The Feast of Matthias, Apostle falls on May 14. How are you celebrating this year? Matthias, according to Luke in Acts of the Apostles 1:15-26, was chosen to fill the place abandoned by Judas. And that is the first and last we hear of Matthias in the New Testament. The passage is intriguing at many levels. It is clear, for instance, that Pentecost would not take place until the 11 apostles were restored to 12, for the 12 are symbolic of the restored Israel, essential to Jesus' prophetic scenario of the future. Peter himself notes biblical passages that speak of the need to fill Judas' place in the ministry (Acts 1:20 cites Ps. 69:25 and 109:8). So, the scene of Matthias being chosen is essential for the development of the plot, but the character, we might say, is not developed.

Matthias is also chosen by lot, though we do not know for certain how the lots were cast. It might seem like a strange way to perceive God's way - luck be a lady tonight? - but it does have a pedigree in the history of Judaism, especially amongst Priests and Kings (see 1 Sam. 14:36-42; Num. 27:21; and Deut. 33:8), and it was seen as a discernment of God's way, not gambling or luck.

It does make me reflect, however, on Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus. How did it feel to be that close to being an apostle? Did he regale his friends and family with stories of how he was almost an apostle? Did he resent not being chosen? Or did he simply accept this as God's sovereign choice? Both he and Matthias were chosen from amongst those "who accompanied us the whole time the Lord Jesus came and went among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day on which he was taken up from us" (Acts 1:21-22). Even before the casting of lots, therefore, they were already chosen from a larger group (Acts 1:23) and Luke tells us this group is about 120 persons (Acts 1:15), though whether they all met the criteria is hard to say. It reminds us, though, that the apostles were only a small number amongst the faithful, those faithful who might not have had formal roles, who might not have been chosen for heroic or historical parts, but who carried out the task of becoming witnesses "to his resurrection" (Acts 1:22), just as the apostles did. Not many of us are chosen for world-historical roles, not then and not now, but God knows that we each have roles to play, for which we alone have been chosen, whether to be the one who was almost an apostle or to be the last apostle amongst the 12, about whom nobody knows. The prize we await is not fame, wealth or earthly glory, but a heavenly destiny, so Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus is not an ancient prototype of Pete Best, a model of what might have been. It's not what we might have been, but what we are called to be, who we indeed are. So, three cheers for Matthias, and Justus, and all those who labor in God's vineyard, anonymously and quietly.

John W. Martens

Pentecost is a day of peculiar significance in the Acts of the Apostles. First, while the Old Testament knew from the prophet Joel that God would one day share His Spirit with the world of believers, the one who actually pours out the Spirit is Jesus - he who received the Spirit from his Father for this purpose. The wonder that is Jesus never ceases to amaze those who have dedicated their lives to him. Second, As one moves through the public life of Jesus, from Nazareth to Jerusalem, one becomes aware that only upon Jesus has the Spirit descended; the Spirit of God acts in Jesus alone. But with Pentecost all believers receive the Spirit; they become the Spirit's world to inspire, console, encourage, defend. One of the major gifts to believers is prophecy. This gift is essentially a power and an enlightenment given so that one may speak truthfully on behalf of God, whether about the past, the present or the future. With this gift one becomes an instrument by which God speaks to us, reveals to us. Revelation from God belonged to Jesus in the Gospel, now it belongs to God's sons and daughters. Finally, the Spirit was given in accord with God's plan, that all Christians, one way or another, bear witness to Jesus; some do it by preaching (e.g. Peter and Paul), some by martyrdom (Stephen), some be bearing up under persecution and false accusations (the Jerusalem Church) and most do it by living out to the full the Great Commandment, expressed as 'love of God and love of neighbor (no one in the community was, or should be left in need). The Spirit inspires and sustains, acts which our sorry world needs so much. Jesus' was the immense task of preaching and martyrdom; the Spirit's no less a challenge, to move secretly to move hearts and wills. As St. John says, no one knows where the Spirit comes from, nor when. But as St Paul assures us, no good thought and no good choice happens without the effort of the Spirit to inspire and support. Not visible as was Jesus in his public life, the Spirit is in our world, trying his best to shape our free choices to the benefit of our eternal happiness and perfection. John Kilgallen, SJ

