We aren’t completely sure who St. Mark was. He might have been the first bishop of Alexandria, Egypt. Some scholars say he might have been the one described in chapter 14 of Mark’s Gospel, at the arrest of Jesus: “Now a young man followed him wearing nothing but a linen cloth about his body. They seized him, but he left the cloth behind and ran off naked.” But others question whether he ever saw Jesus in person at all. We know that he was a companion of Peter and Paul in the missionary journeys, and that he was the first to write about Jesus’ life. It is estimated that the Gospel of Mark was written around 60 or 70 AD, after the death of both Peter and Paul. As you might expect since this was the first Gospel written, it is used as a source for both Matthew and Luke’s Gospels.
Whoever Mark really was, I think the key idea for this feast today is that he was one who willingly embodied the command of Jesus that we have in today’s Gospel reading: “Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.” His missionary work, and his work as the Evangelist testify to his passion for the Gospel and his efforts to see that the whole world came to believe in Jesus.
What we celebrate on his feast day, though, is that the work of that command is far from complete. There is so much of the world that has yet to hear of Jesus. Some of them are in far off lands, others are in our workplaces, schools, and communities. Because of that, it is imperative that we all continue the work of Mark and the other Evangelists. We are the ones who have to testify to the Gospel in word and in deed, witnessing to what we believe in everything that we say and do. Our life’s work is not complete until we are sure that those who know us also know the Lord in and through us.
“The favors of the LORD I will sing forever;” the Psalmist says today, “through all generations my mouth shall proclaim your faithfulness.” May we, like St. Mark, sing of the Lord’s goodness in every moment of our lives.
Because Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
So they drag Saint Stephen before the Sanhedrin, and make all sorts of false claims against him. If this sounds familiar, it’s because we heard a story just like this during Holy Week! In fact, Stephen is in good company. He is brought to the same place where his Lord Jesus, and later Peter and the apostles, have gone before him. And just like all of them, even with all the lies and accusations flying around him, he is at peace. The source of his peace, is of course, his Lord who has gone before him, that same Lord who now fills him, as the first line of the reading says, with “grace and power.” The peace that fills the martyrs is remarkable, and indicates that they have indeed been called to that kind of witness and are empowered to withstand it by their God.
We too, will be tested in this life because of our faith. It’s the mark, really, of authentic faith. We too, can rely on that same grace and power if we unite ourselves to our Risen Lord. Maybe we won’t be called on to actually give up our lives, but we will are all called at one time or another to suffer in some way when we give that true witness to our faith. Like Stephen and the martyrs, that is our calling, it’s what disciples do, and we can rely on the help of the Lord to get us through it.
Because Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.
How often have you said something that began with “I’ll be happy when…”? You know, “I’ll be happy when I’m done paying for the kids’ college tuition;” “I’ll be happy when I get that promotion;” “I’ll be happy when I lose that last ten pounds;” “I’ll be happy when I can afford that new car…” We’ve all done it, we’ve all set our hopes for happiness on some future event or accomplishment. But then it gets there, or it doesn’t, and we’re not as happy as we’d like to be, so we look for happiness in something else. Today’s Liturgy of the Word tells us that we’re doing it wrong. We have to learn that we’re supposed to be happy in the journey.
Listen to what the Psalmist says today: “You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever.” Abounding joy happens along the path to life, at God’s right hand, who accompanies us on the journey. Well, today’s Gospel finds two of Jesus’ disciples on a journey Jerusalem, where a lot of crazy stuff just went down, to Emmaus. Along the way, they are discussing what had been going on, and we can just imagine how their minds had to be reeling! For those of us who know the story, it’s pretty incredible. But for them it had to have been mind blowing. They were never expecting anything like this. But here they were, walking along, discussing how Jesus’ death and everything that happened afterward turned all of their expectations upside-down, and they didn’t know what to make of it all.
And into that experience, as they journeyed along the road, Jesus appears. They don’t get that it’s Jesus, though, for whatever reason. So along the way, he explains how all the scriptures foretold all that had happened to their friend, who happened to be talking to them right then. But they still don’t get it. So after they stop for the evening and invite him to dinner, they finally recognize him in the breaking of the bread. All of this, I think, is very interesting to us who are on the journey to be with the Lord and delight at his right hand forever.
