AN EASTER STORY

Easter is happening all around us every day. In this post I'll share an excerpt from my book Faces of Easter. An Easter story that truly needs to be told.

As soon as Walter walks through the door as a freshman, it’s obvious that he’s staggering under some heavy emotional burdens. He can’t look anyone in the eye, preferring to stare at the floor instead, and if asked a question he might not respond at all, or might mumble a monosyllable; he plods through each day, hiding behind the protective barriers he’s set up and avoiding human contact as much as possible. Even shaking someone’s hand seems to be an ordeal. 

So, we convince him to live in our student residence hall, where he’s assigned to be a member of a group of ten other kids who, like him, are dealing with serious emotional and psychological issues. The eleven have their own separate hallway in the dorm and follow a strict schedule that includes a common study hall, frequent group therapy sessions and an individual conference once a week with one of our counselors. By accumulating “hours” of good behavior and acceptable grades—Walter isn’t particularly good at either—a student in this group can earn certain privileges, such as right to study in his room instead of in the study hall, and, eventually, to go home for a weekend visit.

The school year quickly shifts into high gear, and I have almost no contact with Walter for weeks at a time. I do hear an occasional comment from a teacher, however, that Walter is aloof and uncommunicative. The gold light of September cools over the weeks into the grayness of December, and suddenly it’s time for Christmas break, which means that Walter will be going home for the first time since the beginning of the fall semester. 

As all the students are charging out the door toward a two-week break, I notice Walter standing outside on the top step in front of the school, with a suitcase and a big laundry bag at his feet, peering nervously up the street. Having no idea if he’ll consent to shake my hand or even acknowledge my greeting, I step out of the door and offer him my hand, saying “Have a great vacation, Walt.” He ignores my hand (Had I made a mistake by offering it?), and stares at me. Then, appearing half confused, and half insulted, he looks me in the eye and asks: “What, no hug?” I stand there for a second, dumbfounded.

The moment is so full of mystery and grace and love that I won’t even try to reduce it to words. But you can be sure that Walter got his hug.

HAPPY EASTER!

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

 

This Sunday's Gospel begins by telling us that on that first Easter day the Apostles were gathered "behind locked doors." The following reflection is taken from my book "Faces of Easter." I hope it will speak to you during this holy season.

Houses on James Street

Walking down James Street, not far from the monastery, past the restored brick rowhouses, I get this closed-in feeling. There’s wrought iron grillwork protecting the windows, and most of the front doors are blank and uninviting, and fitted with tiny peepholes so that the occupants can see who is ringing their bell. 

The iron-grilled windows and the sealed-up doors remind me of the gospel passage we heard on Easter -- the story of the twelve apostles on the first Easter Sunday evening.

They were hiding behind a locked door like one of these, afraid that the authorities were about to come and arrest them. I can imagine them staring anxiously at the door, sneaking glances at one another, expecting at any moment to hear the fateful knock that would signal arrest, torture and death. Then, just as the suspense becomes unbearable, they see the risen Jesus standing in their midst greeting them: “Peace be with you.”

Further along James Street, the wrought iron bars on a window catch my eye. When I slow my pace to study them closely, I suddenly feel uneasy for some reason that I can’t put my finger on. Then, as I keep staring, I realize that sometimes my own heart and soul must look like that. When I’m in a situation where I’m not in control, or where I’m not sure what is going to happen next, or I feel threatened, then up go my defenses -- locked doors, closed shutters, iron bars, the works.  

Too often I even put up defenses against God, afraid that he’ll ask too much of me -- that is, he may challenge me to shift the center of my life from myself to him. So, when the Lord wants to come and meet me or teach me some difficult lesson, he has to contend with my home security system, especially my protective bars.

Luckily for me, however, Jesus doesn’t seem to be put off by the barred windows and locked doors of my heart, any more than he was by that door the disciples had locked on that first Easter evening. He has lots of ways to get past my defenses. For example, I’ll suddenly realize that some person has found their way into my heart despite my carefully guarded doors, I hear Jesus’ loving greeting as he stands beside that person inside my defenses: “Peace be with you!”

