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Mass on the Move – A Homily for the 3rd Sunday of Easter

N.B. There is a video version of this homily below

In today’s Gospel we encounter two discouraged and broken men making their way to Emmaus. The text describes them as “downcast.” That is to say, their eyes are cast on the ground, their heads are hung low. Their Lord and Messiah has been killed, the one they had thought would finally liberate Israel. Some women had claimed that He was alive, but these disciples have discredited those reports and are now leaving Jerusalem. It is late in the afternoon and the sun is sinking low.

They are also moving in the wrong direction, West, away from Jerusalem, away form the resurrection. They have their backs to the Lord, rising in the East.

The men cannot see or understand God’s plan. They cannot “see” that He must be alive, just as they were told. They are quite blind as to the glorious things that happened hours before. In this, they are much like us, who also struggle to see and understand that we have already won the victory. Too easily our eyes are cast downward in depression rather than upward in faith.

How will the Lord give them vision? How will He reorient them, turn them in the right direction? How will He enable them to see His risen glory? How will He encourage them to look up from their downward focus and behold new life?

If you are prepared to “see” it, the Lord will celebrate Holy Mass with them. In the context of a sacred meal we call the Mass, He will open their eyes and they will recognize Him; they will see glory and new life.

Note that the entire gospel, not just the last part, is in the form of a Mass. There is a gathering, a penitential rite, a Liturgy of the Word, intercessory prayers, a Liturgy of the Eucharist, and an ite missa est. In this manner of a whole Mass, they have their eyes opened to Him and to glory. They will fulfill the psalm that says, Taste, and see, the goodness of the Lord (Psalm 34:8).

Let’s examine this Mass, which opens their eyes, and ponder how we also taste and see in every Mass.

Stage One: Gathering Rite – The curtain rises on this Mass with two disciples having gathered together on a journey: Now that very day two of them were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus (Lk 24:13). We have already discussed above that they are in the midst of a serious struggle and are downcast. We only know one of them by name, Cleopas. Who is the other? If you are prepared to accept it, the other is you. So, they have gathered. This is what we do as the preliminary act of every Mass. We who are pilgrims on a journey come together on our journey.

It so happens for these two disciples that Jesus joins them: And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them (Luke 24:15). The text goes on to tell us that they did not recognize Jesus yet.

The Lord walks with us, too. It is essential to acknowledge by faith that when we gather together at Mass the Lord Jesus is with us. Scripture says, For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them (Matt 18:20). For many of us, too, although Jesus is present we do not recognize Him. Yet he is no less among us than He was present to these two disciples who fail to recognize Him.

Liturgically, we acknowledge the presence of the Lord at the beginning of the Mass in two ways. First, as the priest processes down the aisle the congregation sings a hymn of praise. It is not “Fr. Jones” they praise; it is Jesus, whom “Fr. Jones” represents. Once at the chair the celebrant (who is really Christ) says, “The Lord be with you.” In so doing He announces the presence of Christ among us promised by the Scriptures.

The Mass has now begun and our two disciples are gathered; the Lord is with them. So, too, for us at every Mass. The two disciples still struggle to see the Lord, to experience new life, and to realize that the victory has already been won. So, too, do some of us who gather for Mass. The fact that these disciples are gathered is already the beginning of the solution. Mass has begun. Help is on the way!

Stage Two: Penitential Rite – The two disciples seem troubled and the Lord inquires of them the source of their distress: What are you discussing as you walk along? (Lk 24:17). In effect, the Lord invites them to speak with Him about what is troubling them. It may also be a gentle rebuke from the Lord that the two of them are walking away from Jerusalem, away from the site of the resurrection.

Clearly their sorrow and distress are governing their behavior. Even though they have already heard evidence of Jesus’ resurrection (cf 24:22-24), they seem hopeless and have turned away from this good news.

Thus the Lord engages them in a kind of gentle penitential rite, engages them about their negativity.

So, too, for us at Mass. The penitential rite is a moment when the celebrant (who is really Christ) invites us to lay down our burdens and sins before the Lord, who alone can heal us. We, too, often enter the presence of God looking downcast and carrying many burdens and sins. Like these disciples, we may be walking in the wrong direction. In effect, the Lord says to us, “What are thinking about and doing as you walk along? Where are you going with your life?”

