Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

So Peter set out with the other disciple to go to the tomb.

Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first also went in;

Reflection:

And so begins your real retreat: not the forty days you have walked, but the life you now must live.

And now, with trembling and hope, you behold it open.

The retreat has not ended. It has opened the door to Mystagogy.

Mystagogy is the sacred time after baptism or renewal, when we are invited to go deeper into the mysteries we have received. It is the unfolding of what has already been given, a divine tutoring of the soul by the Spirit. For the early Church, it was the season after Easter when the newly baptized were taught the hidden meanings of the sacraments they had just received. For us, it is every day after the Resurrection where we learn, by grace, how to live what we have received.

You are now living in Mystagogy.

You are invited to ponder the Eucharist with new eyes.

And above all, to pray. Not occasionally. Not only when it is quiet. But as a way of being.

St. Paul writes:

“Pray without ceasing.”

This is not a suggestion. It is a spiritual necessity. Because we are not merely people who have seen the Lord—we are people in whom the Lord desires to dwell.

And so we must become people who listen:

This is the mystery St. John Paul II spoke of when he wrote:

“We are not called to an abstract knowledge of Christ, but to a living, personal relationship with him: to contemplate his face, and learn to love as he loves.” (Novo Millennio Ineunte, §16)

You have been invited into this love.

And now, every day, you must return to the voice that called your name at the tomb. You must pray with Scripture, not to master it, but to let it master you—through Lectio Divina. You must daily turn your attention inward, examining your movements with God in the Daily Examen. You must seek silence. And in that silence, you will find Christ again and again.

This is not spiritual ambition. This is Christian maturity.

Abba Macarius wrote:

“The soul that has risen with Christ does not forget the tomb.

And so, beloved of God:

You are still on pilgrimage. You are still being formed. You are still being called.

And each day—each moment of remembering Christ, turning toward Him, listening again—is conversion. Conversion is not a feeling. It is not a season.

Let your life be a living witness of the Resurrection. Let your words be slow and your love be quick. Let your prayer be steady and your gaze be fixed.

And when the world forgets what you have seen,

You have come from the tomb. You have heard your name. You have seen the Lord.

Now go. Let your discerning heart burn with the light of Easter. And live as one who carries glory in your body.

Reflection Questions:

1. What has risen in me that must now be protected and nurtured?

Final Prayer:

Jesus, You are risen. And You have called us by name.

You found us in ashes. You carried us through fire. You laid with us in silence. And now You send us in light.

Let us never go back to who we were before. Let us never forget the road we have walked. Let us live now as those who listen in the heart of the mystery.

Make our hearts discerning. Make our faith active. Make our prayer ceaseless. Make our lives radiant.

You are risen. You are here. And we are Yours.

Alleluia. Amen

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 47: Easter Sunday – “He Is Risen” – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

Reflection:

Holy Saturday is not a space of absence.

The tomb is sealed.

He is hidden. Descending. Gathering the lost.

And we, too, are called to descend.

Today we remember everything.

We remember how He called us.

And we remember the forty-five days that brought us here.

And now, the invitation is simply this:

Because this silence is not empty.

This is the deep contemplative space that so few know how to enter.

The Catechism tells us:

“In prayer, the Holy Spirit opens the eyes of our hearts and teaches us to see everything in the light of Christ.”

And on this day, the Spirit does that not through speech, but through silence.

St. John of the Cross writes:

“Silence is God’s first language. Everything else is a poor translation.”

And Abba Isaac the Syrian says:

“The highest form of prayer is to stand silently, inwardly attentive, in love before God.”

So that is what we do now.

We stand in love.

This is the hour where you ask not for answers, but for presence.

You are being invited into the prayer Jesus prayed in the tomb:

And so today, remember to love.

Let that be your prayer.

There is a line found scratched into the wall of a cellar in Cologne during the Holocaust—believed to have been written by a Jewish prisoner:

“I believe in the sun even when I don’t see it.

This is the posture of Holy Saturday:

It is the silence of Mary’s heart—pondering all these things.