Many years ago now, when I was a teenager, I went to visit a girl I knew in Texas over Thanksgiving. She had a brother at Oral Roberts University, so we took the bus from Lubbock, Texas to Tulsa, Oklahoma to visit him and the campus. I did not know much about Oral Roberts, but I was sweet on the girl. At some point in the weekend, there was a gathering of all the visiting high school students and Oral Roberts came to address us. He asked how many of us spoke in tongues. A great number of students put up their hands. They were asked to leave the auditorium. Then he asked how many wanted to speak in tongues. Another large number of students put up their hands. When they, too, left the auditorium, I looked around and realized that apart from myself there were only a handful of other visiting students left, and not particularly viewed as the righteous remnant. I did not want to speak in tongues; it scared me. Then Oral Roberts spoke to us in tongues, which left me spiritually unmoved but nervous.

So the first reading is a challenge to me: "When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled, they were all in one place together. And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim" (Acts 2:1-4). Why did I not want the Holy Spirit? Of what was I scared? Some people, Pentecostals especially, but other charismatic Christians too, place a surprising amount of emphasis on glossolalia as a sign of the Spirit. There is no question that Luke sees the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost as a gift to the Church and a sign of its unity. People from all around the ancient world respond to hearing their own languages and it is a sign also that the Gospel will soon spread to these far-flung regions. Paul, also, spoke of glossolalia, especially in 1 Corinthians 12-14 and he, too, sees it as a sign of the Spirit. There is no question the phenomenon existed amongst the early Christians and that it was a mark of Christian worship, unity, and love.

Yet, Paul also warns of tongues, and their misuse, in 1 Corinthians 14: 6-25, especially of their potential to be a moving spiritual experience that does not aid the community as a whole. But Paul never warns of the gifts of the Holy Spirit in general. Those who can say "Jesus is Lord" have the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 12:3). Paul speaks of the many gifts, workings, and forms of service that come through the Holy Spirit. "There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit" (1 Cor.12:4-7). There are many gifts, but the same Spirit: I have loved this passage ever since I can remember hearing it. Whatever our gifts, "we were all given to drink of one Spirit" (1 Cor. 12:13). Maybe my fear of speaking in tongues is explicable at a personal level - it is not my gift - but if I fear the gifts God has given of me, or my brothers and sisters fear those given to them, we are in danger. Our gifts are for the benefit of the whole Church, whatever they may be, and since the Holy Spirit is with us, we need to be bold enough to share them with others. And to those who say they have no gifts to share, Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 13 that the greatest gift is love.

John W. Martens

Luke is the one, in his Acts of the Apostles, who describes the event we celebrate this Sunday, May 4. It is in contrast to the ascension he describes at the end of his Gospel. In the latter, there is great joy at Jesus' going to his Father; the ascension is the triumph, or part thereof, which followed upon his terrible death undergone for love of his Father. Suffering issues in joy, particularly when it is a question of two people who love each other so totally as did Jesus and his Father - no matter what the suffering, love must produce life, not death, and triumph so as to be with the Father forever. This ascension is, then, a fitting ending to the story of Jesus' public life - it is a time of celebration, joy, and thanksgiving for this life among his friends. Forty days later, however, at the final appearance of Jesus to his friends, the departure of Jesus leaves the disciples unsure and a bit timorous. The best they can do, it seems, is to look up to where they last saw Jesus, and stare at it. A revelation comes to reassure them that Jesus will return, in glory. Though as Jesus says in John's Gospel, I will not leave you orphans, they are in a very measurable way on their own. What they have are wonderful memories of Jesus, his words of promise and assurance, his promise of the gift of the Holy Spirit and of own mystical presence with them. They look to a future without following him physically. Their role now? To witness, as much as they can, to Jesus, to tell others, by word or example, that he alone is Lord, the Son of God. This feast of the Ascension poses, then, a threefold message from Luke: the joy of success and gratitude for all Jesus' life on earth means for us, some anxiety till we meet with him again, recognizing for now a certain degree of separation from him, and response to his call that, until he comes again, we bear all the witness we can that 'He is the one, the only one'.

John Kilgallen, S.J.

