Online Retreat - Week 25

Jesus as Water, Light, and Life Itself

Who Jesus is for Us

This week our jour­ney with Jesus con­tin­ues to grow in depth. As our desire to be with him grows, and as our choic­es about the way we will live our lives become clear­er, it is eas­i­er to spend time in fas­ci­na­tion with this one we love.

Three pow­er­ful scenes from John’s Gospel will fill our week. They rep­re­sent a pro­found reflec­tion on the mean­ing of Jesus for the com­mu­ni­ty that first read the Fourth Gospel but also for us today.

We should read the sto­ries care­ful­ly. We need to enter into the inter­ac­tion between Jesus and the char­ac­ters. We want to become engrossed in each ques­tion, each mis­un­der­stand­ing, each turn of phrase, each rise in the lev­el of ten­sion, and each trans­for­ma­tion of the peo­ple in the scene. Then we will see how care­ful­ly this procla­ma­tion of who Jesus is can come alive for our lives today.

Through­out this week, we can become more high­ly attuned to the dynam­ics of the sto­ries, as they are part of our jour­ney in this retreat. This week can help us pull togeth­er what has been the grace of this retreat for us so far. The woman at the well, the man born blind, and Jesus’ friend Lazarus rep­re­sent us and how we have expe­ri­enced Jesus in this retreat.

The grace will come when I see that I have been at the well a long time and have long been thirsty. When I can name the new thirst, the Water that now sat­is­fies that thirst, I can over­come my remain­ing resis­tance to trust. When I see that Jesus reveals him­self to me by reveal­ing me to me, there­by show­ing me my need for him as Sav­ior, I will rejoice and tell the whole world too.

The grace will come when I acknowl­edge that my eyes have been opened. Oth­ers may not want to believe I can see, but I know I can only keep repeat­ing it, to myself and to them. I may expe­ri­ence rejec­tion by some for claim­ing this new vision, but in the Light I can see clear­ly one who has healed me, and I give him thanks and praise.

The grace will come when I expe­ri­ence how my deaths will not end in death but in giv­ing glo­ry to God. When I expe­ri­ence how entombed I have been, tied and bound, no longer alive, dead for a long time, I will sense the pow­er of the com­mand of Jesus that I come forth.

Use the resources to let these con­tem­pla­tions be a part of the back­ground of each day this week. Through­out the week, we can grow in grat­i­tude as we acknowl­edge who Jesus has become for us. Our choic­es are being con­firmed, to become one with him in liv­ing our lives, in grow­ing har­mo­ny with his love for us.

The Grace We Pray for This Week

To grow in grat­i­tude for who Jesus has become for us.

Get­ting Start­ed This Week

We can best get start­ed this week by read­ing each of the three read­ings very care­ful­ly. They were writ­ten with such great care. These pow­er­ful por­traits of Jesus reveal to us won­der­ful ways to dis­cov­er the same pres­ence of Jesus in our every­day lives. The key to this week is how we let these sto­ries enter the back­ground of our week. The more famil­iar we become with the dynam­ics of the three encoun­ters with Jesus, the bet­ter we will be at find­ing fruit in reflect­ing through­out the week on the dynam­ics of our own lives with Jesus.

If we take each sto­ry and break it open in our reflec­tions, we will begin to see ques­tions that we can chew all week.

Why did the Samar­i­tan woman come to draw water at noon, the hottest time of the day? Did she want to avoid the times the oth­er women in town came to the well? What are the places in my life where I am embar­rassed, where I avoid inter­ac­tion with oth­ers? What are the noon­day wells of my life? Can I imag­ine Jesus approach­ing me there?

Jesus tries to reveal his thirst to her — per­haps his thirst for inti­ma­cy with her — but she puts him off. She’s not wor­thy. It won’t work. When he offers to sat­is­fy her thirst, she puts him off. He can’t sat­is­fy what she needs, at least with this well, and with­out a buck­et. How do I put Jesus off, with excus­es, with prob­lems, with bar­ri­ers? I don’t have time; I haven’t done this before; my stuff’s too com­pli­cat­ed; I don’t know how to find you in this mess.

When he shows her that he knows her, she knows she’s in the pres­ence of some­one spe­cial — per­haps the one she has thirst­ed for all her life. Do I let Jesus show me that he knows and under­stands me? Can I find the words to say he is the one I have thirst­ed for all my life?

The man born blind washed the mud from his eyes in the pool called Siloam, “The one who is sent.” How is Jesus a pool to wash the mud from my eyes that I might see?

As soon as he could see, his life became very dif­fi­cult. Peo­ple won­dered whether he was the same man before they believed that he could now see. Has the restora­tion of my sight so changed me that oth­ers are sur­prised at the trans­for­ma­tion? So much fear seems to sur­round the restora­tion of his sight. What fears do I now have to see­ing clear­ly who Jesus is and what choic­es I must make to be with him?

Martha speaks pro­found sor­row at the death of Lazarus, but it is tinged with a touch of blam­ing Jesus: “Lord, if you had been here my broth­er would not have died.” Where do I resent the loss­es in my life and some­how blame God for them rather than see them as places where God’s glo­ry will be revealed? Even when Jesus tells Martha, “I am the one who rais­es the dead to life!” she finds it hard to believe that he means now, in the case of her dead broth­er. Where do I doubt that Jesus can bring life?

Jesus stands before the tomb weep­ing. He places no bar­ri­ers to his feel­ings about death. Could he be star­ing at and fac­ing the tomb of his own death? Can I be with him there? Can I stand before and face the tombs in my dai­ly life?

Jesus shouts the lib­er­at­ing words of life, “Lazarus, come forth!” How is he shout­ing that to me today?
Every morn­ing this week, as I put on my slip­pers or robe, I will pre­pare for the day. And each evening, I will take a moment to give thanks for this pro­found jour­ney. It is all gift. It is all about union with Jesus. It is all for God’s greater glo­ry and the ser­vice of others.