I continue down the sidewalk past more sealed-up houses. A

young woman is striding toward me pushing a stroller. When I glance down at the baby’s serene and radiant face, I feel a tug at my heart; my breath catches as I glimpse God’s glory for a moment. As mother and child continue past me, I’m about to thank the Jesus for that surprise splinter of the divine presence, when I hear his voice -- he’s already inside my heart: “Peace be with you!” He’s done it again.

Reflection 

Do you ever find yourself putting up defenses against God? When are the times that this is most likely to happen? What are God’s favorite ways of speaking to you, of getting past your defenses? Think of a time when the Lord helped you to overcome your fear, and give you the gift of peace.

A BLESSED EASTER SEASON!

ABOUT TIME

Earlier this week, the gospel reading a mass told is that Jesus was preaching in

the temple, but the Pharisees and other enemies did not arrest him “because his hour had not yet come” (Jn 7:30).  

The Greek word that is translated “hour” is the noun kairos.

I’d like to reflect in this post on this very special word.

The Greeks had two words for “time.” The first is the kind of time you measure out in months, minutes and milliseconds. That is called chronos (which gives us such English words “chronological” and “chronometer”). This is time as something measurable, divisible into quantities. In the Parable of the Talents a master goes off on a journey and returns “after a long time (chronos) (Mt. 25:19).” Paul tells the elders of Miletus, “You know how I have lived among you the whole time (chronos) from the day I first came to the province of Asia. (Ac. 20:18)" We’re well acquainted with this sort of time; but in Greek there’s a second word for time, one which is central to understanding the Gospel message.

While chronos refers to time as measured off in minutes and hours, the second

word, kairos, means time as an event, an occasion or an opportunity. This is the time we refer to in expressions such as “We had a great time.” or “It’s high time we did something” or “It’s time to start.” Chronos answers the questions “What time is it?” and “How much time is left.” Kairos, on the other hand, is concerned with much deeper questions: “What’s the meaning of this moment?” “What is the significance of this event?”

Kairos has various meanings in the NT. It is often translated “season” – that is, a time that has a purpose, such as the season for harvest. The Septuagint translation of the famous passage in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 begins "A time (kairos) to be born and a time  (kairos)  to die." Jesus walked up to a fig tree but found no fruit on it because “it was not the season  (kairos)  for figs. (Mk. 11:13)”

Kairos also has the sense of "a suitable time, an opportunity." The faithful servant in charge of the household will “distribute food to them at the due time (kairos)  (Mt. 24:45)” St. Paul encourages us, “Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time (kairos) we shall reap our harvest…. So then, while we have the opportunity (kairos) , let us do good to all… (Gal. 6:10)"

Sometimes kairos refers to the time ordained for the fulfilling of a prophecy, as when the angel Gabriel says to Zechariah, “But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until these things take place, because you did not believe my words which will be fulfilled in their proper time (their  kairos) . (Lk 1:20)” Jesus warns his hearers to be on watch for the final days, “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time  (kairos)  will come! (Mk. 13:33)”   

     

While we are learning how to measure time (chronos) more and more precisely, we seem to be losing our sense of kairos, of what time is for, of what our life ultimately means. For many people, time has lost its purpose. Boredom and depression haunt supposedly successful people who feel their lives are empty and meaningless, while depression and despair dog the poor and disadvantaged because they have no sense of a better future to give them hope. 

Lots of people try to fill the time as if it were an empty container by watching endless hours of mind-numbing television sitcoms, surfing the internet, or paging through meaningless magazines. Others even try to kill time as if it were a pesky weed or a threatening monster. Our world knows only chronos, how to measure it and use it, and cannot answer the kairos question, "What is this all ultimately about anyway?"   

Christians believe, though, that since the coming of Christ into time and space at

the Incarnation, there simply is no more chronos -- everything is kairos. When God came among us as a human, all of creation was given ultimate meaning, and all time became special and sacred. From that moment, every event of life is part of the unfolding story of God's love for the world. 