The Lord asks them to articulate their struggles. This calling to mind of struggles, for them that day and for us in the penitential rite, is a first step to healing and recovery of sight.

Again, we see in this story about the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, the Mass that is so familiar to us.

Stage Three: Liturgy of the Word – In response to their concerns and struggles, the Lord breaks open the Word of God, the Scriptures: Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures (Luke 24:27).

Not only does the Lord refer to Scripture, He interprets it for them. Hence the Word is not merely read; there is a homily, an explanation and application of the Scripture to the men’s struggles. The homily must have been a good one, too, for the disciples later remark, Were not our hearts burning (within us) while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us? (Luke 24:32)

So, too, for us at Mass. Whatever struggles we may have brought, the Lord bids us to listen to His Word as the Scriptures are proclaimed. Then the homilist (who is really Christ) interprets and applies the Word to our life. Although the Lord works through a weak human agent (the priest or deacon), He can write straight with crooked lines. As long as the homilist is orthodox, it is Christ who speaks. Pray for your homilist to be an obedient and useful instrument for Christ at the homily moment.

Notice, too, that although the disciples do not yet fully see, their downcast attitude is gone; their hearts are now on fire. Pray God, that it will be so for us who come to Mass each week and hear from God that the victory is already ours in Christ Jesus. God reminds us, through Scripture passages that repeat every three years, that although the cross is part of our life, the resurrection surely is, too. We are carrying our crosses to an eternal Easter victory. If we are faithful to listening to God’s Word, hope and joy build within our hearts and we come, through being transformed by Christ in the Liturgy, to be men and women of hope and confidence.

Stage Four: Intercessory Prayers – After the homily, we usually make prayers and requests of Christ. We do this based on the hope, provided by His Word, that He lives, loves us, and is able. So it is that we also see these two disciples request of Christ, Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over (Luke 24:29).

Is this not what we are doing when we say, in so many words, “Stay with us, Lord, for it is sometimes dark in our lives and the shadows are growing long. Stay with us, Lord, and with those we love, so that we will not be alone in the dark. In our darkest hours, be to us a light, O Lord, a light that never fades away”?

Indeed, it is already getting brighter, for we are already more than halfway through the Mass!

Stage Five: Liturgy of the Eucharist – Christ does stay with them. Then come the lines that no Catholic could miss: And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them (Luke 24:30). Yes, it is the Mass to be sure. All the basic actions of the Eucharist are there: He took, blessed, broke, and gave. They are the same actions that took place at the Last Supper and that we repeat at every Mass. Later, the two disciples refer back to this moment as the breaking of the bread (Luke 24:35), a clear biblical reference to the Holy Eucharist.

The words of Mass immediately come to mind: “While they were at supper, He took the bread and gave you thanks and praise. He broke the bread, gave it to His disciples, and said, “Take this all of you and eat it. This is my Body, which will be given up for you.”

A fascinating thing then occurs: With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight (Luke 24:31).

It is the very act of consecration that opens their eyes. Is this not what Holy Communion is to do for us? Are we not to learn to recognize Christ by the very mysteries we celebrate? Are we not to “taste and see”?

The liturgy and the sacraments are not mere rituals; they are encounters with Jesus Christ. Through our repeated celebration of the holy mysteries, our eyes are increasingly opened, if we are faithful. We learn to see and hear Christ in the liturgy, to experience his ministry to us.

The fact that Jesus vanishes from their sight teaches us that He is no longer seen with the eyes of the flesh, but with the eyes of faith and the eyes of the heart. Although He is gone from our earthly, fleshly, carnal sight, He is now to be seen in the sacrament of the altar and experienced in the Liturgy and in other sacraments. The Mass has reached its pinnacle for these two disciples and for us. They have tasted and now they see.

Consider these two men who began this Gospel quite downcast. Their hearts are on fire and they now see. The Lord has celebrated Mass in order to get them to this point. So, too, for us: the Lord celebrates Mass in order to set our hearts on fire and open our eyes to glory. We need to taste in order to see.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. This poor man called, and the Lord heard him; he saved him out of all his troubles. … Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him (Psalm 34:4-8).