Because silence is not empty.

Reflection Questions:

Closing Prayer:

I bring to You every moment of this retreat.

You remember it all.

I will not rush the silence.

I will let love remain here.

Let my memory be prayer.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 46: The Great Silence – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala.
Seeing his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her, Jesus said to his mother, “Woman, this is your son.” Then to the disciple he said, “This is your mother.”
And from that moment the disciple made a place for her in his home.

After this, Jesus knew that everything had now been completed, and to fulfill the scripture perfectly he said: “I am thirsty.”
A jar full of vinegar stood there, so putting a sponge soaked in vinegar on a hyssop stick, they held it up to his mouth.

After Jesus had taken the vinegar he said, “It is accomplished.”
And bowing his head he gave up his spirit.

Reflection:
Good Friday silences the world. It stops the liturgy. It draws us back to the place where everything was lost—and everything was given.

There is no Mass today. No consecration. The tabernacle stands open, the sanctuary bare. And yet this is the most sacred of days. Because today, the sacrifice is not repeated. It is remembered. Entered into. Offered.

We are not watching someone else’s pain. This is for you. This is for your healing. And this is where you are invited to respond—not with words, but with your life.

The Catechism says:

“By His passion and death on the Cross, Christ has given a new meaning to suffering: it can henceforth configure us to Him and unite us with His redemptive Passion.”
— CCC 1505

So what cross are you carrying?

It might be loud—grief, illness, loss. Or it might be hidden—loneliness, fear, the ache of unfulfilled hopes. Perhaps it’s the weight of another’s suffering, or a prayer that remains unanswered.

Christ is not asking you to deny your cross. He is asking you to bring it to His.

To lay it down beside His wounds. To say with Him, “Father, into Your hands…”

This is the mystery St. John Paul II spoke of when he wrote:

“Each man, in his suffering, can also become a sharer in the redemptive suffering of Christ.”
— Salvifici Doloris, §19

And Evagrius Ponticus echoed that when he wrote:

“Do not avoid grief. Run toward the Cross, for there Christ waits for you, not to condemn, but to raise you up.”
— Praktikos, §47 (adapted translation)

Mary stood at the Cross. She did not shield herself from the pain. She did not speak. She simply stayed. And in that silent offering, her motherhood was widened to include every soul. She is yours now.

John stayed too. He stayed when others fled. Not because he understood—but because he loved.

You may not understand. That’s okay.
You may not feel strong. That’s okay.
You may not have answers. You don’t need them.

Let your presence be your prayer.

Let your own cross—whatever it is—become part of the offering. That is not poetic imagery. It is a theological and mystical reality. In Christ, suffering is not wasted. It is transformed.

As Pope Benedict XVI once said:

“The Cross is love in its most radical form.”
— Way of the Cross at the Colosseum, Good Friday 2005

Let that love hold you now.

Reflection Questions:

1.What cross am I carrying right now?

Closing Prayer:
Jesus,
You entered into death so I would never be alone in mine.
You saw my sorrow and took it into Your own heart.
You embraced the Cross—and now invite me to do the same.

Today, I lay down my resistance.
I unite my cross with Yours—not with fear,
but with trust.
Not with resignation, but with hope.

Let my wounds be touched by Your wounds.
Let my suffering become a prayer.
Let my love remain at the foot of the Cross—
even in silence.
Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 45: The Cross Stands While the World Turns – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 13:1–15 

They were at supper, and the devil had already put it into the mind of Judas Iscariot son of Simon, to betray him. Jesus knew that the Father had put everything into his hands, and that he had come from God and was returning to God, and he got up from table, removed his outer garment, and, taking a towel, wrapped it around his waist; he then poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel he was wearing.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”

Jesus said, “No one who has taken a bath needs washing, he is clean all over. You too are clean, though not all of you are.” He knew who was going to betray him, that was why he said, “though not all of you are.”

When he had washed their feet and put on his clothes again he went back to the table. “Do you understand,” he said, “what I have done to you? You call me Master and Lord, and rightly; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example so that you may copy what I have done to you.”

