Happy Easter! A week ago we celebrated what undoubtedly is the greatest celebration in our liturgical year. During these last seven days our liturgies and prayers have been filled with “Halleluiahs”. Christ is risen, and this is indeed good news.

What strikes me most as I read post-resurrection scriptures is how hard it was for the first disciples to believe in the resurrection. What had more than once been foretold by Jesus himself seems to go beyond any human reasoning, beyond any logic.

In our Mass today we have listened to one of those gospel passages that we almost know by heart. On Easter Sunday Jesus comes to visit his disciples, who had been locked up in that upper room filled with fear, while Thomas was not with them. So, Jesus returns a week later, when Thomas is also present. Our first reaction might be “How cute! Jesus returns just for the sake of Thomas, to make sure that he, too, experiences what his friends had witnessed a week earlier”. This is true, but upon reflection we can see that there are truths that are much deeper than this.

It’s true, Jesus returns for the sake of Thomas. This reminds us of how important each and every one of us is for Jesus. Do you remember that one lost sheep of the parable? But then again, one could argue that Jesus could have gone to meet Thomas wherever he happened to be on that Sunday evening. But no, Thomas had to experience the risen Christ when he was with his community. It is there, while the disciples are gathered again the following week, that Jesus comes to meet Thomas. It’s as if Jesus wanted to remind Thomas – and, indeed, each one of us – that one can meet the risen, living Jesus only when one is in communion with the rest of the community. Even if it is an imperfect, broken community like the one of those first disciples. How often do I hear people say they feel it’s enough to pray to God, without the need of being together with the believing community! Somehow, that does not work.

We can imagine the dynamics within that first Christian community during those eight days between the two visits of Jesus. The group constantly insisting that they had seen Jesus, and Thomas adamantly stating that he would not believe a word they were saying, unless he gets tangible proof. We can almost feel the tension and the frustration within that group. Yet, Thomas does not abandon the group. He stays. And he is rewarded. Jesus does return, and Thomas recognizes him not by looking at his face (as we would normally recognize people) but through the wounds of his passion. Those passion signs do not disappear after the resurrection. They remain. But, rather than being a sign of defeat, they become signs and proof of triumph. The body of the risen Christ is not a body without wounds. Thomas experienced this in more ways than one. He saw the wounds in the hands and side of Jesus. He experienced the woundedness of the body which is the Church.

“Put your finger here … give me your hand, put it in my side,” Jesus tells Thomas. The wounds in the body are real, do not run away from them or try to deny them. This is the Jesus I believe in. This is the Church, as Body of Christ, I believe in. And yet, within this context of woundedness and amidst all the fear the disciples were experiencing during those days, Jesus’ first words were “Peace be with you”. The gift of peace is not a denial or cancellation of the woundedness we all experience. It is the result of being in the presence of Jesus who had gone through it all, and came out victorious.
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May you all experience this gift of Christ’s peace as you go through the ups and downs of your everyday lives.
 

“Happily tired”. This is what I replied a while ago when someone asked me how I was. It was an answer that came out spontaneously, without much thinking. Well, I was probably too tired to think anyway!

This has been my first Easter at St Paul’s. Together we’ve journeyed from the joyous palms of Palm Sunday, through the drama of Holy Thursday and Friday, to the Easter joy of today. A lot has happened in a few days. The mob changed its “hosanna” to a cold “crucify him”. Jesus continued to do what he knew best: giving of himself to others. This time only better!. We’ve seen a friend’s betrayal, another’s denial, and the fearful escape of most of the others. We’ve seen violence, abuse of the legal system, blood and tears. Finally, we witnessed death. Many thought that now it’s all over. “It is finished”, cried the dying one. And that is what the others believed. Now they have managed to silence him, to get rid of him once and for all. For those who had believed him and hoped in him this must have been one of the most difficult days of their lives. For them, too, this looks like the end of a journey. All seems to be lost. As often happens, evil seems to have prevailed.

How wrong they were! In spite of everything, some of his close friends – women – refuse to let go. They go to the tomb early in the morning to anoint the body – for a last look, a final good-bye. But all they find is an empty tomb. After moments of anguish and confusion, they believe. They run to share the news, but are only met with incredulity.

It is not easy to believe in the resurrection, that good is stronger than evil. Perhaps, unfortunately, we are too accustomed to bad things happening around us. Whether it’s in the news or in our family, it seems that bad things constantly happen everywhere. The message of Easter does not deny this. His death was real, and the power of evil was really at work. But what Easter tells us is that the story does not end there. “Why do you seek him amongst the dead? He is not here. He is risen!”. Indeed, there is life after death, there is hope after disillusion.