Yes, blessed are we if we faithfully taste in order to see, every Sunday at Mass.

Stage Six: Ite Missa Est – Not able to contain their joy or hide their experience, the two disciples run seven miles back to Jerusalem to tell their brethren what has happened and how they encountered Jesus in the breaking of the bread. They want to, they must speak of the Christ they have encountered, what He said and what He did.

Note that this liturgy has reoriented them. They are now heading back east, toward the Risen Son.

How about us? At the end of every Mass, the priest or deacon says, “The Mass is ended. Go in peace.” This does not mean, “We’re done, go home and have nice day.” It means, “Go into the world and bring the Christ you have received to others. Tell them what you have seen and heard here, what you have experienced. Share with others the joy and hope that this Liturgy gives.”

Have you ever noticed that part of the word “mission” is in the word “dismissal”? You are being commissioned, sent on a mission to announce Christ to others.

Finally, the Lucan text says of these two disciples, So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem where they found gathered together the eleven and those with them … Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread (Lk 24:33,35). How about us? Does our Mass finish that well, that enthusiastically? Can you tell others that you have come to Christ in “the breaking of the bread,” in the Mass?

Jesus has used the Mass to drawn them from gloom to glory, from downcast to delighted, from darkness to light. It was the Mass. Do you “see” it there? It is the Mass. What else could it be?

Here is a video version of this homily

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On Heroic Human Overcoming

In the video below we are shown many acts of bravery, heroism, courage and overcoming. In times like these we need to be reminded of  that part of the human spirit that is unrelenting in meeting challenges and will not simply cower in fear or depression. Individuals will sometimes fall and give way to defeat, but collectively there is a powerful human capacity that God has given us to discover who we are in adversity. We learn new strengths and ways to adapt. To all doomsayers, I say, watch this video and remember that God has called us to victory, even if in sometimes paradoxical ways:

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The Mandate and Experience of the Church According to Jesus

Jesus gives a concise summary of the work and experience of the Church in His discourse with Nicodemus, which we read at Tuesday’s daily Mass:

Amen, amen I say to you, we speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen, but you people do not accept our testimony (Jn 3:11).

I. Plural – Note that when Jesus speaks to Nicodemus He does not say, “I speak to you.” He says, “We speak to you.” The use of the first-person plural is common in Johannine literature. For example, at the beginning of the First Letter of John it is said, That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life (1 John 1:1).

Who is the “we” referred to here? As with most things in Scripture, there are layers of meaning. First, it certainly means the apostolic college. On a wider level it refers to the first eyewitnesses, the disciples who heard and saw Jesus and were able to report what He said and did. Even more widely the “we” is the Church down through the centuries. The Church here is more than an institution; it is the Body of Christ, the living, active presence of Jesus Christ in the world.

II. Proclamation – “We speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen.” Just after the resurrection, the common expression of apostles and disciples is this: “I have seen the Lord” (e.g., John 20:18, 20:25). If the Church could no longer say this, she would no longer be the Church! If she could no longer say, “Jesus is Lord. We know this; we experience this; and we see it with our eyes,” then she would no longer be the Church.

Note that in the biblical sense, the word “know” does not simply refer to intellectual knowing, as if the Church were merely reciting words written centuries ago. Biblical knowing emphasizes experience; something known means something actually seen and experienced, not just learned in the abstract. The Church does not simply know Jesus is Lord and speak of it as if regurgitating reciting ancient formulas, precious though they are. Rather, she speaks of her experience with the Lord Jesus Christ in the sacred liturgy and of His powerful ministry to all her members throughout time.

The proclamation of the Church is that we speak to the world of what we know, what we have experienced. To emphasize this, Jesus adds that the proclamation of the Church is not simply what we know but what we have “seen.” Here, too, a tangible experience is referenced. This is the proclamation of ancient truths, presently experienced—seen. In other words, the Church can raise her right hand and swear to the truth of all that Jesus has said and done because she knows it; she experiences it; she has seen it—she has witnessed it occurring.

Indeed, souls are healed and set free, and human beings are gloriously transformed by the celebration of her sacred liturgy with her Blessed Groom and Lord, Jesus Christ.

