Easter 2020
As we approach Easter, I have a strange question: Is it OK to Alleluia this year? Usually, we come together to Alleluia. What are we supposed to do now? With the corona virus raging all around, is it somehow counterintuitive to sing of joy? With so many crying because a loved one has died, is it sacrilegious to even think Alleluia? Does it make sense to cook ham and kielbasa and all the rest, when everyone you love is socially distant?
This Easter is unquestionably different. At the very least, the pandemic challenges our reasons for celebrating and forces us to dig deeper. As we think of cross and resurrection, death and life, perhaps we might think: what kind of life?
The story is told of a man who risked his life by swimming through a treacherous rip-tide to save a youngster swept out to sea. After the child recovered from the harrowing experience, he said to the man, “Thank you for saving my life.” The man looked into the boy’s eyes and said, “That’s okay, kid. Just make sure your life was worth saving.”
In the first letter of Peter we read, “In his own body he brought your sins to the cross, so that
all of us, dead to sin, could live in accord with God’s will. By his wounds you were healed”
(1 Peter 2:24).
In an article in St. Anthony Messenger entitled “Everyday Resurrections”, Kathy Coffey writes, “Easter comes to us as fitfully as it did to the first disciples. We carry to the tombs of our lives the same mixture of doubt, fear, certainty, anxiety, and joy that the disciples brought to Jesus’ tomb. He always seems to choose for witnesses the most unlikely prospects, ourselves included. Take Thomas, for instance. If Thomas—stubbornly insistent on tangible proof—can believe, maybe there’s hope for everyone. Doubt isn’t evil; it’s the entryway to hope….Only by coming dangerously close to this wounded Lord will we, too, know transformation of our wounds—and resurrection” (April 2020, p. 35).
Those who work in hospice come dangerously close to the dying and touch wounded humanity on a daily basis. A hospice nurse has the opportunity to see and appreciate life as precious, fragile and fleeting. One hospice nurse has compiled various regrets she has heard from those close to the end of life. Here are the top five:
- I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
- I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
- I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
- I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
- I wish that I had let myself be happier.One person, looking back at his life, admitted, “I have been one of those people who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle, a raincoat, aspirin, and a parachute. If I had it to do over again, I would go places, do things and travel lighter. If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would play more. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I’d pick more daisies.”Most, I think, would agree that this is easier said than done. In more normal times, people have complained about yet another 60-hour work week, or admitted that, even with the best of intentions, they failed to call a friend they hadn’t seen in over a year and lost touch with.Perhaps we can look at this corona virus pandemic as a kind of world-wide hospice experience. We don’t know how it will play out, whom it will affect, or how it will all end. Yet, it offers an opportunity for reflection about what is really important, about our relationship with God and with those we love. It gives us time, and a chance to consider our use of it. And it enables us to bring our wounds to the One who is our healer, the one who gives a peace the world can neither give nor take away (see John 14:27).During a more normal Easter, at the beginning of the Holy Saturday liturgy, the beautiful Easter candle is lit, reminding us that Jesus Christ is the light of the world, a light that no darkness can extinguish. As part of the preparation of the candle, five wax “nails” are inserted into a cross that is part of the candle’s decoration. These nails represent the five wounds of Christ—on each hand, each foot, and the side—the wounds by which we have been healed. Just as the risen Christ still had his wounds, so the Easter candle bears a reminder of the cross.In the story of the young boy who was saved from drowning, the boy was told to make sure that his life was worth saving. In the story of Easter we learn that we have a Savior who believed with the last drop of his blood that our lives are worth saving. And that changes everything.And so, in the midst of suffering, anxiety and uncertainty, in the fits and starts of life, let us celebrate Easter because the world needs it now more than ever. In our prayer let us bring the wounds of the world to the Savior. And let us strive to live in a way worthy of such great love until that day when “he shall wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).Even now—especially now—it is OK to Alleluia. May you have a blessed Easter.
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Father's Homilies
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.
