Lectio Divina — Feast of Saint Bartholomew, Apostle
Theme: heaven
- Lectio — What is God saying to me?
«“Amen, amen, I say to you,
you will see heaven opened and the angels of God
ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”
— John 1:51»
On this Feast of Saint Bartholomew, I hear Jesus make an astonishing promise: heaven opened.
Philip finds Nathanael—traditionally identified with Bartholomew—and simply says, “Come and see.” Nathanael comes skeptical, questioning whether anything good can come from Nazareth. Yet Jesus sees something in him before Nathanael sees anything in Jesus. The encounter ends not with Nathanael looking suspiciously at Nazareth, but with Jesus directing his eyes toward heaven.
Jesus evokes Jacob’s dream of the ladder joining earth and heaven. But now the ladder is not a place. It is a Person. Jesus himself is where heaven and earth meet.
That makes me wonder whether I sometimes imagine heaven principally as someplace else—a reward awaiting me after I have finished with this troublesome earth. Jesus instead tells me to look for heaven opening here, where God has placed me. If Christ has entered creation, then caring for creation, caring for my neighbor, caring for the Church, and caring for the little piece of earth entrusted to me are not distractions from heaven. They can become places where heaven touches earth.
Am I looking toward heaven as an escape from the world, or am I looking for heaven to be opened through Christ in the world God has entrusted to me?
- Meditatio — What is God saying to my life?
Here at The Glenn I am striving to answer the call to come together with the Church to take charge of this home which has been entrusted to me, knowing that all the good which exists here will ultimately be taken up into the heavenly feast.
That changes the way I look at ordinary things.
The sheep grazing, the dogs guarding, the chickens scratching, the garden producing food, the soil responding to rain, and even my own labor are not eternal in their present form. Yet neither are they meaningless because they are temporary. Creation has come from God, is sustained by God, and is moving toward the fulfillment God intends.
Perhaps this is what I need to “come and see” today.
I can easily divide my existence into the sacred things that supposedly concern heaven and the ordinary things that concern The Glenn. Yet Christ refuses that division. The Son of Man is himself the meeting place between heaven and earth. If I encounter him at Mass and then return home, I have not left Christ behind in the church building. I am being sent from the Eucharistic table back into creation to recognize his presence and cooperate with his work.
And that means taking charge of this home does not mean possessing it as though it belonged absolutely to me. Stewardship means receiving it as something entrusted to me.
The same must be true of my place in the Church.
The Church is not mine. The Diocese is not mine. The Centennial is not mine. The Glenn is not mine. Even my life is ultimately not mine. Each is something received, and each carries responsibilities toward God and toward others.
Saint Bartholomew heard “Come and see,” encountered Christ, and discovered that the horizon was infinitely larger than he had imagined. Today I hear the same invitation. I am called to look beyond my own boundaries and discover that the smallest faithful act on earth can point toward heaven.
- Oratio — What do I want to say to God?
Lord Jesus, open heaven before me.
Through the prayers of Saint Bartholomew, give me the honesty to come and see, the humility to recognize what has been entrusted to me, and the courage to care for it faithfully.
Teach me to live on earth as one destined for heaven. Amen.
- Contemplatio — What word will I rest in?
Heaven.
Magnifica humanitas reminds me that Social Doctrine is not merely something the Church proclaims to the world; it must also become an examination of conscience within the Church herself. If the Church is to be a home and school of communion, then transparency, accountability, evaluation, shared responsibility, and attention to how decisions are made cannot merely be principles I demand from society. They must characterize ecclesial life as well.
That thought brings me back to The Glenn.
Taking responsibility for this home means examining what I am doing with what has been entrusted to me. I cannot call myself a steward while refusing to examine my stewardship. In much the same way, a Church journeying toward heaven cannot preach accountability outward while fearing accountability inward.
Synodality therefore becomes something more profound than meetings or consultations. It is a way of walking together toward the Kingdom. It asks me not merely, Who has authority? but also, How is that authority exercised? Whom does it serve? Who is heard? Who remains outside? And are we willing to examine the fruit our decisions have produced?
Jesus promises Bartholomew not a closed heaven but an opened heaven.
That is the image I want to carry today.
Heaven opened above the altar when I receive Christ.
Heaven opened above the ordinary work entrusted to me.
Heaven opened above a Church willing to examine herself honestly.
Heaven opened above creation as it waits for fulfillment.
And perhaps my task is simpler than I make it: to care faithfully for the little patch of earth and the little place in the Church entrusted to me, while keeping my eyes fixed on the heaven that Christ has opened.
Today I will ask myself: Does the way I care for what has been entrusted to me—at The Glenn and within the Church—help reveal an open heaven, or does it build another closed door?