There is a catch, though: I still have to decide every day to live in kairos, to cooperate with God's saving plan for me. When I do this, the time I spend at the office or relaxing in front of the television or cooking supper, all of that is now sacred time, kairos. 

If, on the other hand, I insist on living in my own self-centered time, writing my own version of the story instead of God's, then I'm caught in the clutches of chronos and condemned to a life that has no real meaning. This refusal to live in God's kairos is what we call sin.

Kairos is a key to understanding Christian living. 

First, it teaches me to stay in the present moment, because this is the only time I can possibly meet God. I can't encounter the Divine in the past, because yesterday is gone, nor in the future, because tomorrow never gets here. Paul reminds the Corinthians, “Behold, now is the acceptable time (kairos), now is the day of salvation (2 Cor. 6:2).”

When I'm truly living in kairos, the joy of the kingdom will shine out in my way of speaking and acting. When my work, my play, and even my suffering are all sacred, then there will be no place in my life for work that is half-hearted or slovenly, for entertainment that is degrading to the human person, or for suffering that is separated from a sense of hope. Even the darkest and most painful hours of my life will be lived with special meaning: they are my own Gethsemane, my personal Calvary, my mysterious sharing in Christ's saving kairos of passion, death and resurrection.

If  I spend my whole life trying to live in kairos, trying to imitate Christ as best I can, then death itself loses its sting (I Cor. 15:55), and in the words of the Preface in the mass of Christian Burial, "life is changed, not ended." Dying is simply the deepening of my experience of the kairos that I've already been faithfully living on earth all this time, decade by decade, year by year, minute by minute, and, yes, to second. 

During the upcoming days of  Passiontide and Holy Week, we will celebrate alongside Jesus when His kairos has come, the "hour" of our salvation.

THE EASTER VERB

 

"OPENING UP" - The Easter Verb

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Here is my Easter post from 2009, just as it appeared then. I trust that it hasn't lost too much of its freshness over the past 15 years.

The Road away from the Empty Tomb

As we make the transition in this blog away from our Lenten pilgrimage and into traveling together through "troubled times" we find a perfect gospel story in Luke 24:13-35 to start us on our way. Two discouraged and disappointed disciples are on the road home. Their hopes for a Messiah have been cruelly dashed by the execution of Jesus. As they left to go back to their village they even heard confusing rumors that now the body was missing from the tomb. It was all too much -- definitely "troubled times" for them. Luke tells their story by playing on the contrasting themes of "openness" and "closedness".

When we're faced with a threatening or difficult situation our natural tendency is to retreat to a safe position -- reflected in expressions like "circling the wagons" or "don't take any chances." Easter is a time, though, for opening and openness. It comes in spring, the season when the buds begin to open out into blossoms and flowers.

The Road to Emmaus -- Opening Up

Luke wants to show us that the Paschal mystery is all about taking chances and leaving ourselves open in faith rather than losing hope and closing in on ourselves. In telling the account of Christ’s appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus on the first Easter afternoon Luke makes his point by using the Greek verb dianoigō, "to open" three separate times. [Dianoigō, (dee-an-oy'-go) comes from dia- (an intensifier) and anoigō, "to open"] Let's see what we can learn from his use of this word in the story.

The account begins with two disciples walking the seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus, sick with discouragement because Jesus, whom they had thought was the Messiah who would set Israel free from the Romans, has been executed. Jesus is dead, and so are their hopes. Then, suddenly, the risen Christ is walking beside them on the road and explaining the scriptures as the three of them travel along together.

The two do not recognize him until, as evening starts to fall, they invite him to stay with them. At this point we encounter the idea of opening for the first time. As the three are seated at table together, Jesus blesses the bread, breaks it, and gives it to them. “With that their eyes were opened [dianoigō] and they recognized him" (Luke 24:31).

