Day 47: Easter Sunday – “He Is Risen”

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)
John 20:1–9
It was very early on the first day of the week and still dark, when Mary of Magdala came to the tomb.
She saw that the stone had been moved away from the tomb and came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb,” she said, “and we don’t know where they have put him.”

So Peter set out with the other disciple to go to the tomb.
They ran together, but the other disciple, running faster than Peter, reached the tomb first;
he bent down and saw the linen cloths lying on the ground, but did not go in.
Simon Peter, who was following now came up, went right into the tomb,
saw the linen cloths on the ground, and also the cloth that had been over his head;
this was not with the linen cloths but rolled up in a place by itself.

Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first also went in;
he saw and he believed.
Till this moment they had failed to understand the teaching of scripture,
that he must rise from the dead.

Reflection:
He is risen.
Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. But in the flesh, in glory, and in truth.

And so begins your real retreat: not the forty days you have walked, but the life you now must live.

And now, with trembling and hope, you behold it open.

The retreat has not ended. It has opened the door to Mystagogy.

Mystagogy is the sacred time after baptism or renewal, when we are invited to go deeper into the mysteries we have received. It is the unfolding of what has already been given, a divine tutoring of the soul by the Spirit. For the early Church, it was the season after Easter when the newly baptized were taught the hidden meanings of the sacraments they had just received. For us, it is every day after the Resurrection where we learn, by grace, how to live what we have received.

You are now living in Mystagogy.

You are invited to ponder the Eucharist with new eyes.
To read the Scriptures with burning hearts.
To carry the Cross not as burden, but as seal.

And above all, to pray. Not occasionally. Not only when it is quiet. But as a way of being.

St. Paul writes:

“Pray without ceasing.”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:17

This is not a suggestion. It is a spiritual necessity. Because we are not merely people who have seen the Lord—we are people in whom the Lord desires to dwell.

And so we must become people who listen:
Who live in the heart of the mystery.
Who carry within them a discerning heart—a Mystagogical heart.

This is the mystery St. John Paul II spoke of when he wrote:

“We are not called to an abstract knowledge of Christ, but to a living, personal relationship with him: to contemplate his face, and learn to love as he loves.” (Novo Millennio Ineunte, §16)

You have been invited into this love.

And now, every day, you must return to the voice that called your name at the tomb. You must pray with Scripture, not to master it, but to let it master you—through Lectio Divina. You must daily turn your attention inward, examining your movements with God in the Daily Examen. You must seek silence. And in that silence, you will find Christ again and again.

This is not spiritual ambition. This is Christian maturity.
This is the baptized living as they are meant to live:
as souls risen with Christ.

Abba Macarius wrote:

“The soul that has risen with Christ does not forget the tomb.
She carries the marks of love and lives only to give Him away.”  (Sayings of the Desert Fathers)

And so, beloved of God:
Do not go back to life as it was before.
Do not lose the silence. Do not forget the Word. Do not quiet the call.

You are still on pilgrimage. You are still being formed. You are still being called.

And each day—each moment of remembering Christ, turning toward Him, listening again—is conversion. Conversion is not a feeling. It is not a season.
It is a verb, an action word. It is the continual, daily, humble act of saying: “I choose You again.” “I turn toward You again.” “I will follow You—today.”

Let your life be a living witness of the Resurrection. Let your words be slow and your love be quick. Let your prayer be steady and your gaze be fixed.

And when the world forgets what you have seen,
when they ask why you are different,
when they accuse you of being strange or out of step, remember this:

You have come from the tomb. You have heard your name. You have seen the Lord.

Now go. Let your discerning heart burn with the light of Easter. And live as one who carries glory in your body.

1. What has risen in me that must now be protected and nurtured?
2. How will I continue to live as one in Mystagogy—in daily formation and conversion?
3. What concrete practices will I carry forward: silence, Examen, Lectio Divina, Eucharist, community?

Final Prayer:

Jesus, You are risen. And You have called us by name.

You found us in ashes. You carried us through fire. You laid with us in silence. And now You send us in light.

Let us never go back to who we were before. Let us never forget the road we have walked. Let us live now as those who listen in the heart of the mystery.

Make our hearts discerning. Make our faith active. Make our prayer ceaseless. Make our lives radiant.

You are risen. You are here. And we are Yours.

Alleluia. Amen

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 46: The Great Silence

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)
Luke 23:55–56, 24:1
The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid.
Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments.
And on the Sabbath they rested, as the Law required.
But on the first day of the week, at the first sign of dawn, they went to the tomb…

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Reflection:
Today is the silence that holds everything.
It is the still point at the center of all we have walked through.

