Have you ever been so fed up that you just want to “burn it all down” — maybe not literally, but at least metaphorically? There is something satisfying about starting from scratch after your first attempt did not go as planned — to begin with a clean slate with nothing to remind you of your past mistakes. The fire of the Holy Spirit can be a purifier like that. God has the power to give us a clean slate each time we ask for His forgiveness. However, as we can see in Sunday’s First Reading, starting fresh is not always a painless experience. 

In this passage, Malachi depicts fire as an end-of-the-world purifier for humanity. It “burns like an oven,” hot and all consuming, leaving behind nothing that isn’t righteous. It is so complete that “neither root nor branch” of any evil will be left. While I look forward to living in a reality where evil does not exist, I have to be honest with myself: this purifying experience will also burn away parts of me. After all, I am a sinner. Malachi alludes to this, saying that all who are left will be exposed to the “sun of righteousness, with healing in its wings.” We can conclude that this purifying experience will leave us with painful burns, ones that require healing. 

While the process of purification and healing during our earthly lives may not be as extreme as the process that will take place at the end of the world, there is no question that God presents us with multiple opportunities for purification. I know I can shy away from them. Sometimes I struggle to see past the painful part, the part that requires me to sacrifice to the fire anything that doesn’t serve God. What if I can’t handle how much it hurts? What if the healing takes too long? Still, in my experience, the version of myself after this process is much closer to the woman God wants me to be. Although experiencing the oven may be an inevitable part of life, we get to choose whether we go in following a path of destruction or a path of righteousness. 


​Ronnie Noonan-Birch

​We are God’s builders; we are God’s temple; He dwells within us. A precious gift – a sacred responsibility.

My work-life balance has been demanding these past months, causing me to pray on my capacity. And my faith remains unwavering. I love Jesus and know God has a beautiful plan for me. This morning, two stepping stones on that journey, gently revealed, were shining with an opalescent clarity – it is rare for me to see His plan to be so clearly visible.

I currently pour myself into serving my church, making my "Yes" to Jesus in uppercase and bold font, from my heart. Despite this, the recent workload left me feeling delicately stretched too thin. I was late with my Ora reflection, having let the due date completely slip my mind, and my guilt was palpable.

My strength to keep pace had dissolved. A major shift in my office duties this week completely consumed the mental space and energy I reserved for spiritual retreat and quiet discernment of the Word. The irony was acute: I was simultaneously preparing a 20-minute talk on "commitment to service" for an assembly in our parish and, in doing so, I was searching for scripture to reinforce that very commitment.

Driven by a need for quiet understanding, I again delved into Paul’s letter to the people of Corinth for my reflection. I searched for examples of modern ways we might betray this Scripture, receiving predictable answers like gossip and greed, but nothing touched the heart of my struggle. I wanted a heartfelt example of disrespecting the scripture, needing to see my own brokenness in it.
I landed on one simple, piercing example: The silent withdrawal. The Holy Spirit used those three words to place my feet firmly onto His path.

Unbeknownst to me, the Ora team, and the assembly planners, this Ora reflection and my upcoming talk addressed the very same commitment.

This Scripture is, at its core, the foundation for my upcoming talk: a call for us to be present, sign up, and commit to lovingly building His Church. Our God-given gifts (charisms) are for His service. We participate in His community to honour all that He has poured into us and all that He is within us.

If I withhold my service, if I do not contribute the unique spiritual gift I was meant to make, it is a permanent loss to the body. I am a brick in God's metaphorical building, and if my brick is missing no one can ever truly fill that space. The visual is stark: Like in a game of Jenga, if enough of us quietly "withdraw" our presence over time, the entire structure is gently but surely destabilized.
Jesus, through His ultimate sacrifice, made us necessary in the entire sacred tower built upon the foundation of Christ. Showing up, serving, and honouring our gifts is simply where we belong. To claim we are too busy, or to offer our service only "as needed," feels like a profound misunderstanding of the depth of His commitment to us. While His sacrifice was infinite, we find profound, genuine joy in dedicating even a small portion of our time in return for His enduring love.




​Jacinda Whebby