Our Risen Lord comes to us

Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle A

“They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him.”  These words of Mary of Magdala perhaps ring in our ears and our hearts today as we enter this Easter solemnity.  They resonate in our hearts because we, perhaps, can sympathize with her feelings on that first Easter morning, even though our situation is quite different.  Instead of coming to the tomb of our Lord and finding it empty (misunderstanding, as she did, that the Lord’s body had been taken, instead of raised from the dead), we long to come to our churches to find our Lord, yet we cannot.  Thus, in a sense, we, too can say “They have taken the Lord … and we do not know where they put him.”

Thus, in a sense, we have great solidarity with those first Christians who, absolutely bewildered by the events of Good Friday, now, in their grief, and trying to come to terms with the loss of their Lord and Teacher, are bewildered once again by this news of the empty tomb.  Peter, whom Jesus acknowledged as the head of his disciples, after receiving this news, runs to the tomb himself and finds everything as Mary had described.  The Gospel writer does not give us his reaction, but we are left to infer that he remained bewildered at the sight.  Perhaps we, too, remain bewildered by this situation in which we cannot enter our churches today to proclaim with one voice the good news of Jesus’ resurrection: showing that we have not been slow to understand the meaning of these events, but rather have understood and believed.  This, to state it mildly, is a great suffering for us.

Yet today we are called to rejoice that Christ is risen from the dead.  And I believe that the suffering that we are experiencing this year highlights for us a great truth that lies underneath the surface of this celebration—a truth, I hope, that will bring consolation and a depth of joy to our commemoration today—and that truth is this: that the way to resurrection is through suffering.

Most of us, perhaps, live relatively comfortable lives.  We have places to live, clothes to wear, food to eat, a job that provides for us (or has provided for us, if we are retired, or parents or others who have jobs that provide for us).  We have family and friends that support us and add joy to our lives. Nevertheless, if we’ve lived long enough, we realize that even those comforts that we enjoy haven’t kept suffering completely out of our lives.  Rather, we have all experienced suffering in some way.  We’ve lost loved ones through death and we’ve watched loved ones suffer; we’ve been hurt by those closest to us: our spouses, our family members (perhaps even our own children), and our friends; we’ve lost jobs (or, perhaps, failed to get the job that would help us fulfill our dreams).  In these and countless other ways, suffering has touched each of our lives.  And, now, because of the pandemic, suffering is touching each of our lives in a unique way.

Suffering, for many people, is a thing of despair; and if we think about it even for a little bit, we can see why.  We instinctively know that our life spans are limited; and so, if suffering becomes too great a part of it, we begin to despair that there is any hope of enjoying this life that we have been given.  For those for whom daily suffering is intense, this lack of hope can be stifling: leading them to isolate themselves from the world and, in some cases, to contemplate ending their own lives (for, they believe, to end their lives would finally bring an end to their suffering).

This is why today’s celebration—the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead—is such good news: because not only has Jesus redeemed us from the punishment due to sin, but he has opened for us a life beyond suffering: one into which we enter precisely through suffering.  Yes, Jesus’ resurrection is a thing of wonder and awe; but it would be much different if he had lived a comfortable and full life and died at a ripe-old age of natural causes, wouldn’t it?  We’d certainly be overjoyed to see him at his resurrection, but would it truly be the victory we had hoped for?  No, Jesus’ resurrection holds such great power because it comes precisely after he suffered horrendously: that he, the only truly innocent man ever to live, suffered the full brunt of evil that the world could produce and defeated it by rising from the dead.  In doing so, he demonstrates for us that suffering in this world is not meaningless; but rather that, when it is accepted and endured in innocence of heart, for the love of God and our neighbor, it will speed us along the path that leads to the life beyond suffering that Jesus has made possible for us.

This is so important to say today: and why?  Well, because it wasn’t enough for Jesus to be a “good person” throughout his life—one who tries not to hurt others and otherwise doesn’t create problems—and then to die of natural causes only to be raised again.  Rather, he had to contend with this world—and the evil-inflicted suffering within it—in order to open for us the way to a life beyond suffering.  Notice, that this contention wasn’t to push suffering down and overcome it by his cunning or his power; rather, his contention was to stay pure within the suffering, so as to show that even the worst suffering that the evil in this world can inflict is no match for the power of God.