Holy Saturday is not a space of absence.
It is a space of fullness.
A fullness too deep for sound.

The tomb is sealed.
The world is quiet.
The Church has no liturgy, no Eucharist, no words—
because today, Christ speaks from the depths.

He is hidden. Descending. Gathering the lost.
Breaking the gates of death, not in fire or thunder,
but with the silence of love that will not abandon those who wait in darkness.

And we, too, are called to descend.
Into our hearts.
Into our memory.
Into our love.

Today we remember everything.

We remember how He called us.
How He forgave us.
How He healed us, taught us, walked with us, wept with us.
We remember Gethsemane. The scourging. The weight of the Cross.
We remember the last breath—and the yes that poured out from the Cross to cover the whole world.

And we remember the forty-five days that brought us here.
Forgiveness. Justice. Trust. Interior poverty. Spiritual clarity.
We remember how we were invited to love when it hurt,
to surrender when it didn’t make sense,
to stay when we longed to flee.

And now, the invitation is simply this:
Remain. Rest. Love.

Because this silence is not empty.
It is the heart of prayer.
The prayer that does not need words.
The prayer that waits with Mary in darkness.
The prayer that allows what is broken to remain broken,
until God raises it.

This is the deep contemplative space that so few know how to enter.
But you—you have been led to it.

The Catechism tells us:

“In prayer, the Holy Spirit opens the eyes of our hearts and teaches us to see everything in the light of Christ.”
— CCC 2711

And on this day, the Spirit does that not through speech, but through silence.

St. John of the Cross writes:

“Silence is God’s first language. Everything else is a poor translation.”
— Sayings of Light and Love, 118

And Abba Isaac the Syrian says:

“The highest form of prayer is to stand silently, inwardly attentive, in love before God.”
— Ascetical Homilies, I.5

So that is what we do now.

We stand in love.
In memory.
In the in-between.
Where death has passed—but resurrection has not yet been seen.

This is the hour where you ask not for answers, but for presence.
Not for resolution, but for communion.

You are being invited into the prayer Jesus prayed in the tomb:
The silent offering of all.
The trust that God would raise what was placed in His hands.
The hope that love, hidden though it is, still holds the final word.

And so today, remember to love.

Let that be your prayer.
Let that be your offering.
Let that be what rests with Him in the tomb, waiting for dawn.

There is a line found scratched into the wall of a cellar in Cologne during the Holocaust—believed to have been written by a Jewish prisoner:

“I believe in the sun even when I don’t see it.
I believe in love even when I don’t feel it.
I believe in God even when He is silent.”

This is the posture of Holy Saturday:
Not loud. Not triumphant.
But reverent, watchful, and full of hope that does not depend on sight.

It is the silence of Mary’s heart—pondering all these things.
It is the stillness of the Church at the tomb—keeping vigil in faith.
It is the prayer of the soul that trusts in God’s promise,
even when everything remains hidden.

Because silence is not empty.
It is the stillness where heaven breathes and eternity begins to speak.
It is where God’s deepest work unfolds—beneath words, beyond vision,
in the furnace of the heart.

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Reflection Questions:
1. What is Christ asking me to remember today—not just in my mind, but in my heart?
2. Have I learned how to pray in silence? Can I let love be my only word?
3. What must I place in the tomb with Christ tonight—trusting it will be raised?

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Closing Prayer:
Lord Jesus,
This is the silence I feared—
and yet now, it feels like home.

I bring to You every moment of this retreat.
Every quiet “yes,”
every small surrender,
every prayer prayed in secret.

You remember it all.
You hold it now—
even the parts I don’t understand.

I will not rush the silence.
I will not fill the stillness.

I will let love remain here.

Let my memory be prayer.
Let my silence be trust.
Let this quiet become union.
I will wait.
I will remember.
And I will love.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 45: The Cross Stands While the World Turns

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)
John 19:25–30 

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 44: Love Poured Out

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 43: The Price of Betrayal

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 42: A Table Prepared

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 41: The Fragrance of Love

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 12:1–11
Six days before the Passover, Jesus went to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom he had raised from the dead. They gave a dinner for him there; Martha waited on them and Lazarus was among those at table.

Mary brought in a pound of very costly ointment, pure nard, and with it anointed the feet of Jesus, wiping them with her hair; the house was filled with the scent of the ointment.

Then Judas Iscariot—one of his disciples, the man who was to betray him—said, “Why wasn’t this ointment sold for three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor?”

He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he was in charge of the common fund and used to help himself to the contents.

So Jesus said, “Leave her alone; she had to keep this scent for the day of my burial. You have the poor with you always, you will not always have me.”

Meanwhile, a large number of Jews heard that he was there and came, not only on account of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.