When this mysterious traveler had appeared on the road, the two disciples did not realize who he was. As the Greek text says, “their eyes were prevented from recognizing him” (v. 16). Both of the men were caught off guard because Jesus, the supposed Messiah, had been executed, and so their minds had become closed to the possibility that he could still be the Messiah. While walking with them on the road Jesus had been very blunt in rejecting their hopes for a glorious, victorious military Messiah: “How stupid you are! How slow!… was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and enter into his glory" (vv. 25-26)? The risen Jesus was a stranger to them because he did not fit their preconceptions -- they were not looking for a failed Messiah, they were not open to the possibility of a suffering and crucified Savior.

The story continues. As soon as the disciples recognize Jesus, he vanishes from their sight. Then they say to one another, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened [dianoigō] the scriptures to us” (v. 32)? This time it is not their eyes that are being opened, but God's inspired word. In the same way Acts 17:3 describes Paul preaching in Thessal-onika, “expounding and explaining (literally 'opening') the scriptures," namely, that “the Messiah had to suffer and rise from the dead."

When the revealed word is “opened,” it gives us a glimpse into the single, central mystery of Christ's passion-death-resurrection; in the light of the Paschal event, suffering (the “wilderness experience” if you will) takes on meaning and becomes a deeply mysterious but integral part of God’s loving plan for the world.

Let's catch up with the two disciples one last time; by now they have run all the way back to Jerusalem. As they arrive in the room where the apostles are assembled, they are greeted with “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!” Then the two start to tell their own story. While they are still speaking, Jesus appears in their midst, greets them and tells them not to be afraid. “Then he opened [dianoigō] their minds to understand the scriptures. And he said to them, ‘Thus it is written that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day…’" (v.45). Once again, “opening” (this time of "minds") is connected with the mystery of Christ's redemptive suffering and death. This time it is the disciples’ minds that are opened. Up to this point their minds have been closed to the possibility that through defeat could come victory, that through death could come eternal life, and that through suffering could come salvation.

Open Hearts, Open Tombs

After the Emmaus episode is finished, Luke continues the theme of “opening” in his second volume, the Acts of the Apostles. He tells us, for instance, that while Paul and Timothy are at Philippi, they go outside the city on the Sabbath to a place of prayer and speak with the women who are gathered there. One of them is Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth and a worshiper of God. As she listens to them, Luke tells us, “The Lord opened [dianoigō] her heart to pay attention to what Paul was saying" (Acts 16:14). This time it is someone's heart that is opened toward Paul, so that she can hear his message about Christ.

So, Easter is a season of opening up, a time for God to open hearts, minds, and eyes, and, of course, tombs. The Lord promises through Ezechiel, "I am going to open [anoigō] your graves" (Ezechiel 37:12). And Matthew shows us the fulfillment of this prophecy at the moment when Jesus dies on the cross: "The earth quaked, rocks were split, tombs were opened [anoigō] and the bodies of many who had fallen asleep were raised" (Matthew 27:51-52).

The Perfect Easter Verb

Interweaving as it does the themes of suffering Messiah, death, faith, and resurrection, dianoigō is a unique encouragement to me when I'm facing the difficulty or challenge of the wilderness; it opens my eyes to see Christ's presence as he walks beside me on the road of suffering, it gives me the confidence to allow the risen Lord to open my heart to accept new possibilities, it opens my mind to embrace the mysterious paschal truth that through defeat comes victory, through suffering comes salvation, and through death comes new and eternal life.

May each of us be open to the graces of the Eternal Spring, the new life of Easter!

Reflection

Not Yet!

My hour has not yet come

In the last sentence of this past Friday’s gospel passage, St. John tells us that the crowd in Jerusalem could not attack Jesus “because His hour had not yet come.”

He uses that phrase a couple of times in his gospel. First, we remember the scene at Cana when his mother asks him to solve the problem of the wine running out, and he explains “my hour has not yet come.”

Then, in verses skipped in the editing of Friday’s passage, from John Chapter 7, when “his brothers” encourage him to go up to Jerusalem, he replies “my time is not yet here;” and in the following verse he explains to them “I am not going up to this feast, because my time has not yet been fulfilled.” 