Because we’re all on a journey, brothers and sisters. We are never at home in this world, as nice as it is. We’re supposed to be in heaven, where there will be happiness forever. But we can still seek reasonable happiness here on earth, and I believe we will find it if we just rejoice a little in the journey. But to really enjoy the journey, we have to enter into it with our whole hearts and souls. We can’t be wandering off the path and looking for happiness in all the wrong places. We have to focus on the journey from here to heaven if we ever really want to be happy in this life.
So how do we do that? Well, I think our Gospel story gives us some clues. The first is to keep moving on the journey. If God has called you to do something, go somewhere, try something, change something, then do that thing! When we stop going because we think we’re not good enough, or that someone else would be more worthy, or whatever excuse we have, then we’re selling God short. Because the truth is we are not good enough, all by ourselves. We’re not the most worthy. But, and this is very important to know, brothers and sisters, God can call whoever he wants to do whatever he wants done. It’s not about you or me or who’s doing it. God is in charge, always and forever, and he will always give you what you need to do what he’s called you to do. So keep going.
The second clue is we don’t go it alone. There were two disciples going to Emmaus, and into their journey, our Lord asserted himself. He did promise that elsewhere in the Gospel: “Where two or three are gathered, there am I among you.” Other people on the journey give us accountability. They help to keep us on the right path. And frankly, it’s more pleasant to journey with others.
The third clue is that we have to open ourselves up to the scriptures. The scriptures aren’t just stories written for people thousands of years ago. They are inspired by the Holy Spirit and intended as much for us as they were for our ancestors in faith. You will be surprised how much the scriptures speak to you when you open them up on a regular basis. Just a few verses a day is a great way to start, and it can really enliven your prayer. The scriptures enlivened that journey with the disciples and made their hearts burn within them. That can happen for us too, and it should.
The final clue comes in the breaking of the bread. That one seems pretty obvious, but it was a real eye opener for those two disciples. In the breaking of the bread, they saw the Lord. We can too, every time we receive the Holy Eucharist. Just as those disciples came to recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread, so it can be for us. Filled with the grace of Holy Communion, maybe we can recognize our Lord with fresh eyes and truly see him in our brothers and sisters. Maybe we will see our Lord in the faces of the needy when we come to serve them. Maybe you will see him in the faces of your children as you teach them and correct them and love them into the kingdom of God. Maybe you will see him in the face of a coworker or friend who is going through a difficult time. As we love those people the Lord puts in our paths, maybe we can see our Lord among us in a new way.
You’ve probably heard, “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” For us Catholics that’s half right. Because yes, it is about the destination. We certainly want to get to the ultimate happiness of heaven. But it needs to be about the journey too. Because it’s on the journey that we grow in our faith, and see our Lord walking with us. The journey might be long and difficult, but it’s always blessed by our Lord if we choose to look for our happiness along the way.
There are a lot of what are called “clickbait” articles out there on the internet. Those are headlines that make you curious to click on the link and read the story. Often they are enormously disappointing in terms of their content. They are headlines like “I drank nothing but seltzer water for a year and this is what happened.” Or, “This is what happens to your brain when you think positive thoughts for a month.” Things like that.
If there were a clickbait story about today’s readings it might be, “This is what happens when you choose to trust in God.” Only the content wouldn’t be disappointing!
In the first reading from Acts this morning, we see the Christian community growing and thriving, so much so that they have some little growing pains. Their worship included a distribution of food to those in need, people like widows. In order to make sure that there was equality in the distribution, the Apostles realized they needed to appoint people to help with that detail so they could focus on preaching the word. The result was discernment and ordination of the first group of what we would call deacons, including Saint Stephen. And overcoming that growing pain, the community continued to thrive.
In the Gospel today, the Apostles are being called to greater trust. They’re out on the sea in the midst of a storm when it was getting dark, and they begin to be afraid. They see someone out walking on the water, which is, admittedly, pretty scary, but the figure tells them not to be afraid, because it is the Lord. The boat immediately arrives at the shore and they are delivered from their fear.
We too are called to greater trust. The storms in our lives and the growing pains of our families or communities threaten to derail our faith. But when we trust in the Lord, we are delivered from our fear and we grow and thrive. May we pray wit the Psalmist today: “Lord, let your mercy be on us, as we place our trust in you.”
