Lucky Thomas

Happy Easter!

Does that sound odd to you?  I know it would have sounded odd to me not so long ago.  Easter was last Sunday, so why is this crazy person wishing me a happy Easter one week too late?

The calendar tells us that this is the first Sunday after Easter, but our missals insist that it is the second Sunday of Easter.  This infers that Easter is not a single day, but a season.  In fact, it is a season that lasts seven weeks, until Pentecost.  Moreover, our readings during these next seven weeks tell us that Easter is even more than a season – it is a way of life.  Those people who truly believe in the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ are forever changed – they are an Easter people.

During the Easter season, our first reading is not from the Old Testament, as it is during every other time of the year.  During Easter, we read from the Acts of the Apostles, the story of how the Resurrection transformed the first disciples into Easter people.  In today’s passage, we hear that Peter and some of the other disciples were acting much as Jesus did during his ministry.  Allowing the grace of God to work through them, they were curing and healing many people, so many that people clamored to just be near them so that they could be healed – much as a woman in Mark’s gospel simply thought that touching Jesus’ garment would heal her.

In today’s Gospel story, we gain another insight into being Easter people.  Now poor Thomas has really taken a bum rap.  He not’s just “Thomas” to us, he is “doubting Thomas.”  However, Thomas was really quite a fortunate fellow.  Of course, he was fortunate because Christ eventually revealed himself to Thomas and assuaged his doubts.  However, even before this revelation, Thomas was one lucky guy.

Think of the situation at the beginning of today's Gospel reading.  The disciples are a bit wired; nobody knows what is going to happen next, everyone sort of scared to stick their heads out the door.  Perhaps food is running low, so Thomas draws the short straw and heads to the market.  On coming back, after he gives the presumably secret knock and gains re-admittance, he hears an incredible story.  Jesus, who just a couple days earlier was dead and buried, had appeared in that very room!

If we were Thomas, what would we think?  I know what I’d be thinking: “Boy, these guys are nuts!  The pressure finally got to them!  I'm outta here.”

If we were the other disciples, what would our reaction be to Thomas' disbelief?  Again, my initial reaction to Thomas’ doubts could easily have been anger and indignation – “Are you calling us liars?  We have seen the Lord!  You are the fool!  There’s the door, don’t let it hit you on the way out!”

Yet, one week later, where do we find Thomas – still in the company of his friends.  When Jesus breathed his peace on the disciples, when they received the Holy Spirit, they became Easter people, they were able to live with Thomas’ doubts, and perhaps their change, their sense of peace impressed Thomas enough that he was willing to cut them some slack, too.  Easter people filled that upper room.

Today, Easter people fill this church of St. Rose of Lima and all of Newtown.  It’s as clear to me as it was in that upper room.  Faced with the darkness of death, we choose to dwell of the light of the resurrection.  Faced with horrific evil, we choose to pray to the one who is all good.  Faced with hatred, we choose love.

And as others flocked to the early disciples that they might witness and perhaps benefit from the grace and mercy so obviously present in those first Easter people, we’ve seen many come to Newtown to witness the faith, grace and mercy that they may have simply seen or read about.

And yet…is it enough?  It’s nice that people care, but can’t we get on with our lives?  And none of this will ever bring back what we’ve lost, will it?  If God is so good and we are his disciples, why did this even happen to us?  Can’t someone just wake us from this nightmare?  Doubts and more doubts.  Perhaps we are much like Thomas who doubted that first Easter night.  But while we may share Thomas’ doubts, we also share his good fortune.

The same cross and the same death that redeemed Thomas, that redeemed the apostles, and that redeems all humankind for all time, redeems each of us.

The same resurrection that filled Thomas and the earliest apostles with hope and joy fills us with that same hope and joy.

The same Spirit and grace that flowed over the apostles in the upper room, the same Spirit that energized the earliest disciples in their zeal to live and love as Jesus did, flows over each one of us, gives us energy, unites our hearts and our minds in the forgiveness of Jesus Christ, and empowers us to be Easter people.

