“We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song!”
—St. John Paul II
It’s easy to be convinced of the power of death. Watching the news reports of the wars and civil unrest leave all of us with a feeling of helplessness. Reports of the discovery of mass graves in Bucha of men, women, teenagers and children whose hands were tied behind their backs leave us enraged, but at the same time, feeling helpless, wondering what to do.
Our world has revealed painful sides of ourselves: our racism, our political divides, our tendency to hoard simple things. We live in a world where death seems to have the upper hand and can feel like the final word. The temptation is simply to live for comfort, to try to cocoon ourselves from death.
The experience of the early disciples was similar. All they knew on Good Friday was the horror of public torture and the painful execution of the One they were hoping would bring redemption to Israel. They ran to the tomb of the Beloved, only to find it empty, and as John’s Gospel tells us, they did not understand. Yes, they gathered together, but probably with the feeling of “every person for himself,” our world has been wrecked beyond repair.
That afternoon, behind fearful locked doors, they were interrupted by Jesus, now luminous, offering His Shalom, showing His wounds, sending them with the breath of the Spirit back into a violent world. They were also changed, transformed, given new courage, speaking across the boundaries of language, race and nation. His love, His forgiveness, His assurance made them joyful, willing to risk all to be witnesses to the Resurrection.
Easter Equals Hope
This Easter we, too, will gather with our hopelessness and despair over our world’s tragedies. But if we will allow it, also with all our potential, we will become witnesses to the Resurrection. This is not painting a “fragrant lily, chocolate bunnies, and marshmallow peeps” veneer to our sadness and despair. Rather, it is a time to allow Christ to “Easter in us,” to transform us into joyful missionary disciples. When Christ touches our pain and the pain of the world with His own wounds, we are empowered as agents of change and hope.
I’ve seen it with the friars. Realizing the pain of the homeless during winter, they courageously opened the doors of St. Francis Seraph Church to their care. Other friars heal the wounds of our common home through legislation for the betterment of our environment. The friars of New Orleans have helped people whose roofs and walls collapsed during hurricanes.
One friar used his legal skills to resettle Afghan refugees, giving opportunities for self-reliance. And all our Franciscan churches have programs to help those who fall on hard times with food, clothing and utility assistance. They are dispensing hope and new opportunity because of Christ.
These bittersweet times are an opportunity for all of us, changed by the Risen Lord into joyful disciples, to touch the wounds of our weary world with hope, love, and faith in the power of the Resurrection. And, yes, we will see Him, in our well-worn Galilees, in our fraternities, our world.
Prayer
Risen One…
I turn to you as my model of spiritual growth.
Open my entire being to your grace-filled presence,
and teach me repeatedly how to enter into my own tomb-times.
Grant trust in my ability to abide in the tomb of indecision and uncertainty,
those times when I encounter confusion and do not know
where I am going or what might happen next.
Remind me of the need for patience when I want to hurry through
the tomb of my sorrow
instead of acknowledging and tending to the
unwelcome aspects of grief residing within me.
Give me courage to enter the tomb of physical
suffering, to find inner strength by uniting with and learning
from your experience of bodily pain and the absence of relief.
Wrap your heart around my own when I
choose to reside in the tomb of the world’s growing violence.
Restore hope when my longings
for global peace disappear from view.
Be the quiet whisper of anticipated liberation
when the tomb of unshakable discouragement
robs me of my inherent gladness and enthusiasm for life.
Take my hand when I dwell in the tomb of
identity transition and am unsure of who I am.
Assure me that, no matter how I might change,
you and I are united at the core of my being.
Breathe your love into me when I experience the tomb of relationship breakage,
so that I have the bigness of heart to forgive others and
the confidence to keep on believing in myself.
Support me when I am in the tomb of doubt, and my questions of faith scare me.
Confirm my trust that you know the intention of my
heart to remain always united with you.
By Joyce Rupp
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