Homily for Easter Sunday

In the Eucharist, our eyes are opened and we recognize the presence of Christ in the breaking of the bread. We are given the grace to remember in a new way.

I have Mass on Sunday, April 5th at St. Isidore @ 7:30/9:30 am. The 7:30 am Mass will be live-streamed https://stisidore.church/worship-online/

frjoedailey@gmail.com

Transcript

A reading from the Holy Gospel according to John. 

On the first day of the week, Mary of Magdala came to the tomb early in the morning, while it was still dark, and saw the stone removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved and told them, They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don't know where they put him. 

So Peter and the other disciple went out and came to the tomb. They both ran, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and arrived at the tomb first. He bent down and saw the burial cloths there, but did not go in. When Simon Peter arrived after him, he went into the tomb and saw the burial cloths there and the cloth that had covered his head, not with the burial cloth, but rolled up in a separate place. Then the other disciple also went in, the one who had arrived at the tomb first, and he saw and believed, for they did not yet understand the scripture that he had to rise from the dead. 

The Gospel of the Lord 

Mary came to the tomb early, before the sun had fully risen, before anything makes sense again. She's not expecting resurrection. She's expecting to grieve. And when she finds the stone rolled away, her first thought is not hope. It is confusion, disruption, loss all over again. "they have taken him." 

Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the beloved disciple all find the tomb empty, but the emptiness of the tomb does not yet seem to have made a difference. They are still in the dark. New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark. 

Something is already stirring. God is outside growing the crops even before the farmer is up, and knitting together the wounds before the clinic opens. The disciples see that Jesus' body is indeed gone, yet there is a familiar spirit lingering in the darkness. The disciple whom Jesus loves sees nothing but instantly recognizes God's work and believes. There, in the dark, his life is immediately transformed. John doesn't tell us what stirred within him, only that he believed without understanding. 

Even if we have no eyes to see, God's light is within. This inner light illuminates the darkest, emptiest tomb, assuring us that there is nothing beyond God's power that cannot be repaired, redeemed, and renewed. Sarah Miles writes, "None of us can control what God does, but we can open our eyes and see what God is doing."

"Our life is hidden with Christ in God," St. Paul tells us. In baptism, we have already died and been raised up with Christ. So we're already living a new kind of existence. When Paul goes on to urge us to think of what is above, not of what is on earth, it sounds like he's urging a kind of withdrawal from ordinary life. But as we read on in his letter, it becomes clear that Paul is very much thinking of ordinary life. All the stuff of our life, lives. Even the bad things we deal with must be addressed with the healing power of the new life we have in Christ. 

At our baptism, we are anointed priest, prophet, and king. We tend to miss the priest part, thinking that it doesn't apply to us. But the Second Vatican Council reminds us that we are a priestly people. All of us are called to holiness. The priest, of course, has a particular part in the Mass, but as a priestly people, we also have a role to play. We bring every part of our lives to God. In the words of Lumen Gentium, the document on the Church from the Second Vatican Council. "Our works, prayers, apostolic endeavors, ordinary family life, daily labor, mental and physical relaxation, even life's hardships," are part of the gifts we offer. 

When the bread and wine are brought to the altar, we place our lives on the altar as well. In bringing the world's joys and hopes, its grief and anguish to God, the faithful bring the natural into a deeper relationship with the supernatural grace of God. There is no part of human life that is foreign to God. "As worshipers whose every deed is holy, the lay faithful consecrate the world itself to God."

So, for instance, a parent struggling with serious family strife can offer that strife along with the bread and wine brought to God at Mass. In the Eucharist, our eyes are opened and we recognize the presence of Christ in the breaking of the bread. We are given the grace to remember in a new way. Perhaps that grace will take the form of increased patience and understanding. Maybe it will yield insight into the best way to plant the seeds of reconciliation and healing this very day or this very week. Or it could instill a keen awareness of a love that transcends the trespasses of one family member against another, a love that gives a sense of inner peace in the midst of outer turmoil. 

A spiritual sacrifice raises what we have, bad or good, and calls on God to make God's presence in it more visible, tangible, and lasting. This is Christ's way of exercising his priesthood through all of us who are part of the priestly people of God by baptism. 

All of us have seen the joy that comes in knowing that God has brought some healing to what was broken or has made something already good much better and more fruitful. All that is required is an openness and a faith to see more than meets the eye. Easter begins while it is still dark. It is the first day of the week, day one of the new creation. The new life of resurrection is just beginning to dawn. Jesuit Father Greg Boyle writes, "None of us will live forever, but we can really live in the forever. The risen Lord is here and now in the struggle, in the loss, in the grieving, in the delighting, in people sharing their lives with each other."