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Easter Readings

The Scripture readings around the Easter season are filled with great challenges. Yes, Scripture is always filled with challenges, but I really like the ones we find in the readings around Easter.

We have the women running to the tomb. We have Peter reconciling with Jesus. We have the apostles walking to nowhere and meeting Jesus on the way. We have Thomas the doubter – who we must remember is recognized as a saint (that always give me hope).

Eventually, we have the apostles looking at the sky, waiting for what’s next.

But the people who have been on my mind of late are the disciples in the upper room. We hear that they were in the upper room and the doors were locked. Jesus arrives. Thomas isn’t there. You remember the story.

Then, a week later, Jesus arrives again and shows Thomas his hands and feet.

The doors were still locked.

Think about that for a minute. We focus on Thomas because he doubts and his name means twin and we, doubters and sinners, are his twin. We think about Thomas because we get Thomas. We struggle and wonder and question and doubt.

But don’t let the other ten off the hook. They experienced the Risen Christ. They welcomed him. They interacted with him. This guy with whom they had interacted and lived and shared their lives with had been brutally put to death. They buried him. Now, he had been raised and was standing, breathing and talking in their midst.

But after he left, they locked the door.

I am not sure what the lesson is for you, but for me it raises the question about my own openness to the resurrection experience. When I experience Christ in the flesh all around me do I welcome it and share it or does the fear overwhelm me?

Do I lock the doors to feel safe or to avoid responsibility?

Maybe that’s why we celebrate Easter for so long. The dead are raised. What has happened for one is suddenly possible for all. After a lifetime of saying, “yes” to God – even unto death – God validates his life choices and says, “yes” right back to Jesus.

God resurrects that which we crucify. Isn’t that nice?

Why then, if we believe, are so many doors still locked?

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An Easter People

It is good to have the Gloria back.

It is good to have our Alleluia back.

It good to be free of Lent.

It is good to have journeyed well, to have sacrificed much, to have fasted intently, and to have prayed often.

It is good to be loved so much that His sacrifice is enough. Once. For all.

It is good that Springtime is finally here.

It is good to have Easter baskets filled with candy and yes, even a new mask or two.

It is good that vaccines are in progress, the number of our sick friends is going down, and restrictions are being lifted.

It is good that we celebrate good health.

It is good to be blessed with work.

It is good to have our churches open, even if only partially.

It is good to be with family, even if some can still only join virtually.

It is good that we live and work and pray in a country where we fear little when it comes to where we worship and how we worship. And though there is violence, it pales in comparison to the violence elsewhere.

It is good to hold your children close.

It is good to be forgiven. Redeemed. Saved. Blessed.

It is good.

It is very very good.

We are, after all, the people of Easter.

And “Alleluia” is our song.

~pjd

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Springtime. Finally.

We turned a corner here in Connecticut this weekend. No, we are still quarantined and still going to school virtually. That will likely continue for some time. We stay safe by staying at home. Trips to the store are kept to a minimum and since online food delivery is backed up, we make a list, keep to it, and get in and out quickly. No more browsing for us.

The corner we turned is weather-related. Divine Mercy Sunday was gorgeous. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the tree house drew nearer to completion. The chill returned in the evening but it was still nice enough to grill outside. After a long, long Lent, lots of rain and chilly weather, it seems spring has finally arrived.

It was hard to celebrate Easter without springtime. It’s even harder to celebrate Sunday without Mass. Going to Mass via television is just not the same, but it has given the children (and parents) a better understanding of those older folks around us who are unable to go as often as the rest of us – at least when public Masses are not suspended.

In the readings during the Easter season, we read of Thomas, who doubted, Peter, who was reconciled, and the early followers who experienced the resurrected Jesus on the shore, in the upper room, and as they cared for one another.