And then the verse in Friday’s gospel, “no one laid a hand upon him, because his hour had not yet come.”

In each of these passages, the same word shows up in the original Greek: oupo, a very common adverb meaning: “not yet.” 

As ordinary as the word  oupo, “not yet” may be, it is crucially important in all the passages we just heard: To say that the hour has NOT YET arrived indicates that eventually the hour WILL arrive.

It implies that Jesus' life is following the plan, but as of yet not all the stages of that plan have occurred. But they will. Christ’s earthly life is following a trajectory, heading in a single direction: it has significance, it has meaning.

And if that’s the case, then we who have Christ living in us and who are living in Christ, we are also living out that plan, following that same trajectory. This is especially important for you and me to remember when things are going badly. In times of pain and hopelessness we can hold onto that little word  oupo , “not yet,” that assures us that no matter what things may look like, our lives are heading in a certain meaningful direction, and therefore, everything in our lives has meaning, even and especially the seemingly bad parts.

Father, the hour has come

At the last supper, Jesus says, “Father, the hour has come, glorify, your son.” It is in his suffering and death that he finally reaches the hour, his goal: the Glory of the father. And we who have suffered with him will one day be glorified with him as well.

Each year during Holy Week and Easter, we celebrate the “hour,”  we remind ourselves how the story turns out:  Christ’s passion and death are oupo, not yet the end of the story. We know that the Easter mystery does not end on Good Friday: we live in the assurance that Sunday is coming.

The idea of oupo, “not yet” disappears early on Easter morning, when Christ is finally raised to a new life, and then in the ascension is brought to the fullness of glory at his Father's right hand. 

And we who are still suffering here in this vale of tears are on our way to join him there. It's just that our own hour of glory has not yet come. 

A final thought: Lots of times when when it seems that "God didn't answer your prayer," the Lord did in fact give an answer to your request -- the answer was oupo. 

Oupo -- Not yet!

THE TRAGIC SENSE OF LIFE

Today, July 27, is the feast of Mary Magdalene, who certainly is a good patron saint for people who have to deal with tragedy in their life. I think itś appropriate, then, to share some of my recent reading from Richard Rohr in Falling Upward. Here are his thoughts on the Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno. I have broken the passage into shorter paragraphs. 

The exact phrase “the tragic sense of life“ was first popularized in the early 20th century by the Spanish philosopher Miguel de Unamuno, who courageously told his European world that they had distorted the meaning of faith by aligning it with the western philosophy of “progress“ rather than with what he saw as rather evident in the Judeo-Christian scriptures. Jesus and the Jewish prophets were fully at home with the tragic sense of life, and it made the shape and nature of reality very different for them, for Unamuno, and maybe still for us. 

By this clear and honest phrase, I understand Unamuno to mean that life is not, nor ever has been, a straight line forward. According to him, life is characterized much more by exception and disorder, than by total or perfect order. Life, as the biblical tradition makes clear, is both loss and renewal, death and resurrection, chaos, and healing at the same time; life seems to be a coalition of opposites.

Unamuno equates the notion of faith with trust in an underlying life force so strong that it even includes death. Faith also includes reason, but is a larger category than reason for Unamuno. Truth is not always about pragmatic problem-solving and making things “work,“ but about reconciling contradictions. Just because something might have some dire effects does not mean it is not true, or even good. Just because something pleases people does not make it true either.

Life is inherently, tragic, and that is the truth, that only faith, but not our seeming logic, can accept. This is my amateur and very partial summary of the thought of this great Spanish philosopher. (Falling Upward, 54)

We Christians, are, of course, supposed to be well aware of how this tragic sense of life becomes real in the Easter Mystery; but we can use a lot of help when it comes to accepting it without understanding it.

Saint Mary Magdalene, pray for us!

WALKING WITH JESUS

A friend pointed out to me a day or two ago that I hadn't written a post for Easter. I had been so delightfully busy during Holy Week that writing a post simply slipped my mind. Please excuse me!