Christ has risen.  Alleluia!  Lucky Thomas; lucky us.

Happy Easter!

Easter eyes

There are twelve days of Christmas, but that’s nothing compared to the fifty days of Easter.  We can be wishing each other happy Easter and shouting out our alleluias until May 19^th this year, when the Easter season ends at Pentecost.

But even then, Easter doesn’t really end, for we are Easter people, a people who have been transformed by the resurrection of Jesus.  So, how have we been changed?  How do we know we have been changed, that we are, in fact, part of this “Easter people?”  The readings this morning give us a clue.

Easter people are people who see the world – past, present and future – with new eyes, Easter eyes.  The two disciples on the way to Emmaus were quite confused.  They knew their history and the prophets.  They knew that God had promised his people a Messiah, a king from David’s house who would conquer Israel’s enemies and reign with justice for ever and ever.  They had hoped Jesus would be this king, but their hopes were dashed when Jesus was crucified.  They couldn’t see where they could have gone so wrong.

Then, after the stranger explains the Scriptures to them, joins them for dinner, and breaks and blesses the bread, their Easter eyes are opened to see in a new way.  They see Jesus not as an earthly king, a mighty general who conquers Israel’s enemies, but a divine savior who conquers humankind’s enemy, death itself.  They see those past few, fateful days with eyes of faith.

Peter and John come to the Temple to pray and see a man who had been crippled since birth.  Both of them “look intently” at the man.  What do they see?  Do they see as they did when Jesus came upon a man blind from birth in John 9?  Do they simply see this man as a victim of his parents’ sin?  No, they see the man in a new way, with Easter eyes.  They see the man as a child of God, as one for whom Jesus died.  They see him as Jesus saw each person he came across, with eyes of love.

Peter then says something very odd.  Peter asks the man to look at John and him.  The man does so, “expecting to receive something from them.”  The man doesn’t know it yet, but he is about to become part of the Easter people.  He has been primed by Peter to see as all Easter people see, with eyes of hope.

Like Cleopas and his companion, like all Easter people, we see our past with eyes of faith.   We see the historical Jesus not simply as a good man who lived, taught and died as all men do, but as the Christ of faith.  We see in the crucifix not an instrument of torture and death, but a sign of God’s infinite and unconditional love for each of us.

Like Peter and John, like all Easter people, we see the world and the people around us with eyes of love.  We see times of great tragedy and evil not as unmitigated darkness, but as opportunities to shine the light of God’s love. We see those who hate and despise us not as enemies, but as fellow sons and daughters of God, fellow creatures in the image and likeness of God, and though they may not know what they are doing, we see them as fellow objects of God’s love.

Like the man at the Beautiful Gate, like all Easter people, we see our future with eyes of hope.   We look to the future not with anxiety over what we are to eat or wear, but with confidence in God’s benevolent providence.  We see death not as an end, but as a transition to an eternity with the source of all joy, peace and love.

We are an Easter people, for we see the past with Easter eyes of faith, the present with Easter eyes of love, and the future with Easter eyes of hope.

Happy Easter!  Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

The Holiest of Nights

The apostles found the Easter story just a bit hard to believe.  The women come rushing back from the tomb and the apostles think their story is nonsense.  Peter goes to the tomb to find it empty, but he is simply amazed, not suddenly filled with belief in the resurrected Lord.

Now, I know in my heart that God has graced me with faith, but I also know there are times when doubt creeps into my mind, when I, like the apostles, think the whole story is nonsense.  For while our Catholic beliefs have internal logic, the premises seem incredible.  In some fantastical way, God becomes a human being, who, while completely human, remains completely one and completely God, and who, in his human nature, dies an ugly death so that our sins can be forgiven?  Why?  That same person rises from the dead a few days later?  How?  And somehow, some way, His very body and very blood become present to us again at each and every Mass, even though it looks like, tastes like, feels like, simple bread and wine.  Really?

