Category: Uncategorized

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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.

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. 

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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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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.

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Someone said to me recently, “This has been the Lentiest Lent I’ve ever had. I’ve been stripped of so much – social interaction, physical touch, even the Eucharist.”

All thanks to the Coronavirus.

While we’ve all found this to be a “Lenty Lent,” the inconvenience of social distancing is nothing compared to the pain some families are experiencing as their loved ones die in hospitals alone.

Families cannot even grieve in groups.

That pain is almost unfathomable.

Yet we can all empathize to some extent, because pain and the need for healing are part of being human.

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In the Gospel, Jesus kneels down to wash his disciples’ feet. At that time, such a gesture was considered normal.

People didn’t drive on well-paved roads like we do today. They often walked along dry and dusty roads, so it was common to catch a pebble or two in your sandal as you went.

When guests arrived at person’s home, then, their feet were covered with dust. Some may have had cuts and bruises.

But is Jesus washing his disciples’ feet simply because they’re dirty? Or is there a deeper meaning?

It’s the last night of his life on earth. Surely Jesus isn’t wasting time on pleasantries. Everything he does is on purpose.

This gesture of bathing bruised feet was intended to be a moment of healing for them, as it should be for us tonight, even if social distancing keeps us apart.

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Like the disciples, we’ve all walked along different paths in life, paths that are too often strewn with pebbles.

The Coronavirus is one example of a pebble caught in our sandal. It’s wounded us and scraped our feet. 

But what are the other pebbles caught in my sandal tonight? How have I been wounded?

Maybe I need a relationship mended. My health or my faith to be restored. My job to return. Grief to be lifted. A second chance.

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These are the cuts and bruises that Jesus wants to heal.

On this, his final night on earth, he kneels down to wash our feet. He acknowledges our wounds; he kisses and bathes them.

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But remember his words that follow: “I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do.”

We’ve all had a pebble or two caught in our sandal; we’re all wounded in different ways. Don’t pour salt into them; rather, cover them in mercy. 

How might I follow in the footsteps of Jesus and be an agent of healing for others?

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“This has been the Lentiest Lent I’ve ever had.” 

So many of us are approaching Easter with pebbles in our sandal. Sit down. Remove your sandals. Let the Lord wash your feet.

But when they’ve dried, do the same for others.