VOICE OF THE LOGOS: REFLECTION/HOMILY FOR MONDAY OF THE SIXTH WEEK OF EASTER, YEAR 1 (MEMORIAL OF ST. PHILIP NERI)

There are times when, no matter how clear the evidence, no matter how touching the testimony or how dramatic the event, some people remain unmoved. Perhaps you’ve seen it: a friend whose life was miraculously spared in an accident still refuses to acknowledge God; a family member who witnessed someone healed through prayer only grows more skeptical; or someone who attends every church event yet remains unchanged in heart. These situations are not new. They are age-old struggles of the human heart, especially one that has grown cold, skeptical, or overly self-assured. It’s in this everyday reality that we encounter today’s theme: Why miracles don’t convince hardened hearts.

In the first reading (from Acts 16), Paul, Silas, and Timothy arrive in Philippi, a leading city of Macedonia. The “Sitz im Leben” (context) of this text is their missionary journey through Gentile lands, especially to communities unfamiliar with the Gospel. There, by the riverbank, they find a group of women gathered in prayer. Among them is Lydia, a businesswoman and worshipper of God. The Scriptures say, “The Lord opened her heart to pay attention to what Paul was saying.” The Greek verb used here is “διήνοιξεν” (diēnoixen), from “διανοίγω”, which means to open thoroughly or deeply. it must be understood that the verb “διήνοιξεν” is in the aorist active indicative, showing a decisive divine action. It’s not merely a physical or emotional openness, but a deep spiritual unveiling, a grace-filled intervention whereby Lydia’s heart becomes receptive to the apostolic word. In Luke-Acts, this term is often used in contexts where understanding or receptivity to divine truth is granted by God. An example is seen in Luke 24:45, where the resurrected Lord “opened their minds to understand the Scriptures” – “διήνοιξεν αὐτῶν τὸν νοῦν.” Thus, the verb suggests a divine action in which the soul becomes capable of receiving truth. It’s an unveiling, a grace of receptivity. What’s striking is that Lydia already feared God, but even that was not enough. It took the Lord to open her heart. Lydia’s conversion illustrates how evangelization bears fruit not only through preaching, but through God’s initiative in making the heart fertile. In contrast, the general context of Acts shows that others heard Paul but did not believe. The same message, the same preacher, yet different responses. The miracle wasn’t in the miracles or eloquence, it was in the heart that was opened.

The responsorial psalm (Psalm 149) adds another layer to this. It proclaims: “The Lord takes delight in his people,” calling them to sing, rejoice, and exalt in their Maker. It seems full of joy, but behind this invitation lies a reality: only those who accept God’s love can truly praise Him. It’s not that God hasn’t done enough. Rather, the hardened heart cannot celebrate what it refuses to recognize. Just as in Lydia’s case, the invitation is always there, but the response depends on an interior openness, a grace-enabled surrender.

The Gospel reading (John 15:26 to 16:4) brings this point to a climax. The “Sitz im Leben” here is the farewell discourse before the Passion. Jesus is preparing His followers for a future where the truth will not always be welcomed. Thus, He speaks of the coming of the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth, who will testify (μαρτυρήσει) about Him and assist the disciples in bearing witness amid persecution. This connects back to “διήνοιξεν” (diēnoixen) in the first reading because it is the Spirit who opens hearts to receive the truth. Just as Lydia’s heart was opened by the Lord through Paul’s preaching, so too the Paraclete will continue this divine action, opening hearts to the truth of Christ through the Church’s witness. The Spirit enables both understanding and testimony, themes united in both readings. Consequently, Christ also prepares the disciples for rejection. He says that some will even believe they are doing God’s will by killing His followers. This reflects a profoundly hardened heart. The Greek term μαρτυρέω (martyreō), meaning “to testify,” carries the idea of bearing witness even to the point of death. But to whom is the Spirit testifying? To the world that does not know Him. The miracles of Jesus had already been seen, but the opposition remained. Some hearts, despite seeing Lazarus raised, the blind healed, or the lame walk, only grew in hatred. In John 11:47-53, after witnessing the raising of Lazarus, the chief priests and Pharisees did not believe, they plotted to kill Jesus. Here lies the bitter truth: when the heart is closed, not even resurrection is enough.