For the Journey

A reflec­tion by Fr. Lar­ry Gillick, SJ

One of life’s great dis­cov­er­ies is the dif­fer­ence between the words pos­si­ble and prob­a­ble. This week we con­tin­ue being attract­ed by Jesus’ signs to the per­son and mis­sion of the Sign Mak­er. He con­tin­ues to make ges­tures that make him and his ways pos­si­ble to some and improb­a­ble to others.

The Gospel accord­ing to John has the first twelve chap­ters high­light­ing signs of not only the pow­er of Jesus but also of his desire to pro­voke respons­es. There is always the appar­ent­ly impos­si­ble to these signs. “They have no wine.” “You have no buck­et.” “We have only five loaves and two fish, but what are they among so many?” Jesus cre­ates dis­cus­sion and oppo­si­tion by mov­ing from the impos­si­ble to the sign. There are always the sur­face ten­sions of not hav­ing with the inner ten­sion of believ­ing or not believing.

We are invit­ed this week to pray with our own resolves and respons­es. We are hear­ing his call to be signs our­selves. We won­der with the woman at the well at this man who has told us every­thing about our­selves. He offers us more than insight: a liv­ing water that will always sus­tain us. “How can this be?” We know we are being giv­en new sight to see Jesus when oth­ers do not. Is he real to us? “Show him to me and I will wor­ship.” Now we see him, now we don’t. We have been raised from a dead­ness but is this real life? We have been in the tomb a long time. Things can seem prob­a­ble, but are they at all pos­si­ble in the real­ness of our sim­ple lives?

The Book of Signs in John’s Gospel pre­pares us dis­ci­ples to more freely live our sign val­ue by trust­ing in the pos­si­ble with him who changed the alien­at­ed into a believ­er, blind­ness into faith sight, and death into life.

We pray from our skep­ti­cal side as well. Jesus’ signs con­found­ed many and they no longer fol­lowed him. He has giv­en us hard say­ings, and we won­der whether we can stay pos­si­ble with him as he moves into even greater oppo­si­tion and con­flict. We pray with our fears as he moves from pro­vok­er to the sus­pect­ed, resent­ed, and condemned.

This week we pray with he who changes the mean­ing of water, light, and life for us. We pray with our attrac­tions and our fears; we pray with our doubts and our desires to con­tin­ue to fol­low him. “To whom shall we go? You have the words of eter­nal life.”

In These or Sim­i­lar Words

Dear Jesus,
I want to stay clos­er to you this week, more com­fort­able with the things you do and the way you chal­lenge peo­ple. I love see­ing you touch, heal, and com­fort so many peo­ple. At first I watched at a dis­tance, see­ing how gen­tle you were with oth­er peo­ple. Then I saw how gen­tle you were with me. Your com­fort­ing words give me a sense of your love for me. When you want to say more chal­leng­ing words, you take my hand and look right at me with a direct, calm look as you invite me into courage. I feel you draw me into a deep­er friend­ship with you, you who have become such a close friend.

I read the Gospel about the woman at the well. I go there, in the heat of the day, when no one else is around. I just want to get the water and get out before I run into some­one from town who will reject me or mock me. Instead I run into you, sit­ting at the side of the well as though you have been wait­ing for me.
You invite me to quench my thirst with a dif­fer­ent kind of water, and sud­den­ly I real­ize how much thirst and long­ing is inside of me. I want to make my life dif­fer­ent, to undo the mis­takes I have made. I have shut God out of my life for so many years, and it seemed as if there were no way back. And then you invite me into your water and into eter­nal life.

Your brown eyes are fixed firm­ly on mine as you acknowl­edge my sins. But none of my flaws mat­ter. You have already wiped them away with your com­pas­sion. All of the rea­sons I have for keep­ing my dis­tance from God don’t mat­ter any more. My sins, the fact that I’m not real­ly a good per­son, that I’ve made so many mis­takes, none of this mat­ters because you have invit­ed me into a new life.

I have a new sense of free­dom, the same free­dom I see in you as you break social bar­ri­ers by speak­ing to a low­ly Samar­i­tan like me. I feel lighter some­how, and all I want to do is shout the news loud­ly. “Come and see!” I want to tell every­one about you, those who have reject­ed me and those I am afraid of. None of my fears mat­ter any­more because I have your good news, your liv­ing water, and the free­dom I see in you. Thank you, Jesus, my lov­ing friend. Thank you for the won­der­ful love and life you invite me into. Thank you for heal­ing me, for lov­ing me. Like the Lazarus sto­ry, you wept for me when I was sep­a­rat­ed from you, but you nev­er stopped lov­ing me. Let me feel what it is like to expe­ri­ence your free­dom as you see me stum­ble out of the tomb and as you untie me and let me go free.

Read­ings
Prayers

The final stage of any jour­ney is often vul­ner­a­ble to the worst temp­ta­tions to turn back. Dur­ing the final three weeks of Lent, in the Rite of Chris­t­ian Ini­ti­a­tion of Adults, we pray with spe­cial care for those prepar­ing for Bap­tism at the East­er Vig­il. Using the gospels for those Sun­days, which are our read­ings for this week in our retreat, the Chris­t­ian Com­mu­ni­ty prays for those prepar­ing for Bap­tism, that they be pro­tect­ed and freed from evil and giv­en the gifts they long for. We have adapt­ed these spe­cial prayers to the first per­son so we could make them our own prayer.

We Thirst for Liv­ing Water

We Desire to Pass from Dark­ness to Light

We Long for New Life

Print­able Week­ly Guide

Online Retreat - Week 25