The Third Sunday in Lent, March 8, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bruno Santana, OHC

The Third Sunday in Lent, March 8, 2026

• Exodus 17:1-7
• Romans 5:1-11
• John 4:5-42

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“Domine, da mi hi aquam” ( Lord, give me water)

Today is the third Sunday of Lent and is International Women’s Day. In our gospel today a woman plays a very important rule and, I want to bring some important women in the church history and in the monastic life to help us in our reflections.

When I was in college in Spain, between my colleagues we always had biblical and theological discussions and questions and preparing this homily came to my mind the question about the Samaritan women, about her name. We know from tradition that her name was St. Photina. The first one that recognize Jesus as the Messiah.

Most of you left your home and come here to our monastery to a centering prayer retreat, personal retreat, came to mass and others to become a monk like my brothers and myself. We all came here because there is a desire for God in us. I want to invite you to be aware of, to recognize the desire for God that is present in you, in your heart, inside us, in the depths of our being.

I believe that you heard about Saint Teresa D’avila about prayer. (1515–1582), a Spanish Carmelite nun, mystic. In her autobiography, The Book of Her Life (30:19), she says: 

“Oh, how many times do I recall the living water that the Lord told the Samaritan woman about! And so, I am very fond of that gospel passage. Thus, it is, indeed, that from the time I was a little child, without understanding this good as I do now, I often begged the Lord to give me the water. I always carried with me a painting of this episode of the Lord at the well, with the words, inscribed: Domine, da mihi aquam” (Lord, give me that water).

In today's gospel, we see how Christ approaches a Samaritan woman and establishes a dialogue with her, saying, "Give me a drink."

The Samaritan woman was surprised because it was not normal for a man to approach and speak with a stranger woman alone, and especially since she was a Samaritan, who did not speak with the Jews. But Jesus has something different, Jesus has something special, that makes her trust in Him, engaging in a conversation.

And back to Saint Teresa D’avila again when she talks prayer she says (The Book of Her Life (Vida, Chapter 8). ("Mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.")

I see this moment, this dialogue between Jesus and the Samaritan Woman as Prayer and I believe that to begin this path of love and friendship, we need to know how much Jesus loves us.

Jesus says to the Samaritan woman: "If you knew the gift of God..." He is telling her, "If you knew the gratuity of God, his infinite and unconditional love for you, everything he wants to give to you and who it is who asks you for a drink, you would ask him, and He would give you living water."

Jesus always invites us for dialogue, to discover who he is. To show us the importance of becoming aware of our need for living water.

On our journey through Lent today, we are invited to take another step in our conversion. Lent is a time for Metanoia (from the Greek μετάνοια) is a profound, transformative change of heart, mind, and direction. To think differently, to go "beyond" one's current, limited way of thinking.

Jesus invites us to discover what is the radical thirst of our life and what is the water that can truly quench our thirst to become aware that he is the only one that can satisfy our thirst in this life. He reminds us today that it is not outside where we will find that happiness we long for.

The living water is not in things external to us, but within ourselves and must be sought within.

I want to read from The Confessions of Saint Augustin this quote.

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. You were with me, but I was not with you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

This is a call to us to make an inner journey, to a personal relationship with Jesus, to receive this living Water in prayer and in love.

Jesus replied: ‘Whoever drinks this water will get thirsty again; but anyone who drinks the water that I shall give will never be thirsty again: the water that I shall give will turn into a spring inside him, welling up to eternal life’.

Jesus promises us that if we receive his water, we will not only quench our thirst but will become springs of that water and will be able to give drink to many thirsty people around us.

Like the Samaritan woman, we are invited to leave our fleeting loves that take away our strength and do not quench our thirst, and to focus on love in Christ so that from him we can love everyone.

I invite you to enter silence, enter the depths of your being (into the depth) and let Jesus speak to your heart. Let him discover the deep thirst of your soul. Let Him open your life to others and to love. Let Him plant in the deepest part of your being that spring of faith and peace never runs out but extends to eternal life happy with the Lord.