While this is hard enough to believe in itself, the sin that surrounds us every day, particularly the scandalous sin of those who we trust most, the pain and suffering we see and experience every day, can make my doubts grow stronger.  Am I headed to hell, if, in fact, there is any such thing?

While belief is hard, it’s important to note that, quite surprisingly, Jesus rarely talks to his disciples about belief.  Oh, sure, he talks plenty about faith: “if you have faith the size of a mustard seed…;”  “oh, ye or little faith…:”, “your faith has saved you…;”  “When the Son of Man comes again, will he find any faith on earth?”  We could cite dozens more.

However, the evangelists invariably use a Greek word for faith that does not connote what we call “belief” – an intellectual assent that some particular idea is true.  When Jesus refers to faith, he means faithfulness or loyalty, as being faithful to your word, or loyal to a friend.  St. Jerome certainly understood this, for when he translated the biblical Greek to Latin, he used “fidele,” the root for our English work “fidelity.”  

On the one hand, this consoles to me when my doubts cause me to think as the disciples did on the first news of the resurrection – could this simply be nonsense?   In those times of doubt in mind, I can still strive to be faithful in my heart to what Jesus teaches me!  That’s a relief!

But on the other hand, this may be even scarier than doubt.   I’m afraid – much as the women at the tomb were afraid, that my heart often falls far short of fidelity to Jesus.  I think of the times when I felt that my hatred of others was justified by their evil deeds or their evil intents towards me.  How can I reconcile those feelings with Jesus telling me to love my enemies?  I remember times when I eagerly sought and exacted retaliation for even the most minor insult or slight.  How can I reconcile this with Jesus teaching me to turn the other cheek?  Then there are the times when I worry about, even obsess about, financial security.  How does that reconcile with Jesus urging me to trust in God and be like the sparrows in the sky or the flowers in the field.  And finally, how do my many day-to-day failings, forgetfulness in thanking God for all of his gifts to me, lack of charity, simply being buried in the mundane minutiae of life, match up against Jesus’ injunction to be “perfect as your heavenly father is perfect.”

Certainly, one of my favorite hymns has it right: the grace of faith has caused my heart to fear.  Lucky for me, the resurrection story shows that while I may not always be faithful to Jesus, Jesus is always faithful to me.  The young men in the tomb remind the women that Jesus has told them this would happen, and it has.  He has risen, as he promised.  He will go before us, as he promised.  And he promises to be with us until the end of time.  The grace of Jesus’ faithfulness relieves my fears when I allow his grace fill my heart.

When we are in doubt, follow Jesus.  When we fall short, remember that Jesus is always faithful, always forgiving, always loving and leading us to eternal life.

This holy night, we celebrate with great joy the precious gift of Jesus’ faithfulness to each one of us. 

He has risen, as he said.  Alleluia.  Alleluia.  Alleluia.

Good Friday

We live in a culture obsessed by self-help.  I searched Amazon.com for self-help books.  I got over 301,000 hits!  Assuming that, on average, each is one inch thick, that’s a stack about five miles high!  We can find books to help us get physically fit, to stretch our minds, to build better relationships, become a more productive member of society, and even to enhance our spirituality. 

Throughout his Gospel, culminating in the Passion story we read today, John makes it clear that all of these efforts at self-improvement must fall short of what we truly need, for we are all in slavery, all in a prison from we which cannot escape by our own means. 

For example, in chapter 8, Jesus says, “Amen, Amen, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin.”  We listen harder when we hear that “Amen, Amen” introduction, for it always introduces a key truth from Jesus.  Of course, when Jesus says “everyone who commits sin,” he means everyone – you, me, the people sitting on either side of you, even Fr. Bob – all of us!  Jesus’ religious opponents understood this truth, for earlier in this chapter, Jesus tells them that “whoever is without sin” could cast the first stone at the woman caught in adultery.  We know how that ends.  Therefore, according to Jesus, we are all in slavery because we all sin.  Our sins imprison us.

