For the Seventh Sunday of Easter, Pentecost Sunday, and the Solemnities of the Most Holy Trinity, the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi), the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and Saints Peter and Paul
Seventh Sunday of Easter – June 1, 2025
Readings: Acts 7:55–60 • Psalm 97:1–2, 6–7, 9 • Revelation 22:12–14, 16–17, 20 • John 17:20–26
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/060125-Sunday.cfm
Nowhere is Jesus Christ more visible than in his martyrs. In the Gospel of John, Jesus, who makes the Father visible to the world, prays that his disciples may be in him and he in them. In today’s first reading, we see God become dramatically visible in the life of one of those disciples, the deacon Stephen.
First, however, Stephen gazes on God. He sees Jesus standing at the right hand of his Father in the heavens. This vision is made possible by the action of the Holy Spirit, already present in Stephen’s life. In the first part of the chapter from which today’s reading is taken, Stephen delivers a sermon which is both learned and fiery, retelling the story of Israel from a Christian point of view and leveling a hard judgement against the men of Jerusalem who crucified Jesus.
This speech produces the reaction that we see today: the stoning of Stephen at the hands of these same men. Yet Stephen’s boldness is not a mistake. In fact, there’s a hint in the reading that even though Stephen’s persecutors don’t want to hear his message, they still feel the power of the truth it expresses. When they drive him from the city, they cry out in a loud voice and cover their ears. Even when it’s a truth we do not want to hear, the truth is compelling. Those who wish to avoid it do so either by shouting — creating noise to drown it out — or by covering their ears — deadening their senses. Finally, they resort to violence.
Yet, the truth of the Gospel is not silenced. In fact, in Stephen’s death, God becomes more, not less, visible. Stephen’s death itself is Christ-like, mirroring the Lord’s own death on Calvary, his words echoing Jesus’ words from the cross: “Receive my spirit” and “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Undergoing a death like Christ’s, Stephen becomes ever more united to Christ. He shows both Christ-like freedom and Christ-like forgiveness.
The second-century Church father Tertullian famously called the blood of martyrs the seed of the Church. Certainly, martyrdom requires heroic virtue — courage above all — which even those without faith can recognize as admirable. Those who shed their blood for Christ give the ultimate testimony of their love. They bear witness to the surpassing value of their faith in Christ, the pearl of great price, the one treasure for which it is worth sacrificing everything else. The word “martyr” comes from the Greek word for witness. The death of the martyrs is verification of the credibility of faith.
Finally, I think, Stephen’s death reveals something even deeper about the testimony of the martyrs. Their sacrifice is like a sacrament — Jesus calls his own death and martyrdom “baptism” (Mk 10:38) — in which they enter into communion with him. The words of John’s Gospel point to the communion that we see in those who have united themselves completely to Jesus. In his disciples, we see the Son. In the Son, we see the Father. In martyrdom, the disciples of Jesus are brought to perfection, made one with the self-giving love of Christ that knows no limits.
Pentecost Sunday – June 8, 2025
Readings: Acts 2:1–11 • Psalm 104:1, 24, 29–30, 31, 34 • 1 Corinthians 12:3b–7, 12–13 or Romans 8:8–17 • John 20:19–23
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/060825-Day.cfm
Today’s feast of Pentecost is a great reminder to give credit where credit is due. For us Christians, both as individuals and as a Church, credit is due to the Holy Spirit.
This is something that is easy to forget because the Holy Spirit, being spirit, is unseen. The Son of God, the second Person of the Trinity, becomes visible to us in the Incarnation. And in the Gospel, Jesus explains that when we see him, we see the Father. He makes God accessible to us in a visible, human way. Not everyone who sees Jesus, of course, recognizes him as God. Recognizing Jesus for who he is requires a certain openness from us, and, for some people — probably for most — it requires being opened up by the Holy Spirit. It requires the Holy Spirit to break through our blindness.