Because Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.
I often wonder what brings people to Mass on the Second Sunday of Easter. We had crowds of people here last Sunday, as you know, but things this Sunday are, perhaps a bit unfortunately, back to normal. The Easter duty is done, and most people go back to their normal Sunday routines, whatever they may be. But many of us still gather for worship this morning. What is it that brings us here today?
Maybe our motives are grand ones. We can’t get enough of the Word of God and his Real Presence in the Eucharist. Or maybe we need to be together with the community in order for our faith to make sense and our life to be on track. Maybe we know that our presence in the worshipping community isn’t just about us, but rather about all of us being together, that there would be no community without all of us present.
But maybe our motives aren’t quite so lofty. Maybe, at some level, we’re here because of fear. Fear that our lives aren’t going the way we’d like them to. Fear that family problems are not getting resolved. Fear that our jobs are unfulfilling or our relationships are in disarray. Fear that our lives are empty spiritually, and we don’t know where to find our Lord. Fear that missing Mass will lead us to hell. Fear that if we don’t get out we’ll be lonely. I think if we’re honest, there’s a little fear in all of us, and at some level, that fear leads us here.
And if you find that’s the case for you, you have ten patron saints locked up in that upper room. They too had a great deal of fear. Fear that they too might be led to the cross by the same people who took Jesus there. There was certainly some reality to that fear, and I think we can all understand it. But I also think it’s significant to realize that the Eleven, all of whom lived closely with Jesus for three years, were not yet able to overcome their fears and pursue the mission of Jesus. Instead, they gather in a locked room, mourning their friend, confused about the empty tomb and stories of his appearances, and fearful for their own lives. We whose lives are filled with fear at times definitely have the Apostles as our kindred spirits.
The truth is that, like the Apostles, it doesn’t really matter what has gathered us here. The important thing is that at least we are here. At least in our fear we did not hide away and refuse to be brought into the light. Because there are many who have left us, aren’t there? Many have had enough of church scandals and have decided to take their spiritual business elsewhere. Many have been hurt in all kinds of ways and have not found immediate healing in the Church. Many have been influenced by the allurements of the world and the false comforts of pop psychology and have given up on a religion that makes demands of them. Many have left us, and at some level we can understand their frustration. But at least we are here, at least we have gathered, albeit in fear, albeit locked up in our own little rooms, but definitely in the path of our Lord who longs to be among us in our fear and to say, “Peace be with you.”
The peace that Jesus imparts is not just the absence conflict in our lives. It is instead a real peace, a peace from the inside of us out. A peace that affects our body, mind and spirit. A peace that brings us into communion with one another and most especially with God for whom we were created and redeemed. The peace that the Ten had upon seeing their Risen Lord, the peace that Thomas had just one week later, is the same peace that our Risen Lord offers to all of us fearful disciples who gather together as a refuge against the storms and uncertainties of our own lives. That peace is a peace that invites us to reach out like Thomas did and touch our Lord as we receive his very Body and Blood in all his Divine Mercy.
That peace is not some passive greeting that rests upon us and goes no further. Whenever we are gifted with any blessing, it is never intended only for us. We who have been gifted and healed and transformed by the peace of our Risen Lord are called just like the Eleven to continue to write the story of Jesus so that others may see and believe. We now become the peace of Christ to reach out to a world that appears to be hopelessly un-peaceful. We must extend that peace by reaching out to touch those who are sick, or poor, or lonely, or despairing, or doubtful, or fearful, or grieving, or marginalized, or fallen away. Our own presence in and among our loved ones and in and among the world must be a presence that is rooted in the Risen Lord and steeped in his peace. We must be the ones who help a doubting world to no longer be unbelieving but believe.
We have come here today for all kinds of reasons. We may have come here in doubt and fear, but as we approach the Eucharist and receive the very Body and Blood of our Lord who invites us to reach out and touch him, as we go forth to glorify the Lord this day, may we leave not in doubt and fear but instead in belief and peace. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
There’s certainly a flurry of activity in today’s readings, isn’t there? Especially in the Gospel, we see Mary Magdalene run from the empty tomb to get the Apostles. And then Peter and the “disciple whom Jesus loved” ran to the tomb. This flurry of activity centers around a crisis in their faith, a time of confusion that will ultimately lead to stronger faith.
