The Many Emotions of Easter

If you’re not feeling joyful this Easter, don’t worry.
The human emotions found in the Easter stories
are more diverse than we might realize.

The Gospel stories of the resurrection of Jesus—known as the Resurrection Narratives—are rich and diverse, describing various encounters with the risen Christ and offering us many wonderful images to ponder and pray with. One reason I love these stories is because they help us understand that Easter is not a one-dimensional, one-size-fits-all experience of joy and exuberance. Rather, encounters with the risen Christ result in all kinds of human emotions, from disbelief and amazement to fear and trembling! And let’s not forget about confusion, and even doubt.

The earliest of the four Gospels, the Gospel of Mark, has the shortest Resurrection Narrative and ends quite abruptly. In Mark’s account (16:1-8), three women approached the tomb of Jesus, intending to anoint his body. Upon discovering the empty tomb and being told by a young man that Jesus had been raised, they were “seized with trembling and bewilderment,” and “they were afraid.” They fled from the tomb! Certainly joy came to these women later. But it was not their first response.

In Luke’s Gospel, a group of disciples encountered a stranger on the road (24:13-35). Of course the stranger was the Risen Christ, but they did not recognize him at first. He walked with them and talked with them. When they ate together—when he broke the bread and gave it to them—they recognized him. But he immediately vanished! The moment of full presence—the moment of understanding what was happening and recognizing who they were with—was painfully fleeting.

And, of course, who could forget Thomas, whose story we read in John’s Gospel (20:24-29)? When he heard that Jesus was raised, Thomas declared that he would not believe unless certain conditions were met. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to touch the risen Christ! Who doesn’t sympathize with our friend, Doubting Thomas? We’ve all felt the ground shift beneath our feet. Uncertainty is part of life.

And finally, a strange but realistic note is sounded in the Gospel of Matthew, when the disciples approached the Risen Christ on a mountain in Galilee (28:16-20). The text says that when they saw Jesus, “they worshiped, but they doubted.” Worship and doubt seem like opposites, and yet here they are, coexisting in the minds, hearts, and even the bodies of those who are closest to Jesus.

Whatever mixed emotions you may be feeling this Easter are natural and authentic. As the Gospel stories remind us, you are simply an honest participant in a long tradition of being human—of encountering the divine, the mystical, the hard-to-believe, and the profoundly beautiful—in the midst of “regular life.” But in the end, even in the midst of our worries, doubts, and fears, there is a deep-seated, quiet joy in our hearts that can never be taken away. The Lord is risen.

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This reflection first appeared in Little Rock Connections, the online newsletter of Little Rock Scripture Study. Published here with permission. © Liturgical Press 2020.

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Images from our Holy Week at home. Stations of the Cross on the fence (several of which blew away!), our Easter prayer table (with daffodils my mom planted when we moved into our home), and 40 Easter eggs (10 per kid!).

Holy Week at Home

I’ve read several thoughtful articles in the past few weeks about the importance of living eucharistically in a time when we cannot physically receive the Eucharist. We are called to be people of service and thanksgiving. We are—more than ever—called to be people of love.

In the same way, as we enter this holiest of weeks, most of us are without public liturgy and ritual, without sacraments, and without a robust, physical community of worship and fellowship. Yet there is still so much we can live and experience. There is so much liturgy, worship, and ritual we can still embrace.

This Holy Week, we can still greet the Lord as he passes by. We can still wash the feet of the people in our lives. We can still adore the Cross in every place we find it. We can hold silence, and keep vigil, with the dead body of Christ. We can—we will—find joy, and hope, and new life.

Like you, I’ll be praying and pondering these mysteries during the week ahead, and looking for ways to live them. And like you, I’ll be finding ways to celebrate and worship in my home—alone at times, and with my family at times. I’m thinking about hanging small numbers on the back fence, where the roses are starting to bud and the clematis is just showing green, and walking the Stations with my sons. I’m thinking of the cross I will take down from the wall, and dust carefully, and display lovingly, so we may venerate it. I’m thinking of the fragile eggs that we will dye, and how some will crack in the hands of a child, and how each one will be beautiful, colorful, and new.

As we pray together and apart this Holy Week, there are many wonderful resources available to help us. I’d like to share one with you that I plan to use in my own home. John Kyler, one of my colleagues at Liturgical Press, has written a beautiful series of prayer services for Holy Week. They incorporate many of the rituals we love such as the washing of feet and the veneration of the Cross. These prayer services can be found by clicking here (see “Holy Week at Home”). Please feel free to share this free, printable resource with others who may like to use it as they pray through Holy Week either alone or with their families.

We may be surprised how meaningful these days can be in the quiet of our own hearts and homes.

Blessed Holy Week, friends.
Amy

Sadao Watanabe, Stencil print. Courtesy Sacred Art Pilgrim.

Assurance of my prayers....

Hello, friends!

First, an announcement. As I’m sure you would expect, the Lenten Evening of Music and Reflection that I notified you of in my last blog post has been canceled due to coronavirus precautions. Peter, the Saint Ann Choir, and I are disappointed not to be able to be with you, but we look forward to seeing you next Lent!

How are you all doing? It has been a strange time, hasn’t it?

Here at our house we are juggling working from home, school closings, cancellations of everything from soccer seasons to college visits, and a general inundation of information from schools, employers, organizations, and every retail outlet I have ever purchased anything from! We will settle into a new rhythm, but the adjustment is challenging.

I don’t want to add to all the “messaging” coming your way about the coronavirus and how it is affecting our lives. I have no profound words to offer, only prayers for and solidarity with you during this time. For this year, this is our Lenten journey. And even when we cannot or do not gather together, we are still one Body—the Body of Christ. And we’ll keep walking together, one foot in front of the other, toward the cross and resurrection of Jesus. I will meet you there!