The Church announces her experience with Jesus Christ, with the ability of His Word and truth to transform her and her members. The Church proclaims to the world, “We testify to what we have known and what we have seen.”

III. Persecution – Then Jesus says to Nicodemus, and by extension to the world, “You do not accept our testimony.”

It is often the lot of the Church to be scorned, ridiculed, and mocked—even hated and persecuted—because of our proclamation. There are many who demand that the Church conform to the world and its ideas and values.

Yet, as Pope Paul VI noted in Humanae Vitae, one of the Church’s most rejected encyclicals,

There is too much clamorous outcry against the voice of the Church, and this is intensified by modern means of communication. But it comes as no surprise to the Church that she, no less than her divine Founder, is destined to be a “sign of contradiction.” She does not, because of this, evade the duty imposed on her of proclaiming humbly but firmly the entire moral law, both natural and evangelical (#18).

The Church is to be this sign of contradiction. Yes, we must often stand up before a worldly consensus and say no, regardless of how many around us who say yes. It is the lot of the Church to experience rejection and to have to say, “You do not accept our testimony.”

Yet this is judgment, for Jesus says, Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light (John 3:19-20). St. Paul adds, For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear (2 Tim 4:3). Simeon, as he held the infant Jesus and thereby the infant Church, is recorded as saying this: This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted (Lk 2:34).

Yes, this is our place—among the persecuted, scorned, and derided. The Church must be willing to say to the world, “You do not accept our testimony.” We must not “cave.” Too many people today, wanting the Church to be “relevant,” and “acceptable,” insist that we alter our doctrines so that the world will accept our testimony. God forbid the Church ever do this, for we would no longer be the Church!

Here, then, is Jesus’ charter—His mandate—for the Church: that we should say to the world, “We speak to you of what we know and of what we have seen, but you do not accept our testimony.”

 

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An Easter Exhortation for Tough Times

As we all know, this was perhaps the strangest Easter that any of us have experienced  at least collectively. The liturgical calendar shouts new life and victory over the grave, and yet throughout the world, many are hunkered down in the fear of death. Despite the Easter glow these are dark days for many who suffer illness or economic stress. But, to be sure, the first Easter was experienced in great uncertainty and danger. 

Recent readings from Scripture have this theme. The readings in daily Mass this past week (from the Acts of the Apostles) show the joy of a poor, lame man healed by Peter and John at the Gate called Beautiful. By week’s end Peter and John were arrested for the “dangerous” act of glorifying Jesus and forced to appear before the Jewish court. More suffering and arrests would follow.

In the Office of Readings, we are reading from the First Letter of Peter, which is a kind of survival guide for those who suffer on account of Jesus. Consider these excerpts from this past week:

Do not be surprised, beloved, that a trial by fire is occurring in your midst. It is a test for you, but it should not catch you off guard. Rejoice instead, in the measure that you share Christ’s sufferings. When his glory is revealed, you will rejoice exultantly. Happy are you when you are insulted for the sake of Christ, for then God’s Spirit in its glory has come to rest on you ….

The season of judgment has begun, and begun with God’s own household. If it begins this way with us, what must be the end for those who refuse obedience to the gospel of God? And if the just man is saved only with difficulty, what is to become of the godless and the sinner? Accordingly, let those who suffer as God’s will requires continue in good deeds, and entrust their lives to a faithful Creator….

Stay sober and alert. Your opponent the devil is prowling like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, solid in your faith, realizing that the brotherhood of believers is undergoing the same sufferings throughout the world. The God of all grace, who called you to his everlasting glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish those who have suffered a little while. Dominion be his throughout the ages! Amen (1 Peter 4:12-5:14).

The ancient Church had little time for the sentimentality of Easter Bunnies and Easter egg hunts. Jesus was born to do battle and rose to show forth the victory. But a victory presupposes a battle and a struggle.

The Sequence that should be sung during the Easter Octave is as follows:

Mors et vita duello,            (Death and life have contended)
conflixere mirando:           (in a stupendous conflict)
dux vitae mortuus,             (The Prince of life having died)
regnat vivus!                         (Now reigns living).

