“And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?”

These words from Kahlil Gibran’s book “The Prophet” came to mind as I was going through this week’s readings. Having lived in the city of Orphalese for 12 years, Al Mustafa the Prophet is about to board the ship which will take him back home. At that moment people come from all parts of the city, and the book narrates the Prophet’s wise parting words about different topics to the people he got to love.

As a faith community, we are in a time when, after Christ’s Resurrection, the Church’s liturgy is preparing us for his return to Heaven and the subsequent sending of the Holy Spirit. We re-listen to the final words of Jesus, as he gathers his disciples during the Last Supper. We hear Jesus promising the gift of the Holy Spirit. And we see the first communities of Christians being born.

Like all beginnings, the birth of the first Christian communities did not happen without problems. People had to adjust to new realities, to let go of what they were used to for hundreds of years. In this case, they now had to learn how to allow themselves be guided by God’s Spirit.

Perhaps the magic word here is “new”. As St Paul would write to the Corinthians: “if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” The New Jerusalem of this week’s second reading is no more the city-symbol of one people. It’s gates welcome people from all corners of the world. Some of the early believers found difficulty in accepting this new, universal opening, this new way of being Church. It was not easy to let go of their old cults, rituals and belief-systems. In this case the leaders of that first community were mature enough to come together, pray and talk about the issue. The end result was a strong show of unity, embodied in a letter they sent to all believers urging them not to be disturbed by those who were not willing to embrace the new. Perhaps the most powerful statement in this letter is when they wrote “it has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us”. For them the presence of the Holy Spirit is so real that it seems he was physically with them at the discussion table. As a consequence of this, the believers could find peace. They need not be troubled any more.

This is precisely what Jesus had promised on that Thursday evening. His words echo like balm in times of confusion, trouble or fear. “Do not let your hearts be troubled … do not let them be afraid … Peace I leave with you.” This was supposed to be the effect of the presence of the Holy Spirit who was to be sent to the believers. Jesus calls him the “paraclete” or “advocate”, literally meaning one who is called to be with, to accompany.

We are not alone. As Jesus was preparing his disciples for his departure, he wanted to make sure that they understood the fact that they would never be abandoned. Christ’s departure only implied a new way of having God at their side. Indeed, what seemed to be the evening of Jesus’ life became dawn.

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We are still celebrating Easter as a believing community. In today’s gospel Jesus declares that the moment of death was, in fact, the moment of glory – both for him and for the Father. To the human eye it seems to be the moment of defeat, the moment of deception, of denial. It is the moment when, as John points out, “Judas had gone out”. Judas the apostle, one of the twelve personally chosen and called by Jesus three years earlier, now leaves the group. And we know quite well where he went on that fateful Thursday evening.

And yet, this all takes place in a context of deep love. Having loved them throughout his life, he now “loved them to the end”, John tells us. The background of this week’s powerful scene is that of love. It is a love that had been steadily growing, and now it reaches its climax. Jesus is preparing his friends for his departure: “I am with you only a little longer”, he tells them. He knows that his death is imminent. He also knows that this is going to be the moment of glory, the moment of Truth. “There is no love greater than this”, he had once said. Indeed, what was about to happen was the greatest act of love one could ever show. It was not a defeat. Love cannot be defeated, because Love is God.

The moment of departure is also the moment when Jesus leaves a beautiful inheritance to his disciples. It is not money, property or something tangible. It is a simple statement, a direct command: Love one another as I have loved you. This was to become the mark of the disciple. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, he tells them. Now, we know that the commandment of love was not new. The fact that loving God and neighbor were the two biggest commandments was part of the Jewish psyche for hundreds of years. What is new is that I, as a follower of Jesus, have to love others just as Jesus has loved me. Now it is not enough to love the other as myself. Maybe, let’s face it, it’s because sometimes we do not even know how to really love ourselves! So, the new measure is the love with which Jesus loved me: that which led him to give his life on the cross.

Jesus loved his disciples, not because they were perfect. Neither it is because they loved him in the same measure in return. It’s enough to look at Peter and his triple-denial. Yet Peter’s sin did not diminish in any way Jesus’ love for him. We also know that Jesus shared the meal with Judas too, in spite of the fact that he knew what he was about to do. He even washed his feet, with those of the rest of the twelve. This is precisely what Jesus is asking of us, as his followers in today’s world. To love without any condition, to keep loving even in the face of denial, treachery or deception. Jesus says that it is through this that people will know that I am his follower. It is not through the kinds of prayers I say, or the number of liturgies I celebrate. Those are important, as tools to help me live this command. Because I know that, without His help, I am totally incapable of loving the same way he loved me. My prayers, my celebrations, have to be translated into love in its most concrete and tangible form.
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As we approach Mother’s Day I always find myself reflecting on the miracle of life. A few visits to maternity wards in the different countries I’ve been to have taught me that a healthy birth is not something to be taken for granted. Babies who are born sick, and babies who never manage to see the light outside the womb, are realities which I have witnessed much more often than I would have loved to. The mother’s pain in these circumstances is something that, as a man, I know I can never experience. From here I would like to salute those women for whom a day like today brings pain rather than joy.