So Mary comes to the tomb, early in the morning, while it is still dark. In Saint John’s Gospel, the idea of light or dark always means something more than whether or not you can see outside without a flashlight. Often he is talking about light and darkness in terms of good and evil. That’s the way it was when we heard of Judas in Friday’s Passion reading: when he went out to do what he had to do, the Gospel says “and it was night.” That wasn’t just to record the time of day, it meant that we had come to the hour of darkness. But here when Mary comes to the tomb, I think the darkness refers to something else. Here, I think it means that the disciples were still in the dark about what was happening and what was going to happen.
Obviously, their confusion gives that away. Jesus had tried to tell them what was going to happen, but to be fair, what was going to happen was so far outside their realm of experience, that really, how could they have understood this before it ever happened? All they know is what Mary told them: the tomb is empty and she has no idea of where they have taken the Lord. And after all that had just happened with his arrest, farce of a trial, and execution, their heads had to be spinning. How could they ever know this was all part of God’s plan?
And even us – we who know that this was part of God’s plan – could we explain what was going on? Could we give a step-by-step picture of what happened when, and why? I know I couldn’t. But, like you, I take it on faith that, after Jesus died, the Father raised him up in glory. It’s a leap of faith that I delight in, because it is that leap of faith that gives me hope and promises me a future. How could we ever get through our lives without the grace of that hope? How could we ever endure the bad news that appears on our TV screens, in newspapers, and even closer to home, in our own lives – how could we endure that kind of news without the hope of the Resurrection?
And so, even though there is this flurry of kind of confused activity among the Apostles this Easter morning, at least this day finds them running toward something, rather than running away as they had the night of the Passover meal. They are running toward their Lord – or at least where they had seen him last, hoping for something better, and beginning with the “disciple whom Jesus loved,” coming to understand at last. It’s not night anymore for them. The day is dawning, the hope of the Resurrection is becoming apparent, the promise of new life is on the horizon.
And may this morning find us running too. Running toward our God in new and deeper ways. Running back to the Church if this has been the first visit you’ve made in a long while. Running back to families if you have been estranged. Running to others to witness to our faith both in word and in acts of service. We Christians have to be that flurry of activity in the world that helps the hope of the Resurrection to dawn on a world groaning in darkness. It’s not night anymore. The stone has been rolled away. This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!
Sometimes when I’m preaching to children about a reading with light and darkness themes, I’ll ask them who is, or ever has been, afraid of the dark. As you can well imagine, most of the hands go up, and probably all of them should go up. And I don’t think that experience is limited to children. How many of us, when we are driving along an unfamiliar road late at night, or during a storm, are more than a little nervous when looking for our next turn? Or how many of us are more than a little wary about being in certain areas after dark? And even closer to home, how many of us have our hearts pound a little faster when we hear a strange noise in the middle of the night?
A couple of years ago now, I woke up what sounded like an explosion in the middle of the night. I looked out all the windows, and couldn’t see anything unusual. Nobody lives above me so it wasn’t like someone fell out of bed. It took me a while to calm down and I finally went back to sleep. I found out the next day a car had exploded in a parking lot over at the high school. It certainly got my blood pumping in the early hours.
We’ve all heard the warning: nothing good ever happens after dark. Watching the news bears that out. You hear about people being shot, carjacked, robbed at all hours of the night, and you wonder why anyone is out and about at that hour. Sure, sometimes they work at that time of night, but not nearly all of them. Why would anyone else be out messing around at that hour? Being out in the wee hours often leads to trouble. Nothing good ever happens after dark.
Except on this night.
On this night, the best thing ever happened. On this night, the debt of our ancient sinfulness was canceled. On this night, our Lord triumphed over sin and death. On this night, everything changed, for the better, on this night the best thing ever happened after dark! “This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld!” The Exsultet, sung at the beginning of our time together this night, tells us just how glorious this night actually is:
The sanctifying power of this night dispels wickedness, washes faults away, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners, drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty.
That’s how much power this night actually has. Whereas so many nights have brought, and continue to bring, sadness to so many, this night brings joy to mourners. Whereas so many nights have brought fear and anguish and hatred, this night restores innocence, drives out hatred, and fosters concord. This night obliterates evil, gives new luster to souls that have been tarnished by sin, and destroys the power of the mighty to bring misery to the humble. This one night turns everything upside-down and introduces a new reign of glory.