There is a line from the end of 1 Peter 3:18, a part of the second reading of the Sixth Sunday of Easter, which bothered me as I was preparing to write for this blog last week. So, I decided not to write last week so that I could look at this line in the context of the readings for the Ascension of the Lord, May 1, 2008. The last part of v.18, which has hymnic qualities in the Greek, reports that Jesus "was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the Spirit." When I reflected on this line, I thought that there was an element of the body-soul split, so common in ancient Greek philosophy and so counter to the embodied nature of Jesus himself and Hebrew and Christian thought in general, particularly thought related to the resurrection. Yet, the notes to my New Oxford Annotated Bible, NRSV (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), assure me that "made alive in the Spirit does not refer to a "part" of Christ that survived death, but that God raised Christ to a new life in the divine realm" (398 New Testament). Likewise, the New Jerome Biblical Commentary ( Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1990) states that "this distinction is not that of "body" and "soul" as found in Greek philosophy...The text refers to two spheres of Christ's existence, that of his earthly life and that of his state as risen Lord transformed by the Spirit" (907). The phrasing, however, makes it confusing, at least to me, and I wonder how many others are confused, not just by this line, but by the very real and continuing physicality of Jesus Christ.

The ascension is the celebration of Jesus' enthronement as Lord, but also a sign of his continuing existence in the flesh, albeit the resurrected body. It has also been, in many ways, a marginalized teaching of the Church, perhaps because of its very physicality which can tend to embarrass modern or postmodern sensibilities. Where is the Risen Lord? Luke reports that "as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight. While they were looking intently at the sky as he was going, suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them. They said, "Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky? This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven" (1:9-11). Ephesians states that God has seated Christ "at his right hand in the heavens, far above every principality, authority, power, and dominion, and every name that is named not only in this age but also in the one to come" (1:20-21). The cosmology reported in these two New Testament writings is so very foreign to us, as Jesus seems to "float" into his home in the sky. On the other hand, the bodily existence of Jesus is real and we cannot simply revert to the body-soul split of the ancient Greeks and even many modern thinkers.

How do we retain the core of our faith, the resurrection and the ascension of the Lord, while embedded in an ancient cosmology which we no longer share? It was Douglas Farrow's book, Ascension and Ecclesia (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1999), which made clear to me how significant the doctrine of the ascension was, not only within the New Testament, but to the Church today. While we may reject the ancient cosmologies which describe Jesus flying into the ether, if we reject the particularity of Jesus we lose not only his bodiliness, but our own and are prone to fall into the trap of Gnosticism. The ascension is essential for the Church. Farrow writes, "to take seriously the fact that Christ has ascended to the Father is not to say he is everywhere, or nowhere, or somewhere else, but that he is with us in this twofold way: He is there, in first-century Palestine, and there again, at the parousia. Because he is with the Father, he is before us and after us; only so is he with us. He is with us precisely as a question put to our very existence, so that we too must decide with Pilate – and under essentially the same circumstances – 'What shall I do with Jesus, who is called the Christ?'" (Ascension and Ecclesia, 225). And in the Church we answer that we recognize Jesus, and meet him now, present in the Eucharist, as we await his return in glory.

John W. Martens

Mark does not explicitly give us the purpose of his Gospel. Certainly, one can deduce that he is interested in encouraging Christians to follow Christ, no matter what the cost, for the rewards are great. He also appears to want to show the injustice of the interpretation of Jesus that led to his death. Perhaps, in this small space we should call attention on the very first titles we will hear of Jesus; they appear in Mark's first verse: Messia (Christ) and Son of God. Mark's readers were all Christians: they believed Jesus to be Messia and Son of God. Mark evidently means to review the life of Jesus in such a way that the believers will believe even more strongly what they believed at their baptisms. By the time of Mark's writing, messia had become a part of Jesus' name: Jesus Christ. Though Peter seems to have grasped part of the identity of Jesus, "You are the Messia", he failed to grasp it all, for, different from the ordinary understanding of Messia and completely unexpected was the Messia's crucifion and resurrection. Similarly, Son of God was a title which expressed Jesus' divinity, but one still needed to learn for himself the perfect obedience that the Son gave to His Father: as he said in the Garden, "not my will, but thine be done". For Mark, though miracles and teaching an holiness are important characteristics of Jesus, one will not pierce who he really is till one sees him crucified, then risen. Then, one will have the best chance to truly understand the person to whom one has committed himself in Baptism, the one and only one who died for us. John Kilgallen, SJ

The Bible is populated with many characters that appear briefly and then vanish from the scene. Philip, the most prominent person in Acts 8, is one of these. Except for a brief mention of his name in 6:5 and 21:8, all we know about him involves two scenes of preaching--one to the Samaritans and one to the Ethiopian Eunuch. Yet he plays an important role in the expansion of Christianity in Acts.