Like all prisons, there are walls, limits to how much you or I can do.  I can read and follow all 301,000 of those books – first step, get the speed-reading books – but I cannot get out of the prison.   Oh sure, I can find a more comfortable place in the prison hierarchy, a place which affords me more physical comfort, maybe more friends to help me, perhaps even a bit more freedom to afford or to do whatever I wish.  I may even find a place where I don’t sense the walls around me that much, but that does not mean the walls do not exist.  I am still in prison; I am still in slavery; I am not free.

We can try to fight our way out of prison – it will do no good.  Peter thinks that the sword will win Jesus’ freedom.  It is as futile as Moses’ attempt to win justice for the Hebrew slaves by striking down an Egyptian taskmaster.  Jesus will have none of it.

We can try to use our positions of power to wheedle our way out of prison.  Pilate claims that he has the power to save Jesus.  Jesus points out that whatever power we claim to have, only comes from those above us, from those with more power.  And those above us are in prison, too.  How can they help us escape from the walls that also imprison them?

From the beginning, John tells us that Jesus is our only source of freedom.  He is the “light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness shall not overcome it.”  John the Baptist sees the human Jesus for the first time and shouts out, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.”  Jesus has come to give us much more than mere tips on living more comfortably in a prison of sin.  He has come to tear down the walls of the prison.  He has come to give us true freedom, not bounded by physical, finite limits, but awash in the infinite love of God.

Unlike the other evangelists, John emphasizes Jesus’ role as the Lamb of God with the timing of the Crucifixion.  The other evangelists show Jesus celebrating the Passover meal, the Seder, with his disciples on the night before he died.  Thus, Jesus dies on the first day of Passover.

If we read John carefully, we notice that the Last Supper occurs on the night before Passover begins.   The Last Supper scene begins with Chapter 13:  “Before the feast of the Passover, Jesus knew the hour had come…”  On the morning of Jesus’ death, we heard that the Jewish leaders did not want to enter the praetorium “in order not to be defiled so that they could eat the Passover.”  Thus, John places Jesus’ crucifixion not on the first day of Passover, but on the day when the Jews were getting ready for the Passover to begin, the day of preparation.

And what was the chief order of business on this preparation day?  Killing the ritual lamb, recalling that first Passover when the lamb’s blood anointed the doorposts and lintels of the Hebrews, that the angel of death might pass over their homes.  So, on the same day that devout Jews are killing lambs through Jerusalem, Jesus, the Lamb of God, is dying his death, pouring out his blood, nailed to the cross for all of our sins.  As we will hear tomorrow night in the Exultet, his blood will consecrate the homes of all believers.

Our witness, our standing here together today at the foot of the cross, reminds us that our help in not buried in the millions of pages in those self-improvement books, but our help is in the name of the Lord who died and is buried for us.  It reminds us that true freedom is not rooted in the Declaration of Independence, is not rooted in our Constitution or our laws, is not defended by our armed forces, but is rooted in the cross of Christ and is defended by the power of God’s infinite, eternal, and unconditional love.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son so that everyone who believes in him might not perish, but might have eternal life.

Come, let us worship.

Double-edged humility

There are times when I need two lessons before I really get it.  Okay, if you ask Mary, that would be most times, and usually I need even more than two cracks to really get it.  So the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples is good for me – I get two cracks at learning humility.

The first lesson is pretty obvious.  John does not include many parables in his Gospel, yet here Jesus acts out a parable.  While in the other gospels, we hear Jesus saying “the greatest among you will be the slave to all,” here Jesus demonstrates this teaching.  He literally “takes the form of a slave” – that was the purpose of the towel around the waist, typical dress for a slave in Jesus’ day – and washes the feet of his disciples.  He then tells us to do the same.