Tonight we have heard in reading after reading, that God will absolutely not ever abandon his loved and chosen ones to sin and death. We have heard that God initiated the covenant and pursues it forever, never forcing us to accept his will, but willing that we should follow him and accept his mercy. God has provided the lamb of salvation, the acceptable sacrifice which brings salvation to the whole world. God has gone to the cross and been in the tomb and descended to hell – there is nowhere that is beyond the reach of God’s mercy, there is no place, no depth to which God will not go to redeem his beloved creation. God’s mercy endures forever!
God delights in the freedom of will that we possess as a natural part of who we are, because it gives us the opportunity to freely choose to love him, as he freely chooses to love us. But he knows that same free will can and will also lead us astray, into sin, into evil. The free choice to love God is a greater good than the absence of evil, so not imbuing us with free will was never an option. Instead, evil and sin and our fallenness are redeemed on this most holy of all nights.
We have been praying and waiting and remembering and entering in to the events of our Lord’s passion and death for three days now. On Thursday evening, Father Ramon invited us to imagine being part of the first community of believers after the death and resurrection of Jesus. We imagined coming to Jerusalem and looking for someone to tell us about Jesus. Then we were invited to fall on our knees in worship and adoration as we celebrated the Eucharist in memory of him. On Friday afternoon, Father John encouraged us to not just see what we did to Jesus, but also what Jesus did for us. He invited us to find Jesus on the cross, uniting our own passions with his, and glorying in the grace of what Our Lord did for us. And tonight we get to see that glory, as we sing our Alleluias and know that death no longer has power over us.
Now we get to focus on salvation that is our in the sacraments. Especially tonight, we remember our own baptisms, and we look forward to the baptism of our eight Elect who have been preparing for this night for two years. Everything is in place: the waters of the Red Sea are parted, the pillar of fire glows to the honor of God, we are led to grace and joined to God’s holy ones of every time and place, Christ emerges triumphant from the underworld and the sin of Adam is redeemed forever. And so these eight Elect, in a few moments will enter the waters of Baptism, renouncing the prince of darkness, professing faith in God, dying with Christ in the waters, emerging to new life, triumphant with Christ, and encountering the bright morning star whose light blazes for all eternity. We will hold our breath as the waters flow over them, and sing Alleluia when they are reborn, crying out the praise of God with all the joy the Church can muster!
Our joy will continue to overflow as they are Confirmed in the Holy Spirit and fed for the very first time with the Eucharistic Bread of Life. God’s mercy has once again triumphed and brought these wonderful young people into the family of the Church and the community of our parish. God’s goodness shows forth all its splendor in so many wonderful ways on this most holy of all nights!
This is the night that redeems all of our days and nights. This is the night when sin and death are rendered impotent by the plunging of the Paschal candle, the Light of Christ, into the waters of Baptism. On this night, everything is turned upside-down; sin and death no longer define who we are as human beings; the forces of evil search in vain for darkness in which to cower, because the bright morning star has washed the darkness away. On this night, the waters of Baptism put death to death, wash away faults and wickedness, give refreshment to those who are parched for holiness, and bring life to all who have withered in the desert of brokenness.
And so, may the flame of our joy, blazing against the darkness of the world’s night, be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning Star who never sets, Christ our Lord, God’s only Son, who coming back from even from the depths of death’s domain, has shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever! Amen!
We’ve gathered today on the Solemnity of Pentecost … one of my favorite feasts of the whole year. Today, we have one last opportunity to celebrate the joy of the Easter season. For fifty days, we’ve been celebrating our Lord’s resurrection, his triumph over the grave, and his defeat of sin and death. We’ve been celebrating our salvation, because Christ’s death and resurrection has broken down the barriers that have kept us from God and has made it possible for us to live with God forever. In the last week, we’ve been celebrating our Lord’s Ascension, with His promise that though He is beyond our sight, He is with us always. And today, today we celebrate the wonderful gift of the Holy Spirit, poured out on the Church, who breathes life into nothingness to create the world, who recreates the world with power and might, and who pours out the power of forgiveness on a world hardened by sin.