At the beginning of Acts, Jesus famously tells the apostles: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8). Essentially, this statement serves as the outline for Acts. The apostles receive the Spirit in chapter 2, they witness in Judea in 3-7, and in chapter 8, the proclamation of the word reaches Samaria in the person of Philip.

The reading for this Sixth Sunday of Easter begins sparsely: "Philip went down to the city of Samaria..." The text does not say why he chose Samaria or why he even decided to preach in the first place. (He, like Stephen, was originally chosen to distribute food, not to preach.) Whatever the reason, his preaching was wildly successful. The converts even included Simon the sorcerer, known to later history as Simon Magus. The response of the Samaritans prompted Peter and John to follow Philip to Samaria, and when they get there, they aid in completing the work he began. After the apostles pray for and lay hands upon the Samaritans, the Holy Spirit descends, and the Christian community gains a foothold outside Judea.

The next time Philip preaches, he does so at the urging of an angel (8:26). His meeting with the Ethiopian eunuch, therefore, is explicitly coordinated. What's intriguing about today's passage is that he seems to have no inkling that his work is a specific part of a divine plan. Like others who were scattered (8:4) after Stephen's martyrdom, Philip simply preaches the Messiah wherever he happens to find himself.

Søren Kierkegaard said that we live forward but understand backward. This certainly applies to Philip and the other characters in Acts. The entirety of God's plan for them comes into focus only through hindsight. Philip's activity in Samaria demonstrates that faith in the eventual knowledge of God's plan can be powerful enough to initiate acts of discipleship.

Kyle A. Keefer

In today's first reading we meet Samaria and Samaritans. We know generally who they were (though they are a "hot spot" in current study): Samaria was a capital city of the Northern Kingdom of Israel in the 9th and 8th centuries, often "in trouble" with the biblical historian of the period for royal crimes related to injustice and worship. That same historian relates that when the people of the general region were deported to Assyria in 721, foreigners ignorant of Yahweh were transplanted to Samaria. It also appears that when the people of Judah returned from their exile in Babylon (6th century) and were rebuilding the temple, Samaritan offers to help were rebuffed. Samaritans are clearly cast as outsiders by the "new Judeans," though they were close enough to the Jews that they shared the first five biblical books. By the time of Jesus, tensions had compounded, as we hear in the story of the Samaritan woman (John 4). More than three strikes against Samaritans!

But the aftermath of that conversation shares with today's story a surprising datum: When prompted by good preaching (Jesus and Philip), intense prayer (Peter, John) and the Holy Spirit (advocacy), Samaritans became believers, unpromising though they might have appeared. My question is not about them so much as about us, or myself. When, contrary to expectation, something extraordinary and positive seems to happen--ne'er-do-wells responding with joy and gratitude to the post-Easter preaching--can we credit it as the work of the Holy Spirit? When I like an outcome, I have no trouble doing so; when I do not have confidence in or respect for an event, I withhold credit from the Holy Spirit. Do recent stadiums full of fervent papal fans testify to the presence of the Holy Spirit? Do they imply Holy Spirit approval of, influence in the way the Church is being led? Or is that the wrong question? What does the gospel suggest the Holy Spirit advocates for: our sense of unity with the triune God and with each other. In that I have confidence.

Barbara Green, O.P.