Easter is serious business with a message that summons us to the battle with confidence. In effect the message is this:

The Pentecost experience seemed to convict and encourage them and us: Enough of all this cowardice. No more hiding out in upper rooms. Get out there like soldiers who know you are on the winning team. Manfully engage the battle and win some souls for Christ. As in any war, there is going to be suffering. Jesus says, In this world you shall have tribulation; but have confidence I have overcome the world (John 16:33). The Easter message is not that there is no battle, but rather that the battle is a glorious one whose outcome has already been decided. Choose sides!

Scripture says,

Jesus Christ is the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead and ruler of the kings of the earth. To Him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by His Blood, who has made us into a Kingdom, priests for His God and Father, to Him be glory and power forever and ever. Amen. Behold, He is coming amid the clouds, and every eye will see Him, even those who pierced Him. All the peoples of the earth will lament Him. Yes, Amen. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “the One who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty” (Rev 1:5-8).

Make sure you are on the winning team. Some people foolishly choose the wrong side, thinking that winning means having power, popularity, money, and possessions—that is not victory. A team can be ahead until the final play of the game yet still lose. You already know who is going to win; present appearances mean nothing. Choose the winning team even if, for now, it means being subjected to suffering, ridicule, disapproval, and desertion. Be ready and willing to suffer for the Kingdom. The Easter message is not that there is no suffering, but that our suffering, united to Jesus’, will lead to glory and victory.

Stop acting like a loser, hiding out and being afraid to announce the truth of the gospel. Stop being so anxious about what others are saying. You may be called hateful, bigoted, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, backward, and uptight—anything but a child of God. Do not hate them, but keep on summoning them to join us; know that some will do so if you persevere. Be willing to suffer for the truth and still remain joyful.

Peter and John were arrested in the first week after Pentecost; can’t we at least tolerate a raised eyebrow or some laughter at our expense? The martyrs stared down deadly threats; they endured the swords and lions of a hateful, scornful world. Must they bear the cross alone?

The Easter message is not one of cheap joy. It is about a courageous transformation that equips us to be willing to face down death in order to proclaim the truth of the gospel. Even after this plague ends, we are going to need courage and perseverance in the months and years ahead. This fallen world has been getting darker, and a people who are used to the darkness despise the light. To those who hate the truth, the truth seems hateful; they will call themselves righteous as they expel us from the public square. They already label themselves victims at the mere utterance of moral truth. “Safe zones” have no room for us. Despite all their calls for tolerance, there will be no tolerance shown to us. Our speech and our actions will be increasingly criminalized. Thus, beyond the plague, these challenges still face us. 

So here is an Easter exhortation in tough times. But remember, Jesus is risen from the dead and He is not going away. He has won the victory and we will either gather souls with Him, or we will scatter and squander. I will work for Him and win, or I will contend with Him and lose. I think I’ll choose Jesus!

The song in the clip below has these lyrics:

I told Jesus it would be alright if He changed my name
I told Jesus it would be alright if He changed my name
I told Jesus it would be alright if He changed my name
And He told me that I would go hungry if He changed my name
And He told me that I would go hungry if He changed my name
Yes He told me that I would go hungry if He changed my name
But I told Jesus it would be alright if He changed my name
I told Jesus it would be alright if He changed my name
So I told Him it would be alright and the world would hate me
That I would go hungry if He changed my name

 

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Perfect and Astonishing Divine Mercy

In the afterglow of Divine Mercy Sunday it seems opportune to make a few observations about the glorious mercy of our Lord. As a prelude we ought to set aside some mistaken notions of mercy.

We live in times in which mercy, like so many other things, has become a detached concept in people’s minds,separated from the things that really help us to understand it. For indeed, mercy makes sense and is necessary because we are sinners in desperate shape. Yet many today think it unkind and unmerciful to speak of sin and to refer to people sinners. Many think that mercy is a declaration that God doesn’t really care about sin, or that sin is not a relevant concept. Too many conceive of mercy as God’s approval of what they are doing. But of course, if God did approve of everything we do, including our sin, there would be no need for mercy. Mercy exists and is glorious because God does not approve of our sin; he sees how it harms us and others and extends a merciful call to return to him.