Reflection:

You may feel the weight of the days behind you. You may feel tired. Unready. Maybe even unsure of how to enter what is unfolding now.

Jesus knows. And He meets you here, gently.

He kneels before His friends—not just to serve, but to cleanse. To invite them into a love that is not about status or performance, but about presence. Humility. Communion.

He says to Peter, “Unless I wash you, you can have no part with me.” That word is for you, too.

Let Him wash you.

Let Him draw close to whatever you’re tempted to hide—the weariness, the regrets, the guarded places of your heart. This isn’t about what you’ve done or failed to do. It’s about letting Him love you now.

Abba Theodore once said,

“Many are quick to speak of love, but few know how to be washed in it.”

But the Gospel doesn’t stop with being washed. Jesus doesn’t just cleanse. He commissions.

“If I, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you must wash each other’s feet.”

This is not metaphorical. It is the shape of love.

To wash another’s feet means to draw near to their humanity. Their weakness. Their wounds. It means being willing to stoop—not to be lesser, but to love more.

This may look like offering forgiveness that hasn’t been asked for.

To wash another’s feet may mean serving in ways no one sees, giving when it costs, or holding silence when words would only wound.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux wrote,

“Jesus does not demand great actions from us, but simply surrender and gratitude.”

Tonight is not just about service. It’s about surrender. Allowing yourself to be loved by the One who empties Himself entirely—and then going out to love as He has loved you.

Let that love meet you where you are. And then… ask:

Whose feet am I being asked to wash?

Reflection Questions:

Closing Prayer:

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

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Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

Matthew 26:14–25 

Now on the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus to say, “Where do you want us to make the preparations for you to eat the Passover?”

When evening came he was at table with the Twelve disciples. And while they were eating he said, “I tell you solemnly, one of you is about to betray me.”

Reflection:

Judas goes to the chief priests. He doesn’t stumble or hesitate—he asks the price. The transaction is quiet. Intentional. And heartbreakingly small.

Thirty silver coins. The going rate for a servant. That’s what the Son of God is valued at.

But what’s even more piercing is this: Jesus still chooses to eat with him. He shares the table. He offers him bread. He allows him to remain close—even in betrayal. Jesus holds nothing back, even though He knows what is coming.

We might feel removed from this moment, but if we’re honest—there may be places in our own lives where we’ve made quiet trades. Not out of hatred. Not even consciously. Just slow movements of the heart…

There is a part of every human heart that bargains with God.

We may not hand Him over to death—but how often have we silenced His voice, withheld our love, chosen our own way?

Spy Wednesday is not just about betrayal.

But Jesus still offers us the seat.

John Cassian reminds us,

“We must not imagine that we are safe from temptation simply because we feel secure. The enemy waits not for the moment we are strong, but for when our guard is lowered.”

This day invites us to gently examine our hearts. Not to accuse—but to awaken. Where have I settled? What have I quietly allowed to take first place?

And still—Jesus is here. He offers the bread. He looks us in the eye.

Pope Benedict XVI wrote:

“In Judas, we see the mystery of human freedom and divine patience.

He is still appealing to ours.

This is not the end of the story. But it is a moment of decision.

Reflection Questions:

Closing Prayer:

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 43: The Price of Betrayal – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 13:21–33, 36–38

When he had gone Jesus said: “Now has the Son of Man been glorified, and in him God has been glorified… My little children, I shall not be with you much longer.”

Simon Peter said, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus replied, “Where I am going you cannot follow me now; you will follow me later.”

Reflection:

Judas has walked with Jesus. Eaten with Him. Slept under the same roof. Witnessed the miracles. Heard the parables. Felt the warmth of His friendship.

And still… he turns.

Jesus offers him bread. It is the sign of deepest communion, a gesture of peace and covenant. But Judas receives it not as a gift, but as a means to a hidden agenda. And then he leaves.

The Gospel says simply: “Night had fallen.” And not just outside.