And let's say to Jesus:  Jesus, help me discover that, prayer is a meeting of the thirsty. I, being thirsty, ask You for living water, but You also tell me, "Give me a drink." You are thirsty for me.

I believe that you heard about Saint Thérèse of Lisieux in her book of a Soul: She says: "Behold then all that Jesus asks of us: “…He has no need of our works but only of our love. for this same God, who declares He has no need to tell us if he is hungry, did not hesitate to beg for a little water from the Samaritan woman. He was thirsty. But when He said: “Give me to drink,” it was the love of His poor creatures that the Creator of the universe was asking for. He was thirsty for love.”

In this text, she reflects on a very beautiful idea: God does not need our works, but He desires our love. God is the Creator of everything, so our actions do not add anything to Him. Yet in the Gospel, Jesus allows Himself to appear poor and thirsty. For example, when He asks the Samaritan woman for water in John 4:7, He says, “Give me to drink.”

Saint Thérèse understands that Jesus was not only thirsty for water. She says that He was thirsting for love—the love of human souls. The Creator of the universe was asking His creatures for their love.

The message is very simple: God is not first looking for great achievements or extraordinary works. What He desires most is love. Even the smallest act, if it is done with love, can respond to the thirst of Christ.

This is the heart of Saint Thérèse’s spiritual teaching: that simple acts of love, done every day, are very precious to God.

Saint Thérèse reminds us that great holiness is not about doing great things, but about doing small things with great love.

I want to conclude this reflection with this question: How can we give our love to Christ today, even in the smallest things?

The Second Sunday in Lent, March 1, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Second Sunday in Lent, March 1, 2026

• Genesis 12:1-4a
• Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
• John 3:1-17
• Psalm 121

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It’s always less threatening to encounter parts of ourselves in others. In our gospel today we encounter Nicodemus, who enables us to do just that. His action in coming to meet Jesus in the night, his trust, however guarded and limited by fear, prompts us to examine our own. Trust is a complex and mysterious thing. Some of it has to do with things that go back to our childhood. Some has to do with our sense of ourselves: our strengths, our weaknesses, our willingness to risk, our sense of how loveable we are. We have a common thread that binds us to Nicodemus in this episode of his life. It's a bridge moment for him, a transition, as he steps out of his comfort zone. We have all been through transitions. In fact, we as an Order are going through one right now with the upcoming election of a new Superior and the recent departure of a member of our community here. Having just returned from my visitation to our brothers in South Africa, I came to appreciate even more the drastic double transition they’re negotiating in setting up the new monastery there.

We all know what transitions feel like. They are a dark and liminal space and they are not comfortable. They are the times and places in our lives when we feel isolated and alone, when the stability and predictability of life are disrupted, when our confidence shrivels and we have more questions than answers. They are the times when we feel afraid, powerless, unprepared, and overwhelmed by what lies ahead. They are the times we feel there is nothing to hold on to, nothing makes sense, and we can’t see the way forward.

In such times it’s helpful for us to affirm that God is with us in whatever situation we find ourselves ---that God is rooted in the realities of our lives, even amid change and loss. As we receive the Eucharist today, we are physically affirming the fact that God is with us, within us, so we may continue to live in trust---especially during transition and change.