Then the chief priests decided to kill Lazarus as well, since it was on his account that many of the Jews were leaving them and believing in Jesus.

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Reflection:
Holy Week begins not with fanfare, but with silence and intimacy. We are brought into the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus—not for a miracle, but for a quiet act of love.

Mary of Bethany says nothing. But in her silence, she listens—and in her listening, she responds. She kneels beside Jesus and pours out what is most precious to her: the costly ointment, her dignity, her very self.

What moved her to do this?

There is no record of Jesus asking her. No instruction from the disciples. But she had been at His feet before. She knew the sound of His voice. And she had learned to listen not just to words, but to the movement of the Spirit.

This act is the fruit of deep prayer—of the Father working through the Spirit in the stillness of her heart. It is the Father preparing the Son for what is to come. And Mary—hidden, faithful, receptive—says yes.

And still, she is ridiculed. Her devotion is questioned, her motives assumed. But she does not defend herself. Jesus defends her. “Leave her alone… she had to keep this scent for the day of my burial.”

Pope Benedict XVI wrote,

“Mary’s gesture is the response of one who, in encountering Jesus, has come to understand that no gift is too costly to give to Him, because He is the infinite Love of God made flesh.”
(Holy Monday Homily, April 2, 2007)

Sometimes love will look foolish. Sometimes prayer will lead us where others cannot follow. But if we remain in communion with the Father—if we listen with the heart—we will know what to do. And the Lord will receive it.

The Desert Father Abba Moses once said,

“If a man wishes to be always in the presence of God, he must pray often and love with a whole heart.”

That is what Mary of Bethany does.

This is what we are invited to now.

If you are holding back because you’re afraid to be misunderstood…
If you wonder whether your offering is too small…
If your prayer has led you to something others don’t see…

Stay close to the Lord.
Trust the Spirit’s prompting.
Pour it out anyway.

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Reflection Questions:

1. What do I fear pouring out before Jesus?
2. Where is love asking me to move, without calculation or fear?
3. What would it mean today to be present at His feet, as Mary was?

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Closing Prayer:
Lord Jesus,
You received the love Mary poured out,
and You made it part of the path to the Cross.
Help me to offer You what I cling to—
my time, my comfort, even my wounds.
Let my love be real,
fragrant in its surrender,
and faithful even in silence.
Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 40:  “The Road of the Cross, The Way of Love”

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

Mark 11:1–10 

When they were approaching Jerusalem, in sight of Bethphage and Bethany, close by the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go off to the village facing you, and as soon as you enter it you will find a tethered colt that no one has yet ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone says to you, ‘What are you doing?’ say, ‘The Master needs it and will send it back here directly.'”

They went off and found a colt tethered near a door in the open street. As they untied it, some men standing there said, “What are you doing, untying that colt?” They gave the answer Jesus had told them, and the men let them go. Then they took the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on its back, and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, others greenery they had cut in the fields. And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, “Hosanna! Blessings on him who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessings on the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest heavens!”

Reflection:

We have arrived. This is the threshold of Holy Week—the most sacred time of the Church year. It is a culmination not just of the liturgical journey but of the inner pilgrimage we’ve taken through Lent. Prayer, fasting, repentance, surrender—none of it was for its own sake. It has all pointed toward this week, where Love reveals its fullness on the Cross.

Palm Sunday is a paradox. The people cry out with joy, welcoming Jesus with palm branches and hosannas. Yet we know the story turns quickly. The same voices that bless Him will call for His crucifixion. This tension is not just historical—it is personal. It reminds us that in our own hearts, we too swing between praise and resistance. Between surrender and fear. Between trust and control.

And yet, Christ enters anyway. He rides not on a war horse but on a donkey, a symbol of humility. He does not come to conquer by force, but to save through self-giving love.

This week we walk with Him—through the Upper Room, into Gethsemane, before the Sanhedrin, up the hill of Golgotha, and finally to the silence of the tomb. But we do not walk alone. We walk as a Church. We walk as people who have prayed, repented, struggled, and hoped. We walk with hearts that have been softened through the desert, ready now to enter the Passion.

St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote:

“The Cross is the school of love. It is there we learn to love, not in word or feeling only, but in the laying down of self.”

This is what Lent has prepared us for. To gaze upon the Cross not as a symbol of defeat, but of the deepest victory. To allow it to speak to our wounds, our questions, and our hopes. To find ourselves there—not as spectators, but as those Christ carried with Him.

The Desert Father Abba Theodore said:

“If you are not yet able to carry your cross, weep before the Lord. He will lift it with you.”