Here's something I've been reflecting on since Thursday, when I preached on the day's gospel passage. In

the familiar story of the two apostles on their way home to Emmaus on the first Easter morning, Jesus suddenly begins walking with them along the road. The gospel tells us, however, that “their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.” I began to reflect on that little sentence, “their eyes were held back from recognizing him.” The Greek verb krateo , "to hold back" connotes a powerful force. For instance, in Chapter 7 of the Book of Revelation four angels are assigned to “hold back” the four winds in the four corners of the Earth. Here we can imagine the cosmic dimension of the power of this "holding back."

So, returning to the two disciples on the road, what is the powerful force that is "holding back" their eyes from recognizing Jesus as he walks along beside them? We could think of itas something extremely powerful, like the strength of those four apocalyptic angels holding back the winds.

Jesus has become unrecognizable to the two sad disciples, a stranger to them. Jesus as a stranger, you see, represents the mystery of God‘s ways. The two disciples are not expecting a suffering, crucified Messiah. (Remember that one of them admits to Jesus “we thought he was the one to redeem Israel.") But now, after the crucifixion they have given up that hope and have started walking home. God’s way of delivering Israel is not one they could ever have expected. And so they do not recognize the Savior when he comes. Their preconceptions are what "holds back their eyes."

Our preconceptions can sometimes blind us, too, from recognizing the Risen Jesus. When things go terribly wrong, say, when some painful event brings awful suffering into our life or the life of someone we love, we can lose the sense of God’s presence in our sufferings. In short, Jesus can become a stranger, just as he was to the two disciples on the road, as he represents the mystery of God’s ways.

But what an advantage we have over those two disciples on the road! Our advantage centers on the idea ofthe “Paschal Mystery." The Paschal mystery includes Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection. All three are  inseparably united, The Church doesn’t celebrate the feast of Easter in isolation from Jesus’ suffering and death. For instance, the missal has this official title at the beginning of the Holy Thursday liturgy: “The Sacred Paschal Triduum.” We can't have Easter without Good Friday.  

So, unlike those two companions on the road, we who believe in the Paschal Mystery should be on the lookout for the crucified Messiah all the time. We know he comes to us in so many guises: in our own sufferings as well as in the person of  the sick, those who are suffering emotionally or mentally, victims of war, prejudice, or natural disaster, and so forth.

Let us pray for the grace to be quick to recognize the victorious crucified Savior as he walks beside us every day, especially in our own particular sufferings, whatever they may be.

Have a Blessed Easter Season!

PUTTING COVID19 IN ITS PLACE

We can't escape the fact that for the past year we've been experiencing everything in the context of the

Covid Pandemic. From planning the Olympics to practicing high school basketball, from the pandemic's dire effects on airlines and corner bodegas. 

We've grown used to (not to mention fatigued by) the pervasive presence of the coronavirus, and are reminded of it every time we put on our mask, distance ourselves from someone, or attend a meeting or a class over Zoom. And we mustn't forget the over 500,00 Americans who have died; for many of us the statistics are very real, they have names and faces 

This is our world - and it's not a pleasant picture. 

Easter, however, invites us to ask the question: "Which is the bigger reality? The Universal Christ who has conquered death, or the pandemic?" For a Christian, to think of "Easter in a time of Covid" seems to be getting things completely backwards. The background against which we experience the events of our lives is not the pandemic at all, but rather the Easter Event: By dying and rising, Christ has conquered death and has brought us with Him. This Easter Event is the central fact of our existence, of our entire universe, and provides the background, the context, the "wallpaper" against which we experience everything in our lives, whether good or bad, happy or sad, including the Covid19 pandemic and everything about it.

For a Christian, then, the challenge is to experience the pandemic in the light of the Easter mystery, to put the pandemic in its proper context. Maybe the key here is to think in terms of the "Paschal Mystery," an expression that has come up in recent posts. The paschal mystery, which is the central belief of every Christian, refers to Christ's suffering-death-resurrection as a single event, in which the three seemingly separate experiences of Christ are inseparable from one another. And, of course, this is true of or own suffering and dying: they are part of that same Paschal Mystery that always ends in victory over death.