            God often calls us to new places in subtle ways. Take Nicodemus. He was a busy and powerful man, a lawyer and teacher, a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling council. He was liked and respected, but at his center there was an empty space. One night he arranged to meet Jesus secretly. It didn’t take long for Jesus to see that emptiness. There was more than curiosity in Nicodemus’ voice. In his seeking there was longing. We can recognize it because the same longing is in us. We all long for God, for the love, grace, and presence of God, whether we are conscious of it or not. It’s how we humans are created. Jesus tells Nicodemus that he needs to journey into himself. He needs to enter those parts of himself long forgotten, to discover the desire, to acknowledge the longing. All his responsibility, all his busyness, all his influence doesn’t keep him from feeling dead. All the power and control he has cannot drive this feeling from him. He needs to come alive; he needs, Jesus says, to be “born from above”. Then Jesus switches images and speaks of a wind that blows in a person’s life. You can’t control it. All you can do is wait for it. Nicodemus is attracted, confused, and repelled by what he hears. He is affirmed yet frightened. Like most of us, he is wary of things that can’t be controlled. Yet even in this conflicted moment, as he sits in the shadows, he knows that his life will never be the same again. Even if he doesn’t respond, even if he tries to drown this moment out by the duties and responsibilities of the coming days, nothing will ever be the same again. He walked away from the encounter that evening, but he never succeeded in walking away from Jesus.

            Months later, when Jesus’ body hung on the cross, Nicodemus came looking for him again. This time it was in broad daylight for all to see. He forgot his position, his reputation. He forgot everything except what Jesus had become for him. He and his friend, Joseph of Arimathea, took the body down, carried it away, and placed it in a tomb. In lowering that body, I imagine that Nicodemus descended into himself more deeply and discovered what Jesus had spoken about. In that moment of change, Nicodemus was “born from above”. In that moment, Nicodemus knew something that you and I know, especially in those painful moments of discovery born of change, loss, and transition. He knew that Jesus, whose body he was carrying, was already rising in his heart.

            We too have our patterns of busyness and responsibilities. But even the most consuming schedule cannot stifle the longing for something more. Jesus satisfies that longing if we seek him out, even in the darkness of our fears and confusion. Like Nicodemus, we too are directed to look deep within ourselves for that part of us which has never yet managed to be born or has gotten so weighted down that it has forgotten what it is. If we stay present to our discomfort, we will also feel something else arising, a more real awareness of our true selves. Then we too can expect a wind, a spirit that we cannot control or manage. It comes in endless and unexpected ways to energize us, to give us hope and courage. And, when we feel as if all is dead inside us, it will enable us to rise again, to God’s life, what Jesus calls eternal life.  +Amen.

The First Sunday in Lent, February 22, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero

The First Sunday in Lent, February 22, 2026

• Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
• Romans 5:12-19
• Matthew 4:1-11

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Saint Anthony of Egypt, the first well known dessert monk, said: “Whoever has not experienced temptation cannot enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Without temptations no-one can be saved.”

Our Gospel reading this morning begins with “Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” I’ll read it again. “Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” This happens right after Jesus’ baptism. Let’s remember what took place then. I’ll read it: “And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’” And, so, “Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” Why, thank you so much Spirit, for this lovely Baptism present! I think I will have a great time!

The role of the Holy Spirit in this Gospel story can be quite perplexing. But I think the point is that we are beloved children of God and, with us God is well pleased. But watch out with all that “belovedness”! It is the same Spirit of God who loves us that will take us to the wilderness to face our own demons. And why? Well, because if you are anything like me, you don’t choose to enter the wilderness on your own.

That is what the Desert Monastics (the Desert Fathers and Mothers in Egypt, Syria and Palestine of the 3^rd to 5th centuries) did, following the example of Jesus. They literally went to the wilderness to live in caves and deal with pain, loss and danger, and face temptation head on. They viewed temptation not as a sign of failure, but as an essential, inescapable part of the spiritual journey necessary for ongoing conversion, development of humility, strengthening of one's reliance on God. They believed that to live a life for God was to face temptations until one's last breath.

Most of us don’t normally volunteer for pain, loss, or danger. But the wilderness is still there for us, in the form of addictions, toxic relationships, corrupt governments or faulty leadership, anxious and reactive systems, debilitating illnesses, or sudden inexplicable deaths. You name it! The wilderness will always appear for all of us uninvited and unwelcomed. And it is filled with the temptations to become our own gods, and to want to control things and people to be exactly how we want them. In doing so we distance ourselves from God, and risk our relationships with creation, with each other, and with ourselves.