The necessity of the Holy Spirit’s intervention is made especially clear in the events we celebrate today. Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit to his disciples after the Ascension. They certainly need it. We remember, of course, the behavior of the apostles at the time of the crucifixion — Peter denying Christ and the rest of the group scattering. Even after the Resurrection, the disciples seem uncertain. Out of fear, they lock themselves indoors. After the Ascension, they seem dumbfounded by the event and require two angels to appear and shake them from their paralysis. I can’t blame them, actually; the events that they had witnessed were beyond any human experience. Knowing how to respond to them was beyond any normal human capacity. They needed the Spirit that Christ would send.
Even though we don’t see the Spirit himself, when he comes, we recognize him in the transformation that he works. The signs of his presence — fire and wind — alert us that change is afoot. It is a deep change, not a superficial paint job. The Holy Spirit does not leave us as we are.
In fact, immediately after the reading from today’s Gospel, Peter — who had proven himself so unreliable on Good Friday — stands up and gives voice to his faith in Jesus with a boldness and wisdom that drives his listeners to conversion. He has been transformed from within. The gift of tongues and of understanding that we see in the disciples gathered from every nation is also beyond explanation on purely human terms. It is the Spirit’s work.
We sometimes speak of Pentecost as the celebration of the birthday of the Church. It’s an occasion to remember that it is the Holy Spirit that has sustained the Church through the centuries — through persecutions, wars, schisms, and too many self-inflicted wounds. Today’s Gospel reminds us that when our human weakness and sinfulness get the better of us, the Holy Spirit will sustain us. Jesus links the forgiveness of sins to the presence of the Spirit — with the Spirit’s authority — in the Church. “Receive the Holy Spirit,” he tells his apostles. “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.”
The Holy Spirit is patient, kind, and powerful. He is the source of our life, our zeal, and the bottomless font of mercy on which the life of the Church — and of every Christian — depends. His work is most often hidden, but Pentecost is a day to give thanks for that silent work within us.
Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity – June 15, 2025
Readings: Proverbs 8:22–31 • Psalm 8:4–5, 6–7, 8–9 • Romans 5:1–5 • John 16:12–15
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/061525.cfm
There’s an old saying, which probably goes back to Socrates, that the more you know, the more you realize you don’t know. This observation on what it means to be truly wise is not meant to discourage learning or study or reflection. When used in a Christian context, it’s not meant to suggest, for example, that our faith should be reduced to a couple of folksy slogans. Nor does it mean that when reflecting on the doctrine which we remember today, the Most Holy Trinity, that we should take an anti-intellectual approach — it’s a mystery, just have faith, don’t ask any questions.
The Trinity is a mystery, but today’s readings suggest the attitude we should have toward “mystery” in the context of our faith. Calling the Trinity a mystery means that we will never get to the end of understanding it, but that should not make us want to throw up our hands and give up. Instead, it should make us want to know more. There’s a great history podcast that I listen to, and, after each episode, I often want to go online and start buying books about the subject to discover more. Usually, I have to restrain that impulse because the books start to pile up and I don’t have time to read them!
When we talk about the mysteries of our faith, that’s the dynamic we’re suggesting: not that we don’t want any questions, but that there will always be more to say and our capacity to learn is limited. Jesus suggests as much in the Gospel when he says, “I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.” Those words tell us something important about God. Jesus talks about knowing the Father by seeing the Son and living in the Spirit of truth. If you tried to diagram what that meant, you might end up with a triangle and lots of arrows going back and forth between the angles. Perhaps that’s not a bad start because one thing that we can take from the invitation of Jesus to know him and know his Father and know the Holy Spirit is that he is inviting us into a relationship that will change us. It’s a relationship that, in a way, is always moving.
Pope Benedict XVI expressed the relationship with God at the heart of Christianity when he wrote, “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction” (Deus Caritas Est, 1). When St. Paul talks about faith in the Letter to the Romans, he has this same dynamic in mind. Faith means not only believing something, but believing in someone. Believing in someone means a relationship of trust. Following someone you trust means change and growth. The really deep relationships in our lives change who we are. They change the way we think — how we know — and our capacity to love.
