Author: admin

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Someone said recently, “This was the Lentiest Lent I’ve ever had.” 

The Coronavirus stripped us of so much – social interaction, physical touch, even the Eucharist.

Although our 40 day Lenten journey ended last week, it feels like we’re still stuck in it.

Globally, two-million people have contracted the Coronavirus. Over 130,000 have died from it. Millions of Americans have lost their jobs. Our children remain at home. The economy has tanked.

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At its peak, the virus was killing one New Yorker every three minutes.

Making matters worse, families can’t be at the bedside of their loved ones, console each other in person, or even gather to bury the dead.

How are we supposed to embrace the joy of Easter when death seems to be winning? 

Celebrating life seems out of place. 

Right now, we mourn the fact that people are suffering; that people are dying alone; that so many have lost their jobs; that there still is no vaccine or cure.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, hasn’t this felt like a half-hearted Easter?

It’s an Easter filled with joy and sorrow.

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The first Easter wasn’t much different. 

Look at Doubting Thomas.

By now, the other disciples have seen the Risen Lord. But Thomas missed him, because he was grieving by himself.

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side,” he says skeptically, “I will not believe.”

If I were Thomas, I would’ve doubted, too! 

Think about it.

His heart’s been broken by the death of Jesus, and now his pride’s been wounded. He’s been left out. Why would Jesus appear to the others, but not to him? 

It sounds like a cruel joke.

How many of us feel like Thomas, stuck on Good Friday? As if the Risen Lord has excluded us from Easter joy?

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But notice how Jesus appears to him. 

He’s resurrected but still wounded. 

“Put your finger here,” Jesus says, “and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

Jesus’ body has been scarred; ripped open. Although Jesus isn’t bleeding, Thomas can still slide his finger right into Jesus’ side.

I wonder if Jesus winced, if he squinted his eyes and pulled back a bit when Thomas touched him, showing him that his wound was real. 

The Risen Jesus appears to be a paradox. He’s wounded and resurrected. 

But that’s precisely the point.

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Good Friday and Easter Sunday aren’t two separate books. It’s not like we close one and open the other. They’re part of the same story. 

They happened to the same person. 

This wounded, resurrected Christ shows us that it’s okay to mourn and to celebrate this Easter; to cry and to hope; to be sorrowful and to rejoice; to be wounded and resurrected.

We are people of Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

We can admit the catastrophic losses our world has endured – including our own personal grief – while still rejoicing in the promise of the resurrection. 

As the old saying goes, “All’s well that ends well.”

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In the interim, in the midst of this crisis, we turn to the Risen Lord who offers us his peace.

In fact, this is the first word that Jesus says to his disciples after his resurrection, “Peace.” In Hebrew, “shalom.”

Shalom doesn’t only mean the end of war or the end of the Coronavirus; it also means inner peace; harmony; wholeness; prosperity; health.

It what Jesus offers us now. It’s also what we extend to our neighbor at Mass during the sign of peace.

Shalom. 

The fact that we cannot physically offer each other the sign of peace at Mass right now reminds us of how many people don’t feel it but need it.

So, who am I in this Gospel? 

Am I Doubting Thomas, filled with skepticism and grief? Or am I one of the other disciples who’s experienced the shalom of the Risen Lord?

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Whether or not we feel it, shalom begins with an open heart, a heart that is not, “unbelieving but believes.”

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Yes, it’s been the Lentiest Lent ever.

But perhaps the Lentiest Lent leads to the most Easterly Easter, because our Easter joy doesn’t only stem from the fact that Jesus is risen.

It stems from the truth that Jesus died … and then was raised from the dead. He is a God who’s felt both our suffering and our joy.

He’s a God who shows us, “All’s well that ends well.”

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There are now over 644,000 confirmed cases of the Coronavirus in the U.S. 

It’s a staggering number. Our healthcare system is nearly tearing at the seams. 

But what’s even more incredible is the fact that no one is apparently turned away. If someone is in serious or critical condition, that person is treated.

Doctors and nurses aren’t discriminating against their patients. Somehow, they make room for everyone.

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In the Gospel, the disciples have gone fishing, a sign they’re returning to their former way of life. It was a place of comfort, their trade before meeting Jesus.

Although they’re professionals, they don’t make a single catch. When the Risen Lord appears, however, he commands them to cast their nets again.

Suddenly, they’re stuffed; filled with 153 large fish.

Why 153? Why not 150 or 160 fish? Why even count them at all?

Some scholars say the number was symbolic. For example, it was believed that 153 different types of fish swam in the Sea of Galilee.

Their nets were large enough to catch them all.

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The nets themselves are also symbolic.

They represent the Church. Meaning, the Church should make room for everyone. It will not tear at the seams.

Just as no one is turned away from a hospital if that person is in serious or critical condition, so no person should be turned away from the Church.

Even the greatest of sinners.

“For I did not come to call the righteous,” Jesus says, “but sinners.” We can welcome everyone. The nets of the Church will not break.

So how can we extend our nets a little deeper into society?

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That’s a question that’s often discussed on a macro-level, because it has moral and theological implications.

But it’s also a question we answer ourselves. How can I cast my net deeper into my home?

How can I be more welcoming in my workplace, in my community, and in my parish?

It boils down to how we treat one another, whether or not we accept people for who they are. That’s the groundwork.

So is my first impression of others driven by judgment? Must they meet a set of preconditions to be accepted? Or do I love others for simply being human like me?

As our relationships build, we encourage one another to become holier, happier people. 

It’s what Jesus himself did. He never wagged his finger at the sinful or the weak. He loved them and encouraged them to be better.

But he always led by example.

“Love one another the way that I have loved you,” he says.

Our hearts – and our Church – can be big enough to welcome everyone, much like our hospitals who are welcoming everyone in need.

The Lord assures us we’ll never tear at the seams.

It’s simply a matter of being open to the Spirit, who expands our hearts.

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How many horror films involve someone wandering alone in the dark or trapped inside a room?

Think of Buffalo Bill in “Silence of the Lambs.”

Do you remember the scene when he turns his night vision goggles on and begins pursuing Clarice in his basement? Chilling.

Such movies play on a fear we all have – the fear of insecurity, of being trapped, of not knowing how to get out, or where to go next.

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Think of the disciples in today’s Gospel. They’re frightened.

They’ve locked themselves inside a room in Jerusalem, trying to hide from the authorities. Jesus was killed just days ago and, logically, they fear they’re next. If they leave that room, they very well may be killed.

Talk about being trapped.

Suddenly, the Risen Jesus appears to them and says, “Peace be with you.” He knows they feel trapped and need somewhere to go, a door to be opened.

Unfortunately, that door is right in front of them, leading back into the streets of Jerusalem.

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The disciples are being asked to face the crowds who put Jesus to death, and share the good news his resurrection with them.

Perhaps even to the Apostles’ surprise, some who hear this message are converted on the spot.

What a change of events! One moment the disciples are terrified, locked inside a room. The next they’re preaching in public.

The Lord answered their prayer; he came to their rescue. But in a very unexpected way.

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How many of us feel like we need a door opened? A new job? Better health? A second chance? An answered prayer? A path that leads to life beyond grief?

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The same Jesus who opened a door for the disciples opens doors for us. But sometimes it leads to unexpected paths.

The question isn’t, “Will God answer me?” The question is, “Will I accept where he wants me to go?”