Okay, I get this.  In humility, we are to serve one another.  We should never be so proud to think some service is beneath us.  Washing another’s feet was something even the lowliest Jewish slave would not be required to do, yet Jesus stoops from heaven itself to wash his disciples’ feet. 

I try to remember this, and I hope I live this out more times than not, but I know that I’ll never match Jesus.  This act is not simply a model for us, but is also a prophetic action pointing to the unique role of Jesus – the word made flesh – dying on the cross to save us from sin.  As Paul writes to the Philippians:

“…though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped.  Rather, he emptied himself, and took the form of a slave, coming in human likeness and found in human appearance.  He humbled himself and was obedient to death, even death on a cross.” (Phil 2:6-8)

I am not God.  It is not my job to save all of us from sin – Jesus already did that and it doesn’t need done again.  In some sense, this lets me off the hook, right?  Ah, but that’s why I need a second lesson.

Peter wasn’t God, either.  He’s a mere mortal – my kind of guy.  And Peter shows me that even when I find the courage to humble myself and serve others, pride can still be my downfall.

A few years ago, I read about a survey of what people fear most.  You would think that perhaps pain and death top the list, but they do not.  At least here in the United States, the number one fear was getting old and becoming dependent on others for the simplest acts of life.  After all, we live in a society that takes pride in self-reliance, founded on the principles of independence and self-determination.  We teach our children to study hard at school to get a good education; get a good job and work hard so that you can be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do.  You will not have to depend on anyone or be a burden on anyone.  Independence is the goal, dependence is failure.  So it makes sense that the fear of helplessness is our greatest fear.

While I didn’t participate in this survey, I would be with the majority here.  To think that I would be so helpless that others would have to feed me, wash me, read to me, remember for me, even help me go to the bathroom – it makes me shudder. 

It made Peter shudder, too.  He couldn’t imagine that he would need Jesus to wash his feet.  He could take care of that himself.  In a sense, Peter was too proud to be served, even to be served by God himself.

When I fear dependence, and work hard to avoid dependence, am I not denying my human nature as one who sins, one who must depend on God’s mercy?  Is my dependence on others fundamentally different from my dependence on Jesus’ death on the cross?   Not really.

When my pride keeps me from accepting the service of others, it also keeps me from fully accepting Jesus as my savior.   I must not fear dependence, for I am completely dependent on God – and sometimes God serves me through other people.  

It took two tries, but now I get it – with the humility of Jesus, I strive to serve whenever possible and I gratefully accept being served whenever necessary.

Betrayal

Betrayal always cuts us to the quick.  We may be initially puzzled as it is always surprises us, but our confusion quickly turns to grief, indignation, bitterness and anger.

Judas puts all these emotions in play with his decision to betray Jesus.  His very name becomes an epithet for all betrayers.   We assume that this is the end for Judas.  He betrays love for hate; betrays life for death; betrays salvation for damnation.  We know that he no longer deserves Jesus.  We turn our faces away from Judas as surely as he turns his away from Jesus.  Good riddance to him.

Judas’ betrayal resonates so deeply in us because nobody deserves Jesus; not one of us can possibly measure up to the faithfulness of Jesus.  And even when we are not conscious of this truth, we know it in our soul of souls.  I must hold Judas close to me because he shows me how easily I let my own immediate pleasures, my own immediate needs, keep me from loving Jesus and keep me from loving others as Jesus loves me.

And without recognizing my own weakness, without recognizing the bedeviling betrayal of Judas in me, I lose sight of Jesus’ unfailing faithfulness.  After all, if I do not believe that I am as weak and disloyal as Judas; if I, instead, I see myself as always faithful, always good, then why do I need Jesus?  Just give me my thirty pieces of silver and I’ll be on my way.