At the heart of the Christian faith is the belief that when we say “God” we are talking about just such a relationship, a never-ending exchange of love between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And when we say “Christian” we are talking about someone who has accepted the invitation to plunge into that relationship, into a mystery that doesn’t end, into an ocean of love without limit in which there is always more to discover.
The Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi) – June 22, 2025
Readings: Genesis 14:18–20 • Psalm 110:1, 2, 3, 4 • 1 Corinthians 11:23–26 • Luke 9:11b–17
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/062225.cfm
I thought I’d begin today by saying a word about Melchizedek. I’d wager most of you don’t know much of anything about Melchizedek. It’s a safe wager because nobody knows much about Melchizedek. His biographical details are limited to what you just heard in the first reading. But Melchizedek turns out to be an important figure. In the first reading, in Genesis, he seems to come out of nowhere. It turns out, when we get to the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament, that this mysterious origin is what makes him interesting. The New Testament speaks of Melchizedek as a forerunner of Jesus, the great high priest who has neither beginning nor end. Melchizedek, the Letter to the Hebrews says, represents an eternal priesthood — the priesthood of Jesus Christ.
In fact, perhaps it’s surprising that Genesis would mention Melchizedek at all. Even more surprising is that it mentions the sacrifice that he offers — bread and wine. At the time, bread and wine were not particularly impressive sacrifices. In the ancient world, if you wanted to impress, you offered meat. Birds were OK, lamb was better, a bull best of all. Bread and wine were not the sort of sacrifice a king would brag about.
For Christians, of course, bread and wine have a very different meaning. We recognize them instantly as the elements under which the greatest sacrifice of all — the self-offering of Jesus Christ — is made. Perhaps there is something appropriate in the fact that the rite that Jesus gave us at the Last Supper uses rather humble elements. The prophet Isaiah prophesied of the Messiah, “He had no majestic bearing to catch our eye” (Is 53:2); perhaps the elements of bread and wine reflect the ordinariness of Jesus’ life. The Eucharist is both an astonishing miracle and a humble, almost shy, gift.
The paradox should not surprise us because in the Eucharist we receive Jesus; we meet him; we come to know him. In today’s Gospel passage, we read about the feeding of the five thousand. Several times throughout the Gospel, Jesus miraculously feeds the crowds. This Eucharistic action is woven throughout Jesus’ ministry; it was, and is, expressive of who Jesus is. He is the one who offers himself so that we might live. It is no coincidence that Jesus does the same thing on the night before he was to suffer. We cannot understand his sacrifice on Calvary without the Eucharist, nor the Eucharist without the crucifixion. Like Melchizedek, Jesus is a high priest. He is the high priest — priest, altar, and lamb of sacrifice, without beginning or end, who offers himself for us and to us. But unlike Melchizedek, he does not remain an ancient and distant figure. He comes to us here and now, on this altar, under the humble appearance of bread and wine.
Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus – June 27, 2025
Readings: Ezekiel 34:11–16 • Psalm 23:1–3a, 3b–4, 5, 6 • Romans 5:5b–11 • Luke 15:3–7
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/062725.cfm
Sometimes certain people get on my nerves, and it’s hard to love them. Sometimes people behave badly toward others, and it’s hard to love them, too. Sometimes people have hurt me; it’s hard enough to forgive them and even harder to love them. But in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus commands us to love our enemies, just as our heavenly Father loves them. From the cross, he prays for the forgiveness of those who crucified him.
Paul’s Letter to the Romans explains the depths of God’s love. With difficulty, Paul says, we might be willing to die for a just person. It takes heroic courage to die for one’s family or one’s country, but, given the right circumstances, we might manage to work up that courage. To die for one’s enemies, however, involves a different order of love altogether.
Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, and what we are really celebrating is the source of a love that knows no limits. Sin means enmity with God. It means putting selfish desires before God and before others; it means behavior which is unjust and unjustifiable. It means making oneself unlovable. And yet St. Paul tells us, “While we were still sinners Christ died for us.” The Gospel and the words of the prophet Ezekiel remind us that God’s love seeks to overcome all obstacles to find the lost sheep, to show those who have made themselves mean and ugly through sin that they are beloved.