This is not a week to rush through. It is a week to dwell in. To let the Scriptures penetrate. To let silence stretch. To revisit the Sacraments. To stay close to the Blessed Mother, who walked every step with her Son. To let Jesus show us how far Love will go.

We do not end at the Cross—but we must go through it. Resurrection is coming, but it is only understood in the light of the Passion. If you’ve struggled this Lent, if you feel like you haven’t done enough—take heart. This is the hour of grace. Begin again now. Be with Him now.

As the Church sings: Christ became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted Him.(cf. Philippians 2:8–9)

Reflection Questions:

1. How has your heart changed through this Lenten journey?
2. What part of Jesus’ Passion are you being invited to enter more deeply this week?
3. How can you live this Holy Week with greater intentionality—prayer, silence, reconciliation, service?

Closing Prayer:

Lord Jesus, as You entered Jerusalem, You knew what awaited You—and still You came. You embraced the Cross to bring me life. Open my heart to walk with You this Holy Week. Let every step draw me closer to Your heart. Give me the grace to stay near to You in suffering, in silence, and in love. May the Cross become my home, and the Resurrection my hope. Amen.

Day 39: Hope in the Midst of Opposition

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)

John 11:45–56 

Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary and had seen what he did believed in him, but some of them went to tell the Pharisees what Jesus had done. Then the chief priests and Pharisees called a meeting. “Here is this man working all these signs,” they said, “and what action are we taking? If we let him go on in this way everybody will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy the Holy Place and our nation.”

One of them, Caiaphas, the high priest that year, said, “You do not seem to have grasped the situation at all; you fail to see that it is better for one man to die for the people, than for the whole nation to be destroyed.”

He did not speak in his own person, it was as high priest that he made this prophecy that Jesus was to die for the nation—and not for the nation only, but to gather together in unity the scattered children of God. From that day they were determined to kill him.
So Jesus no longer went about openly among the Jews, but left the district for a town called Ephraim, in the country bordering on the desert, and stayed there with his disciples.

The Jewish Passover drew near, and many of the country people who had gone up to Jerusalem to purify themselves looked out for Jesus, saying to one another as they stood about in the Temple, “What do you think? Will he come to the festival or not?”

Reflection:

Today’s Gospel sits in the shadow of the raising of Lazarus. That incredible sign of life was not welcomed by all. For some, it was a moment of conversion; for others, it was a threat. The decision is made: Jesus must be stopped. We now move closer to the Passion.

This passage confronts us with a truth we often feel: Jesus did not run from this reality. Instead, He stayed rooted in His mission, moving forward with trust in the Father.

It is here that we must remember: our call is not to success or approval, but to faithfulness. And faithfulness will at times mean walking through suffering, uncertainty, or even loneliness. But we are never alone. The Father is at work, even in hiddenness.

St. John Cassian, drawing from the wisdom of the desert, wrote:

“The endurance of trials for the sake of virtue produces the strongest hope.”
(Conferences, X.6)

Hope is born not in ease, but in the fire of perseverance. It grows in those moments when we choose to stay with Christ, even when the way is unclear or difficult. Hope is remembering that God indeed keeps His promises—and that He is bigger than our circumstances. Lent brings us to this place of decision: Will we stay close to Jesus even when the way becomes narrow? Will we trust the slow, quiet work of God even when the cost feels high?

Sometimes the opposition we face is not from others, but within ourselves: doubt, fear, or spiritual fatigue. These too are places where grace can meet us, where prayer becomes our anchor. If you feel weary, spend time today in quiet before the Lord. Ask for the grace of endurance, and the gift of hope.

The “Jesus, You Take Over” prayer—also known as the Surrender Prayer—by Servant of God Fr. Dolindo Ruotolo, found on Discerning Hearts, is a powerful reminder to release our anxieties and concerns in trust to Jesus. We are not asked to carry the weight of the world, but to entrust it to the One who already bears it for us.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Doctor of the Church, offers us a word of clarity and perspective:

“The world’s thy ship and not thy home.”
(Letter 102 to Céline)

Her simple but profound reminder re-centers us when the seas grow rough. Lent is not a time to prove our strength, but to rest more deeply in the strength of Christ, who leads us to the safe harbor of the Father.

Reflection Questions:

1. What challenges or opposition do you face as you follow Christ?
2. Are there places of hidden fear or resistance that you can bring to the Lord today?
3. How can you ask for the grace to be faithful, even when it is costly?

Closing Prayer:

Lord Jesus, as You faced rejection, You remained faithful. Help us to walk in that same trust. When we are afraid, strengthen our hearts. When we are tired, renew our hope. Teach us to remain close to You, even in the face of opposition, and to always remember that Your love has already conquered all.

Amen.