This is why miracles don’t convince hardened hearts. The problem is not the lack of signs, but the unwillingness to see. Faith is not merely built on proof, it is nurtured in humility. The people who demanded signs from Jesus were not lacking in evidence, they were lacking in openness. In Mark 8:11-13, the Pharisees ask Jesus for a sign from heaven, and He sighs deeply, knowing it wouldn’t matter. Similarly, in Luke 16:31, Abraham tells the rich man in the parable, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” Therefore, it is not about how many signs are shown, but whether the person is disposed to receive what God wants to do. As also in the case of Pharaoh in Exodus, whose heart was hardened even after ten plagues, the presence of signs is not enough. Without humility, without surrender, the heart remains closed.

This is why saints like Philip Neri (know as the third apostle of Rome), whose feast we celebrate today, approached conversion not through arguments or displays of power, but through joyful presence, simplicity, and human closeness. He understood that hearts are rarely opened by pressure or spectacle, but by contact with someone who embodies Christ in an accessible and sincere way. His spirituality was not showy; it was deeply human, marked by humour, music, affection, and prayer. And it worked. He opened the hearts of Roman youth, skeptics, nobles, and even clergy not by convincing them, but by loving them into the truth. St. Joseph Marello (the founder of the Oblates of St. Joseph), deeply influenced by St. Philip Neri, carried this into his own quiet mission. He believed in “doing the ordinary in an extraordinary way”, trusting that faithful love and hidden virtue were more effective than loud miracles. For both saints, the greatest miracle was a heart that quietly turned to God. Little wonder Bishop Marello had to travel all the way to the third centenary of St. Philip Neri’s death despite his ailing health because of the love and respect he had for the saint. It was subsequently after this experience that he (Joseph Marello) died in Savona.

Dear friends in Christ, this speaks to anyone engaged in evangelization, catechesis, or pastoral care. There will be moments when you do everything right, say all the right things, and even point to real interventions of God, yet nothing changes. Do not be discouraged. Like Paul, your mission is to proclaim faithfully. Conversion is ultimately the work of God, not mere persuasion. Also, it challenges each of us to examine whether our own hearts are truly open. Are we like Lydia, attentive and docile to grace, or have we, out of routine, pride, or disappointment, begun to resist what God is doing? The heart, even of a believer, can gradually harden. It also teaches us not to rely on signs alone. While miracles are gifts, they are not the foundation of faith. A faith built solely on miracles can collapse when trials come. What sustains is a heart that trusts, even without seeing. Think of Mary at the foot of the Cross, who believed without needing signs. Or Joseph Marello, who in his fragility trusted God’s mission to the end, dying quietly after honouring another saint of joy, Philip Neri. Both saints bore witness not through great signs, but through quiet, persevering faith.

We are also called to examine our own hearts. Are we really open to the Word of God? Or are we, like the Pharisees, always asking for more signs while ignoring the ones already given? Do we listen to the Spirit, or do we filter everything through our own preferences and defences? Openness is not passive; it is a decision to let God disturb our comfort and invite us into something greater. And we must be reminded that the most powerful miracle that makes the heavens rejoice is a soul that returns to God. It may not trend on social media or appear in a headline, but in heaven, there is more joy over one repentant sinner than over ninety-nine who need no conversion. May we allow the Spirit to open our hearts like Lydia, and may we, like Philip Neri and Joseph Marello, become quiet instruments of that miracle in others.

Above all, we are called to be vessels through whom the Spirit can open hearts. Whether you are a priest, parent, catechist, or friend, your words, prayers, and presence matter. If you want to help someone grow in faith, don’t rely on the extraordinary. Don’t wait for a lightning bolt. Be present. Be real. Be consistent in love and truth. The work of opening hearts belongs to God, and He does it through the humble who serve, not through the proud who demand signs. This applies in family, ministry, friendship, and even evangelization.  And if you find yourself discouraged by hardened hearts around you, remember: even Jesus was rejected. Still, He never stopped loving, never stopped speaking, never stopped hoping. Neither should we.