The Hebrew word for Spirit is ruah, with is the same word they use for “breath.” So the Spirit who hovered over the waters of the primordial world also breathed life into our first parents, giving them not just spiritual life, but physical life, and life in all its fullness. The psalmist today makes it very clear that this Holy Spirit is the principle of life for all of us: “If you take away their breath, they perish and return to their dust. When you send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth.” (Ps. 104:34).
It is this same Spirit that is poured out on our world, which often times doesn’t look very life-giving. This world of darkness of sin, of war and terror, of poverty and injustice, of sickness and death; this world can be recreated daily when the Spirit is poured out on hearts open to receive Him. This Spirit bursts forth from the believer into action: working in various forms of service, works and ministries to proclaim, not just in word, but most importantly in deed, that “Jesus is Lord” (1 Cor 12:3).
It is this same Spirit that is given to create the Church as Jesus breathes on the apostles on the evening of that first day of the week. In today’s Gospel reading, the Holy Spirit is given for the reconciliation of the sinner. Our Church picks up this theme in the Sacrament of Penance when the words of absolution tell us that “God, the Father of Mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.” Because it is in the forgiveness of rivalries, it is in the healing of broken relationships, it is in the restoration of peace and in the pardoning of sinners that God’s plan for creation is most fully realized.
That same Holy Spirit who hovered over the waters at the creation of the world now hovers over the Church. The apostles first received that Holy Spirit, but now it is poured out on us as well. Nothing that is truly good can be conceived of, nor realized apart from that Holy Spirit. As the sequence tells us today: “Where you are not, we have naught, nothing good in deed or thought, nothing free from taint of ill.” It is the Spirit who gives life, both physical and spiritual. It is the Spirit who speaks in our prayer, putting those prayers in our hearts in the first place, and uttering all of our inexpressible groanings when we cannot pray ourselves. It is the Spirit who gives gifts to enliven our works and ministries. It is indeed the Spirit who gives us faith to cry out, “Jesus is Lord.”
Having gathered today in this place on this great Feast, we now pray for not only an outpouring of that Holy Spirit, but also for the openness to receive that Spirit and the grace to let that Spirit work in us for the salvation of the world. We, the Church, need that Holy Spirit to help us to promote a culture of life in a world of death; to live the Gospel in a world of selfishness; to seek inclusion and to celebrate diversity in a world of racism and hate; to effect conversion and reconciliation in a world steeped in sin. Brothers and sisters in Christ, if people in this world are to know that Jesus is Lord, it’s got to happen through each one of us. One life and one heart at a time can be moved to conversion by our witness and our prayer. Let us pray, then, that the Holy Spirit would do all that in us.
Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and enkindle in them the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth. Amen.
If you feel like your life lately has been a crazy, roller-coaster ride of an existence, you might probably relate to the Apostles and disciples of the early church in today’s readings, and perhaps the fruits of today’s feast will be of comfort to you. For those early disciples, today’s feast had to be a kind of “now what?” experience for them. Think about all they’ve been through. Their Lord had been betrayed by one of their friends, they watched him face a farce of a trial and saw him put to death in a horrible, ignoble way, they had been hiding in fear thinking they might be next, they had questioned what they were supposed to do without their Lord. And then they witness the Resurrection: Christ walks among them for a time, appearing to them and making himself known. They had seen redemption of a way of life they almost had abandoned, and now, on this feast of the Ascension, their Lord is leaving them again. In our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, you can almost feel the amazement and desperation they are experiencing as they stare up into the heavens, incredulous that their Lord is gone, again.
So once again, God sends two messengers, two men in white garments, to set them straight. God had sent two men in dazzling garments to the women at the tomb on the day of the Resurrection as well. That time, the men reassured the women that the Lord had not been moved or stolen, but had indeed risen from the dead. This time, the men appear to the Apostles, assuring them that the Lord would return in the same way as he had just departed from their sight. Both times, it was the same kind of messengers, with the same kind of hopeful message. Go forward, don’t worry, God is in control.
I think we need that same message today. As the Supreme Court is poised to strike Roe v. Wade, we have seen a plague of vicious hatred, and even some violence against the Church; we have had over two hundred mass shootings so far this year, and really horrific ones the last month; we hear daily of an unjust war against the people of Ukraine; COVID-19 is up again over the last several weeks; inflation is crazy, and supplies of many things are scarce. It’s a lot all at once. We can be tempted to all kinds of responses: anger, despair, even apathy. But today’s feast says none of that is helpful. Our Lord is in control, he always was and always will be.
