One day when Jesus was peaking to his friends he told them: “It is better for you that I leave, because if I do not go, the Paraclete will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you”.

I can imagine that it must have been very difficult for the disciples to accept, or even understand, these words. Here they were, listening to someone in whom they had put all their trust and their hopes. They had seen him performing miracles. They had listened attentively to his teachings.  They had seen the crowds following him in their thousands. Meeting him must have been the best thing that ever happened in their lives. And now he is telling them not only that he must go, but that it is for their own good. Because if he does not go, the “paraclete” or “advocate” – whoever that might be! – would not be sent to them. The conclusion for the disciples must have been clear, and huge! This one who will be sent by Jesus when he goes will be even better than Jesus himself for them!

Jesus cannot stay physically with them. He is to return to the Father – a celebration which we celebrated last week. But, many times, he had promised that he would not abandon his disciples. And Jesus keeps his promises. He found a number of different ways how to do this. He founded the Eucharist, through which we believe he is always present for us. And he gave us his own Spirit. By receiving the Spirit, we have received a share of Jesus’ own being. Jesus calls the Holy Spirit the Paraclete, which, literally, means someone who is called (kalein) beside/alongside (para). This Spirit is given to us, therefore, to accompany us throughout our lives. The Spirit is there to help us, to give us courage when it fails us, to enlighten us in times of confusion, to strengthen us when we feel week. Indeed, now we are now never alone.

What happened on that day of Pentecost when the disciples were locked in that upper room is truly amazing. These were people who, just a few weeks earlier, had run away full of fear. Having had some courage to venture out, Peter had soon discovered that he was probably scared more than the others. He forcefully denied in any way knowing Jesus. Now, after receiving the Holy Spirit they went out to preach, and nothing could stop them, not even the barrier of language. They found courage; they found wisdom to say the right things. They found energy within themselves, like a burning fire. The image of tongues of fire in this story is very powerful,
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Unfortunately, we often tend to forget the beauty of this gift which we have received in our baptism. Jesus knows that, on our own, we cannot do much good. He knows our weaknesses, our limitations, our brokenness. That is why he gave so much importance to this gift when he spoke to his disciples about it. We too are often painfully aware of what holds us back from doing good, or from doing what we know we should be doing. It is precisely in those moments when we need to remember what power we have received. All we have to do is to humbly ask for help. We won’t be disappointed.
 

There is a story that says that once, Leonardo da Vinci had started to work on a large canvas in his studio. For a while he worked at it – choosing the subject, planning the perspective, sketching the outline, applying the colors, with his own inimitable genius. Then, suddenly he stopped working on it. Calling one of his talented students, the master invited him to complete the work. The horrified student protested that he was both unworthy and unable to complete the great painting which his master had begun. But da Vinci silenced him. "Will not what I have done inspire you to do your best?"

This story came to my mind as I was reflecting on today’s liturgy. Jesus goes up to Heaven, where he had come from. In a way, his mission is accomplished. He has done what he had come to do. And yet, simultaneously, the mission of Jesus goes on. It is still a work in progress. The only difference is that it is, now up to us to continue what he had started. Like Leonardo’s student, a number of questions and doubts may come to mind. Am I worthy? Probably not. Have I got what it takes? On my own, definitely not! But unlike the above-mentioned case, what makes it possible in my case is not simply the inspiration coming from what the master has already done. It is, rather, a power coming from the master himself. He has promised to give the Holy Spirit, the same Spirit He had. This is what is being promised today, and what we shall celebrate on Pentecost Sunday.

For the time being it is enough to be with that group of disciples on the day Jesus went up to heaven. Both Ascension narratives of Luke (the one in the Acts of the Apostles and in the other one in his Gospel), come with a mission. The disciple of Jesus is not supposed to stay there, “standing, looking into the sky”. He is, rather, to be a “witness” of Jesus, sharing with others all that Jesus is and stands for. In particular, he is to preach “repentance for the forgiveness of sins to all the nations”. This had been, essentially, the mission of Jesus when he was on this earth. It is the possibility of a new life, free from sin, free, that is, from all that hinders us from being free enough to love God and neighbor.

Speaking about this feast-day of last year, Pope Francis made a beautiful reflection:

“This feast contains two elements. On one hand, it directs our look to Heaven, where Jesus, glorified, is seated at the right hand of God. On the other, it recalls the beginning of the Church’s mission: why? Because Jesus risen and ascended into Heaven sends His disciples to spread the Gospel throughout the world; therefore, the Ascension exhorts us to raise our gaze to Heaven, to then turn it back immediately to earth, carrying out the tasks that the Risen Lord has entrusted to us.”

​Yes, I do have to look towards Heaven. Not in a nostalgic way like the look of someone looking at an airplane on which a loved one has just departed. But because I have to keep reminding myself that I constantly need Him to be able to fulfil my mission. That look, then, necessarily turns towards the world around me, wherever I happen to be. It is here that I now have to continue Jesus’ mission. The need to be truly able to love both God and neighbor is seen and felt all around me.

“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?