The others don’t understand. Peter speaks with zeal. But Jesus knows what’s coming. Peter’s denials. Their scattering. His agony. He knows, and still He stays at the table.

And this is where it gets personal.

Because we’ve all known betrayal—not just from others, but sometimes within ourselves. We’ve betrayed our own integrity. We’ve said one thing and done another. We’ve made promises to God and failed to keep them. We’ve pulled away in fear.

But Jesus stays. He does not retreat. He gives His heart, knowing it will be broken.

He knows what’s in Judas. And He still offers him bread.

This is not sentimental love. This is covenantal love. The kind that stays even when it hurts. The kind that doesn’t withdraw even when we do. The kind that keeps reaching.

Pope Benedict XVI said

“God does not force us. He does not fence us in. He leaves us free, even to refuse Him…But it is in this freedom that love becomes real.”

Judas gave his heart to silver. Peter gave his heart to his own strength. Only one returned.

Evagrius Ponticus once said,

“A man in chains cannot run. Nor can the soul enslaved to passions be free to follow Christ.”

Judas was not free. Peter would not be free—until he wept. Until he was healed.

Today, the question is not “Would I betray Him?”

Jesus already knows. And He’s still holding out the bread.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where have I felt betrayal in my own life—and how has it shaped my heart?

Closing Prayer:

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 42: A Table Prepared – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 12:1–11

Reflection:

Mary of Bethany says nothing. But in her silence, she listens—and in her listening, she responds. She kneels beside Jesus and pours out what is most precious to her: the costly ointment, her dignity, her very self.

What moved her to do this?

There is no record of Jesus asking her. No instruction from the disciples. But she had been at His feet before. She knew the sound of His voice. And she had learned to listen not just to words, but to the movement of the Spirit.

This act is the fruit of deep prayer—of the Father working through the Spirit in the stillness of her heart. It is the Father preparing the Son for what is to come. And Mary—hidden, faithful, receptive—says yes.

And still, she is ridiculed. Her devotion is questioned, her motives assumed. But she does not defend herself. Jesus defends her. “Leave her alone… she had to keep this scent for the day of my burial.”

Pope Benedict XVI wrote,

“Mary’s gesture is the response of one who, in encountering Jesus, has come to understand that no gift is too costly to give to Him, because He is the infinite Love of God made flesh.”

Sometimes love will look foolish. Sometimes prayer will lead us where others cannot follow. But if we remain in communion with the Father—if we listen with the heart—we will know what to do. And the Lord will receive it.

The Desert Father Abba Moses once said,

“If a man wishes to be always in the presence of God, he must pray often and love with a whole heart.”

That is what Mary of Bethany does.

This is what we are invited to now.

If you are holding back because you’re afraid to be misunderstood…

Stay close to the Lord.

Reflection Questions:

Closing Prayer:

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 41: The Fragrance of Love – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

Mark 11:1–10 

When they were approaching Jerusalem, in sight of Bethphage and Bethany, close by the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go off to the village facing you, and as soon as you enter it you will find a tethered colt that no one has yet ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone says to you, ‘What are you doing?’ say, ‘The Master needs it and will send it back here directly.'”

They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, “What are you doing, untying that colt?” They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go. Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, others greenery they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, “Hosanna! Blessings on him who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessings on the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest heavens!”

We have arrived. This is the threshold of Holy Week—the most sacred time of the Church year. It is a culmination not just of the liturgical journey but of the inner pilgrimage we’ve taken through Lent. Prayer, fasting, repentance, surrender—none of it was for its own sake. It has all pointed toward this week, where Love reveals its fullness on the Cross.

Palm Sunday is a paradox. The people cry out with joy, welcoming Jesus with palm branches and hosannas. Yet we know the story turns quickly. The same voices that bless Him will call for His crucifixion. This tension is not just historical—it is personal. It reminds us that in our own hearts, we too swing between praise and resistance. Between surrender and fear. Between trust and control.

And yet, Christ enters anyway. He rides not on a war horse but on a donkey, a symbol of humility. He does not come to conquer by force, but to save through self-giving love.