Today is a celebration of that love, but it is something more. It is among the most challenging feasts on the Christian calendar because it reminds us of the Lord’s command: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus doesn’t say, “Love each other just like most people do,” but “Love one another as I have loved you.” Today is a day to pray for the grace to do so.
When I look inside myself, I see a heart that is limited, weak, impatient, impetuous, a little bit selfish, sometimes rebellious. My heart is human. Only Jesus has a heart which is both human and divine, and we need to pray to have the heart of Jesus. Today’s feast day is a reminder to pray, “Jesus, give me a heart like yours.”
St. Ignatius teaches us how to use our imagination in prayer, and sometimes when I find someone difficult to love, I ask the Lord: “Jesus, how do you see this person?” Or I pray, “Jesus, give me your eyes so that I can see this person as you do.” And then I try to imagine what Jesus sees.
Once a good priest gave me some advice in confession. He said, “When you pray for those who get on your nerves, for those it’s hard to love, don’t just pray that they change. Pray for their unrestricted good.” It’s not wrong to pray that they change, of course, but perhaps in praying for their good — for the good of those who hurt us — we are really praying for ourselves, praying to have the heart of Jesus.
Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul – June 29, 2025
Readings: Acts 12:1–11 • Psalm 34:2–3, 4–5, 6–7, 8–9 • 2 Timothy 4:6–8, 17–18 • Matthew 16:13–19
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/062925-Mass.cfm
Peter and Paul were great men. It is common in preaching to hear about Peter’s failures — his weaknesses and false steps, which the Gospels make no attempt to hide. And we first meet Paul, of course, when he is persecuting the Church. Peter and Paul were both flawed men, but nonetheless they are great men.
In fact, one of the things that makes them both great is that they acknowledge their flaws. Practically the first words out of Simon Peter’s mouth in the Gospel of Luke are, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” (Lk 5:8). In one of his letters, Paul claims to boast in his weakness (2 Cor 12:9).
Yet, in the Acts of the Apostles, Peter raises the dead to life. Paul becomes the most remarkable missionary in history. The faithful of Jerusalem bring their sick into the streets just so that Peter’s shadow will fall upon them. And in today’s Gospel we hear those remarkable words from the mouth of the Lord himself, “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” The greatness of both Peter and Paul comes from Jesus.
The Lord does the building. He gives Simon the fisherman a new name and a new identity, and he reorients the life of Paul in every way on the road to Damascus. The greatness of these apostles comes not because they took a course in self-help or even because they refined some aspect of their personality. The theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar points out, “Simon the fisherman could have explored every region of his ego prior to his encounter with Christ, but he would not have found ‘Peter’” (Prayer, 60). If Simon had taken a Myers-Briggs test, the results most certainly would not have read “Prince of the Apostles.” Only encountering Jesus could transform him into the new man he became.
In the dramatic story of Peter’s escape from imprisonment in today’s first reading, the apostle does not hatch a clever plan to chisel through the wall, like an Escape from Alcatraz. Instead, he follows the promptings of the angel who appears to him, seeming almost dazed as he does so. In Paul’s letter to Timothy, the apostle speaks of a kind of self-emptying, of being “poured out like a libation.” God acts in Peter and Paul, and their greatness comes from the degree to which they are able to let go of themselves — their egos, their fears, their self-will — and cooperate with his plans for them. An article I read shortly after the election of the current successor of Peter, Pope Leo, described our new pope’s leadership style with the words John the Baptist used to talk about Christ: “I must decrease so that he may increase.”
Peter and Paul were unique in the role they were called to play in the foundation of the Church, but they did not keep their formula for greatness a secret. The Lord invites all of us to the same greatness, whatever the specifics of our mission here on earth may be. We are called to be saints, to let go of ourselves and let Jesus live in us.
About Fr. Anthony R. Lusvardi, SJ
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