For the fifth Sunday of Easter, the first reading continues with the Acts of the Apostles and the passage chosen raises a number of historical questions. Luke again makes the point that "the number of disciples continued to grow (6:1)," which directs us not only to the acceptance of the message in general, but the growth of the Church in Judea and Jerusalem specifically. Much of Acts will be taken up, especially beginning with Chapter 10, describing the success of the Gentile mission, but one of the reasons Luke might focus on the growth of the Church at these early stages is to make clear that Jews themselves were willing hearers of the Gospel. Remember, Luke has spoken earlier of "about three thousand (2:41)," or "about five thousand (4:4)" responding to the message. Is it on Luke's mind to make certain that Gentile readers know that the Gospel message was not rejected where it was born? Are there questions amongst Gentiles as to why those whom first received the message seem to have said no to it?

Second, Luke states that "the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution (6:1)." Many scholars have pointed out that Luke presents an idealized picture of the earliest Church, as demonstrated with his picture of the Church holding "all things in common" (2:44). But this notice of the neglect of "Hellenist" widows and the response of the Church to rectify the situation suggests the acceptance by the Apostles of the criticism of inequality in the daily distribution of food. Most scholars accept that "Hellenists" and "Hebrews" refers to the common languages of these two Jewish-Christian groups and gives us an early example of a cultural divide in the early Church. Not an ideal situation, but a real one.

The attempt to heal this breach was to choose from among the disciples "seven reputable men, filled with the Spirit and wisdom, whom we shall appoint to this task (6:3)." It is not clear that these seven were chosen from amongst the Hellenists alone, but the names of the seven are Greek names. Are they to care for the Hellenist widows alone or for the widows of the whole Church? (see Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles: Sacra Pagina. Volume 5 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992) 110).

Whatever the case, the seven chosen are seen as the first "deacons" according to the tradition of the Church. In 6:1 the widows are said to be neglected in the daily distribution. In Greek, the word diakonia appears, so the phrase could be read as "the daily service". In 6:2 and 6:4, forms of the word diakonia appear again, with the seven said to be devoted to the "service" or "ministry" of the table, that is, the distribution of the food, and the Twelve devoted to the "service" or "ministry" of the Word. The word diakonia (or its verbal form diakoneo) does mean "service" or "ministry," with the sense of "taking care of," so those seven who had hands laid on them have been chosen and appointed for this special task of ministering through caring for the widows.

We only meet two of the seven again, though, Stephen and Philip, and when we do, they are not waiting on tables or distributing food. Stephen is doing great wonders and signs (Acts 6:8) and chapter seven will describe his martyrdom. Philip will be seen proclaiming the Messiah (8:5-13; 26-40) and was said to have had four unmarried daughters who were prophets (21:8-9). That is, the only two "deacons" who are discussed again seem to have broadened the mandate given to them.

What does all this mean? Even in an "ideal" history such as Luke's the reality of life comes shining through. Development is a constant in the life of the Church, as are disagreements and even the neglect of certain parties. It is important to be ready constantly for the movement of the Spirit in the life of the Church because change happens and we need to be open and alert to it in order to be guided in the way of the Spirit, to respond to new situations and to make certain no one is being overlooked.

John W. Martens

Were not our hearts burning (within us) while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?" The disciples' hearts were on fire during this sacred conversation. And that fire was so hot that it indelibly seared their souls with the intimate knowledge, peace, and love of the resurrected Christ. And they were transformed. It is the perfect conclusion to Luke's Gospel.

In the opening chapters in Luke, John the Baptist proclaims "I am baptizing you with water, but one mightier than I is coming... He will baptize you with the holy Spirit and fire" (Luke 3:16). It is no wonder then that the resurrected Christ should set the hearts of these disciples on fire, and they are among the first to be touched by him.

As Luke the Evangelist narrates, things do not start out this way for the two travelling companions. When that day dawned for them, there were no angels, rolled stones, or burial cloths; these two disciples heard about all that second hand. For them, the news did not assuage the tragic and outrageous occurrences of the past several days; rather, it only added confusion to an already puzzling set of circumstances. All the doubt and confusion, however, change at the breaking of the bread. In an instant they see that the cross has led to the resurrection.

Who are these disciples, anyway? Luke tells us that one of them is named Cleopas, a man who gains importance through his wife. In John's Gospel we hear of a certain "Mary, the wife of Klopas," as one of the women standing at the cross on Good Friday watching Jesus die. Although scholarly opinion is divided on whether the Cleopas heard this morning and the Klopas mentioned in John's Gospel are one and the same, the balance seems to indicate they are. We can conclude, therefore, that Cleopas and his wife Mary are the two disciples on the road.

