Pilgrim progress- a disciple on a journey!

  In the old rite of the Mass, at the time of the consecration the priest would lean over on the altar, almost as if he was leaning on the heart of Christ. Even today, some priests still carry out this gesture. This is a beautiful thought because the most powerful heartbeat of Christ is heard when we come and receive Him in the Eucharist and sit with Him in silent Adoration before his Eucharistic presence. St. Augustine tells us that:  “Because God has made us for Himself, our hearts are restless until they rest in Him.”  To enter God’s Heart, to rest on His heart, takes only a moment of quiet prayer. These moments will make a difference.  The first biography of a saint which I read was that of St. Faustina. Actually, it was her diary on Divine Mercy. I was about 17 years old and it really touched my soul and placed within me a deep desire for holiness and have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. From the Christ Child, St. Faustina learned a most important l...

  My Dad's garden Not a cry of distress but a reminder of a feastday we have in Ireland- May Day (1st of May).  I was thinking back to the years in primary school where we prepared May altars religiously. My Dad was a brilliant gardener and had a beautiful garden, however we weren’t allowed to pick the flowers that often! One of those few occasions was for the school May Altar when it was ‘our turn’ to bring the flowers. I was always so proud to bring in that big bunch of red homegrown roses, purple lupin, bright orange marigolds, pretty forget-me-nots, vibrant dahlias and pure white lilies. Not only did they look beautiful but the perfume would fill the classroom and the other teachers who popped in would all comment on the beautiful flowers! I remember other times when the younger kids from the neighbourhood would try and ‘borrow’ some flowers. My Dad, possessive as he was of his hybrid roses, would give in and often snip one off and give it to the child, who would...

Hosannas rise on dusty roads, Where humble feet and hope once strode, A borrowed colt, a quiet King, No crown of gold, yet heaven’s ring. The palms are laid, the voices soar, “Blessed is He forevermore,” Yet in the breeze, a shadow sways— A cross awaits these fleeting praise. The city stirs, the hearts divide, Some kneel in faith, some turn aside, Still mercy walks through every cheer, Through doubt, through joy, through silent fear. O fragile cries that fill the air, How soon they fade, how few will care— Yet love rides on, though fate is grim, For every soul, for all, for Him.

Every religious experience begins with a sense of emptiness, of life being bigger than us. We began the Lenten journey in the desert and we continue to walk, making the journey from Ashes to Alleluia. On Ash Wednesday we had ashes placed on our forehead and reflected on the words "Remember you are dust and to dust you will return" or the call to "repent and believe in the Gospel". There is yearly continuity in the liturgy where the burnt palms, symbol of the joy and majesty which accompanied Jesus during his entrance into Jerusalem, become the dust and ashes placed on our forehead at the beginning of our Lenten journey. Today we began the journey of Holy Week. Holy Week is holy, first and foremost, because of all Jesus Christ did during this week, from the triumphal entry into his city on Palm Sunday, to his teaching in the Temple, to the Last Supper, to his prayer in Gethsemane, to his arrest, torture, crucifixion and death on Good Friday, to his rest in the tomb, ...

With the celebration of Vespers this evening, the Church begins the celebration of the Solemnity of the Annunciation. Indeed, it is a celebration! The first word of Archangel Gabriel’s greeting to Mary was Rejoice . And the feast of Annunciation is, first of all, a feast of quiet heavenly joy—joy over reconciliation with God, joy over the return of grace to earth. Annunciation is also a feast of triumph of humility, purity and chastity , a feast of unshakable faith in the power of God and in His unlimited love toward us his children. We see this unlimited love every day as we look at the Cross, at the outpouring of Jesus for us. At times it’s a love that doesn’t make sense. There is a Scripture passage in the Gospel of St. John, Chapter 12 which has the image of the grain of wheat. We read: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains but a single grain.” The image of the grain of wheat dying in the earth in order to grow and bear a harvest can be seen as a meta...

