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.   
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  

You might also like

Father's Homilies

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent December 7, 2025

By Charlene Currie • December 17, 2025
Is It Right?

Homily for the First Sunday of Advent November 30, 2025

By Charlene Currie • December 4, 2025
How Far Do You Want to Go?

Homily for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe November 23, 2025

By Charlene Currie • November 28, 2025
Prairie Chickens and Eagles Homily for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe November 23, 2025 An American Indian tells about a brave who found an eagle’s egg and put it into the nest of a prairie chicken. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All its life the changeling eagle, thinking it was a prairie chicken, did what the other prairie chickens did. It scratched in the dirt for seeds and insects to eat. It clucked and cackled. And it flew in a brief thrashing of wings and flurry of feathers no more than a few feet off the ground. After all, that’s how prairie chickens were supposed to fly. Years passed, and the changeling grew very old. One day it saw a magnificent bird soaring far above in the cloudless sky. Hanging with graceful majesty on the powerful wind currents, it soared with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings. “What a beautiful bird!” said the changeling eagle to its neighbor. “What is it?” “That’s an eagle—the chief of the birds,” the neighbor clucked. “But don’t give it a second thought. You could never be like him.” So, the changeling eagle never gave it another thought. And it died thinking it was a prairie chicken. Today, we are celebrating the fact that Jesus Christ is the King of all God’s creation. And yet, it is strange that the gospel passage chosen for this feast is the scene of Jesus’ crucifixion. Notice how weak he is. Consider how he is laughed at and made fun of. “He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Christ of God….If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” So, the problem is one of expectations. The bystanders were looking for an eagle, and all they saw before them was a prairie chicken! And yet, at the end of the gospel, this prairie chicken seems to have some power that prairie chickens don’t normally have. When Jesus is asked by the thief being crucified with him, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” Jesus replies, “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Hardly a promise that could be made by a prairie chicken! What’s going on here? I’d like to refer us to a passage we find in the writings of St. Paul, a section of his letter to the Philippians that is the second reading on Palm Sunday, when we reflect on the crucifixion of Jesus. Here it is: “Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Jesus taught the way of humility and service. He came to raise others up, especially those who were bowed down by poverty or prejudice. He taught that there was no greater love than to lay down one’s life for the love of others. Greatness is found not in building oneself up at the expense of others, but in building up others, especially those who need it the most. So, Jesus emptied himself, to the point of looking like a prairie chicken, and in doing so he showed us the way to the eternal kingdom by means of humble service, that we might become who we truly are, eagles destined to soar beyond the clouds.