All these moods are reflected in our liturgies. They have to be. The passion story is told on Palm Sunday, to make sure that we do not forget why He’s entering Jerusalem. In the midst of betrayal and final-moment-sadness of Thursday two great gifts are celebrated: priesthood and eucharist. And the barren church and altar of Friday explode in flowery joy on Saturday night, while light fills the unusually dark church.

Yes, a lot has happened in the space of a few days, even for us as parish community. We’ve journeyed together the journey of Jesus. As pastor I’ve seen a hive of activity which is not witnessed in normal times of the year – people who do their best to help their sisters and brothers live through the different moods of this week. Somehow, hearts are touched during these days, too. In the confessional box people experienced the beauty of light overcoming darkness, life taking the place of death.

So, yes, it is a tiring week. But it is also one that gives great joy. Because, ultimately, this is what our faith is all about. Jesus is not a mere historical figure of the past. He is Risen. He is Alive. And this sure gives us hope in moments of darkness, light when all might seem dark.

​Happy Easter to you all. May the light of the Resurrected Christ shine always in your lives. 

Here our journey begins. With the “hosanna” singing and palm-waving we embark on what is in all probability one of the most tumultuous weeks of human history. As Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem, as the crowds sing their “hosannas” and “blessed”, little did they know how things would change in a matter of a few short days.

It’s a short journey: from the city center up to Golgotha. Jesus’ crucifixion took place a few hundred meters from the Temple, and less than 2 kilometers from Gethsemane. And yet, so much has happened in that short space and time

This week we are being invited to walk with Jesus. To participate, rather than being mere spectators. We too are called to do the journey and allow ourselves to be part of the story.

First we enjoy the Hosanna and bask in the glory of the moment. There is a sense of achievement, a sense of victory. Many would have thought that it’s mission accomplished – the one who came to save the world has achieved to do what he came for. The crowds are with him and, let’s face it, having witnessed so many miracles, it couldn’t be otherwise. Who doesn’t like a free meal of bread and fish, or some wine magically made from pure water? Not to talk of the healings and, yes, the bringing back of dead people to life.

But Jesus’ glory was not of this world, he had told that crowd over and over again. This is not what he came for. Things change, and the same crowd that sings Hosanna yells “crucify him” a mere four days later. Our challenge is to stay with him, to continue with the journey. His disciples fled. Those whom he had personally chosen, through whom he had planned to expand his mission, were too confused and too scared to witness what was happening. They just could not handle it. The man who had given them so much hope, so much to look forward to, is now being mocked, shoved and pushed all over the place, and eventually sentenced to death. All this makes no sense! They feel disillusioned, betrayed, fooled. So, they flee.

Mary stays. For her, too, all this does not make any sense. She too had heard some wonderful promises about her offspring thirty-three years earlier. How does all this fit into the story? Frankly, it doesn’t. Not if we do not manage to go beyond Golgotha, and the brand-new tomb. In spite of the confusion, Mary stays, and deep down believes that, in some incomprehensible way, this is part of the story.

Without rushing into the conclusion which we know so well, let us take time to stay with Jesus along the way. Let us feel the excruciating pain of the whips, the rod, the wood, the thorns, the nails. Moreover, let us try to feel that much bigger pain of the loneliness and the abandonment.

Having journeyed all the way with Jesus, Saturday night’s victory will then be sweeter. The Resurrection is not the denial of death, of the power of evil. On the contrary, it acknowledges its existence and tells us that there’s something, or someone, more powerful than that.

​As we celebrate our Palm Sunday liturgies, as we listen in the same liturgy the narrative of the passion story, let us allow our Hosanna and Blessed to gush out from the depth of our hearts. This is not a denial of our own pain and suffering, or a running away from it. It is an anticipation of what is yet to happen: during next weekend’s celebrations. 

She was left there, the center of attention, initially surrounded by everybody. Those who had managed to catch her “in the very act” and Jesus, to whom they had brought her. The law was clear. She was to be stoned to death. Asking Jesus for advice was superfluous. But their intention was not that of seeking advice but to entrap Jesus. Here was a Rabbi who had been preaching mercy, who was putting Love above all the written laws. What would he do now? Condemn her or disobey Moses’ law?

