Do Not Spare Us

I have been reflecting over this Easter Triduum what a grace it has been that I still have a domestic church to live my faith with.  It has been a real comfort to still gather the kids, and even the small annoyances of trying to plan meaningful gestures with kids become a comfort, because they make them more real and true to what we would have been living if churches had not been closed.  We have been almost as busy during this last week as we normally are, and in many ways this has been a blessing, because it connects us to the universal church.  In many ways, we have not missed too much.


Typically once we've gone to the Easter Vigil, that's it.  We've had three days in a row at that point, of long Masses and wrangling kids, and we've done our part.  Easter Sunday morning is reserved for resting and taking in the goodness of this season. But given our circumstances this year, I really felt drawn to watch our Cathedral's livestream this morning too.  I thought, "we'll just play it by ear and see how things go in the morning."  And by the time this morning arrived, it was so much on my heart to share in this moment with our diocesan church.  An older child of mine objected, feeling that surely we had met our obligation, which we had. But this was not an obligation, this was a call of love.  And the more life demands of us, the more we find ourselves in need of grace.

There were so many things that struck me about this liturgy.  Because I always attend the Easter Vigil, I was not familiar with the readings of Easter Sunday, and my gosh - are they beautiful!  There was so much that struck me in a new way in this Mass today, precisely because of the moment we are living, but particularly the position of Mary discovering the empty tomb. As I listened to the Gospel account, I felt that we are in such a unique moment where we are before the empty tomb and yet, cannot see the Lord as we are used to: we cannot receive Him in the Eucharist. We don't have that physical consolation of his Body and Blood.

I realized however, that in that moment Mary did not receive the Eucharist either.  She knew who He was not by a physical touch, but when He called her by name:

"Thinking he was the gardener, she said, 'sir, if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.'  Jesus said to her, 'Mary'.  She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, 'Rabboni', which means teacher." (John 20:15-16)

Though we too stand before the empty tomb looking, and though we can't find him as we expect Him (Mary was one of his closest friends, surely she knew what he looked like!)  we can wait and listen for Him to say our name in these days.  It may not feel familiar, it may not be what we are used to.  But we can find Him waiting.

I sat with this as Mass continued, and our Bishop gave a great homily about how we can trust that the Resurrection is in fact true - one, because there is so much historically verifiable proof from the time that it occurred, but also because we continue to feel and experience Jesus today, in the present.  And while I had the hope and even the joy that this happens, there remained the feeling that something still is different this year.  And I think for me, that difference is what really helps to make Christ present in a new way.

It would be easy to replicate our experiences of faith, to watch an online Mass and consider that we had done a good job.  To adjust ourselves and carry on.  But there is that one moment where we are painfully aware, that something continues after our livestreams are over - and it is the Eucharist. When we see Him being consecrated before our eyes through a television screen and know that for now, we cannot be close to Him or receive Him, we understand that something has changed fundamentally.  That Catholic Mass is fundamentally different than any other inspirational sermon or video we will watch and listen to. While these may bring us hope and consolation, the Mass leaves us longing.  It shows us Jesus before our very eyes, the Jesus who asks us to wait for Him.  The Jesus who pushes us outside of our own understanding of what it means to be in  relationship with Him.  Like Mary, we may feel that we know Him well.  And yet standing before the empty tomb we can become disoriented, confused, unsure of the way.  Like Mary, we long to hear Him say our names, and He does! He really does.

Last night I was full of joy that comes from Lent being over, from all of our efforts culminating into one glorious night, where we can say over and over, Alleluia!  and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that He is truly risen.  And this morning I still feel all of those things, but also a longing.  And a gratitude that the Church does not spare us that which will cause us pain or confusion.  Because I have hope that this is temporary, and that we will find ourselves on the other side of this one day soon.  But I also have the assurance that, like Mary, we will know through this period of sacrifice and confusion, the experience of being called by name. And that in hearing Him, the one we know and love so well, speaking directly to our hearts, we will know it is truly Him.  We may still not recognize the road He has called us to. But we will know in a new way, that this teacher who is our friend, has truly risen from the dead.  And we will follow Him wherever he, in His mercy, leads us.

"Precisely the challenges that reality does not spare us can become our greatest allies, because they force us to look more deeply at what it means to be human." (Fr. Julian Carron)