All of the suffering that is connected with the pandemic is, then, somehow, mysteriously, a participation in the sufferings of Christ, and of his death and resurrection. 

In the light of the Paschal Mystery, all of this Covid suffering has meaning. With our limited intellects, we can't understand the meaning yet; but with the eyes of faith we can see that it's all part of God's infinitely mysterious love for each of us.     

EASTER PEOPLE IN THE PANDEMIC

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Here is the text of my sermon at the Easter Vigil this year.

I believe it’s safe to say that every one of us will remember this Easter for the rest of our lives. Having to celebrate the most important feast of the Christian calendar seperated from our families and friends guarantees that this Easter will feel weird at best, and even somber or sad. We’re telling one another “It doesn’t feel like Easter.” It feels “hollow.”

We can’t miss the bitter irony that just at the time when the Church is celebrating the mystery of Christ’s rising gloriously triumphant and conquering the powers of death, We find ourselves in the clutches of this deadly pandemic.

Tonight of all nights we need to take seriously the question that many people of good will are posing:  “If God is supposedly all loving and also all powerful, then how can you explain the existence of this horrible pandemic? Why would a good God allow such terrible suffering?”

There are different responses to this question:

One response is frustration: Since there is no reasonable answer, I conclude that there really is no God. Since I can’t figure out why there is so much pain and evil in the world, I give up in frustration and cry out angrily,  “There is no God, and I hate him!”

Another way of reacting if there is no God is to make up your own God, and settle for some created thing that gives your life some temporary meaning: Money, power, prestige, or pleasure. People get away with this pretty often in fact. But when some overwhelming evil such as Covid-19 crashes into their lives, money or power or popularity suddenly don’t work very well.

I want to mention another response, one that religious believers too often fall back on. At times like the present, these folks are embarrassed for God,
So they try to find excuses for God’s seemingly terrible behavior. So they come up with plausible reasons why God is allowing evil: The pandemic is a punishment for the world’s sin. An angry God has finally gotten fed up with our sinfulness, and has started slapping his children around. The idea is, I guess, that if the pandemic is our fault, then this shifts the blame from the Lord and onto us. The fact that this also makes God into an angry, abusive, unforgiving and spiteful tyrant doesn’t seem to bother these pious folks.

Well, unfortunately, as we know, none of these solutions work:

We’re STUCK in the middle of a worldwide pandemic, that’s about as evil a thing as you can imagine.

And there’s no way out.

So far this doesn’t sound like much of an Easter sermon. Let’s try looking at the gospel accounts of

the resurrection. That first Easter morning was anything but joyful and comforting. Some women go to the tomb to find that Jesus’ body is missing. Then conflicting reports start circulating about
white-robed messengers and burial clothes.

Everyone is confused, and no one knows quite what to believe at first.All they know for certain was that the tomb is empty. Imagine how frustrated you and I would be this evening if all we had to celebrate was an empty tomb!

But then, the crucial stage of the Easter story begins: The risen Lord starts appearing to his disciples. These encounters with the Risen Jesus change everything. Out of defeat has come victory! Out of death has come new life! But, and here a crucial point, the crucified and risen One was invisible to non-believers -- he could be seen only with the eyes of faith!

Now at last we’re getting somewhere with our Easter homily. We, too, can see the Risen Christ, but only with the eyes of Faith. And this is exactly why we come together tonight, to celebrate the resurrection, to shout that Jesus has conquered death!

When we train our eyes of faith on the coronavirus pandemic, we see so much more than frightening statistics, and photos of  refrigerated trucks full of corpses. As women and men of faith, we can see the Risen Lord in the midst of all this suffering and confusion on this Easter Day.

I wonder if you noticed that this evening there was no entrance hymn. On this, the most important feast of the year. As one of my students might say, “What’s up with that?”