One of the chief errors of our time is the proclamation of God’s mercy without any reference to repentance. But repentance is the key that unlocks the floodgates of mercy. It is through repentance that we come to see our sin and the harm it has caused us and others. Through repentance we hear God’s call to return to him and we come humbly before the Lord, admit our wrong-doing and in this way receive the beautiful gift of his mercy.

I wonder too if any of us can ever really know how much we need God’s mercy? It is too easy to think that it’s that other person over there who really needs it more than I. But this bespeaks a spiritual blindness wherein we fail to realize just how awful our true condition is. Consider something that the Lord said to Sister Faustina and, as you read this recall that she was a consecrated religious living in a monastery! The Lord said to Sr. Faustina:

You see what you are of yourself, but do not be frightened at this. If I were to reveal to you the whole misery that you are, you would die of terror. … But because you are such a great misery I have revealed to you the whole ocean of my mercy(Diary II. 718).

Wow, just wow!What does this say of us who live far more immersed daily in a fallen, sin-soaked world. We deeply underestimate our true condition. Our biggest sin is likely our unawareness of our sin.

And perhaps there is a mercy in this for us as the Lord says when he declares to her: If I were to reveal to you the whole misery that you are, you would die of terror. But, hopefully this realization of our blindness can be the beginning of a deeper and deeper gratitude for the glorious, wonderful, and awesome gift of God’s mercy. If you don’t know the bad news, the good news is no news. The bad news is, we are in terrible, desperate shape. Though there is goodness in us, there are also very deep drives and wounds of sin; so deep and sometimes subtle that we barely know they are there. But thanks be to God for his rich beautiful and costly mercy.

Yes, the Lord’s mercy for us cost him dearly. And, as a conclusion to this brief essay I would like to quote from a work by Antonin Gilbert Sertillanges (1863-1948) entitled What Jesus Saw From the Cross.

Jesus is He who “beholds the Depths,” and the greatest depth of all is the depth of moral evil. He feels himself weighed down beneath the sin of all the ages…This hideous burden saps his strength…

Jesus is the physician who heals our ills with his own pain, but the greatest pain of all is his diagnosis [his vision] of man’s sin. He has a power of vision denied to us; our infirmities close our eyes to the spectacle that meets his gaze. Jesus sees wickedness and misery in this world which is hidden from our sight. If each one of us could see all the agony and all the atrocities that fill the earth, who could live? If we could each see our own self face to face, who would dare look on himself?

Finally, multiply this suffering by another, a heart stricken by his children’s refusal to love him. (pp. 90-91)

Do we see how precious and how costly is the Divine Mercy of Jesus? Yes and no. Our vision is too poor and we could never endure what we would have to see. But Jesus looked on it all and felt its full weight. I say to you what I say to myself, “Get on your knees poor sinner and realize the glorious gift of Divine Mercy. Remember the physical and mental anguish it caused our Lord. Realize that your need for it is far greater than you could ever imagine and be grateful and astonished at the beautiful and costly gift of God’s perfect and divine mercy.

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What Does Jesus Mean When He Tells Mary Magdalene Not to Cling to Him Because He Has Not Yet Ascended?

As the Easter Octave unfolds, we have in the Gospel this enigmatic statement of Our Lord Jesus to Mary Magdalene:

Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God” (John 20:17).

There is much to ponder and distinguish here.

First, we should set aside certain previous translations that rendered “Do not cling to me” as “Do not touch me.”

The latter sounds almost rude. The Greek expression Μή μου ἅπτου (Me mou haptou) is best rendered, “Do not go on clinging to me” because haptou is a verb in the middle voice.

The middle voice is one that English lacks. It is midway between the active and passive voices and indicates that the subject of the verb (in this case, Mary) both acts and is acted upon. Mary lays hold of the Lord but needs to do so because something is different. Something deeper is being shown to her and she is missing that. Mary actively sees Jesus but passively needs to receive something new about Him. This is the middle voice, containing elements of both the active and the passive.