This week we walk with Him—through the Upper Room, into Gethsemane, before the Sanhedrin, up the hill of Golgotha, and finally to the silence of the tomb. But we do not walk alone. We walk as a Church. We walk as people who have prayed, repented, struggled, and hoped. We walk with hearts that have been softened through the desert, ready now to enter the Passion.

St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote:

“The Cross is the school of love. It is there we learn to love, not in word or feeling only, but in the laying down of self.”

This is what Lent has prepared us for. To gaze upon the Cross not as a symbol of defeat, but of the deepest victory. To allow it to speak to our wounds, our questions, and our hopes. To find ourselves there—not as spectators, but as those Christ carried with Him.

The Desert Father Abba Theodore said:

“If you are not yet able to carry your cross, weep before the Lord. He will lift it with you.”

This is not a week to rush through. It is a week to dwell in. To let the Scriptures penetrate. To let silence stretch. To revisit the Sacraments. To stay close to the Blessed Mother, who walked every step with her Son. To let Jesus show us how far Love will go.

We do not end at the Cross—but we must go through it. Resurrection is coming, but it is only understood in the light of the Passion. If you’ve struggled this Lent, if you feel like you haven’t done enough—take heart. This is the hour of grace. Begin again now. Be with Him now.

As the Church sings: Christ became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted Him.(cf. Philippians 2:8–9)

Lord Jesus, as You entered Jerusalem, You knew what awaited You—and still You came. You embraced the Cross to bring me life. Open my heart to walk with You this Holy Week. Let every step draw me closer to Your heart. Give me the grace to stay near to You in suffering, in silence, and in love. May the Cross become my home, and the Resurrection my hope. Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 40: The Road of the Cross, The Way of Love – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 11:45–56 

Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary and had seen what he did believed in him, but some of them went to tell the Pharisees what Jesus had done. Then the chief priests and Pharisees called a meeting. “Here is this man working all these signs,” they said, “and what action are we taking? If we let him go on in this way everybody will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy the Holy Place and our nation.”

One of them, Caiaphas, the high priest that year, said, “You do not seem to have grasped the situation at all; you fail to see that it is better for one man to die for the people, than for the whole nation to be destroyed.”

He did not speak in his own person, it was as high priest that he made this prophecy that Jesus was to die for the nation—and not for the nation only, but to gather together in unity the scattered children of God. From that day they were determined to kill him.

The Jewish Passover drew near, and many of the country people who had gone up to Jerusalem to purify themselves looked out for Jesus, saying to one another as they stood about in the Temple, “What do you think? Will he come to the festival or not?”

Today’s Gospel sits in the shadow of the raising of Lazarus. That incredible sign of life was not welcomed by all. For some, it was a moment of conversion; for others, it was a threat. The decision is made: Jesus must be stopped. We now move closer to the Passion.

This passage confronts us with a truth we often feel: Jesus did not run from this reality. Instead, He stayed rooted in His mission, moving forward with trust in the Father.

It is here that we must remember: our call is not to success or approval, but to faithfulness. And faithfulness will at times mean walking through suffering, uncertainty, or even loneliness. But we are never alone. The Father is at work, even in hiddenness.

St. John Cassian, drawing from the wisdom of the desert, wrote:

“The endurance of trials for the sake of virtue produces the strongest hope.”

Hope is born not in ease, but in the fire of perseverance. It grows in those moments when we choose to stay with Christ, even when the way is unclear or difficult. Hope is remembering that God indeed keeps His promises—and that He is bigger than our circumstances. Lent brings us to this place of decision: Will we stay close to Jesus even when the way becomes narrow? Will we trust the slow, quiet work of God even when the cost feels high?

Sometimes the opposition we face is not from others, but within ourselves: doubt, fear, or spiritual fatigue. These too are places where grace can meet us, where prayer becomes our anchor. If you feel weary, spend time today in quiet before the Lord. Ask for the grace of endurance, and the gift of hope.