You may remember that the service on Good Friday ended abruptly, with the celebrant simply walking away in total silence. And then, tonight the liturgy began right where we left off on Friday afternoon: in total silence.
This is a profound Easter symbol: the two celebrations of Good Friday and Easter Sunday are blended seamlessly into one reality called the Paschal Mystery. 

The lack of an entrance hymn tonight was meant t0 remind us that just as in our own lives, Good Friday and Easter are not two independant realities, the suffering and pain of our own Good Fridays make sense only when we see them as part of the MYSTERY of Easter Sunday. And our Easter celebration this evening will make no sense at all unless we see it as part of the world’s Good Friday, as our brothers and sisters this evening are sharing in the suffering of Jesus on the cross.

Saint Augustine tells us that we are “Easter People;” and as Easter People, we are to be the Risen Lord for others. This is how the Risen One intends to appear to each of us, the way he did to Mary Magdalene that first Easter morning, when she didn’t recognize him at first.

Through you and me, Jesus wants to make himself visible to the eyes of faith: This is why something inside of us responds so warmly whenever we hear stories  of  loving  brothers and sisters going out of their way to help others in need: We recognize in those people the Risen Jesus, and we can say with the apostles, “I have seen  the Lord!”

I had that experience a couple of days ago, and I’d like to share it with you.
EMS Facebook page:
University Hospital, Newark    April 4 at 7:28 PM     Terry Hoben

I honestly don’t know where to begin. It was 10:54 this morning and Grembo was calling. He said quickly "we have a problem". Our emergency department was in trouble, staffing critically low, many patients on ventilators and more were coming in. We went back and forth and talked about what we could do to help … they needed our help. They needed us - EMS. The facebook post went out asking for help. I called the chiefs in Newark and asked for their help and they briefed our duty Medics, EMT’s, and Nurses. It was only a few minutes and the phone began to ring with many saying they would help.
The sheer number of our EMS men and women answering the call for help was staggering. It was only minutes later, and our MICU’s were moved to waiver mode and single medic initiated, our EMT’s stepped up and the system continued. Off duty nurses and paramedics raced to the ED to help. NorthSTAR landed bringing two nurses and a medic too. When I arrived our EMS team was in Tyvek, eye pro and respirator helping everyone. The scene was breathtaking, ED nurses were moved to tears, 14 EMS staff filled the ED. I can’t put to words how heart-warming and proud I was to see everyone in action and knowing the rest of our team was in the field working so hard to keep the streets together.
To all “our” Paramedics, Nurses, EMT’s, dispatchers and the Supervisors upstairs and down who answered the call for help today and showed up doing what we all know is uncomfortable and scary, dealing with this freaking horrible COVID-19. This invisible enemy that has hurt our fellow department members terribly, some fortunate to return to talk about it and others that still lay in their hospital beds under care.
We are University Hospital EMS and YOU are the best damn group of EMS professionals that have ever blessed this earth. Please stay safe and be careful out in the streets and in our Emergency Department where all of you are working right now!

What do you mean it doesn’t feel like Easter this year?
To the eyes of faith, this is what the Risen Christ looks like on Easter, 2020. Isn’t it the risen Christ who phones the elderly couple who live in the apartment downstairs and offers to go shopping for them? Isn’t it the Risen Christ who comes as a sixteen year old living in our residence hall these days, and spends hours helping in our parish food pantry because the volunteers can’t come in? Isn’t it the Risen Christ we see on television in all sorts of generous people who are finding ways of helping their brothers and sisters to get through these difficult days?

What do you mean it doesn’t feel like Easter this year?
Sisters and brothers, we are Easter People. Easter is happening all around us through Easter People like you and me.

So, at first glance, it may not seem like Easter this year. There are fewer marshmallow eggs and no big family get-togethers. But if we celebrate it as Easter people, by being the Risen Christ to one another, then I believe it’s safe to say that every one of us truly will remember this Easter as one of the best ones ever.

Happy Easter!