Jesus immediately understood what was happening. From his Rabbi’s seat in that Holy Temple, he neither condemns nor says anything that breaks the law. He buys time. He gives them time to think, to reflect, to calm down. He invites them to think of their own lives, their own weaknesses, their own sinfulness. Once more, Jesus reminds us that we are all in the same boat – no one has a right to judge another. Above all, moving his finger on the temple’s slab, Jesus reminds his audience of an important event in the scriptures which they knew too well: God had written the Law with His own finger on a slab. And it seems that, for these people, God’s law is still there, carved in stone rather than in their heart. And if it was in their heart, it seems that their hearts are still made of stone. Through the prophets God had promised His people that, eventually, He would have changed those hearts of stone into hearts of flesh, pouring into them a new spirit.

St Paul was a person who understood this transformation too well. Often, he reflects on his life, and compares the past with the present, the “old man” with the “new man”, the “old creation” with the “new creation”: Because Paul, too, had been a person under the law, with a heart of stone, becoming a murderer for the sake of this law. But his encounter with Jesus changed everything. Now he knows: nothing compares with the “supreme advantage” of experiencing Christ in his life. All else fades into nothing.

It seems that the people in the Gospel, somehow, got the message. One by one they started retreating, starting with the eldest. Maybe the eldest had the longest career of sinfulness! The heart starts changing. This is, indeed, conversion.

And, once more, they left her there – this time alone with Jesus. In their hands she had no dignity. She was just the sinner, the adulteress. Jesus treats her differently. Lovingly, he enters into dialogue with her. He shows her that, for him, she has the dignity of a human being. Moreover, he addresses her “woman” – the same address he used with his own mother some time earlier at the wedding in Cana, and which he will eventually use with his good friend Mary of Magdala after his resurrection.

Jesus does not condone the sin. He acknowledges the fact that she did sin. Still he does not delve in it. He asks no questions, no justification of the wrong committed. What’s done is done, but now he invites her to go and sin no more. Having had an experience of Jesus’s love and unconditional forgiveness, she can now start a new life. An experience which could have meant death for her, has been turned into an opportunity for a new beginning, a new life.

In the life of that woman there is the life of each and every one of us. We are aware of our sinfulness. Sometimes we feel guilt crushing us, its finger pointed to us like that of each of those who were accusing the woman in the Gospel. And yet, Jesus tells us that all is not lost. With him, there is always hope.
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This is precisely what we shall be celebrating in two weeks’ time. Without denying the reality of death, the Resurrection tells us that new life is always possible.
 

“The two of them alone remained: mercy with misery”. Recently Pope Francis used this phrase of St Augustine when he commented on the gospel passage of the sinner-woman brought to Jesus for condemnation. This beautiful encounter lived by Jesus with this woman is reflected in the story which Jesus tells us in today’s gospel. Most of us know it as “The Prodigal Son”. But I believe we would be setting out on the wrong foot if we were to focus immediately on the recklessness of the younger son. Surely, that was not Jesus’ intention. Our focus must be, rather on the father in this story.

“Quick … we are going to have a feast”. Some would say this is not the typical reaction of a parent upon the return home of a runaway son. He had taken his inheritance. His message was clear. For him, his family does not exist anymore. And yet, when he found himself hungry, with no roof above his head, he had the guts to return to the house he once called home. No remorse here. No conversion. Just self-pity, and a desire to fill his stomach and have a decent bed. It doesn’t matter if he’s put with the servants. When he was down tending the pigs, something happened and “he came” to his senses”, the gospel tells us. It is that particular moment when something suddenly clicks, when he realized how foolish he had been. Indeed, sometimes, like this young man, we need to hit rock-bottom before we come to our senses. After all, some good can always come out of bad things.

Unashamedly, he goes back to his father’s house. And the father’s reaction takes everybody by surprise. Just a dash outside and a hug – and probably a tear or two. No questions asked. No sermons given on “you should have known better,” or “Hope you had your lesson now”. What matters is the fact that the son is back, safe and sound. No wonder the older son is scandalized. The father’s reaction defies all logic. What we have here is utter misery connecting with mercy personified.

Unfortunately, the story tells us that neither one of the two sons really knew the father. And this is, probably, where their problem lay. That man would never consider any one of his sons as servant. He would not do it for the younger son, who dared come back and ask to be accepted as such. And he would not accept it from the older son, who apparently has wasted his whole life “working like a slave for” his father.

It would be a good idea if we tried to apply this story to ourselves. Perhaps sometimes I am a bit like one of the two sons, while in other times I might act more like the other. What matters is, who is the Father for me? What kind of relationship do I have with the Father?

​My answer will very likely determine how I live my life as a Christian.