Seventh Sunday of Easter, cycle A

In April of 2019, Pope Francis met with the Grand Imam Ahmad al Tayyeb of Al Azhar University. This was significant because the Grand Imam is a force for unity among Muslims, and vehemently opposed to terrorism in the name of Islam. So if there is anything remotely like a pope in Islam, Ahmad al Tayyeb is probably it. The two signed the “Document on Human Fraternity for World Peace and Living Together”. It is a wonderful document, and would be worth reflecting on at length. But one statement led to a lot of controversy and push back from some Catholics as well as Muslims. It is this: “ The pluralism and the diversity of religions, color, sex, race and language are willed by God in His wisdom, through which He created human beings.” Few people would argue with color, sex, race and language, but God willed pluralism and diversity of religions? That seems to fly in the face of anyone who thinks his or her religion is the true faith. So what’s going on here?

I don’t get all my prayers answered, at least the way I think they should be. But I guess I’m in good company. Jesus didn’t get all his prayers answered either. One prayer was that “if it was possible let this cup pass from me” and we know that wasn’t answered. Another prayer we hear at the end of today’s gospel passage:”That they may be one as we are one…” And of course we know that one of the scandals of Christianity is that after two thousand years we don’t seem to have that kind of unity. We have denominations too numerous to count; and even within our Church there are divisions. There are those who won’t go to Mass unless they can attend a tridentine mass in latin; there are those who are going to make a fuss over not being allowed to receive the Eucharist on the tongue during this pandemic. There are those who insist that they are Catholics but promote and condone abortion; If Jesus prayed for unity among his followers, it doesn't appear that the Father has answered that prayer.

But it’s almost unthinkable to suppose that the Father would not be answering his Son’s prayer, the Son who is one with him, the Son who sits at his right hand. So perhaps we should decide what unity looks like. There are three possibilities: one is that unity of the followers of Jesus means that they belong to a visible body, they believe the same things, they worship the same way. It seemed like that was the model in the first days of the Church. When you read the Acts of the Apostles, there are struggles as the church adjusts to the admission of gentiles, what parts of Judaism to keep and what parts to leave, and so on. And pressure from outside formed a fairly unified church, at least for a couple of centuries before things started breaking up again. Even the might of the Holy Roman Empire could not force external conformance on the Church. Many in our Catholic church still see this conformity as unity -- you are either in or out.

Another possibility is that unity is expressed by the lowest common denominator. “That this is eternal life, that they know you, the eternal God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” It’s likely that every Christian could agree with those words, and a few other sentiments. We all say the Our Father; most of us baptize and have some sort of Eucharistic celebration. But if that’s the unity Jesus was praying for, it seems particularly weak. It doesn’t seem to advance the Kingdom of Heaven; it certainly doesn’t do much to energize the main task of the Church which is the bringing about of the Kingdom of Heaven here on earth.

That leaves us with the third possibility. Jesus is praying for an eschatological unity. Eschatology is the branch of theology that begins with the assumption that what God says will come to pass will happen. And then we look for signs of that future in the present. That’s the story of Abraham,, by the way. God promised him that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky or the sands on the seashore. But Abraham died, with only one legitimate son. But in that son Abraham understood God’s promise would be carried out. And when Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of Heaven is among us, that’s an eschatological truth as well -- we can see signs of it in the good things that happen as his followers carry out his commandments, but we can also see that what is meant to be hasn’t happened yet.

The good thing about thinking eschatologically is that it gives us direction. If we are supposed to work for unity, and we are, because that is the desire of Jesus, introducing division would seem to be the last thing that would help. When we draw lines and say this side is right and that is wrong, and we won’t have anything to do with those on the wrong side, that causes even more division. My mother used to describe people like that as “holier than the pope”. The other extreme -- emphasizing our commonalities and minimizing those things that make us unique is not helpful either. That only introduces stagnation. If the differences between your group and mine are non-essential, then why not just leave things the way they are?

But when we work for eschatological unity, we look for things we share and in those areas we meet our neighbor, we have real unity, although nowhere near perfect. However, in doing so we create a space for the Holy Spirit to carry out Jesus’ will for us.