My friends, we do not proclaim an easy salvation.  Rather, we proclaim a salvation won for us through suffering: a salvation in which we participate through suffering.  And this, as I’ve said, is the great truth hidden beneath the surface of today’s celebration: that if we embrace the sufferings that come to us in this life—the sufferings that we are experiencing now, as well as all of the daily sufferings that we experience because of our sins and simply because this world is broken, and most especially the sufferings that come to us precisely because we are disciples of Jesus...  If we embrace these sufferings, then we are uniting ourselves more perfectly to Christ in his suffering.  And when we are united to Christ in his suffering, then we will also be united to him in the fruits of his suffering: the new life beyond suffering that he has made possible for us.

Friends, this involuntary suffering that we are being forced to endure—seemingly being separated from our Lord on this day when we most desire to draw close to him—is not fruitless.  Rather, for those who embrace it for love of God and, especially, for love of our neighbor whom we are protecting by our social distancing, this suffering is uniting us more perfectly to Christ and, thus, preparing us to experience the resurrection with him.  This truth that, through suffering, we are bringing forth new life could not be more evident to us than here in this Mass: in which we offer back to God the perfect sacrifice of his Son in thanksgiving for the salvation that his suffering has won for us.

You know, one of the things that struck me this morning as I reflected, was that Mary and the disciples went out, seeking to find Jesus’ body, but it was not there.  In other words, they went out looking for him, yet did not find him.  If we read further in Gospel, however, we see that it was not they who found him, but rather he who came to them.  Perhaps today, in this bewildering situation in which we are prevented from seeking him, we can, like the beloved disciple after stepping into the empty tomb, nonetheless believe; and, thus, make ourselves open to the ways in which he will come to us and make his risen presence known to us.

My brothers and sisters, from wherever we may be today, in whatever sufferings we may be experiencing, let us open our hearts to the encounter that Christ wants for us today by putting our whole hearts into this offering: for Christ is risen and we have life in him.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – April 12^th, 2020

We are witnesses

Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle C

          We are witnesses…  In its most basic definition, a witness is someone who sees an event take place.  Typically, we associate a witness with legal proceedings.  Because of this, we all generally recognize that being a witness carries with it responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to recount what it is we have seen or experienced.  Here in the United States, one can only be demanded to “give witness” in a court of law.  Otherwise, we have the “right to remain silent.”  For Christians, however, this right doesn’t necessarily exist.  Certainly, our freedom to remain silent can never be taken from us.  Nevertheless, as Christians we believe that an encounter with the risen Christ demands a kerygmatic response.  It is in fact a response commissioned by Christ when he told his disciples, “You are witnesses….”

          Now I know many of you are probably looking at me and saying, “I was with you right up until that “K”-word.  Right, kerygmatic.  First let me tell you that it is not important that you know how to say this word and it is even less important that you know how to spell it (if it wasn’t for spell-check, I would get it wrong every time).  Now let me tell you what it means.  It’s a Greek word that means a convincing proclamation of what one has seen and heard.  For Christians, kerygma is a proclamation that the crucified and risen Jesus is God’s final and definitive act of salvation.  Imagine for a moment that someone would stand up in this assembly and say: “Brothers and Sisters, you remember this man, Jesus of Nazareth, the prophet mighty in word and deed, who worked many signs and wonders in our midst and whom we lauded as our king as he entered this city; this man whom we then watched as he was condemned wrongfully and led off to be crucified.  I stand before you today and tell you that he has been raised to life and that I have seen him.  And not only me, but these other men, too.  We have seen him face to face.  We have heard him talk and have seen his hands and his feet.  We have even eaten with him and so are assured that it is no ghost that we have seen, but a living man.  Truly, I tell you, this Jesus, who was crucified, has been raised to life.”  You can imagine that this kind of a witness would be pretty powerful.  This is exactly the witness that Peter gives in our first reading today.

