Reflection for May 11, 2025

​Fourth Sunday of Easter (C)

Acts 13:14, 43-52 | Psalm 100:1-2, 3, 5 | Revelation 7:9, 14b-17 | John 10:27-30

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On this beautiful Fourth Sunday of Easter, the readings from the Acts of the Apostles, the Book of Revelation, and the Gospel of John lead us to the heart of Christ, the Good Shepherd who knows His sheep, calls them by name, and promises them eternal life. As we reflect on the peace and protection that come from listening to His voice and staying close to Him, let us also turn our hearts to three mothers who nurture us in different ways: our earthly mothers, our beloved motherland, and our Holy Mother Church. Today is not only a celebration of God’s tender care—it is also a chance to honor, love, and pray for those who have mothered us in body, spirit, and nation. May our hearts be open to hear the Shepherd's voice and to give thanks for the mothers who echo His love.

​In the mountains of Japan, there is a place once known as Ubasuteyama—"the mountain where one leaves their mother." Long ago, it was said that the elderly and frail were taken to this mountain to die, a custom born of desperation and survival. One day, a strong young man named Katashi carried his ailing mother, Kaiya, up that very mountain. Neither spoke of the heartbreaking task that lay ahead, though both understood it well. As they made their silent journey through the forest's thick trees and shadows, Katashi began to notice something strange—his mother kept dropping small white pebbles along the trail. Puzzled, he finally asked, “Mother, why are you scattering these stones?” With a gentle smile and eyes clouded by age but shining with love, Kaiya replied, “So you won’t lose your way back home, my son.” In that moment, Katashi’s heart broke open with the weight of her quiet sacrifice. Even in the face of her own death, his mother thought only of his safety. Because that is what a mother does—she loves beyond herself, and even in her final moments, she finds a way to guide her child home.

In our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Paul and Barnabas preached the Good News, but many of the Jews turned away. So, they brought the message to the Gentiles—who received it with joy. The voice of the Good Shepherd calls out to all, but only those who truly listen and follow will share in the promise of eternal life. This reminds me of a mother’s voice—gentle yet firm, always speaking from love. A mother gives advice not to control, but to guide. Some children listen, others don’t. But when we do follow her loving words, we find peace, safety, and wisdom—just as the Gentiles found salvation in Christ. Today, on Mother’s Day, let us reflect on the voice of our mothers—their quiet sacrifices, their sleepless nights, their whispered prayers. Some are still with us; others are with the Lord. Pray for them. Honor them. Call her. Hug her. Say thank you. Make this day a little more special for her—because her love mirrors the love of our Good Shepherd, who calls, guides, and never gives up on us.

“Mama, why are we poor?” the little boy asked. His mother sighed. “Because I couldn’t finish school, anak. My parents were too poor to send me, and we often had no breakfast. Now, it’s hard to find a decent job. But I work hard selling what I can, so you can eat and go to school.” “Is there still hope for us?” he whispered. “Always,” she smiled. “I’ll do my best. And come election day, I’ll vote with my conscience—for leaders who are competent, who truly care, and who have a clear vision for our country.” The boy nodded. “Mama, I’ll study hard. I want to be a senator one day, so you won’t have to work anymore. I’ll take care of you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s my greatest hope, anak. And may more Filipinos vote wisely—with love, honor, and respect for our beloved motherland.”
Persevere. Vote with conscience. The future begins with us.

The Book of Revelation speaks of a great reward: “God will wipe away every tear... and lead them to springs of life-giving water.” This promise is given to those who listen to the Good Shepherd’s voice. As we approach the May 12 midterm elections, the Shepherd speaks again—this time, through the stirrings of our conscience. Today, He invites us to look not just at personalities or promises, but to look with love at our suffering mother—our beloved Philippines. She is tired. Tired of broken systems, tired of corruption, tired of being ignored. Yet still, she hopes. She cries out to her children: “Choose well. Think of me.” There were times we joined the bandwagon—voting out of habit, popularity, or personal gain. But this time must be different. The future of our families, especially our children, depends on it. If we listen in prayer and discernment, God will honor that. He will dry our tears and lead our land toward healing. Let us not betray our motherland again. She needs us—now more than ever.

He was never in the spotlight—never a headline, never seen as papabile. But Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, OSA, JCD, quietly poured his heart into loving and serving Holy Mother Church. In Chicago, a former seminarian recalled, “Fr. Bob didn’t just teach us theology and Canon Law—he taught us to love the Church like a mother. He’d sit with us after evening prayer just to listen, to care.” In the dusty villages of Peru, a parish priest shared, “He came without warning, traveling hours to be with us. He slept in simple huts, shared our meals, and heard our people’s confessions under mango trees. We knew we mattered.” In Vatican City, he accepted the delicate task of choosing bishops—not with ambition, but with reverence and humility. He never sought power—only to serve. Then, the unthinkable happened. The white smoke rose. Habemus Papam. Leo XIV. A name few expected—from a man who had quietly given everything for the Church he loved.

In our Gospel, the Lord our shepherd says, “My sheep hear my voice.” In a world filled with noise and confusion, the gentle voice of the Good Shepherd calms our fears and leads us to safety. Today, we also turn to our Holy Mother Church—not only as a teacher, but as a mother who shelters, nourishes, and never abandons her children. Like a mother hen gathering her chicks beneath her wings, the Church draws us close, shielding us from harm. Like the mother pelican, who wounds her own breast to feed her young with her very flesh and blood, the Church offers us the Body and Blood of Christ—sacrificing herself so that we might live. And like the womb that sustains new life, the Church surrounds us with grace, ever connected to us by the unbreakable cord of faith. As long as we do not sever this lifeline, we remain cradled in her care, never forsaken. Today, we give thanks for the gift of our new shepherd, Pope Leo XIV. As he begins his ministry, we renew our love and loyalty to the Church that gives us life. In his first blessing, the Holy Father entrusted us to Mary, our Blessed Mother—the same mother Jesus gave us from the Cross. He knew she would never leave us. And she never will. Under her maternal mantle and within the embrace of Holy Mother Church, we are home.

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