Jesus has come to the full realization of the mission he is to fulfill- to embody a new way of being in the world, to be a living demonstration of the power of love in action. To prepare for this mission, the Spirit leads him into the wilderness to encounter his own demons. He is "famished" after forty days of fasting. He is at the end of his physical strength, and he is alone. Spiritually, he must have been struggling to hang on to his identity as the glow of his baptism event recedes into the past. And it’s in this state of vulnerability (isn’t that always the case?) that the tempter comes ready to pull Jesus away from his vocation.

He is tempted in the same ways we are tempted- to misuse his power to satisfy his hunger and not trust the true power that comes by being in relationship with the one he calls Abba; to test God's love for him; to become his own god, like Adam and Eve had done. And temptations didn’t end for Jesus after those forty days in the wilderness. They continued throughout his ministry: the temptation not to take the Jerusalem Road, the temptation in the Garden of Gethsemane to not have to face the Cross, the temptation to come down from the cross. By refusing to succumb to the temptation to bypass the human experience, Jesus the Christ showed us that wholeness happens through the integration of the "God-image" within our humanity.

Temptations seem to all boil down to some basic categories. None of us has the power to make bread from stones, but we all share the temptation to expect and demand that the rest of the world answer to our immediate needs and wants. This temptation has to do with the illusion that we should never ever be uncomfortable and if we are, it is someone or something else's fault. In the devil’s economy, unmet desire is an aberration, not an integral part of what it means to be human. So, Jesus refused to turn stones into bread, but he will feed the hungry.

Most of us will not find ourselves at the pinnacle of the temple tempted to test God’s love by jumping and having the angels play catch. But we may be tempted to test the love of those around us by thinking that our superiority and specialness exempt us from rules and regulations and procedures. Or perhaps we think that if we are good enough, God will keep us protected from all harm. It’s a temptation that triggers our deepest fears about what it means to be human in a broken and dangerous world. But if the cross teaches us anything, it is that God’s beloved children bleed, ache, and die. We are loved in our humanity, not out of it. So, Jesus refused to jump off the pinnacle of the temple to test God’s protection, but he will, from the pinnacle of the cross, take the leap, surrendering himself completely to God’s embrace, and in so doing transforms death into eternal life.

And finally, most of us won’t be offered “all the kingdoms of the world” if we worship the devil. But if social media and the celebrity phenomena is any indication, we might just be worshiping what ought not be worshiped. It is a temptation that targets our egos. It has to do with compromising our spiritual life for power, visibility, recognition of our specialness and a moment in the spotlight and doing so by creating new deities and unfortunate sets of priorities. But Jesus’ version of significance requires humility and surrender. So, he refused political power, but he will proclaim God’s Reign of justice and peace.

Many of us have given up something for Lent: chocolate, alcohol, coffee, meat, social media, selfies! The goal is to sit with our hungers, our wants, our dependencies, and learn what they have to teach us. Can I not get what I want and still live? Can I lack and still live generously without abusing my privilege or exploiting resources all around me? Who is God when I am hungry for meaning, or intimacy, or purpose? As we follow Jesus into the wilderness, we can hear the voice of evil and recognize that we find it alluring. Temptation is part of the human condition, and Lent is not a time to do penance for being human. 

Perhaps the invitation for this season of Lent can be to lay low where we can discover that we can be human, loved and hungry at the same time. To lay low where we can discover that we can be human and hope and hurt at the same time. To lay low where we can discover that we can be human and vulnerable and beloved at the same time. I want to share with you a new melody by Daniel Schwandt of a Shaker text.

Lay me low, where the Lord can find me

Lay me low, where the Lord can hold me

Lay me low, where the Lord can bless me

Lay me low, oh, lay me low.

And we can trust that when God finds us, holds us, and blesses us, it won’t be manipulative. When God nourishes us, it may not necessarily be the food we’d choose for ourselves, but it will feed us.  And through us, if we will learn to share, it will feed the world. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen