Author: DVO

Thomas Merton, in “New Seeds of Contemplation,” writes that it is in the deepest darkness that we most fully possess God on earth because it is then that our minds are most truly liberated from the weak, created lights that are darkness in comparison to Him; it is then that we are filled with His infinite Light which seems pure darkness to our reason. In this greatest perfection of faith, the infinite God Himself becomes the Light of the darkened soul and possesses it entirely with His Truth. And at this inexplicable moment, the deepest night becomes day, and faith turns into understanding. It often happens that where there is deep faith, accompanied by true consent of love to God and to His truth, difficulties may persist in the imagination and in the intellect. In a certain sense, we may say that there are still “doubts,” if by that we mean not that we hesitate to accept the truth of revealed doctrine but that we feel the weakness and instability of our spirit in the presence of the awful mystery of God. This is not so much an objective doubt as a subjective sense of our own helplessness, which is perfectly compatible with true faith. Indeed, as we grow in faith, we also tend to grow in this sense of our own helplessness so that a man who believes much may, at the same time, in this improper sense, seem to “doubt” more than ever before. This is no indication of theological doubt at all but merely the perfectly normal awareness of natural insecurity and the anguish that comes with it. It is in the deepest darkness that we most fully possess God on earth because it is then that our minds are most truly liberated from the weak, created lights that are darkness in comparison to Him; it is then that we are filled with His infinite Light which seems pure darkness to our reason. In this greatest perfection of faith, the infinite God Himself becomes the Light of the darkened soul and possesses it entirely with His Truth. And at this inexplicable moment, the deepest night becomes day, and faith turns into understanding.

In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus’ last words to His apostles before His Ascension into Heaven, completing His mission on this earth. As He’s about to return to the Father, Jesus tells His apostles to “go into the whole world and proclaim the gospel to every creature.” How important must this be to Jesus and His plan, since these are the words on His mind before He ascends into Heaven! Jesus speaks the same words to us today. The same words He spoke to His apostles before His Ascension, He says to us today: “Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.” Most of the time, this happens in a subtle way in our everyday lives. Rather than standing on a soapbox on a street corner, we spread the Gospel by using the “most personal gifts that God has placed in our hearts, rather than hopelessly trying to imitate something not meant for us.” We spread the Gospel in our workplaces, in our schools, in our homes, and in our families through our words and actions. In a word, we spread the Gospel through our example, through our Christlikeness. We always spread the Gospel, only using words when necessary. Take a moment today to reflect on this command of the Lord to spread the Gospel to all parts of the world. How are we doing in fulfilling this desire of Jesus? How can we spread the Gospel in our daily lives? How can we show the face of Christ to a hurting world? While we’re reflecting on these questions, let’s take comfort in the fact that Jesus is with us through the whole process of evangelization, as He promised. Take comfort in the Holy Spirit’s presence in the midst of our efforts to spread the Good News. With them at our sides, nothing is impossible.

The Risen Jesus appears to seven disciples on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias. Jesus rose bodily from the dead. This is the eminently surprising and unexpected fact that gives birth to Christianity. Bishop Barron writes that the excitement that you can sense on every page of the New Testament comes from this novelty. Why did the Risen Jesus appear only to a few? Why didn’t he make himself readily apparent to anyone who wanted to see? Cardinal Newman commented on this. If Jesus had appeared publicly and indiscriminately to all, the power of the resurrection would have been lessened. Some would believe; others wouldn’t. Some would get it; others wouldn’t. Some would be fascinated, others indifferent. But now we turn to the selected disciples who were invited to breakfast with Jesus at a beach on the Sea of Tiberias. It sounds like the start of a good day. The apostles are out on the water all night and have nothing to show for their efforts. As they row in, someone beckons from the shore. He calls them “children.” He inquires about the fishing. They tell him that it has not been good. He tells them to drop a net. Presto! The net is filled with fish, and they realize that Jesus has called them. He has a fire ready to cook the fish and intends to serve these apostles, whom he has chosen as fishers of souls. This meeting after the resurrection is a lot more than breakfast. It is Jesus assuring his unsteady apostles and us that without God, our nets will be empty; with God, they will be filled, as all things are possible. The Lord knows that sometimes we all need a little reassurance.  

Jesus rose for every human being, for the whole family of God, from the first Adam to the last Antichrist. He rose not simply for the good and the “nice.” He rose not only for the Virgin Mary, who mothered him, but also for Judas, who betrayed him, and for Peter, who denied him thrice. Importantly, for our presence here today, Jesus rose to life for each of us and for those yet to come. Sr. Bridget Haase writes that we perhaps base our faith on “if only.” If only I had been there when Jesus fed the multitude, I would believe in his power. If only I had seen Jesus heal, I would believe that I could be cured of my spiritual paralysis. If only I could have heard his words of forgiveness, I would accept my own. If only I could have been a witness to these things. Let’s not miss the point. There are people making sandwiches for the homeless on a golfing day, stocking shelves in food pantries on a weekend, and preparing family meals after a day’s work. There are nurses ministering on double shifts, caretakers sacrificing for the elderly, and researchers laboring to find cures for diseases. There are parents forgiving children for past hurts, priests offering absolution in the name of God, and broken relationships being mended. It’s in the real world, not the “if only” one, that we find the presence of the Risen Christ. What a blessing to be witnesses of these things!

Nearly 2,000 years ago, two disillusioned youths consoled each other as they walked that seven-mile stretch of road separating Jerusalem from Emmaus. Fr. Rolheiser writes that they moved slowly, depression having taken the spring from their steps. A double feeling clung to their hearts that day. They were hurting, and there was reason. Their messiah and their dreams had just been crucified. A deep, dark disappointment dampened their spirits. And there was fear. Most of all, there was fear. Not fear that they themselves might be crucified. That prospect loomed more welcome than the thought of going on. Theirs was that more horrible fear, the fear that comes from the realization that perhaps nothing makes a difference after all; maybe our dreams and our hopes point to nothing more real than Santa and the Easter Bunny. The uncrucified Christ had filled them with a dream. With that dream had come a new innocence, freshness, energy, and a feeling absent since they had been children, which, prior to meeting Jesus, they had, long ago, unconsciously despaired of ever feeling again. Dreams are giving way before the caveat of the cynic; faith is daily being displaced by doubt; and perseverance and long-suffering are all but extinct in culture and church of release and enjoyment. Worst of all, there is fear, an unconscious fear whose tentacles are beginning to color every facet of life. It is the fear that perhaps our Christian hopes and dreams point to nothing beyond our own hopes and dreams. Perhaps faith is, after all, only a naiveté. Isn’t Christ as dead as he was on Good Friday? Who, save perhaps for a few good thieves, is still turning to a cross for salvation? Yet there is something else: The dream still clings to us, refusing to let us go. It burns holes in us still, hanging on to us, even when in infidelity and despair, we can no longer hang on to it. Hope is still more real than death. In our hurt, we are struggling for words and grasping for trust. We need to remain on the road to Emmaus. The stranger still stalks that same road. In his company, we need to discuss our doubts, discuss the scriptures, and continually offer each other bread and consolation. At some moment, our eyes will be opened, too. We will understand, and we will recognize the risen Lord. Then, the dream will explode anew like a flower bursting in bloom after a long winter. We will be full of a new innocence. Easter Sunday will happen again.

When Mary fell on Jesus’ feet, he resisted her embrace, “do not cling to me.” Every time I read these words, my heart breaks for Mary. She had been through so much, having witnessed the betrayal of her dear rabbi, followed by the mock trial and the horrific scourging, the long walk to Golgotha, and the brutal hours at the foot of the cross. Could she not be allowed to embrace her resurrected Lord? Scholars and commentators have mused over this strange scene, but Fr. Ronald Rolheiser sees the Paschal mystery in play. The process of transformation is available to all of us who are willing to die to our ideas and certainties, what we might experience as physical realities, and enter the mysterious new life of the resurrected Jesus. If we review our lives, most of us can name some painful losses along the way. Whether it comes in the form of death or disease, we endure broken dreams and disappointments, each of which is a genuine loss. Will we find resurrection and new life on the other side? Only if we refuse to cling to the life we knew before. If Mary were to receive her Lord and his resurrection, she would need to release the physical presence of Jesus of Nazareth. She could not cling to Jesus as she had known him. She had to let him go. Only then could she embrace her own calling. Empowered by the call of her master, she left the garden for a final time that day to tell the disciples that she had seen Jesus alive! Jesus commissioned her as the first preacher and proclaimer of the Good News of his resurrection.

The Gospel passage for Monday in the Octave of Easter tells of Mary Magdalene and the other Mary’s encounter with the risen Jesus and the joy and hope that comes with the Resurrection. The women’s fear and confusion are replaced by a profound sense of awe and worship when they see Jesus alive again. Jesus’ words of comfort and reassurance, “Do not be afraid,” remind us that He is with us always, even in our most challenging and frightening moments. The passage also reveals the lengths to which the religious leaders went to deny the Resurrection. The chief priests’ decision to bribe the guards to lie about Jesus’ body being stolen demonstrates their desperation to maintain their power and authority, even if it meant denying the truth of Jesus’ Resurrection. The first reading from Acts today also highlights the theme of witnessing to the truth of Jesus’ Resurrection. Peter boldly proclaims the message of the Gospel, declaring that Jesus was raised from the dead by the power of God and that he and the other apostles are witnesses to this truth. This theme of witnessing to the truth is central to our Christian faith and is a call for all believers to share the good news of Jesus with others. At times, witnessing to the truth can be challenging, especially in a world that often rejects the message of the Gospel. However, we can draw inspiration from Peter and the other apostles, who were empowered by the Holy Spirit to boldly proclaim the truth of Jesus, even in the face of persecution and opposition.

It’s a stubborn point, in fact, that Christians profess the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. This story is so familiar to us that we can sometimes lose sight of how stunning it must have been for Jesus’ closest disciples to arrive at his burial place only to find an empty tomb. For, as the Gospel writer John points out, they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. Our Easter Gospel contains St. John’s magnificent account of the Resurrection. Bishop Robert Barron speaks to three key lessons that follow from the disquieting fact of the Resurrection. First, this world is not all there is. The Resurrection of Jesus from the dead shows as definitively as possible that God is up to something greater than we had imagined. We don’t have to live as though death were our master and as though nihilism was the only coherent point of view. We can, in fact, begin to see this world as a place of gestation toward something higher, more permanent, more splendid. Second, the tyrants know that their time is up. Remember that the cross was Rome’s way of asserting its authority. But when Jesus was raised from the dead through the power of the Holy Spirit, the first Christians knew that Caesar’s days were, in fact, numbered. The faculty lounge interpretation of the Resurrection as a subjective event or a mere symbol is exactly what the tyrants of the world want, for it poses no real threat to them. Third, the path of salvation has been opened to everyone. Jesus went all the way down, journeying into pain, despair, alienation, and even godforsakenness. He went as far as you can go away from the Father. Why? To reach all those who had wandered from God. Considering the Resurrection, the first Christians came to know that even as we run as fast as we can away from the Father, we are running into the arms of the Son. Jesus Christ invites each of us to new life. We begin by opening our hearts to him in the mystery of the Resurrection. Two thousand years later, there are many who, for whatever reasons, do not believe, they do not profess, and they do not yet recognize with the eyes of faith. But we, by virtue of our baptism, are called to bring the Gospel of Jesus Christ, truly risen from the dead for the salvation of the world, to the world that still lives in darkness. Let us not domesticate these still-stunning lessons of the Resurrection. Rather, let us allow them to unnerve us, change us, and set us on fire.

