A quip on a church marquee has stuck with me for years: If you feel distant from God, guess who moved? In last Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus told his disciples that he would be with them “only a little while longer.” Of course, we know the full story: Jesus did not abandon his followers. Today we hear of his parting gift to them and to us. Although Jesus would soon return to the Father, he was sending someone to minister to the disciples and to encourage them in their mission: “The Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you.”

Today’s Gospel occurs shortly before Jesus gives his Last Supper Discourses in the Gospel of John. Judas has betrayed Jesus, and now the Lord speaks to his inner circle for one of the last times before his arrest. “I will be with you only a little while longer,” he says. At these words, I imagine a hush falling over the group. Rattled by Judas’ strange actions and alarmed by the Lord announcing his impending departure, the disciples' eyes must have darted about as they held their breath, awaiting Jesus’ words. “I give you a new commandment,” he says. “Love one another.

“My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” The spiritual riches contained in this line alone are enough to sustain us for a lifetime. First, we rejoice that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, calls us his own. We belong to him who, like the shepherds of bygone days, protects his sheep – capable of little in the way of self-defense – even at the cost of his own life. Also, among the distinctive marks of Jesus’ sheep are that they hear his voice and follow him.

Underlying Peter’s simple statement in today’s Gospel, “I am going fishing,” is an ocean of sadness. This leader of the Apostles was once so eager and self-assured that he declared to Jesus, “Even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you.” (Mt 26:35) But we know the story: At the decisive moment, Peter yielded under pressure and three times denied that he even knew Jesus.

On this Easter Octave, we celebrate Divine Mercy Sunday. As Jesus revealed to the Polish nun St. Faustina Kowalska, the blood and water that gushed forth from his side during his crucifixion would become a “fountain of mercy” for all of us. In today’s first reading, we witness what happens now that the Apostles have received that mercy flowing from the foot of the cross.

After years (and, for many of us, decades) of celebrating Easter, we may not be sensitive to the sheer peculiarity of the Resurrection accounts. But a close reading of today’s Gospel prompts us to ask: If most of us were dreaming up the greatest event in history, wouldn’t we have made it more exciting? A little fanfare would have gotten the message out to the world and nipped future skepticism in the bud.

More than any other time of year, we are able to follow the actual events of Jesus’ life this week according to the sequence in which they occurred. Today’s procession with palms honors his entry into Jerusalem, where he would prepare to celebrate the Passover with his disciples. We can imagine Jesus spending the subsequent days preaching in the Temple and the nights conversing with his Father in prayer.

Today’s culture creates and sees constant change, innovation, and novelty at record speeds. But even more astounding than the technological advancements we observe around us is God’s power to inspire interior transformation in each individual life. In today’s Gospel, instead of condemning the woman caught in adultery whose punishment was certain death, Jesus speaks words of mercy, forgiveness, and life. Their encounter lifts the woman out of the shame of her sin, restores her dignity, and strengthens her to “Go, and from now on do not sin any more.” This woman, whom others saw as hopeless, is transformed because Jesus’ mercy has touched her soul.

We await with anticipation holidays and holiday parties – but do we look forward to the day after? To the cleanup, the back-to-the-grind, the business-as-usual? Jesus’ parable in today’s Gospel recounts the lavish celebration of the father who rejoices at the homecoming of his wayward son. We rightly recognize in the father’s mercy the abundant forgiveness of our heavenly Father. But have we ever considered what happened the next day? The son, accustomed to his independence and dissolute life, is once again in his father’s house.

Meaningful human relationships rarely last if only one party makes an effort to maintain a connection. The same is true in our relationship with God. In the scene recorded in today’s first reading – arguably one of human history’s “Top Ten” most important events – God takes the initiative, but the encounter is two-sided. God causes the bush to burn and Moses approaches; God calls Moses and he responds, “Here I am!”; finally, Moses asks God his name and God reveals himself as “I am who am.” Moses’ cooperation with God throughout is essential for them to arrive at this monumental revelation which would allow Moses (and, by extension, all of the Israelites) to call upon God by name.

As humans, we are often burdened with heavy crosses. Experiences of loss, lack, failure, and betrayal can riddle our existence, leaving us fatigued and with a weary question in our hearts: What is this all for? And then, we look up. We raise our gaze and see before us the transfigured face of Christ. Having taken on our human form, Jesus stands before us in radiant glory. As we take in the scene, our senses mingling somewhere between admiration and alarm, we remember the promise he made to us.

We’ve all seen it: the standard cartoon sketch in which the main character, faced with a decision, imagines the devil coaxing him toward evil on one shoulder while an angel encourages him toward good on the other. Lighthearted though they are, these classic scenes are the product of Biblical wisdom and millennia of human experience. In fact, the Garden of Eden provided the prototype: Eve was the first to listen to Satan in a conversation that was disastrous for her and her descendants.

It can be uncomfortable to admit, but our speech habits can truly reveal our interior life. Too often, I’ve fallen prey to the temptation of gossip or other alluring but unbecoming forms of conversation. Perhaps we all have to some degree, which is why today’s words from Sirach capture our attention: “When a sieve is shaken, the husks appear; so do one’s faults when one speaks.”