So what is the appropriate response? Here I want to say a few important things about the issue of “thoughts and prayers” versus action. There is a prevailing narrative, even among some of the faithful, that thoughts and prayers are equal to doing nothing. Obviously, that is not the Catholic view. Thinking about those who are suffering unites us to them in solidarity. Praying for change is always the way we should begin our work. We believe that prayer does change things, and most of all, prayer changes people. Sometimes, most of the time really, it changes us. So it’s okay to send thoughts and prayers. For some, that’s all they can really do. For everyone, it’s at least a good start.
But action is important too. We have to call on our elected leaders to make needed changes, to promote a culture of life instead of boasting of how pro choice they are. We have to demand that they represent our view instead of aligning themselves with some other person. We have to insist that instead of taking sides on gun control when tragedies happen, that they work to control weapons of mass destruction AND take care of people’s mental health needs. The list goes on and on. Our pro-life stance has to embrace the unborn and the newly born, the child and the adult, those with special needs and the elderly, the sick and the poor: we have to reverence life at every stage and situation, and we need to insist that our elected leaders do the same. We have to stop taking sides, stop insisting one one course of action against another, and work together for the common good. That’s the Catholic response. It always is.
One of the great themes of Catholic theology is the idea of “already, and not yet.” Basically, that means that we disciples of Christ already have a share in the life of God and the promise of heaven, but we are not yet there. So we who believe in Jesus and live our faith every day have the hope of heaven before us, even if we are not home yet. And this hope isn’t just some “iffy” kind of thing: it’s not “I hope I’ll go to heaven one day.” No, it’s the promise that because of the salvation we have in Christ, we who are faithful will one day live and reign with him. This gives us hope in the midst of the many sorrows that we experience in this world.
Another great theme of Catholic theology is that our God is transcendent, but also immanent. Transcendent means that our God is higher than the heavens, more lofty than our thoughts and dreams, beyond anything we can imagine. Whatever we say about God, like “God is love” or “God is good” – those things only begin to scratch the surface of who God is, because God is transcendent beyond anything our limited words can describe. But our God is also immanent. God is not some far off entity that has brought the world into existence and set the events of our lives in motion and then drops back to observe things from afar. No, our God is one who walks among us and knows our sorrow and our pain and celebrates our joy. Saint Augustine said that God is nearer to us than we are to ourselves. Our God may indeed be mysterious and beyond us, but he is also the one we can reach out and touch. If that weren’t so, the Eucharist would be pretty meaningless.
As you can see, Catholic theology is generally speaking not exclusive. We are not either already sharing in the promise or not yet sharing in it, but we are “already and not yet.” Our God is not either transcendent or immanent, but both transcendent and immanent. These two great theological themes come to a kind of crossroads here on this feast of the Ascension.
Today, as Christ ascends into heaven, our share in the life of God and the promise of heaven is sealed. We have hope of eternal life because our Lord has gone before us to prepare a place for us. If he had not gone, we could never have shared in this life. So, although Jesus has left the apostles yet again, they can rejoice because they know that the promise is coming to fulfillment. We do not possess it yet, because we are not home yet, but we share in it already, because Christ is our promise.
All of this theology can be heady stuff, but what it boils down to is this: because Jesus died, rose from the dead, and ascended into heaven, we now have the hope of heaven and of sharing in the very life of God. Even though we do not possess heaven yet, we know that it belongs to all who have faith in Christ and live that faith every day. And even though we do not see Jesus walking among us, he is still absolutely present among us and promises to be with us forever. The preface to the Eucharistic prayer which I will sing in a few minutes makes this very clear; it says:
Mediator between God and man,
judge of the world and Lord of hosts,
he ascended not to distance himself from our lowly state
but that we, his members, might be confident of following
where he, our Head and Founder, has gone before.
Jesus, having explained the Scriptures to his Apostles yet again, tells them “You are witnesses of these things.” And so they don’t have the luxury of just standing there, staring up into the sky for hours, dejected and crushed because the One who had been their hope had disappeared. No, as the Gospel tells us today, they “returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and they were continually in the temple praising God.” They are witnesses, “clothed with power from on high,” and they must be filled with the hope and joy of the resurrection and ascension of the Lord.