          Over these last few days, we have witnessed many things.  First, on Thursday night, we witnessed the Last Supper in which Jesus, knowing that he was about to die, instituted the Eucharist by giving to his twelve closest disciples his body to eat and blood to drink in the form of bread and wine.  At the same time, we witnessed how he instituted the priesthood that same night in order to ensure that this Eucharist would continue after he was gone.  And we witnessed how Jesus bent low to wash his disciples’ feet, giving them an example of how it is that they were to serve one another.  Finally, we witnessed how he went out to the garden to pray and was arrested after he was betrayed by Judas, one of his twelve closest disciples.

          Then, on Friday, we witnessed how Jesus was brought before Pontius Pilate and was condemned unjustly.  Perhaps we even felt the sting of guilt as we joined in with the crowds who shouted “Crucify him!  Crucify him!” and who demanded for the release of Barabbas the murderer instead of Jesus.  We witnessed how he carried his own cross and was crucified on Calvary.  Perhaps the sorrow for our sins moved us to venerate the cross that day: the cross on which Jesus suffered for our sins, but through which he set us free.  At the end, we watched as his dead body was taken down from the cross and laid in a tomb before nightfall that night.

          On Saturday, we witnessed that strange, eerie silence that always comes with Holy Saturday.  “There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness” an ancient Christian homilist wrote.  He continues, “The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep.”  We witnessed the closed tomb of our Lord and (hopefully) witnessed the Sabbath rest.  We sat and waited, not knowing if what Jesus had said about the resurrection was true and, if so, how and when it would come about.  We witnessed night fall and felt the anxiety of not knowing what the future would hold and the sadness in our hearts for having lost, it seemed, all that we had hoped for.

          Now this morning we come here and we are witnesses to the incredible news that has come to us from the women who went to the tomb: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb!” and we are witnesses of what Peter would tell us after he ran to the tomb and found it empty.  “Could it be that our Lord has risen?”  Yes, Peter, he is risen and of this we are witnesses.

          My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  We have encountered the risen Christ.  In fact, we encounter him every Sunday, here at this altar. Peter and the other disciples knew that once they had encountered the risen Christ, they could not remain in the Upper Room, but had to go forth from there to proclaim what they had seen and heard.  And so it is with us.  As much as we can no longer claim ignorance of our sins, having seen the suffering that they caused our Lord, no longer can we stand idle, either.

          Ite. Missa est.  Those old enough will recall that these are the words of dismissal from the Mass as it was celebrated in Latin.  Ironically, even though the new English translation of the mass was intended to more closely emulate the Latin, the dismissal seems to have somehow escaped that treatment.  Literally translated, the Latin phrase means “Go.  It is the dismissal.”  However, the word “dismissal,” in the sense that it is used in Latin, means something more than “you are free to go” like it does in English.  It means, rather, “you are sent forth” and it is understood that this “sending forth” involves some sort of mission.  Missa.  Dismissal.  Mission.  Those words all sound related, don’t they?

          Every Sunday, and in a particularly powerful way on Easter Sunday, we participate anew in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; we encounter again the risen Lord in Word and Sacrament.  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  Therefore, the dismissal at Mass is never the end of our Christian obligation for the week (or for the year, perhaps?), but rather it is just the beginning.  The privilege of being a witness—and it is a privilege—brings with it the responsibility to proclaim what we have seen and heard in every place where we live.  Just listen to our late Holy Father, Saint Pope John Paul II, who said at the beginning of his pontificate, “Do not be afraid to go out into the streets and the public places—like the first apostles!—to preach Christ and the good news of salvation in the squares of cities.”  If we are to be authentic witnesses then we must take seriously this “sending forth” that we receive today and every Sunday.

          Since we are learning Greek vocabulary today, why don’t we try one more?  Does anyone know what the Greek word for “witness” is?  It’s martyr.  May our kerygma, our witness, of the risen Christ whom we encounter here at this Mass earn for us so noble a title.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 27^th, 2016