After the miracle of birth something else happens that never ceases to amaze me. Voice recognition! I am always amazed how, in a room full of crying new-born babies, a mother always manages to recognize the voice of her own child. And, vice-versa, the baby always seems to recognize the mother’s voice when she calls, surrounded by a cacophony of sounds, voices and noises. I suspect that has something to do with the bond created during the previous nine months of great intimacy between mother and child.

There is something in the voice of a loved one which makes it different to any other voice in the whole world. I remember the episode when Mary of Magdala went to Jesus’ tomb on the day of his resurrection. “Mary”, he told her, and that’s when she immediately recognized him. The bond of love between these two people was so great that no one pronounced that name like he did! It is the voice of the Beloved in the Song of Songs, easily recognizable from afar, “Listen! My beloved! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills!” (2:8). Similarly, Elisabeth’s baby “leaps for joy” as soon as Mary’s greeting reaches Elisabeth’s ears! The voice of the loved one always brings joy, a smile on one’s face.

In today’s gospel Jesus refers to himself as a shepherd, and speaks of his relationship with his sheep. “My sheep hear my voice”, he says. It is a loving, warm relationship which gives a sense of security to the beloved. “No one will snatch them out of my hand,” he says. Very protective, too! Immediately another mother-image comes to mind: that of the chicken gathering her chicks under her protective wings, an image used by Jesus in other parts of the gospels.

My sheep hear my voice. Jesus does not speak of listening to orders or commands. It is the simple, and yet profound, act of hearing which crosses boundaries and shortens distances. It evokes love and intimacy. It gives a sense of security, of “feeling good”. The voice is a sound that reaches the heart before the mind starts making sense of the words spoken.

Unfortunately, far too often have we as Church mistaken the sound of this voice with orders! Our faith is not a religion of duties and obligations. It is a relationship of love. Like any other loving relationship, it can only grow with time, with presence, with listening to what is both spoken and unspoken.
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A good question to ask myself during my prayer time this week is: how clearly do I hear my Shepherd’s voice?
 

Peter … the Rock. We all remember the day when Jesus had appointed Simon-Peter as head of his little group of followers. “On this rock I will build my Church”, Jesus had told him. It is the same Peter who would, then, tell Jesus that even if all the others would have abandoned him, he would never do it. Ah well, we know what happened. At the moment of truth, Peter abandoned both Jesus and his little group. “I don’t even know him, no idea what you’re talking about”, he told the girl during the passion narrative.

Three years before this, Peter had been personally called by Jesus. “Follow me,” Jesus had told him, “and I will make you a fisher of men”. Upon that invitation, Peter had immediately abandoned his nets, and his family’s business, to follow this master. That was the last time Peter had been fishing. Now, after Jesus’ death, it seems that everything is lost. They could have been three beautiful years, but now it’s back to normal. “I’m going fishing”, Peter tells his friends in today’s gospel. And the others follow suit.

It is within this context of sadness and disillusion that Jesus comes to visit these men. To make matters worse, these master fishermen seem to have even lost their touch in their trade. Having been fishing all night, they caught nothing. Being so engrossed in their self-pity, they could not recognize Jesus when he approached them.

What Jesus does on this occasion is simply beautiful. First, he forces the disciples to be in touch with their own weakness, simply by stating the obvious: “you have caught nothing, have you?”. Then he gives them a hand, by asking them to cast the nets again. This time the catch is extraordinary! He also prepares breakfast for them while they are doing this. Here they understand that it is Jesus. Only Jesus can show so much care towards people who had abandoned him when he needed them most! And after breakfast we have what is probably one of the most beautiful and tender scenes in the gospels.

Jesus and Peter find some time to be alone on the beach. Jesus puts a simple, and yet very loaded, question to Peter: Do you love me? And then he repeats it for another couple of times. For three times, Peter answers in the affirmative, but we could tell that by the third time he gets a little bit nervous. Surely, his triple-denial was still very vivid in his mind, and we can only imagine the sense of guilt and shame experienced in that moment. Still, Jesus wanted to assure Peter that, in spite of the latter’s sin, nothing has changed in their relationship. “Feed my lambs, feed my sheep” Jesus tells Peter. No reference to the past. As far as Jesus is concerned, Simon Peter is still going to be the leader of the group, the rock on which everything is to hold. If anything, his moment of weakness would eventually serve him to better understand the weak and wounded sheep within the flock, those who would need more care. Compassion had to be a distinctive mark of this rock.
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“Do you love me?”. This is the question we are invited to ponder on during these coming days. The question is not whether I have been good, or whether I have made mistakes. Do I sincerely love Him? The rest will follow.