The good news is that, despite our weakness, despite our sins and betrayals, Jesus is always faithful to us – and that unfailing faithfulness transforms our weakness into our strength, allowing us to realize the salvation that only Jesus can bring.   

As doff the penitential purple of Lent to don the celebratory white of Easter, we first embrace Judas, embrace our weakness, and seek to reconcile ourselves with Jesus, the one who is mercy and love; the one who is strength and salvation.

A Holy Week

The Palm Sunday liturgy takes us from Jesus’ triumphant procession into Jerusalem to his ignominious burial.   In less than a week, the crowd has turned.  Jesus, proclaimed the prophet and the son of David on Sunday, is humiliated, scourged, crucified and buried on Friday.  We shake our heads and wonder how the tide could turn so quickly.

Yet, in our own lives, we can re-live this transformation most every week.  We gather on Sunday at Mass to sing joyful songs, to pray together, to celebrate and remember Jesus’ passion for us, and, most of important of all, to be strengthened by Jesus himself in the Eucharist.

Then we leave the assembly and fall back into our busy, daily routines.  We forget.  Oh, perhaps we don’t forget as much as we become distracted.  We depend on our own hard work to accomplish our many duties.  We pride ourselves on our own efforts.  We may become frustrated when we fail, but we’re determined to work harder to overcome the failure.

And in our busyness, we push Jesus out of our lives, just as surely as the unfaithful ones plotted to eliminate Jesus from their lives by having him crucified.  But He waits for us still.  The tomb is but a temporary stop, He rises again to enter our lives, if only we remember to make room.

The Holy Week liturgies are an opportunity to break out of routine, to go on a retreat of sorts that lets us dwell on the true source of peace in our world today – the salvation that Jesus won for us on the cross.

Our retreat can begin on Tuesday evening, where, at each parish in the diocese, the sacrament of Reconciliation is available.  As we reflect on God’s great love for us, we accept his merciful forgiveness in this sacrament and are welcomed into his arms as the Prodigal Son was welcomed by his father.

On Spy Wednesday, we gather at Mass and listen as Judas sets those fateful days in motion with his nefarious deal.  Perhaps we are reminded of times we traded our devotion to Jesus for what seemed more important and valuable, but which turned out to be mere dross.

No morning Mass on Thursday, but we gather at our normal Mass times and pray the Liturgy of the Hours with the universal Church.  On Holy Thursday night, we gather for the Mass of the Last Supper, re-creating Jesus’ call for us to be servants to all, followed by our own Garden of Gethsemane as we pray before and with Jesus himself in the consecrated host.

On Good Friday, Morning Prayer at 6:45 or 9:00, the Stations of the Cross at noon and the and the Veneration of the Cross at 3:00 allow us to meditate deeply on the Jesus’ death, suffering the betrayal of his friends in silence, courageously accepting the judgment of death against him, and loving his enemies to the end as he prays for them on the cross.  Finally, we walk again with Jesus along the Via Dolorosa, the Way of Tears, as we pray the Stations of the Cross at 7:30.

Holy Saturday is quiet time, a time for prayer, with more time for Reconciliation if we missed it earlier in Lent.   But at sundown, our celebration of Easter begins in earnest with the Vigil Mass.  We celebrate the light of the world coming into our lives, we rejoice in Jesus’ resurrection that breaks the chains of death, and we welcome into our family those who now share our faith in the Risen Lord.

At the break of dawn on Sunday, we celebrate Mass at sunrise – 6:00 for us here at St. Rose.  We remember the wonder and awe those first women felt when they approached the tomb that first Easter morning,   Like those first disciples, we feel a chill up our spine not only by the cool of the early morning but by the sense that the divine has broken into our mundane lives and transformed the world into something new.

I invite each of you to break from the daily routines that can so insidiously draw us away from the source or our salvation.  Come celebrate together as we enter into the Passion, the death, and the glorious resurrection of our Lord and Savior.

Have a most holy week!