The “Jesus, You Take Over” prayer—also known as the Surrender Prayer—by Servant of God Fr. Dolindo Ruotolo, found on Discerning Hearts, is a powerful reminder to release our anxieties and concerns in trust to Jesus. We are not asked to carry the weight of the world, but to entrust it to the One who already bears it for us.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Doctor of the Church, offers us a word of clarity and perspective:

“The world’s thy ship and not thy home.”

Her simple but profound reminder re-centers us when the seas grow rough. Lent is not a time to prove our strength, but to rest more deeply in the strength of Christ, who leads us to the safe harbor of the Father.

Lord Jesus, as You faced rejection, You remained faithful. Help us to walk in that same trust. When we are afraid, strengthen our hearts. When we are tired, renew our hope. Teach us to remain close to You, even in the face of opposition, and to always remember that Your love has already conquered all.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

The post Day 39: Hope in the Midst of Opposition – Discerning Hearts Podcast appeared first on Discerning Hearts Catholic Podcasts.

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 10:31–42

The Jews fetched stones to stone Him, so Jesus said to them, “I have done many good works for you to see, works from My Father; for which of these are you stoning Me?” The Jews answered Him, “We are not stoning You for doing a good work, but for blasphemy: You are only a man and You claim to be God.”

Jesus answered: “Is it not written in your Law: I said, you are gods? So the Law uses the word ‘gods’ of those to whom the word of God was addressed, and scripture cannot be rejected. Yet you say to someone the Father has consecrated and sent into the world, ‘You are blaspheming,’ because He says, ‘I am the Son of God.’ If I am not doing My Father’s work, there is no need to believe Me; but if I am doing it, then even if you refuse to believe in Me, at least believe in the work I do; then you will know for sure that the Father is in Me and I am in the Father.”

They tried to arrest Him then, but He eluded them. He went back again to the far side of the Jordan, to the district where John had once been baptizing, and He stayed there. Many people who came to Him said, “John gave no signs, but all he said about this man was true,” and many of them believed in Him.

As we near the end of Lent, the tension in the Gospel rises. Jesus is no longer met with curiosity but with hostility. His words are not misunderstood—they are rejected. Still, He does not retreat in fear. He rests in the truth of who He is and remains faithful to the will of the Father.

This moment invites us to consider the cost of fidelity. When we strive to follow Christ in a world that may not understand or accept us, we too may experience opposition, confusion, or silence. But these are not signs of failure. Often, they are moments of deep purification—invitations to trust more completely in the Father, just as Jesus does.

What sustained Jesus was not popularity or ease. It was union. “The Father is in Me and I am in the Father.” This is the heart of our journey, too. Lent is not about performance. It is about deeper intimacy with the God who has consecrated and sent us into the world with a mission of love. And sometimes, faithfulness means walking forward even when we do not see the fruit.

But that doesn’t make the road easy. Many of us wrestle with fears or pressure—from relationships, from work, or from the weight of our own expectations. In those moments, we need companions. The Church encourages us to seek wise counsel: a spiritual friend, a confessor, a priest or religious who can help us remember who we are and who we belong to. We are not alone.

The Desert Father Evagrius Ponticus wrote:

“When the mind is stripped, and empty of thoughts, then it can enter into the depths where Christ dwells.”

It is in stillness that we begin to recognize the voice of the Father and rest in His care. Let us not fear the places of quiet where we feel unseen or unrecognized. It may be there that Christ draws us into His own hidden life of love.

St. Teresa of Calcutta, who knew well the silence of God, reminds us:

“God has not called me to be successful. He has called me to be faithful.”

Today, let us walk with Jesus in trust. Even when misunderstood or rejected, we are in the Father’s hands. That is where our peace lies.

Lord Jesus, You were not afraid to speak truth, even when it brought rejection. You stayed faithful because You knew the love of the Father. Teach me to trust in that same love. Help me not to be discouraged by the misunderstandings or struggles I face. Let me rest in Your presence and draw strength from the knowledge that I am never alone.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

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