Corpus Christi Blog

In the mystery of human existence, suffering stands as one of the most profound and universal experiences. None of us can or will escape it in our lifetimes. For Catholics, however, suffering is never meaningless, nor should it be cause for despair, because it finds its meaning in the cross. When we unite our suffering to the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, who willingly embraced his own profound suffering for our redemption, our own trials become a participation in his salvific work. Through the lens of faith, our suffering is an invitation to a deeper communion with God. This concept is what we refer to as redemptive suffering. (You can find more about redemptive suffering on my website.)

On this Good Shepherd Sunday, our Gospel reading offers an image of Jesus for us to contemplate. We, the Church, are a flock of sheep, and Jesus is our Good Shepherd, whom we follow with complete trust. Before Jesus came, the Old Testament prefigured the Savior as a shepherd: “The LORD is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack. In green pastures he makes me lie down; to still waters he leads me; he restores my soul” (Ps 23:1-3). This is a rather peaceful description of our expected shepherd and the pasture in which he will watch over us.

One of God’s most precious gifts to humanity is the gift of friendship. Friendship enables us to form intimate relationships with one another – outside of the unique friendship of marriage – that allow us to experience a reflection of divine love. When Jesus says to his disciples, “No longer do I call you servants…but I have called you friends,” friendship took on a new meaning as part of our pathway to holiness (Jn 15:15). Our great Catholic saints and theologians prized true friendship above earthly treasure and taught that authentic friendship is not an accidental circumstance, but an opportunity for a grace-filled relationship rooted in mutual pursuit of the good.

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, I would like to share an incredible story of sin, conversion, and mercy while highlighting some important lessons we can learn about God’s bottomless well of mercy.

Rudolf Hoess was born on November 25, 1901, in Baden-Baden, Germany, to devout Catholic parents. Influenced by his father's military background and strong moral compass, Rudolf was raised with discipline and a sense of duty. His father, hoping Rudolf would become a priest, consecrated him to God and took him on pilgrimages, including to Lourdes.

The opening ritual of the Easter Vigil Mass has profoundly meaningful symbolism. The church is darkened, representing the darkness and sadness of the Triduum and humanity’s long wait for the remedy to sin. Then, from the newly blessed fire outside, the deacon lights the Paschal candle — a tall pillar of wax — calling to mind the pillar of fire from the Old Testament, which served as a visible reminder to the Israelites of God’s presence and protection in the desert. The deacon raises it high at the church door, proclaiming, “The Light of Christ!” and we respond, “Thanks be to God!” As the flame passes from hand to hand, our own candles flicker to life, dispelling the darkness in the church. Just as light scatters darkness, Christ’s resurrection conquers the death introduced by sin, inviting us to new life.