I get Thomas. During these days of staying indoors, it is easy to doubt the reality of the world around us. It is easy to feel fine, see the sun shining, and wonder to ourselves why we can’t just go about our lives doing whatever it is we want. Then we see the numbers and realize how contagious this virus is and how staying away from friends and family can actually save lives. Yes, it’s boring, but I find hope in this fact: the Church canonized Thomas. He’s a saint, which means that after the doubting, there was belief. His confession of faith speaks to the hope we can all find when this pandemic is over and we breathe a sigh of relief and hug our neighbors. He doubted, but his experience of Jesus brought him through the darkness.

Then there is Peter, who saved his backside by denying he even knew Jesus. We’ll see in Sunday’s Gospel that he gets his chance to reconcile with Jesus. To weep, to repent, to choose to love again. That gives me hope too. I am forgiven. I can be reconciled. I can experience Jesus in the people around me and choose love over ignorance and self-serving behavior.

Finally, there are the early followers. The ones who ran to the tomb and yet still stayed locked in the upper room. The two who ran off to nowhere, only to find the risen Lord along the way. We are like all those people. We are scared. We are alone. But we know the end of the story. We know there is light after darkness, resurrection after crucifixion.

We know that we are Easter people and that Alleluia is our song.

And that makes all the difference in the world.

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The Longest Lent

It seems this Lent has lasted longer than most. It seems it might last longer. With the world around us shut down for another month or more, how can we celebrate Easter alone? How can we celebrate the washing of the feet, the veneration of the cross, the Easter fire, when the lights in our churches are turned off and the doors are locked?

Well, we could go back to the beginning.

We could remember that 2,000+ years ago there were no churches like there are today. There was no schedule, there were no livestreams, there were not daily phone calls and meetings reminding us of the distance between us.

There was only fear. Not of a virus, but of persecution for those who had followed the Lord.

And yet they gathered as families and cared for one another.They gathered as small communities and fed one another.

They washed each other’s feet by caring for widows and orphans.

They venerated the cross by remembering the sacrifice they had witnessed – even from afar.

They remembered their experience of the person of Jesus Christ and loved one another as a response.

Yes, Lent will seem long this year. Hope will seem distant. Light will seem weeks away.

But perhaps that is the gift of this pandemic: time to stay close with those who love us most, quarantined with those who love us no matter what. It offers us time to be still – as if we were in the dessert.

We must remember our experience of Jesus and his challenge to us to love one another, forgive one another, serve one another.

It started with an experience of Jesus.

That encounter led to discipleship.

May this experience – this desert experience – do the same.

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Easter Monday

It is good to have the Gloria back.

It is good to have our Alleluia back.

It good to be free of Lent.

It is good to have journeyed well, to have sacrificed much, to have fasted intently, and to have prayed often.

It is good to be loved so much that His sacrifice is enough. Once. For all.

It is good that Springtime is finally here.

It is good that Easter dresses and shirts and ties fit this year, even if daddy’s shirt is a bit tight.

It is good that we celebrate good health.

It is good to be with family.

It is good that we live and work and pray in a country where we fear little when it comes to where we worship and how we worship. And though there is violence, it pales in comparison to the violence elsewhere.

It is good to hold your children close.

It is good to be forgiven. Redeemed. Saved. Blessed.

It is good.

It is very good.

We are, after all, the people of Easter.

And “Alleluia” is our song.

~pjd

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Come, Holy Spirit

Come, Holy Spirit…

Fill our mouths with language that is kind instead of hateful.

Fill our homes with love instead of greed.

Fill our schools with knowledge instead of guns.

Fill the halls of power with authenticity instead of dishonesty.

Fill our skies with birds instead of weapons.

And fill our world with peace.

Give our children the wisdom to see that they are loved – and lovable.

Give our parents the courage to say, “no” to that which is harmful to children.

Give our leaders the strength to speak truth to power.

Give us all the fortitude to bring peace to our workplace and homes.

Wash us clean, Holy Spirit, that we may begin again, renewed, resolving to work for what is right, what is holy, what is just, and what is good.

