Reflection for May 25, 2025

​Sixth Sunday of Easter (C)

Acts 15:1-2, 22-29 | Psalm 67:2-3, 5, 6, 8 | Revelation 21:10-14, 22-23 | John 14:23-29

​It's already the sixth Sunday of Easter, and we’re still soaking in the beauty of the season—following the early Church’s growth in Acts, catching glimpses of heaven in Revelation, and finding comfort in Jesus’ words to the Apostles in the upper room, as told in the Gospel of John.

​Saint Pope John XXIII was famous not just for his holiness, but for his top-notch humor and joyful spirit. He knew how to use a good laugh to stay humble, lighten the mood, or just make people smile. One day, not long after he was elected Pope, he was casually walking through the streets of Rome when a woman passed by and whispered to her friend, “My God, he’s so fat!” Without missing a beat, the Pope turned around and said, “Madame, please remember—the conclave is not a weight-loss competition, and being Pope doesn’t come with a modeling contract!” He then smiled and walked on, proving once again: you can be the Vicar of Christ, lead over a billion Catholics, and still get roasted on the street—and handle it with grace and a good punchline.

Our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles holds great significance for what it reveals about the proper governance of the Church and the preservation of ecclesial peace. The Council of Jerusalem offers a clear example of a distinctly Catholic model in addressing serious pastoral concerns and matters of doctrinal importance. The apostles and elders gathered to deliberate whether the Jewish requirement of circumcision should be imposed on Gentile converts. After a period of intense debate and no clear consensus, it was Peter who rose and addressed the assembly, bringing clarity and resolution to the matter. Following his declaration, the entire gathering fell silent—a moment that unmistakably signified recognition of his authority as the chief shepherd of the Church (cf. Matthew 16:18–19). The council’s decision was then communicated to the surrounding Christian communities and upheld as binding for all believers, both Jewish and Gentile. What is especially noteworthy is that the early Church did not fracture over this disagreement. Those who favored circumcision did not depart in protest to form a separate sect—there was no emergence of a “Church of the Circumcised Fellowship” or an “International Brotherhood of the Blessed Cut” in Jerusalem. Rather, even those whose theological positions were not adopted remained in communion with the one Church founded by Christ on the rock that is Peter. This unity illustrates the Church's commitment to remaining One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic. In faithfully accepting the council's discernment, the early Christians safeguarded the peace and unity of the Church. This historical moment anticipates the ancient principle Roma locuta est, causa finita est—“Rome has spoken, the case is closed.” It affirms the enduring and unique role of the Pope as the successor of Peter and the visible sign of unity within the Church. Across all generations, his voice continues to guide the faithful, binding the Body of Christ together in truth and charity.

Valerio Masella, a 26-year-old personal trainer in Italy, loved his job—but he had to admit, some days were tougher than lifting weights. Working at the gym meant dealing with all kinds of clients, and not all of them were easy. There was the highly motivated overachiever, who expected visible abs after one workout and got frustrated when it didn’t happen. Then came the reluctant beginner, who ignored diet plans and often rewarded a short treadmill walk with pizza and gelato. The know-it-all refused to listen to advice, constantly quoting fitness vloggers and correcting Valerio’s instructions—even when doing squats facing the wrong direction. And of course, the excuse maker, who missed half their sessions and blamed everything from traffic to their cat knocking over their gym bag. By noon, Valerio was usually exhausted—not from lifting, but from people. But every so of ten, one client made everything feel lighter. His name was Robert. Robert showed up regularly, always early. He was calm, polite, and kind. He never complained, never questioned Valerio’s instructions, and never looked stressed or annoyed. He worked hard but quietly, and sometimes even brought espresso for the staff. Valerio assumed he was a university professor—he carried himself with such peace and dignity. Whenever Robert walked into the gym, Valerio felt like the sun had come out on an otherwise cloudy, chaotic day. Then, one afternoon, Valerio stepped outside the gym and saw a large crowd gathered near the church across the street. News cameras were rolling. People were clapping. He looked up—and there was Robert, standing on a balcony, waving. An announcer declared, “Habemus Papam! Our new pope—Pope Leo XIV!” Valerio stood in shock. Robert, the quiet, smiling man from the gym, was not just a kind soul—he had been a cardinal all along. And now, he was the Pope. Robert had never worn priestly robes in the gym. Never told anyone about his position. He had simply lived with quiet grace, humility, and light. Later, Valerio would often say, “We didn’t know he was a Pope. But we always knew he was good.” And that’s how Pope Leo XIV, once known simply as Robert, became the brightest part of Valerio’s workday.

How bright is your light? Today’s reading from the Book of Revelation tells us, “The city had no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gave it light, and its lamp was the Lamb.” This powerful image reminds us that each of us is called to be a source of light—in our families, workplaces, and communities. But how can we better reflect Christ’s light and life in the world? It often feels like darkness surrounds us—a heavy cloud of problems and struggles. Yet, we are called to rise above this. The Good News invites us to look inward and honestly ask ourselves: Are we truly bringing the Light of Christ to those around us? As Jesus commands, we must be a light shining brightly, especially when darkness is near.

After Super Typhoon Yolanda devastated Tacloban on November 8, 2013, Pope Francis was moved by the suffering of the people. He made a heartfelt promise to visit them—not as a dignitary, but as a shepherd coming to mourn and pray with his flock. That promise took time. Over a year passed, and many wondered if he would ever make it. But on January 17, 2015, as another storm—Tropical Storm Amang—lashed Tacloban, the Pope arrived, dressed in a yellow rain poncho, amid wind and rain. During the Mass, speaking without a prepared homily, Pope Francis told the people, “I wanted to come to be with you. A little bit late, but I am here.” Despite the storm, his presence brought comfort and healing. His promise, though delayed, was fulfilled with love and humility. In the heart of the storm, he reminded them—and the world—that real promises are not forgotten. They are kept, even if late, and often shine brightest in the rain.

Have you ever prayed earnestly for something, only to feel as though the answer was long in coming? Often, life does not unfold according to our timeline, and in the waiting, doubt can arise. When we do not immediately perceive Jesus at work, we may even try to take matters into our own hands. In this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus extends four enduring promises: the love of the Father to those who keep His Word; the Holy Spirit, who will teach and remind the faithful of all Christ has revealed; true inner peace amid a chaotic world; and the hope of His return in glory. Unlike the unfulfilled promises we so often hear in politics—such as the swift eradication of crime, the end of contractualization, or dramatically lowered food prices—Christ’s words are never empty. He is always faithful. He was yesterday, He is today, and He will be forever. The fulfillment of His promises may not be immediate, and the waiting may come with hardship or tears. Yet, Christ never forgets His people. He keeps every promise, no matter how long it takes. Whatever burden you may carry today, remember: the remedy for a troubled heart remains the same—trust in Jesus. He said, “I will never leave you.” Let us hold fast to that promise.

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