Cleopas and Mary would certainly be disillusioned and downcast over Jesus' death, but moreover Mary, because she actually witnessed the gruesome crucifixion, would have been traumatized by the event. That their earnest and intense conversation would attract the stranger's attention should not be a surprise.

Luke tells us that when Jesus drew up to them, "their eyes were prevented from recognizing him". This situation is not unlike the experience of the women at the tomb on that first Easter morning. No one in any of the Gospels recognizes Jesus right off. His resurrected body most certainly looked a little different, and in addition, people under emotional stress often don't immediately recognize what should be familiar to them. All these clouds vanish, however, at the breaking of the bread.

At that moment, at the breaking of the bread, Jesus vanishes. Cleopas and Mary's only spoken response is, ""Were not our hearts burning (within us) while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?" And their only reaction is to run all the way back to Jerusalem with the news, which is pretty extraordinary considering the sun had already set and the trek was all uphill.

"Were not our hearts burning (within us) while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?" A metaphorical phrase based on two concrete elements: heart and fire.

In the biblical literature, the human heart is the source of all knowledge, thought, and will. From the heart come all things human, and as such, it can be considered the soul or one's very being. Fire, the other element in the metaphor, also has strong standing in biblical tradition. The Bible is replete with images of fire as the catalyst which cleanses, burnishes, transforms everything it touches from metals, to fields, to people. God is a "consuming fire".

These powerful images extend beyond the Bible and become a fixture in Christian mysticism. For Benedictine spirituality, one of the greatest images of the monastic life is described by Pope St. Gregory the Great in his Dialogues, where he describes the events surrounding Saint Benedict's death. Benedict's soul is so radiant that witnesses see it being carried over a fiery path of thousands of burning flames stretching from earth to heaven.

And in what is perhaps one of the most famous accounts of a religious experience was penned by the great French mathematician, philosopher, and mystic, Blaise Pascal. After his death, a servant, cleaning out old clothing, found a piece of parchment sewn in Pascal's vest. On it were written these words: The year of grace 1654 Fire The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob Not of the philosophers and intellectuals Certitude, certitude, feeling, joy, peace The God of Jesus Christ

Pascal always referred to this event as the "Night of Fire", and it occurred as he was in a depression over the death of his father. As one can imagine, that spiritual experienced changed Pascal's life, and he was never the same again.

This flame of a religious experience is not to be interpreted as a perpetual, emotional high. Pascal wrote a note of the experience and sewed it in his clothing, lest he someday forget what had happened to him. This past fall, the writings of Mother Teresa of Calcutta were published under the title of Come Be My Light. These accounts reveal that Mother Teresa had her intense, initial religious experience of God and then never felt the love of God again for the rest of her life. Much of what she records rivals anything an antheistic nihilist would or could pen write. Yet, she did what she did, and anyone who met her or saw her was most struck by the godlike radiance and joy that emanated from her.

A heart burned by Christ never recuperates. With or without the emotional elation, it knows only one thing, and that outside union with the Risen Christ, everything else is counterfeit. Such a heart can pull us through the greatest ambiguities, the darkest valleys, and the most tremendous hells life can offer. A heart burned by Christ is a heart being transformed and divinized into the image of the one who calls us. Following that call is the Christian vocation. We become one with Chris; when others see us, they see Christ..

The breaking of the bread, the Eucharist, connects Cleopas' and Mary's experience of Christ with our own. We here all partake of the one and the same Eucharist with each other, but also with all those through time back and time forward, with those living the joy of the spirit and with those struggling in the pit of despair. In a very real way, the Eucharist is the one and the same experience. The Christ who meets Cleopas and Mary on the road, who has met the saints, mystics, and sinners in the whole course of history, also comes up to us on our journey in life to burn and sear our hearts, and we will carry that scar forever. Alleluia, he has risen; he has truly risen, alleluia.

Michael Patella, OSB

References: Marvin R. O'Connell, Blaise Pascal: Reasons of the Heart (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1997) 97-98.

Brian Kolodiejchuk, ed. Come be my Light (New York: Doubleday, 2007).