Most of all, Holy Spirit, open our hardened hearts to receive your Spirit. Open our closed minds to receive your wisdom. Open our mouths only to proclaim praise to the Triune God, the giver all of gifts.

Amen.

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Looking Up

This time of year always makes me think of the early followers of Jesus. Perhaps it is the combination of Easter, new life, springtime, and allergies. Trust me, it’s all connected in my head.

The readings for this season are all about those early days, how an experience of God-through-Jesus led people to faith. There are stories about how those experiences led to inclusion, exclusion, joy, and suffering. How persecution gives way to stronger faith and how conversion leads to a paradigm shift that gives the early church new leadership.

There was an article in the Wall Street Journal recently about the movie Paul, Apostle of Christ(which is well worth seeing). The article cited a remarkable fact: when Paul died in A.D. 67, there were 2,500 Christians. By the year 350, there were 34 million. Think about that for a second. In a time when you would be killed for professing faith in the Risen Jesus, the Good News spread, more people came to faith than left it, and the church flourished.

Then Constantine came along and institutionalized the faith into religion and things have never quite been the same. It seems we might have been better off when we had to tell the story than when we were allowed to tell the story. More on that another time.

This week, we will read about those early followers standing alone, looking at the sky, waiting for Jesus to return. They did not know when he would return, only that he had promised to return. So they stood there, staring at the sky, missing life around them.

The family continued our trek through the Marvel movies this weekend with Dr. Strange. In some ways, it was a typical superhero story: an overachieving protagonist is really a jerk at his core, arrogant and narcissistic. Then his world comes crashing down and he comes face to face with the one incontrovertible fact we all face at some point: life is not all about you. That new perspective requires a basic change in position. We no longer live for ourselves. We live for others.

The early followers figured this out. For them, it was never about gathering for Mass, making sure it only lasted an hour and then screaming at each other when one donkey cut another donkey off in the first-century parking lot. No, it was about serving others in the name of Jesus. It was telling the Jesus story. It was about the family meal where we remembered the sacrifice and sacred instruction. It was about taking care of the widows and orphans, the least among us, and caring for the basic needs in society. There was no right or left, only the Christ I see in you – and that required an action. It required selflessness. It required love.

Spoiler alert: the Jesus story still requires all those things. If only we could stop staring at the sky and get to work.

~pjd

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Converted

On Friday this week, we hear about the conversion of St. Paul.

I love that at the root of his faith is his experience.

His conversion experience is so powerful it becomes his whole life, his whole world. It defines his reality. The institutional church makes him a hero. In reality, he is a rebel. Paul doesn’t go along with the parameters; he sets the parameters.

He trusts his experience. It is not an “outer” authority with which he speaks, but an “inner” authority. So convinced is Paul of his conversion experience, he gives himself the title, apostle to the gentiles. Apostle: a title reserved in those early days for those who had experienced the risen Jesus.

Both Jesus and Paul trust their experience of God against the tradition. Over time, the institutional church takes the experience of both and domesticates it. There has to be a balance, I think, between trusting our “inner” authority and falling over into relativism.

There’s room for the “outer” authority, to be sure. But I don’t think we should be on bended knee before it either. I think we should behave as those who know something deep within – an experience of a God who won’t let go, no matter what.

In Galatians 2, Paul says quite clearly, “I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me…”

Powerful words. Such was Paul’s experience that he understood – before Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John ever told him – the death of Jesus was Paul’s own death to sin. One death for all.

So strong was the bond for Paul that it was not his words changing lives, but Christ’s. Not his actions, saving souls, but the resurrected Jesus’, now confessed as Christ.

For Paul, life became all about participation in the Body of Christ. We no longer live in the world and go to Church, rather we live as Church and go out to the world. It’s a basic change in position and it can only happen after we’ve been thrown to the ground and converted.

And what’s the opposite of participation?