Further, as Strong’s Greek dictionary sets forth, ἅπτω (haptou) means “to fasten to,” “to adhere to,” or “to cling to.” What the Lord asks of Mary is that she not merely cling to what is familiar but step back and see what is new. Jesus is no longer a mere rabbi or teacher. He is not merely the Jesus she knew; He is Lord and He is risen.

Second, we must ponder what Jesus means when He says that He is ascending.

St. Thomas Aquinas summarizes St. Augustine and St. John Chrysostom on the meaning of the Lord’s ascending:

[Augustine says] “… Jesus would have us to believe in Him, i.e., to touch Him spiritually, as being Himself one with the Father. For to that man’s innermost perceptions He is, in some sort, ascended unto the Father, who has become so far proficient in Him, as to recognize in Him the equal with the Father … whereas she as yet believed in Him but carnally, since she wept for Him as for a man.” Or as Chrysostom says (Hom. lxxxvi in Joan.): “This woman wanted to converse with Christ just as before the Passion, and out of joy was thinking of nothing great, although Christ’s flesh had become much nobler by rising again.” And therefore He said: “I have not yet ascended to My Father”; as if to say: “Do not suppose I am leading an earthly life; for if you see Me upon earth, it is because I have not yet ascended to My Father, but I am going to ascend shortly.” Hence He goes on to say: “I ascend to My Father, and to your Father” (Summa Theologiae III, Q. 55, Art. 6, Reply to Obj. 3).

In other words, Jesus’ ascent must take place in Mary (and in every other follower). He is far more than a man resuming mortal nature. He is more; He is Lord. We must come to see Him as Lord and God. He must ascend in our sight. We must see Him at a higher level and in a higher way. He is no mere sage or rabbi; He is Lord and God! He must ascend in this way, in our understanding.

In Jesus’ public ministry, Mary had rightly reverenced Jesus as teacher and rabbi, but Jesus the Lord is doing more now than merely leading an earthly life and fitting into earthly categories.

In effect, Jesus is saying to Mary, “Don’t go on clinging to what in Me is familiar to you. Step back, take a good look, and then go tell my brothers what you see.”

When Mary Magdalene has done this, she runs to the apostles and says, “I have seen the LORD” (Jn 20:18). I show the word “LORD” in uppercase in this quote because up until this point, Mary used the word “Lord” as a title of human respect. She said, “They have taken my Lord and I don’t know where they have put Him.” Of course, one doesn’t take Him and put Him anywhere! He is LORD, and He does as He pleases. No longer clinging to Him in merely a familiar way, Mary now says, “I have seen the LORD,” meaning it in a plenary and divine sense.

For Mary, the Lord is ascending. She is seeing Him in a higher way. The Lord has ascended for Mary Magdalene. Has He ascended for you?

Finally, what of the Lord’s expression that He is ascending to “My Father and your Father, to My God and your God”?

In English, we can use the word “and” in either an equivalent or a comparative sense. I could say to someone, “You are my brother and my friend.” This uses the “and of equivalence” because it indicates that you are both a brother and a friend to me in the same or in an equivalent way.

Other uses of the word “and” indicate a more comparative sense. When we say that Jesus is Son of God and Son of Mary, we mean that He is the Son of His Father in a different way than He is Son of Mary. He is the Son of both but in very different ways. In the liturgy, when the priest says, “Pray, brethren, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God the almighty Father,” he indicates that while his sacrifice and the sacrifice of the people are both sacrifices, they are sacrifices in different ways. The priest acts in persona Christi capitis (in the person of Christ the head), while the faithful act as members of the body. Both are rightly called sacrifices, but they are so in different ways.

Thus, when Jesus says that He is ascending to “My Father and your Father,” He does not use the “and of equivalence” but the “and of comparison.” As a man, Jesus can speak of God as His Father, but His human nature is hypostatically united to His divine nature as God, the Second Person of the Trinity. So, although God is our Father and Christ’s Father, He is Christ’s Father in a far richer and more profound way.

Jesus says, “My God and your God” not by way of equivalence, but by way of comparison.

In all these ways, the Lord Jesus must ascend in our understanding. He will do that provided we do not go on clinging to Him in a merely human and familiar way.

Let the Lord ascend in your life.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: What Does Jesus Mean?