May Jesus the Healer bless and comfort us. May his hand be on the sick and those who care for them. He’s got the whole world in his hands.

Love,
Amy

Rembrandt, Healing of Peter’s Mother-in-Law, Courtesy WikiArt

Save the Date: Lenten Evening of Music & Reflection

THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED — We look forward to being with you next year! Prayers and blessings, Amy

Lent is around the corner, and I wanted to share this upcoming program with you in plenty of time to save the date! Please join me, Peter DeMarco, and the Saint Ann Choir for our yearly Lenten Evening of Music & Reflection at Saint Ann Church in Milford, CT (Wed., Mar. 18, 7:00 p.m.). If you’ve never experienced the Saint Ann Choir, they are well worth the drive to Milford! This wonderful parish choir can raise the roof and open your heart. So come, reflect with me, sing with the Saint Ann Choir, and be with Christ crucified, the goal of our Lenten journey. All are welcome!

Guest Blogger: My Dad

The Conscience of Franz Jägerstätter:
A Homily by Deacon Tim Vineyard

“Jägerstätter reasoned that, since God gives us free will and a conscience,
God holds us responsible for what we do.”

This past summer when I was home in Texas, I heard my dad preach this homily. It was pretty long for a homily, but you could have heard a pin drop. As the story built and the courage of Franz Jägerstätter came to life, we all got wrapped up in this story—this witness—of the power of human freedom and conscience.

One of my college professors, a Cistercian monk who himself had escaped an evil regime in Hungary, told us that the human will has limitless power. He said, “The whole universe could blow up in your face. You can still be saying ‘no.’” Franz Jägerstätter said “no.”

Thanks Dad—for preaching and sharing this homily, and for being a man of conscience in my life.

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The German army invaded Austria in 1938. The Austrians didn’t offer any resistance. Many Austrians actually welcomed the German invasion! At that time, there was a lot of support for the goals and aims of the Nazi movement in Austria.

Hitler was greeted by enthusiastic crowds waving Nazi flags and giving the Nazi salute. Afterward, some 70,000 Austrian political opponents of the Nazis were arrested and Hitler ordered a universal vote in Austria on the issue of the unification of Austria with Germany. A Nazi-led propaganda campaign supported unification. The Catholic hierarchy advocated a “yes” vote. In the end, the Nazis claimed that Austrians overwhelmingly favored the dissolution of Austria and its becoming a part of Germany. Hitler then began the process of the deep humiliation of Jews and, with the cooperation of the locals, ran many Jews out of Austria.

Franz Jägerstätter was an Austrian farmer. He married a woman who took her Catholic faith seriously. His marriage to her changed him, and he, too, became devout in his Catholic faith. He voted in the German/Austrian unification plebiscite but, unlike his countrymen, he voted “no,” rejecting the Nazis. Due to the subsequent German annexation of Austria, Jägerstätter became subject to the German military draft. Would he serve as a soldier in the Nazi army?

Jägerstätter was happily married and had young children. The last thing he wanted was to put himself or his family at risk.  But he carefully examined the morality of the German war. He witnessed the suppression of the church—the churches had to fly the swastika flag and pray for Hitler; priests were jailed. He saw the Germans take over other countries for no just reason. He heard reports of the beginning of the Nazi Jewish genocide program. For him, it all came down to this question: “Should I be a Nazi or a Catholic?” Jägerstätter recognized that to support the Nazi movement was to oppose Christ and his Church.

He met with his bishop to discuss what his response should be, but the bishop refused to discuss the matter with him. Several well-meaning priests tried to talk him into cooperating with the Germans. There was a great deal of discussion about the morality of a decision to refuse to serve as a combatant in the Nazi-led military. This decision was punishable by death; did it amount to suicide? Some questioned the morality of such a decision in light of his family responsibilities. But Jägerstätter wondered how good a husband and father he would be if he chose social conformity over obedience to Christ’s teaching.

Jägerstätter reasoned that, since God gives us free will and a conscience, God holds us responsible for what we do. He believed that people can’t escape personal responsibility for their actions simply by arguing that they were following the orders of their government.

When he was required to serve in the German army, Jägerstätter said a final good-bye to his wife and children and refused to serve as a combatant, offering instead to serve as a medic. He was promptly beheaded and forgotten.

In 1964, Gordon Zahn published a biography of Jägerstätter, In Solitary Witness. His story circulated among those participating in the Vatican II Council, which was in progress at the time. Jägerstätter’s life and writings made a significant impact on what the Catholic Church teaches today about war, peace, conscience and individual responsibility. His life had a significant impact on the 1965 Vatican II document entitled The Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World. Jägerstätter was declared a martyr in 2007 and beatified in the same year.

Looking back, we think everyone should have seen things the way Jägerstätter did. Why would anyone want to participate in the Nazi movement? But when you’re living in the middle of a national crisis, things get complicated fast. Really complicated. Even in our day, such complications can lead us to think and act based on fear, pride, confusion, fatigue, anxiety, and the desire to conform. Jägerstätter was able to see past all of that because his heart and conscience were fixed on Jesus Christ above all else. Naturally, such a path will not be taken by everyone; it takes conviction and courage to lay down your life for what you believe. Perhaps this is why Jesus said, “Do you think I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division” (Luke 12:51).

Today we face issues that will affect the lives of thousands of people in profound ways. We don’t respond out of mere human pragmatism, fear, pride, or a desire to conform. We’re not confused. Instead, we listen to our conscience, which is formed by the Gospel, and we face the current issues with our hearts firmly fixed on Jesus Christ above all else. As the Body of Christ, this is what we do.

Blessed Franz Jägerstätter, pray for us.

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There’s a movie out about the life of Franz Jägerstätter called “A Hidden Life.”
Here’s a preview: