Easter is about Sacred words

Easter is about Amazement. Every time Jesus appears to someone, they are amazed. Often, they are in disbelief. And some do not even recognize him.

Part of the amazement comes because, even though Jesus had foretold his resurrection, his disciples did not believe him. In their minds, the Savior was suppose to bring back the glory of Israel.  When Jesus dies, it is over. And all the words about rising from the dead literally fell on deaf ears.

Perhaps we are not far from the disciples. How often we have heard words and not believed. How often have we clung to an image and refused to accept anything else. Part of it comes from the fact that in life, comments are made flippantly, with no real substance to them. We get used to hearing promises that are never kept, invitations that are never fulfilled, and offers that fall flat.

When we enter into a relationship with Jesus, when we begin to learn what it means to believe, we realize that when Jesus speaks, he means what he says. He does not speak lightly. He fulfills his promises.

So, if we are believers, should we not fulfill our promises? Should we not be true to the words we utter?

No one speaks of this kind of witness. And yet, what better example could I give to my faith than to treat my words as sacred?

Easter is about accepting this truth.

Who do I see?

The Easter story is not just about resurrection. It is also a story about seeing and unseeing, about understanding and misunderstanding. It is a story about the ability to grow and change.

I love to think of Mary Magdalen going to the tomb, intent on anointing the body of Jesus. She does not stop to consider whether she can roll the huge stone away, or how she will get past the soldiers who are guarding the place. She goes thinking only of honoring the body of Jesus. When she finds the tomb empty, she runs to tell the disciples, who come, look and then leave.

Mary Magdalen does not leave. She stays in the garden and weeps. She does not know where Jesus is, so she stays at the place she last saw him. He was dead, but he was there. And when Jesus reveals himself to her, she does not recognize him.

There are many theories as to why Mary Magdalen does not recognize Jesus. Some say she was weeping and so tears blurred her vision. Some say she expected him dead, so did not recognize him alive. But regardless of the reason, the truth is, Mary looked straight at Jesus and called him the gardener (Jn 20:15).

I do the same thing. I look at people, situations, even my faith, and have a tendency to call it by another name. My judgements are not always true. I see, but not always what is there.

I believe this is Jesus main issue with the scribes and pharisees. They felt they could not make a mistake. They believed they knew. They said, "We see" when in fact, they were blind (Jn 9:41).

I must have a faith like Mary Magdalen, one that is attentive to my name being called, and my eyes being opened. To be aware I may make mistakes in judgments, or in perceptions.

Mary Magdalen accepted that she mistakenly called Jesus the gardener. She did not hesitate for one moment to accept that fact, and ran to embrace Jesus (Jn 20:16).

It is an example for me. For to see Jesus, I must sometimes admit, I have it wrong, I have judged falsely, I have failed to see.

Easter: a time of resurection

I have noticed that spiritual people can have a tendency to over spiritualize everything in life, as though somehow every act came straight from the hand of God. I am not speaking of those who see the hand of God in events, but rather to those who exclude the human element of life, the human struggle, the human dimension. And when we do that, we forget the human effort needed to rise above human tendency.

Easter is just one sort of event. Christians all believe that Jesus rose from the dead, a day glorious and offering profound hope of immortality. What we often forget is, Jesus too, as a human being, had a choice. Jesus rose because he could follow through with his calling, he could let go of the past and move forward to his destiny, he could unwrap the bindings that held him and step forth into the light.

Think for a moment of what might have happened had Jesus held on to the pain and suffering he endured. What if Jesus could not let go of his suffering and humiliation? What if he had gotten "stuck" in the memory of what had happened and could not move past that?

It is unimaginable to think of Jesus stuck in death. And yet, that is how I sometimes live; stuck in a bad memory, in anger and resentment. Stuck in my bad luck, bad choices, unfortunate incidents.

What good is it to believe in resurrection, in eternal life, if I cannot rise above events here on earth? What good is it to hope for heaven when I live life as though in a tomb? For when I am stuck, I cannot hear the call to come forth. I am, spiritually, stuck in death.

Jesus showed us the power of letting go when he stepped out of the tomb and into the light. He showed us the power of dropping our bindings and moving our sealed stone that keeps us imprisoned. He opened the sealed compartment of his tomb not by force, but by grace. Such is the power of letting go.

Jesus invites me to do the same. Easter is a reminder that eternal life starts here on earth, that rising begins with daily events, that each of us has a tomb requiring resurrection. Easter is a symbol for each one of us to come forth from the tomb of disappointments, disillusionment, judgements and resentments.I am called to live a resurrected life, to unwrap whatever binds me and holds me prisoner. I am called to grace, a grace that can perform powerful acts of God within my life, if I let go.

Let us each live resurrected, here and now, so that we witness to the power of believing.

Good Friday: a day of profound silence

No time of year makes me homesick for the monastery more than Holy Week. Whatever sacrifices we made, whatever penances we practices, whatever prayers we said, they all culminated in the beauty found in Holy Week.

Of all those practices, prayers and penances, the one I miss most is the atmosphere of silence. Perhaps that is why I have never found Holy Week to be anything like the monastic practice. Maybe it was the silence that gave such a profound meaning to all we did on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

Monastic silence was not the absence of words. It was not the refusal to speak or a hard distant quiet. Monastic silence was full of Presence, because it was borne of contemplation. It was not an absence of words, because the soul was in a conversation with God. Monastic silence was not void, not empty, not stark. That kind of silence has no fruit to give. Monastic silence was pregnant with inspirations and revelations.

In the monastery, these Holy Days were marked because they were days of profound silence, when no words were spoken. In such silence, the world of the spirit comes alive. Practicing this kind of silence teaches the soul how to commune with God. It teaches the senses to leap beyond the natural and into the spirit world.

Perhaps that is why the Gospel stories of the Passion depict Jesus and his disciples, and even his mother, all in silence. The only persons speaking are those determined to put Jesus to death. All the rest are silent. All the rest are watching.

Perhaps this silence was the disciples entry into a deeper spiritual commune with the God they thought they knew as Jesus. Perhaps this was Jesus way of helping them shed the concept they had of him as the Messiah ready to bring back the glory of the kingdom, and realize that the kingdom referred to their souls, not to their possessions.

Good Friday. Let us observe a period of silence. Let us let our souls speak in place of our tongues. Let us try to capture the wondrous atmosphere that teaches us spiritual truths.

Breaking the alabaster jar...

Holy Thursday, a day of remembering. A day of preparation. A day when the symbol broke, and reality flowed.

The week begins with the story of how Mary anoints Jesus with a liter of costly perfumed oil. Mark 14:3-5 gives us a graphic account: When he was in Bethany reclining at table in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil, costly genuine spikenard. She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.

Is not this a mirror of life? I have within myself the very goodness God planted there. But somehow, it stays hidden, even from me. And I live out my life as though I were an alabaster jar, trying not to get hurt, not to be chipped, not to be broken. I think it is good to be hard, to be able to carry life within, and do not realize, sometimes life needs to break out.

Even more, sometimes I cherish the alabaster jar more than the precious ointment within. I want to keep the jar intact, even if it means I lost the treasure. Through this gospel I am invited to break that concept, to reject what I cherish, and let what is truly precious flow out.

For when I do this, I am acting like Mary, I am being bold with my love, my devotion, and my faith. I am taking it out of the alabaster jar and pouring it out, not caring what others might say.

Holy Thursday is a good day to think on these things.

Message of Holy Week

Holy Week. It is upon us. It offers each one of us a gift, the gift of remembering that just because things don't turn out right, just because our lives do not follow a straight path, doesn't mean we have lost. In fact, if Holy Week is anything, it is a vivid example of bad being turned to good, of suffering being made fruitful and redemptive, and love being powerful enough to overcome evil.

More and more I see life as "passing through the veil." It seems that before we can step into a deeper understanding of life, especially of the spiritual aspect of life, we must walk through some valley of mist, some shrouded event when we cannot see clearly or experience the present of God. Many times, these are times when we are crying out to God for assistance, and God seems silent. Our own agony in the Garden, our own abandonment by God.

I like to think that during such times of darkness and abandonment, we are walking through a veil. Because, if we hold fast, if we continue to believe without seeing or experiencing God, we do step beyond, we do reach a different level of understanding.

As we walk together this Holy Week, let us each remember those times in our own lives when we were alone, when God seemed far off, and help did not assist. Let us remember, so that when it happens again, we may be encouraged, and know that Holy Week is an event, not a destiny.

Accepting the role of failure

As we begin Holy Week, I cannot help but think of one topic we all avoid: failure. We dread this word almost as much as we dread the word death.

I am thinking of this as I watch an individual try to navigate life without admitting to weakness. And it brings to mind that Holy Week is not just about events, about celebrations, about passion, but also about failure and weakness, about human suffering and defeat. And how hard it is for us, for me, to admit or accept either.

Perhaps I think of failure as an end result. If I am a failure, then life is over. If I am weak, then I have nothing to brag about, and I am not worth anyone's attention.

Jesus took on both labels. He let himself feel the despair of suffering, failure, weakness. Why? I wonder if perhaps Jesus wanted us to remember, failure and weakness are not the end. I have the ability to rise again, beyond those events.

I am not defined by one action. I am effort, determination, and faith. I am a mixture of failure and success, strength and weakness. I am a composite, complicated, and amazingly resilient person.

Those are my thoughts as I begin this Holy Week. What are yours?