Daily Gospel Reflection
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June 7, 2019
After Jesus had revealed himself to his disciples and eaten breakfast with them,
he said to Simon Peter,
“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”
Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”
He then said to Simon Peter a second time,
“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”
He said to him, “Tend my sheep.”
He said to him the third time,
“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time,
“Do you love me?” and he said to him,
“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.
Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger,
you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted;
but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands,
and someone else will dress you
and lead you where you do not want to go.”
He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God.
And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”
I love adventure stories: the protagonist, facing overwhelming odds, courageously charges into the massed forces of evil. Think Aragorn in the final battle for Middle Earth or even Don Quixote singing “Impossible Dream.”
In quieter moments, I reflect on whether I would have the moral fortitude to do the same. I can definitely see myself falling asleep in Gethsemane or giving into fear when challenged openly to align myself with an unpopular cause. So, I often identify with St. Peter and his failings and foibles. Then Jesus tells Peter in this Gospel passage what will happen to him when he is old. I am old. And I don’t look forward to being led where I don’t want to go.
The Lord’s “follow me” doesn’t sound like a call to clamber out of a foxhole and make a mad dash behind a charismatic leader to seize a victory or to end in a blaze of glory. It sounds more like longsuffering, patience and quiet perseverance. More than that, it’s an invitation to give up my lifelong grasping at the illusion of control over my life.
Lord, help me grow like Peter, in firm faith in you: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of everlasting life?” (John 6:68). Give me the grace to say, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you” and then truly, simply, follow you.
Prayer
Like Peter, dear Jesus, you are calling us to let go of our protestations of loyalty, of our “I can do it” confidence. May it become inescapably clear to us that we can’t really do anything without your help, that we must serve others with the full, painful awareness of our own incapacity. The strength we will need comes only from you. Above all, help us to realize that all those we shepherd, care for, mentor, and guide are your flock, not ours.
Saint of the Day
Blessed Anne, or Ana, as she was born as, was an early member of St. Teresa of Àvila's Discalced Carmelite order. Ana was born in October of 1550, the youngest child of a large Catholic family.
Her three brothers, three sisters, and their parents all attended Mass frequently as a family. Her parents instilled a life of faith in their young children, praying the rosary together, instructing their children in Catholic doctrine, and teaching their children to provide for and care for the poor they offered hospitality to in their home.
Ana was drawn to the love expressed by Christ in his passion, and she meditated upon his suffering for us often. Ana desperately wanted to imitate Christ. When Ana was only nine years old, her mother passed away. Only a year later, Ana's father died as well, leaving young Ana in desolation.
Left in the care of her brothers, Ana deeply desired to join the religious order, but her elder brothers would not hear of it, convinced that Ana would not be able to persist in religious life, and leave them, embarrassed, with a spinster sister.
Ana languished, miserable and alone. She fell ill, and nothing could cure her. Her relatives worried about her health, but no cure could help her. Finally, they carried her to a hermitage dedicated to St. Bartholomew, and Ana was cured.
At long last, Ana entered the Carmelite convent as a secular member. She entered in 1570 and remained the infirmarian at the Carmelite convent until 1605. Ana cared for St. Teresa faithfully on her deathbed. Teresa died in Ana's arms.
In 1605, the French Carmelites appointed Ana the superior of the convent in Pontoise. This was a highly unusual step, as Ana was a "secular Carmelite," meaning she was not part of the choir, and removed from the convent's life of prayer. She was consecrated as a religious sister and took over the convent at Pontoise. Ana became the prioress of several different convents: Tours, Flanders, and finally Antwerp, where she died on June 7, 1626. Her spiritual writings and letters are preserved in Antwerp and Paris.
Pope Benedict XV beatified Ana on May 6, 1917.
Blessed Anne of St. Bartholomew, companion to St. Teresa of Avila—pray for us!
Image Credit: Our featured image of Bl. Anne of St. Bartholomew is in the public domain. Last accessed March 6, 2025 on Wikimedia Commons.