As the Lenten journey continues, my thoughts today went to our first sister Mother M. Scholastica Rivata. Today, 24th of March, we commemorate 39 years since she returned home to God. She was a woman who was not afraid to move through the 'desert of transformation', certain that even the Paschal mystery with all its sorrow and confusion, would lead her to the glorious celebration of the Resurrection, the explosion of life and joy upon the earth. The following is a brief reflection from our previous Mother General, Sr. M. Cesarato on the ocassion of the translocation of the earthly remains of M. Scholastica from Sanfre to the Church of Jesus Master in Rome. It also marked the opening of the cause of her beatification which is underway, having reached the stage of presenting the 'Positio'. The positio (Positio super Virtutibus) is a document or collection of documents used in the process by which a person is declared Venerable, the second of the four steps on the path...

  Dust lay quiet on his eyes, a night he never chose. From birth he walked in borrowed dark where no horizon rose. Voices passed like drifting wind, faces he could not find; the world was sound and gentle touch— a map within his mind. Then Jesus came with quiet hands, and mercy softly stirred; Clay mixed with tears, a healing touch, and grace within His word. Then light broke through—he saw the sky, the dust, the waiting crowd; the colors of the waking world that once were veiled by cloud. He saw the Light behind the sun, in every shining ray; the God who formed the burning stars had come to walk his way. The Healer God who made the sun had sent His Son to heal; Amazing grace, how sweet the sound— my sight restored, I kneel. You looked on him—You looked on me, my broken chains release; a man born blind, but now he sees, and praises Christ eternally. 

Sometimes we need precisely that moment where we catch a glimpse of our own reflection and realise that the face that looks back at us is sad, tired and confused and needs to be hydrated from the wellspring of life, the encounter with Living Water, Jesus Christ. After the encounter with Jesus at the well, the Samaritan woman becomes a well-woman. Then, the reflection which she sees is that of a beloved child of God, beloved of the Father. It took a while for her to get to that place where she could feel that. Yet, without realising it, she is like the empty water jug which she carries. It is ready to be filled. She is a container to be filled with the living water which gushes forth from the wellsprings of life. First she hesitates, she focuses on the law. Jesus focuses on grace. Jews weren't supposed to speak to Samaritans. More so, men weren't permitted to address women without their husbands present. And "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman," she reminded...

Each Sunday of Lent catapults us into a different stage of Christian journey. From the desert of temptation in last week's liturgy, we move to the Mount of Transfiguration. The desert is a place of passage to get to our destination. No-one aspires to live in the desert. Peter, James and John try to stay on Mount Tabor: "Lord, it is good for us to stay here, let us build three tents." But similarly, the mountain is not the destination. We move onwards, fortified by the experience of being with Jesus. There is a small but very significant phrase: "The disciples looked up and saw  only Jesus ." Only Jesus. Are we able to see 'only Jesus'? ? Are we able to live only for Jesus? Is all that matters to us, only Jesus? How different would our lives be if our permanent focus was only Jesus, the measuring stick for all that we do, the moral, spiritual and emotional compass in our lives? But this would mean making changes in our lives. Filtering through all the clu...

  On the first Sunday of Lent, when ash still lingers like memory on the brow, the wilderness opens— not only of sand and stone, but of the heart. Forty days echo the footsteps of Jesus Christ walking into hunger, into heat that shimmers like doubt, into silence sharp as flint. And there— the whisperer, the questioner, Satan with a voice smooth as river-worn rock: “If you are— if you are— if you are…” Who are you? Whose are you? Identity pressed like a bruise. Prove it in bread. Prove it in spectacle. Prove it in power. But hunger is not lord. Applause is not crown. Dominion is not destiny. “I am,” answers not with thunder, but with trust— with words older than the desert wind, with a Name deeper than appetite. Angels do not arrive until the last lie thins into dust. Only when refusal blooms like a stubborn flower in wasteland. On this first Sunday of Lent we walk that wilderness too— where every mirror asks who we are without the bread, without the ledge, without the throne. And ...

