How can I, on this Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent, continually #lift my eyes to see the divine work unfolding—as the Gospel calls me to lift up the Son of Man and as Laudato si’ urges me to lift my gaze to the fields now white for harvest—while at The Glenn I witness even the toads lifting themselves from hibernation, and despite my son Daniel being in hospice care I still lift my hands in prayer for his miracle through the intercession of the Venerable Fulton J. Sheen, all the while wondering when the Spirit might one day inspire modern men like me to truly lift ourselves from the empty cistern of our own egos❓
Gospel
Jesus said to the Pharisees:
“I am going away and you will look for me,
but you will die in your sin.
Where I am going you cannot come.”
So the Jews said,
“He is not going to kill himself, is he,
because he said, ‘Where I am going you cannot come’❓”
He said to them, “You belong to what is below,
I belong to what is above.
You belong to this world,
but I do not belong to this world.
That is why I told you that you will die in your sins.
For if you do not believe that I AM,
you will die in your sins.”
So they said to him, “Who are you❓”
Jesus said to them, “What I told you from the beginning.
I have much to say about you in condemnation.
But the one who sent me is true,
and what I heard from him I tell the world.”
They did not realize that he was speaking to them of the Father.
So Jesus said to them,
“When you lift up the Son of Man,
then you will realize that I AM,
and that I do nothing on my own,
but I say only what the Father taught me.
The one who sent me is with me.
He has not left me alone,
because I always do what is pleasing to him.”
Because he spoke this way, many came to believe in him.
Lent Day 30 Lectio Divina on the word “lift“
There are moments here at The Glenn when nature itself seems to lift its voice in praise—the toads rising from the soil, the trees budding despite the chill, and the air quietly humming with promise. It reminds me to lift my eyes beyond what is immediate and visible, and hear the divine message sown into the fields, just as Jesus urged: “lift up your eyes and see…” I sense, even in the soil and song, that “see, I am doing something new!”
Even as Daniel rests in hospice care, I lift my hands in prayer—some days shaking with sorrow, others steady with faith. I cannot control the outcome, but I can choose what to do with my ache. I lift my cries to God, asking that this suffering somehow bear fruit, knowing “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.” There is still joy, even here.
Sometimes the weight of uncertainty tempts me to bury my hope. But I remember that Fulton Sheen said we would cry out for God to lift us from the empty cisterns of our own egos—and I feel that cry within me. So I lift not only Daniel’s name, but my grief, my gratitude, my every hope for miracle and meaning, trusting that “For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things.”
I lift this season, this pain, this longing for new life to the one who makes all things new. “Even now,” says the Lord, “return to me with your whole heart; for I am gracious and merciful.” It is not easy, but I lift what I can—my gaze, my heart, my trust—toward the One who has always been faithful.
And in that sacred lifting, I meet the mystery of His mercy, spoken so gently in today’s Gospel:
As he made his way throughout the land, he often stopped to contemplate the beauty sown by his Father, and invited his disciples to perceive a divine message in things: “Lift up your eyes, and see how the fields are already white for harvest” (Jn 4:35).
FROM PARAGRAPH 97 OF THE ENCYCLICAL LETTER LAUDATO SI’ OF THE HOLY FATHER FRANCIS ON CARE FOR OUR COMMON HOME