For Christians, the Easter holiday is about recapturing the surprise, excitement, and strangeness that the Resurrection brought to Jesus’ first followers. Bishop Robert Barron writes that he has always been drawn to the tombs of famous people. When I was a student many years ago in Washington, D.C., I loved visiting the Kennedy brothers’ graves on that lovely hillside in front of the Custis-Lee Mansion. In Paris, I frequently toured Père Lachaise Cemetery, the resting place of, among many others, Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Abelard, and Jim Morrison. When on retreat at St. Meinrad Monastery in southern Indiana, I would often take a morning to visit the nearby Lincoln Boyhood Memorial, on the grounds of which is the simple grave of Nancy Hanks, Abraham Lincoln’s mother, who died in 1818. I always found it profoundly moving to see the resting place of this backwoods woman, who died uncelebrated at the age of 35, covered in pennies adorned with the image of her famous son. Cemeteries are places to ponder, muse, give thanks, perhaps smile ruefully, and ultimately, places of rest and finality. The last thing one would realistically expect at a grave is novelty and surprise. Then, there is the tomb featured in the story of Easter. We are told in the Bible that three women, friends and followers of Jesus, came to the tomb of their Master early on the Sunday morning following his crucifixion to anoint his body. Undoubtedly, they anticipated that, while performing this task, they would wistfully recall what their friend had said and done. Perhaps they would express their frustration at those who had brought him to this point, betraying, denying, and running from him in his hour of need. Certainly, they expected to weep in their grief. But when they arrived, they found, to their surprise, that the heavy stone had been rolled away from the tomb’s entrance. Had a grave robber been at work? Their astonishment only intensified when they spied inside the grave, not the body of Jesus, but a young man clothed in white, blithely announcing, “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.” Unlike any of the other great religious founders, Jesus consistently spoke and acted in the very person of God. Declaring a man’s sins forgiven, referring to himself as greater than the Temple, claiming lordship over the Sabbath and authority over the Torah, insisting that his followers love him more than their mothers and fathers, more than their very lives, Jesus assumed a divine prerogative. And it was precisely this apparently blasphemous pretension that led so many of his contemporaries to oppose him. After his awful death on an instrument of torture, even his closest followers became convinced that he must have been delusional and misguided. The Resurrection of Jesus from the dead showed that this spiritual resistance was not in vain. When he appeared to his disciples, the New Testament tells us, the risen Lord typically did two things: He showed his wounds and spoke the word Shalom, peace. On the one hand, Christians should not forget the depth of human depravity, the sin that contributed to the death of the Son of God. We know that God’s love, his offer of Shalom, is greater than our possible sin. Christians understood this precisely because human beings killed God, and God returned in forgiving love. In achingly beautiful poetry, St. Paul expressed this amazing grace: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

When the Romans designed crucifixion as their means of capital punishment, they had more in mind than simply putting someone to death. They wanted to accomplish something else, too, namely, to make this death a spectacle to serve as the ultimate deterrent so that anyone seeing it would think twice about committing the offense for which the person was being crucified. Perhaps most cruel of all, crucifixion was designed to utterly humiliate the body of the person being executed. So, the person was stripped naked, his private parts unprotected, and when his body went into spasms, as surely it eventually would, his bowels would release, all in public view. Is there a humiliation worse than this? Fr. Rolheiser writes that there are, in his view, human sufferings that approximate or equal that. There are daily instances of violence in our world – domestic violence, sexual violence, torture, heartless bullying, and the like – which mirror the humiliation of the cross. As well you sometimes see this kind of humiliation of the body in death by cancer and other such debilitating diseases. The person here doesn’t just die; she dies in pain, her body humiliated, its dignity compromised, that immodesty exposed, as it was for Jesus when dying on the cross. Nothing, absolutely nothing, pushes us to a depth of heart and soul, as does humiliation. Drinking the cup of humiliation, accepting the cross, is, according to Jesus and according to what’s most honest in our own experience, what can bring us genuine glory, namely, depth of heart, depth of soul, and depth of understanding and compassion. Humiliation will make us deep, but it might not make us deep in the right way. It can also have the opposite effect. Like Jesus, we will all suffer humiliation in life; we will all drink the cup, and it will make us deep, but then we have a critical choice: Will this humiliation make us deep in compassion and understanding, or will it make us deep in anger and bitterness? That is, in fact, the ultimate moral choice we face in life – not just at the hour of death but countless times in our lives. Good Friday and what it asks of us confront us daily.