Jesus is asking you … will you follow Him?


I have so much empathy for Peter. I am like him in so many ways but also so different from him. We are alike in that I can be passionate, headstrong and unsure of myself, and I have many feelings of unworthiness. However, it can be easy to look at him and to think he is a much better leader than I am. 


This reflection led me to ponder this concept of leadership. What does it really mean to be a leader, and how is Jesus calling us to act it out in our lives today? 


I don’t think the dynamics of leadership have to be demonstrated by the boldness we’re used to hearing. As disciples, we can show leadership in smaller ways, or ways that are unconventional to traditional leadership thinking. 


The feminine qualities of leadership are often underacknowledged. Forming slow relationships with people so that they feel loved and cared for, and embracing opportunities to challenge each other without fear of judgment are powerful ways to lead. 


When Jesus calls His disciples to lead others, He is asking them to share the message of who He is and that He has been sent to be their saviour. In my own life, I’ve come to realize that the surest way to follow His call and acquaint people with Jesus is to avoid forcing it. Instead, I am called to cradle the message that Jesus entrusted to His disciples and attend to it with grace. Handling the call with grace requires an open heart — and, sometimes, opening our hearts is the bravest act of all. 


God bless you in this joyous season of Easter!! 




Theresa James
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“I heard the voice of many angels … and the living creatures and the elders [every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them]; they numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, singing with full voice, ‘Worthy is the Lamb!’”


But there were a few people, still sitting in the pews of their local parish who, upon hearing this full-voice singing, lowered their brows and cut their eyes sideways at the angels. One said to them, “Reverence to the Lord can only be shown by silence.” Another concurred, “With reverence comes silence, so we can come to be spiritually in prayer with Jesus in His sacrifice for us.” A third churchgoer, completely overtaken by temper, shouted at the angels with full voice, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!”


These are real comments written by Catholic parishioners in response to their pastor’s plea for a more tolerant approach to the topic of silence before, during and after Mass.


What do you think about the role of silence in worship? Is silence the same as reverence? If not, can we have reverence without silence?


There was a time when church buildings were places of silence. We walked through the door, blessed ourselves with holy water, found a pew, genuflected and seated ourselves without uttering a syllable. The only words we directed toward our fellow congregants during the Mass were “Peace be with you.” The parish church of my childhood was such a church. It was not a joy-filled place, but I loved it for other reasons. 


The parish church I now attend is different. For one thing, we have hospitality ministers whose privilege it is to welcome people as they enter the building for Mass and other kinds of community worship. At the Easter Vigil this year, we celebrated the baptism of a man who made our parish his spiritual home because of the welcome he received there. Sad to say, but we stood out among six other parishes he’d visited, simply because we made him welcome.


Can we have reverence without silence? Of course we can. Hospitality is seldom silent, but it is always reverent when it invites us to look upon others with a profound respect for the desire that God has placed within them (and us) to share community — with all creatures in heaven and on earth — and to sing with full voice, “Worthy is the Lamb!”


Let us pray.

Lord, make us always eager to practise hospitality (Roman 12:13). Teach us discernment, that we may never waste an opportunity to demonstrate to others Your abundant love and endless mercy. Amen. AMEN!




Donna Davis
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When I was a kid, one of my favourite stories was The Paper Bag Princess, a delightful children’s book about a princess who outwits a dragon to save her prince, then unceremoniously dumps the freshly rescued prince when he is rude to her. This is an apt example of how my parents raised me – to be strong, capable, independent. I was fortunate to grow up in a home and a world where being a girl wasn’t a limitation, where I was told over and over again I could be anyone I wanted to be. 


I have no regrets about my highly empowering upbringing, but it does mean I chafe a little at the idea of needing to be saved or protected. I like my independence, I value my freedom, and I’m proud of my accomplishments. I’m fine! I don’t need to be rescued! 


That, of course, is absurd. The older I get, the more I realize that independence is often a myth. I grew up surrounded by loving, supportive adults my entire childhood – my parents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who helped me every step of the way. I still rely on the love and support of many, from my husband to our extended families to our close friends. No man, or woman, is an island – we need each other, even if I want to pretend I could make it all alone. 


But there’s no one I need more than God. When I say “without Him, I am nothing,” that is literally true. He created me, He chose my family of origin for me, He has protected me all my life. I take so much of His care for granted every time I relish in my independence. 


I know this because I find it much easier to have a relationship with God when things are going well. When I feel confident and in control, it’s easy for me to make room for God in my life. But when I’m struggling, my independent streak comes out and I want to rely on myself. I tell myself I’ll fix all my problems, and then go back to God, showing Him how well I’ve done. 


But that’s not what He wants for me. Not because He wants to take away my freedom; there’s no one who values and protects my free will more than Him, who has never forced me into relationship with Him. He wants me to rely on Him and He wants me to let Him rescue me because He loves and delights in me. Even writing that out, it’s hard for me to believe: the God of the universe cares about my silly worries? The answer is always yes. 


Today’s psalmist has the confidence and vision I long for. The writer can see that God has rescued him, and he delights in being God’s beloved. This Easter season, I pray for the wisdom to see all the ways God wants to rescue me, and the grace to let Him.


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Jenna Young
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Reading this passage from Acts, and many of the other stories about the Apostles and the early Church, I have to wonder how the council thought their stern admonitions were going to play out. Here we hear that the high priest had already given the Apostles “strict orders not to teach in this Name,” and that clearly didn’t work. So they question the Apostles again, and let them go, ordering them “not to speak in the Name of Jesus.” The council is acting here on a very human level. They believe that frightening the Apostles, reminding them of the possible consequences of disobedience, will be enough to deter them. They clearly haven’t been listening – “we must obey God rather than human beings.” Peter and the other Apostles are not going to be deterred by warnings. They show later that they also will not be deterred by beatings, by imprisonment, by banishment, by hunger and nakedness and distress, by slander, by disappointment, or by any other means. The Apostles go on to face exile and martyrdom and do it gladly “for the sake of the Name.” 


The faith of the early Church is always a challenge to us as modern believers. There are places in the world where it is still a danger to witness to Christ, but those places can seem pretty far removed from our daily context. I’ve never been asked to suffer beatings, imprisonment, privation, or exile, but I can’t say that I’ve never been called to “suffer dishonour for the sake of the name.” The way of Christ runs contrary to the ways of the world. Being a witness to Christ means that I often stand for things that are unpopular or uncomfortable. Sometimes it even requires me to stand for things that I struggle to accept. Still, I can be glad if the only thing that Christ asks me to suffer as his witness is discomfort. 


And then I am reminded of the other side of the coin. Yes, we may be called to suffer as witnesses of Christ — small sufferings, and maybe even tremendous sufferings. But like the Apostles, when we embrace these things and see them through Christ’s eyes, we will rejoice that we are considered worthy to bear these things “for the sake of the Name.” The martyrs give example by going to their deaths cheerfully, knowing that they are being further conformed to Christ and that their death will bear witness to Him. Death seems in comparison a small thing to them. 


May I always try to approach the inconveniences of witnessing to Christ in the same way; they are so small in comparison with the great grace of becoming more like Christ. 


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Sr. Gemma
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