We disciples are witnesses of these things too. We must witness to a world filled with violence and oppression and sadness and no regard for the sanctity of human life, that our God promises life without end for all those who believe in him. And we have that hope already, even though not yet. We must witness to a world languishing in the vapidity of relativism and individualism that it is Jesus Christ, the Lord of All, who is one with us in heaven, and present among us on earth, who fulfills our hopes and longings and will never leave us. We must be witnesses to all these things, living with great joy, continually praising God because Christ’s ascension is our exaltation. We too might hear those men in dazzling white garments speak God’s words of hope to us: go forward, don’t worry, God is in control. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Our readings today revolve around the theological virtue of hope. Hope is the virtue that recognizes our desire for happiness in this life and the next, which is an aspiration placed in our hearts by God himself (CCC 1818). According to the Catechism, the virtue of hope causes us to “desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit” (CCC 1817).
Hope is that virtue that gets us through the difficulties of this life with a view toward what is to come. I like to say that it’s the light at the end of the tunnel, and not the light of an oncoming train! The theological virtue of hope is an eager longing for that which is absolutely certain: it’s not a wish and a prayer, as most people use the word “hope.” Hope is so necessary in every moment of history, in every society and in every person’s life. Hope holds fast to the belief that we are travelers in this world, that we are not home yet, and that the best is yet to come. In these Easter days particularly, the Resurrection is our hope, testifying that we have the invitation to life eternal, and the abiding presence of our God who made us for himself.
Our second reading today is, and has been through the season of Easter, from the book of Revelation. This revelation to John and his community was meant to foster hope among a people who were being persecuted. Because they believed in Christ, they were being expelled from the synagogues, and then, because they had no other religious affiliation, they were being forced by the Romans to worship their pagan gods or face death. They definitely needed hope! To them, John prophesies of the new heavenly Jerusalem, the Holy City, which would need no light from the sun or stars or even lamps, because its light was the light of Christ himself. Indeed, that very City was Christ, and all of the community could hope for the day when they would be caught up in it and all would be made right.
Our Gospel today, even though we are in the season of Easter, finds us just before Jesus’ death. John’s Gospel always portrays Jesus as being fully in charge: he does not have an agony in the garden, but instead willingly lays down his life for us. So in this reading, fully aware that he is about to give his life, he seeks to give hope to his disciples who will surely grieve his loss and be filled with despair and even fear for their own lives. In order to prepare them, he offers them peace, and the abiding presence of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, who will remind them of Jesus’ words and help them to integrate all that he has taught them. In many ways, absent this hope, we would not have Christianity today.
Hope was necessary for the first disciples, hope was necessary for the early Christian community, but it is also necessary for us today. Think of the many ways that our society beats us down. We can point to war, terrorism and unrest in so many parts of the world, the war in Ukraine, and violence in our own cities. We can look at traditional values degraded and open hostility to anything remotely Christian. We can see the bitter hatred of the pro-choice movement toward any advance of a culture of life, particularly now when it appears the Supreme Court will strike Roe v. Wade. Add to that inflation like we haven’t seen in decades, supply chain issues making everything scarce, and lingering fears of the pandemic. We can also find distress in our own families, at our places of work, in our communities, and in our schools. We may even be dejected by our own sinfulness, and the many ways that the world seems to take us away from God and family and community. We always need that same abiding hope that the early community found in Christ and in John’s vision.
And let’s be clear about this, friends: we always have it. Always. Every time we gather here for the celebration of Mass, for the proclamation of the Word and the saving sacrifice of the Eucharist, we can see that this world is not all there is. We can see that God is with us, in good times and in bad. We can see that he is leading us to our true heavenly homeland, where all will be made right, and every sadness put to an end.
And so we Christians press on as an Easter people, confident in God’s promises and filled with his abiding presence. We shed light on a world that can be dark at times, and we beckon all the world to receive the peace that can only come from our Risen Lord. We live those first words of today’s Gospel reading: “Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.” We have hope in these Easter days, because Christ is our hope and he has overcome the sting of death and sin and all their sadness. The victory has been won. We just have to hold on to that.
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