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A Triduum That Will Forever Stand Apart

As most of you know, the Triduum is the three final days of Holy Week: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Easter Vigil. These, along with Easter Sunday, are the most important feasts of the Church year. Until this year it would have been inconceivable for me to celebrate these feasts without the faithful present, but this year was a Triduum that stood apart—apart from the faithful, apart from the public nature of every liturgy.

Of course, one can never really be apart from the faithful, for there is only one Body of Christ.

Now you are the body of Christ, and each of you is a member of it (1 Cor 12:27).

Hence, as I gathered with the small household here for the celebrations of the Triduum, I was mystically united with my parishioners and with Catholics of every rite all over the world.

Permit me a few reflections and impressions of this Triduum that will forever stand apart. Each day taught new lessons and bore gifts in strange packages.

We were three priests on Holy Thursday and were joined by three seminarians who have been staying here. The seminarians have been an excellent support and take the liturgy very seriously. We took the required “social distancing” precautions, standing apart from one another at the large high altar. Each priest had his own chalice and paten.

There was no washing of the feet, but its absence somehow made its mandate more powerful in my mind; we priests are still called to serve the faithful humbly and generously even if we have to reach out in creative ways. We clergy are not on holiday—far from it. Our faithful need to hear from us now more than ever. Each day I call a certain number of my parishioners to remind them of my love for them and to see how they are doing. Each week I publish several videos, and I also conduct bible studies and prayer sessions using Zoom. Yes, we must still wash one another’s feet, still care for one another.

The mandate to “Do this in memory of Me,” to celebrate the Eucharist, also took on special importance. With the cancelation of public masses, it is even more crucial for me to assure God’s good people that I celebrate Mass for them every day—for their health and spiritual well-being, for the salvation of their souls, and for their intentions.

The neighborhood Stations of the Cross, which we do every year, also took on special significance. Ten of us set out, and along the way some cars slowed down and watched, some people thanked us, and some even joined in for a station. We had a small scare when a D.C. official government vehicle pulled over, and a woman emerged with a camera. As far as we knew we were complying with the current restrictions, but we were afraid of what might be in store for us. Instead of rebuking us, however, she smiled, thanked us, and asked if she could take our picture! This year it seemed that all our neighbors, Christian or not, shared a common cross, a common grief. There was a sense that we were all in this together, and that it was good to see people praying.

The evening service of Good Friday had a lonely feeling. I’m sure it was much like the first crucifixion on a lonely hill far away with just a few gathered about Jesus. The Church got very small for a moment on that first Good Friday, but in that moment the greatest work ever accomplished took place: the salvation of the human race freely offered to all.

We could not kiss the cross but only bow, and somehow this reminded me of the fact that they had to anoint Jesus’ body and quickly wrap Him in the shroud because sundown before the Sabbath was approaching.

For the Easter Vigil we were privileged to be joined by the six Sisters in our convent. They are the Servants of the Lord and the Virgin of Matara. Because there were no baptisms, receptions, or confirmations, we were able to devote ourselves wholeheartedly to the readings. I have never celebrated a vigil with all seven of the Old Testament readings proclaimed; parish churches usually shorten the number to four. There we sat in almost total darkness, the only light coming from the Paschal candle and a small reading light in the ambo. We pondered the Word of God at length, singing responses and praying. It was very moving to consider the saving love of God, who has never forsaken us. At the Gloria, the church bells were rung, the lights came on, and all the candles were lit. The Church was awash in resurrection glory, for the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5). We celebrated a beautiful Mass, mainly in Latin, and sung with great joy. After Mass we sang Easter carols for half an hour. Given the current circumstances, I was surprised at the joy I experienced that night.

This Triduum stood apart for sad reasons but also for good ones. The Lord can make a way out of no way and console and instruct us even in adversity. It was a Triduum of light and darkness, but the light prevailed.

I want to express my gratitude to the three seminarians of the Archdiocese who are staying here for the duration of this storm. They are a tremendous support and have a great love of the Lord and the Sacred Liturgy. They do everything meticulously. Thanks also to our wonderful sisters; they are family to me and have encouraged me in difficult moments. May God be praised, too, for all the faithful who were mystically joined to us during these celebrations.