As 2025 folds into memory, I am grateful— for memories, for experiences, for encounters. We said goodbye— to family, to friends, to Sisters, to those whose pilgrimage on this earth is complete. Their absence feels like a quiet room, waiting, still, softly echoing. We said hello— to a Jubilee of hope, of mercy, of remembering what it means to walk as seeker, follower, disciple. A year of hope, a gentle flame, lighting hearts, calling names. A Jubilee for all— the young, the old, families, the servants, the struggling, the curious, the doubting. All roads lead to Rome, to the unforgettable stillness of a million young souls in Eucharistic Adoration, in a field. Goodbye to Pope Francis, pilgrim to the end, who goes home to the Father, amidst Easter bells still ringing the Resurrexit song. Hello to Pope Leo, who takes the wheel, guiding St. Peter’s Barque with quiet strength and steadfast heart. A month with our silver jubilarians— listening, learning, walking slowly together, bringing us ...

In the old rite of the Mass, at the time of the consecration the priest would lean over on the altar, almost as if he was leaning on the heart of Christ. Even today, some priests still carry out this gesture. This is a beautiful thought because the most powerful heartbeat of Christ is heard when we come and receive Him in the Eucharist and sit with Him in silent Adoration before his Eucharistic presence. St. Augustine tells us that: “Because God has made us for Himself, our hearts are restless until they rest in Him.”  To enter God’s Heart, to rest on His heart, takes only a moment of quiet prayer. These moments will make a difference.  The first biography of a saint which I read was that of St. Faustina. Actually, it was her diary on Divine Mercy. I was about 17 years old and it really touched my soul and placed within me a deep desire for holiness and have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. From the Christ Child, St. Faustina learned a most important lesson for her ...

  There is absolutely nothing we can do on Holy Saturday, and that is the point. It is a day of desolation and nothingness, a day of darkness and utter emptiness. The day is and should be the most calm and quiet day of the entire Church year, a day broken by no liturgical function. Christ lies in the grave, the Church sits near and mourns. After the great battle He is resting in peace, but upon Him we see the scars of intense suffering. The mortal wounds on His Body remain visible.  There is nothing to do now except wait… and waiting is the hardest part in this digital and instant age. Holy Saturday is the silent pause between what we have done and what God will do – what only God can do. On this day God is silent, yet God is still at work. Scripture tells us Holy Saturday is the day Christ descended and ministered to those in Hades, or the place of the dead. This is not a trivial or side matter, which is why “He descended to the dead” finds mention in the Apostles’ Creed. Chr...

 Beauty and suffering are always hand in hand. At the top of the mountain is also the painful reality that we must descend. The beauty of truth also embraces offence, pain, and even the dark mystery of death, and that this can only be found in accepting suffering, not in ignoring it. The One who is Beauty itself let himself be slapped in the face, spat upon, crowned with thorns. However, in his Face that is so disfigured, there appears the genuine, extreme beauty: the beauty of love that goes "to the very end"; for this reason it is revealed as greater than falsehood and violence. This is Love Transfigured, it is the ‘beauty that saves the world’. This is Love lifted up on the Cross for me, for you, for the whole world.

Supper was special that night.  There was both a heaviness and a holiness  hanging in the air.  We couldn’t explain the mood.  It was sacred, yet sorrowful.  Gathered around that table          eating that solemn, holy meal          seemed to us the most important meal          we had ever sat down to eat. We were dwelling in the heart of MYSTERY.  Though dark the night,  Hope felt right—         as if something evil          was about to be conquered. And then suddenly  the One-Who-Loved startled us all.  He got up from the table  and put on an apron.  Can you imagine how we felt? GOD IN AN APRON! Tenderness encircled us          as He bowed before us.  He knelt and sa...

As we journey on this Holy Week, we have arrived at the day which has come to be known as Spy Wednesday where Judas Iscariot finalises the plans which will cost Jesus his life.  Yet Jesus knew exactly who would betray but still He continued to love Judas. He cared intensely for Judas. He was discouraged. He hurt. He felt pain. He wept. He loved Judas even when Judas was enshrouded by darkness because: “the light shines in the darkness” (John 1:5). The readings which we will hear today at Mass, although heavy with the impending doom of the death of Jesus, should also bring us hope and relief.  God loves us so much.  We should be both overwhelmed by what our sinfulness has done to our relationship with God and also touched by the extremes to which God goes in order to bring us into a closer, restored relationship.  During this Holy Week, it might be good to take some time to see how at times we can 'betray' others by our words or actions, by our silence and our ...