Readings: Second Samuel 12:7-10, 13; Psalms 32:1-2, 5, 7, 11; Galatians 2:16, 19-21; Luke 7:36–8:3 or 7:36-50;

Jesus allows this sinful woman to come close to him, to have direct contact with him.  And then he administers his forgiveness through real words spoken with a real, audible voice. This was incomprehensible to Simon the Pharisee.  First of all, only God had the authority to forgive sins (and Simon didn’t think Jesus was God). But even more than that, the whole encounter was too mundane, too down-to-earth. Simon was convinced that God was too spiritual for that kind of thing. Not even a prophet would let such a sinful woman come that close, would lower himself to that level.

And yet, Jesus is glad that she has come.  Jesus knew that it was hard for the woman to admit her weakness and neediness in front of other people. But it was the best thing for her to do. Only in that context was she able to express physically, humanly, through her tears and the ointment, her sorrow for her sins, her trust and confidence in his mercy. And only in that context was Jesus able to speak audibly and unmistakably his words of love and forgiveness.

After this encounter, she would never have to doubt God’s forgiveness.  She could always point back to that specific moment, in real time and space, as her new beginning. If she had been an angel, she wouldn’t have wanted to show her love and repentance with tears and anointing. If she had been an angel, it would have been appropriate for God to speak directly to her heart without any human mediation.

But she wasn’t an angel. And neither are we. We have the same need she had. And God knows it. That’s why he has given us the sacrament of confession.

Readings: First Kings 17:17-24; Psalms 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11, 12, 13; Galatians 1:11-19; Luke 7:11-17;

The lesson of this encounter between Jesus and the widow of Nain is so simple that we may miss it: God cares. “Do not cry,” Jesus tells her, as if to say, “I can’t bear to see you suffer like this. Let me help. ”This woman had lost her husband, now she has lost her only son – she is alone, suffering without hope. And then she meets Jesus, and he simply can’t let her suffer alone, and so he performs a miracle. No one asked him to perform this miracle; he took the initiative to intervene.

The Christian God is not a God who remains aloof: he does not keep his distance; he cares too much about us, in spite of our sinfulness, weakness, and brokenness. This is the message of every page of the Gospels, from Christmas to Calvary: God cares; he has compassion on us; he suffers with us, giving meaning to our pain.

Sometimes we feel like we are suffering alone, as if God doesn’t care. Sometimes Christ seems far away, because he doesn’t give us the miracle we long for. But we can’t let those feelings deceive us. This widow did not know about Calvary. She had never seen a crucifix. The only way Christ had to show her his compassion was through a miracle.

But we have seen Calvary. We know to what depths God’s compassion has gone. And we can always go to the Tabernacle, where we find the Eucharist, the living memorial of Calvary – the revelation of God’s unfathomable compassion, his “suffering with” each and every one of us.

Truly, we never have to suffer alone. And so, when we choose to do so anyway, we not only increase our own pain, but we double Christ’s as well, by turning a blind eye to his cross.

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Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalms 104:1, 24, 29-30, 31, 34; First Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23;

The Church’s first Pentecost had some spectacular fireworks. The Apostles and other Christians were gathered “in one place together”.  We don’t know exactly where. Probably it was somewhere inside or near the Temple in Jerusalem, since right after the fireworks, crowds started to gather. It may have been the same large room where Jesus and the Apostles had eaten the Last Supper. We are not certain.

So they were all in one place, and then a thunderous noise like a strong wind, like a tornado, came from the sky. And then flames appeared. Flames of fire just appeared out of nowhere, spontaneously, hovering in the air. And these flames divided up and started floating through the air until they came to rest on each of the people gathered. But the fireworks didn’t stop there. All of a sudden the Christians started speaking in languages that they didn’t know. A crowd had gathered by now, with visitors from all over the world who were in Jerusalem for the festival. Each one heard the Christians explaining the gospel in their own language.

It was a dramatic, spectacular display. But we would be wrong to conclude from this that the Holy Spirit’s normal way of acting in our life is through dramatic fireworks. In fact, it’s just the opposite. God’s action in our life is most often gentle and hardly perceptible at first. How does Jesus send the Spirit to his Apostles after his resurrection? He breathes on them – quietly and subtly. How does St Paul describe the action of the Holy Spirit in the Church? Like the soul of a body – powerful, essential, but invisible and subtle. The Holy Spirit works quietly.