow me” moment.

Sometimes the “follow me” moments of life take us to something that makes us so happy; but not always. Sometimes they take us to places we never wanted to go or to circumstances we never wanted to face. Sometimes they set before us the sublime, and other times they reveal the ways in which our lives have become disfigured. Sometimes they are public moments for everyone to see and other times they are moments known only to God and us. They can be as adventurous as leaving everything behind and starting over in a new place or as ordinary as giving to the panhandler on the corner, going home to our spouse, keeping a promise.

Each of these moments, in whatever form they come, can take us more deeply into ourselves and more fully into our lives, ultimately connecting us with the holy. The “follow me” moments of life are less about where we are going or what we are doing, and more about who we are becoming.

They touch us deeply and speak to our heart. So much so that Simon and Andrew were willing to drop their nets and walk away. And James and John were willing to get out of the boat and leave their father Zebedee. How crazy is that? Think about the moments in your life that have touched you so deeply and spoken so directly to your heart that you couldn’t do anything but get up and go. You had to follow that calling. It was real and authentic for you and your life. These moments are not a once-in-a -lifetime opportunity. They present themselves again and again     throughout our lives. “Follow me” is the ever present and ongoing call of Jesus to each one of us.

“Follow me” moments seem to have a common thread. They ask us to let go, to leave behind, to walk away. Isn’t that what Simon and Andrew and James and John did? We never get anywhere new unless we are willing to leave where we are. We can never hold anything different unless we’re willing to drop what’s already in our hands. That means letting go of our nets, getting out of our boats, and walking away from old man Zebedee.

I am not asking to leave your father like they left their father, Zebedee. Don’t take it literally. They are symbols and images, descriptive of our lives, and they hold a key to the “follow me” moments of our lives.

What are the nets in your life? The things that entangle you? Those things that capture and imprison you? What are the little boats that contain your life that give you an illusion of security and stability? The ones that are overly familiar and comfortable      and keep you sailing the same old waters of life? Who is old man Zebedee in your life, that one from whom you continually seek approval and try to meet his or her expectations? Identify the nets, boats, and Zebedees in your life, and you will find a “follow me” moment and the invitation to step more fully into your life and become more truly yourself.

I’m always amazed at how Simon and Andrew and James and John don’t say a word. They don’t ask a single question. Where are we going? What will we do? How long will we be gone? What should we take? They don’t ask any of those questions. Those were not their concerns. They just got up and went. I think they were more concerned about who they would become than the logistics of the trip. They only knew that they had to go. This was the “follow me” moment of these first disciples. We may not have all the answers – we only know that we have to go, we have to do this thing.

Dear brothers and sisters, will we drop our nets? Will we get out of the boat? Will we leave old man Zebedee? The promise of Christ is that if we are willing to do that, we will step into the kingdom, into the fullness of life, into our truest and most authentic self. It’s what I want for myself and for you. It is, I think, what God wants for every one of us.      

FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE  
January 17, 2021
Fr. Bosco Padamattummal

“HE SAID TO THEM, ‘Come and see.’” Those are probably familiar words for most of us. And I don’t just mean in the context of today’s gospel (John 1:35-42). When a child or grandchild says, “Come and see” their drawing or a bug they found, there is excitement and joy in their voice – and maybe even a sense of urgency.

Their words are an invitation to share in their discovery, to experience their world, and to participate in their life. That’s why you can’t just sit back and say, “No, just tell me about it.” That’s not an acceptable answer. “No, I’m not going to tell you,” they will say. In those moments there is only one thing to do: get up and go look.

This sort of invitation is not a function of age but a function of being human. We never outgrow the desire to invite and to be invited, to share our life with another in a deep and meaningful way, and to participate in something larger than ourselves. That’s a part of our having been created in the image and likeness of God. Jesus knows that about us and about God. That’s why he doesn’t answer the disciples’ question when they ask, “Where are you staying?” He doesn’t offer information. He invites relationship: “Come and see.”

Firsthand experience has always had a great value. Think about it for just a minute. Would you rather be told how pretty the sunset is or watch it yourself in the evening sky? Would you rather read a travel brochure or travel yourself to a new land? Same thing about our spiritual life Would you rather just know about Christ or actually know him yourself? That’s the difference between a secondhand faith and a firsthand experience.

Our relationship with Christ cannot be based on a secondhand faith. It must be a firsthand experience. A firsthand experience won’t let us stay where we are. It moves us to a new place. It opens our eyes to a new reality.

The deepest and most profound firsthand experience is Jesus himself. In each of our lives he comes toward us. His coming is always a moment of decision. We must choose whether we will be spectators of or participants in his life. That was the choice John the Baptist set before his disciples.
 
John “was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’” It was their moment of decision. Would they stay or would they go? Would they settle for a secondhand faith, information and facts about Jesus, or would they choose a firsthand experience of his life?

If they choose a firsthand experience, they will have to leave   John behind. They will have to let go of that which is familiar, comfortable, and known. They will have to open themselves to something new and something different. You can probably remember ti   mes like that. It can be difficult to let go of a secondhand faith and life. It usually means there will be more questions than answers.       

A firsthand experience invites us to discover the answers by living the questions.

Think how different today’s gospel would be if Jesus had just answered their question. What difference does it make if we know Jesus’ address but we are not invited in. We might as well stay where we are. But that’s not how Jesus responds. Jesus offers more than his address. “Come and see,” he says. There is reassurance and promise in his words. That means that he has something for us. It means that he is opening himself to us and inviting us in.

He has gone ahead of us and prepared a place for us. Regardless of what’s going on in our life he makes it safe to move forward and take the next step in confidence that his life and presence await us. “Come and see” is his invitation to find ourselves and discover our lives. In every circumstance of our life, good or bad, desired or dreaded, Jesus is calling us to himself. “Come and see.” Another beautiful thing that we notice here is the witness of St. Andrew, which begins at home, calling his own brother Peter to follow Jesus. Andrew the apostle was the first one to bring the good news of salvation to others and to bring others to the Lord.

We can learn so much from him about our own calling and mission. Andrew ran to his brother Simon and announced, “We have found the Messiah!”  He wanted his brother to experience the same joy. All he did was bring Simon to Jesus, and Jesus did the rest… that he would become the rock on whom Jesus would build his Church, the one to whom he would give the keys of the kingdom of heaven.

On another occasion it was Andrew who brought a young boy who had five loaves and two fish to Jesus. Jesus took those meager gifts and miraculously multiplied them. The third time Andrew did this matchmaking was when a bunch of Greeks came saying, “We wish to see Jesus!” (Jn 12:20-22). Philip brought them to Andrew, and Andrew brought them to Jesus.  
Likewise, we never know when we bring others to Jesus what he will do with them. They may become the next great saint. They may become a future priest or even pope. What we need to concentrate on is simply sharing the joy of our encounter with Christ with others. Let the Lord reveal to them their vocation in his kingdom.