Control.

Think about it. Do we participate or do we control?

I really do love St. Paul.

~pjd

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Twins

Anyone who has been reading this blog for a while knows that I have an affinity for good old Thomas. I get Thomas. I knew we would hear about him this week, just like we do every year around Easter. So I was prepared.

I even talked to a friend at work about Thomas on Friday afternoon. He’s a deacon and was preparing his Sunday homily. Lucky for me, we get to talk about such things at work and so Thomas came up in the conversation. As you know, Thomas was not present when Jesus first appears to the disciples. They were locked in the upper room for fear of the Jews. Thomas simply was not there.

Did you ever stop to think why? Where was he? Doing laundry? Catching up on some sleep (Easter can be exhausting)? Visiting his family?

The truth is, we do not know. What we do know is that in John 11:16, it is Thomas who says to the others, Let us also go, that we may die with him,” as Jesus works to convince his followers that they must return to Judea. He does not hesitate, this Thomas. If suffering is what Jesus has to endure, then let us go and endure it with him. They are, the story says, on their way back because Lazarus has died. So Thomas, presumably, knows what Jesus is capable of doing.

So where is he on that “evening of the first day of the week,” while the others were locked in a room, trembling with fear.

Could it be that he was not afraid?

Could it be that, even after all that he had seen and experienced, he trusted Jesus and knew the work must continue?

Assuming I am correct and Thomas was out and about telling the Jesus-story. Why does he doubt when the others tell him that Jesus had visited?

Perhaps the answer is in his name.

Thomas is called Didymus. It’s the Greek word for Twin. But whose twin?

Could it be – is it possible – that you and I are the twins of Thomas? Could it be that the name is given to those who struggle and wonder and doubt, even though the answer is right in front of them?

Could it be that, even after all the goodness and holiness and wonder and awe we experience, we still question if Jesus is present.

“My Lord and my God.” My everything. My master. My teacher. My witness. My ruler, leader, superior, monarch, sovereign, and king.

It is the cry of one who is – and was – faithful, but just forgets now and then to really see.

~pjd

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Sing Out, Earth and Skies

When you do Lent well, Easter means more.

This year, as a family, we did Lent well. We prayed together, we sacrificed, we talked about being better, and we talked about Lent. The poster created at work hung in the kitchen and, while it encouraged forty ways to live Lent well, we got to about half of them, which is pretty good, all things considered.

The kids were adamant that no one say the “A” word and chastised friends who did. We go through this every year.

The season – cold, snow, and all – seemed more real this year for some reason. Perhaps it was because we needed resurrection from a long, cold winter. Perhaps because for us, as a family, our Lent included power outages and hospitalizations, viruses and snow days. Perhaps it was last week’s funeral that tipped Lent more towards darkness than usual. Perhaps we gave up more, lived more intentionally, and waited, hoped, and prayed with greater fervor.

But come Sunday morning, the energy and enthusiasm was palpable and came not from chocolate but from the anticipation of getting the “A” word back. As we drove to church, the children, especially the youngest, wondered exactly when we could return to the singing of the “A word.”

When it was time to sing it within the context of Mass, no one missed a note.

Then, on the way home, we sang it some more.

Indeed, it is good to have the “A” word back.

We are an Easter people. A resurrection people. Alleluia. Alleluia.

Hope has transcended the bounds of death.

Death has been vanquished.

Even on the cross, overwhelmed by a prayer of abandonment by the God he has so earnestly and steadfastly served, Jesus refused to give over to resignation. He forgave.  He kept believing and hoping. He said, “yes” to God. Again and again, he said, “yes.”

Jesus has delivered himself entirely from himself in order to be completely God’s.

And so stones are rolled away. And God says, “yes” right back. God raises that which we crucify.

The tomb is empty. He has been raised. Now, go and tell the Good News.

We are an Easter people. And “Alleluia” is our song.

May your week be blessed.

~pjd