When the Door Opens, Will You Take It? (Luke 24:35-48)

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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?”

Stuck on Holy Saturday: America In Limbo (John 20:11-18)

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The first confirmed case of the Coronavirus reached the United States 12 weeks ago. New Jersey has been under lockdown for the last 3 weeks.

It feels like we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. We can’t return to the way things were; yet we can’t move forward, either.

Talks of reopening the country are still weeks away.

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In Easter language, it feels like we’re stuck on Holy Saturday.

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Jesus dies on Good Friday and he’s raised on Easter Sunday. Holy Saturday is that day in between; it’s a day of waiting. 

It’s where we find Mary Magdalene in the Gospel.

Although Jesus has been raised, she’s not accepted this truth just yet.

When the Lord appears to her, for example, she can’t recognize him because she’s been crying her eyes out.

Then when he speaks to her, she turns her back and faces his grave, thinking Jesus is simply the gardener.

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It’s only after he calls her by name that Mary recognizes him. Jesus invites her to leap into Easter Sunday.

Once she does, her entire perspective on life will change.

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We all know we’ll pull through this pandemic.

Although dates are still up in the air, the economy will reopen and life for most of us will return to normal.

But should it? Or are we being invited, like Mary Magdalene, to leap into something new? 

What would Easter Sunday look like for America?

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For example, technology has overtaken our lives. 

Instead of spending time with loved ones face to face, we often revert to text messages or emails. At best we use FaceTime or Zoom.

But now that we can’t physically embrace one another we’re hungry for human touch.

Perhaps part of an “Easter America” means putting our phones down, spending more time face to face.

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This pandemic has also taught us how connected we are – and, perhaps, how connected we can be.

For example, we as a Church have had to find new ways to be pastorally creative. 

Instead of temporarily closing up shop, we’ve made phone calls to the elderly to see how they’re doing; we’ve livestreamed Mass; we’ve taken time out of our busy schedules to drop groceries off to a neighbor.

A neighbor who’s name we might not have known before.

Perhaps part of an “Easter Church” means getting to know one another’s names and identifying, in particular, the most vulnerable among us.

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For now the Coronavirus has us stuck between a rock and a hard place.

In Easter language, we’re stuck on Holy Saturday.

But when the country reopens, we should carry with us the many lessons learned. In particular, just how much we need real human touch. 

Mother Teresa quote: People have forgotten what the human touch is ...

Are the lights ON or OFF inside? (Monday, Octave of Easter)

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When we grieve, our world becomes black, hyper-focused on the one we’ve loved, and lost.

Thousands of families have discovered this since the outbreak of the Coronavirus, some for the very first time.

It feels like the lights have been turned off inside.

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Seeing Jesus 2017: Breaking In Through Our Locked Doors — The ...

Such was the feeling of the disciples on Good Friday.

Jesus was everything to them – their best friend; their leader; their Lord.

Then poof! He was gone in an instant. Darkness.

Terrified, the disciples rush into hiding, fearing for their own lives. 

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Why, then, did Peter open the door in our first reading and begin preaching to the very crowds who put Jesus to death?

“This man,” he says, “you killed…But God raised him up, releasing him from the throes of death, because it was impossible for him to be held by it.”

Why the sudden change in attitude?

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Peter’s seen the Risen Lord! He’s so convinced of this that he risks his own life to tell others about it.

Jesus has transformed Peter’s sorrow into joy. You might say, the lights have been flipped back on. This time, permanently.

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But what about me?  Has my experience of grief turned the lights off inside, leaving me in the dark, stuck on Good Friday?

It’s a real possibility as the Coronavirus wreaks havoc on our world. People mourn for their loved ones just as Peter mourned for Jesus.

Or has my experience of Easter turned that sorrow into joy?

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An Easter faith turns the lights back on inside, so to speak.

It transforms lives, starting with our own.