And we always have to remember that we will not see God’s plan come to fulfillment in our lifetimes; but you and I are what our ancestors in faith were working toward, just as we will have descendants for whom the Church will look very different than it does now. It will still be the Church, but it will have drawn closer to the unity that Jesus desires. And those descendants of ours will still be tempted to draw lines or to water down differences, because they will be human. But from God’s point of view, his plan will continue to unfold exactly as he wishes it to do so. So in some sense the Pope and the Imam are working toward unity -- a unity that has begun already, but is not there yet.

Sixth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 14:15 - 21

“If you love me you will keep my commandments” -- Whoever has my commandments and observes them is the one who loves me.” There are some authorities who say that Jesus only gave one commandment -- “Love one another as I have loved you”. There are others who count thirty or even more -- but some of these are strictly speaking not commandments, and many are simply restating Old Testament commandments; and we Christians have already decided that we can pick and choose among those. We eat ham, we don’t mind mixing dairy with meat, we don’t circumcise for religious reasons, we don’t stone people who blaspheme. And some of Jesus' commandments are conditional and directed to individuals, like the rich young man -- “If you would be perfect go sell all you have, give to the poor, and come follow me” -- a commandment that still motivates a few people but not everyone, obviously.

But if you think of human love, love between a parent and child, or between a husband and wife, we can talk about unconditional love, but in reality, every example of human love is in some way conditional -- that means that it’s possible for one party to do something that destroys the love. Sure, a parent of a wayward child can claim to still love the child, but isn’t the love for something which has been lost, rather than the current real situation? Unconditional love is perfect love, and we can try, but we aren’t perfect. So I think the commandments Jesus is talking about are all variations of “Love one another as I have loved you.”

I ran across many commentaries on this passage. Most of them had some reference to the self-sacrificing love of Jesus demonstrated by his willing death on the cross. And some would lead from there to the idea that we aren’t really loving like Jesus until we actually loved, not just pretended to love, those we can’t stand, those outside our circle, those who think differently and act differently. And those are all good points. But when I think about the scene where Jesus is speaking to his apostles before his death -- and while Jesus knew of his upcoming death, I don’t think his apostles actually expected this would happen -- they would be thinking not about the crucifixion but about how Jesus had loved them in the past, and how he wished them to love in the future. And while I may never be able to love everyone with the kind of love Jesus demonstrated on the cross, I can love the way he loved his disciples.

So how did Jesus love his apostles, because those are the people to whom he is speaking. By the way, we know that at the last supper the apostles were there, but an old tradition going back to the second century says that some of the women who followed Jesus were there as well, including Mary Magdalene. So in thinking about how Jesus loved his apostles, Mary Magdalene will be there, at least in my mind.

The first way he loves them is that he is patient with them. Jesus could have done it all; being God, he didn’t need human help to carry out the ministry his Father gave him. But as we can see in the gospels, he takes pains to correct their misconceptions -- over and over again. When James and John seek special recognition, he gently reminds them that that isn’t his job to decide. When they become concerned that someone “not of our band” is teaching in Jesus’ name, he tells them that whoever is with him is not against him. And so on. And we see that he makes no effort to prevent one of them from leaving him. His invitation is gentle, but for those who accept it, he shapes them, teaches them, directs them.

Second, he sees their potential and encourages it. He sends his disciples out to heal, cast out demons, and preach. They return elated. He sends Mary Magdalene to the apostles with the news that he has risen from the dead -- a woman is the first to know, a woman who is a second class citizen in her time. And when Peter and Thomas and Philip at different times recognize his true nature as Son of God, he confirms and expands what they see.

Third, he forgives them. When Peter tells him that he’s wrong to predict his suffering and death, Jesus calls Peter “Satan”, but never wavers in his friendship. When Peter denies that he knows Jesus, on the shores of the lake after the resurrection Jesus puts him in charge of the Church. When his disciples desert him in his last few tortured hours of his life, he comes to them after the Resurrection and offers them peace. When Thomas refuses to believe the disciples, he makes a special appearance to remedy that.

-- to be patient with everyone, to try to bring out the best in the people I meet, to forgive people unreservedly -- these choices are not beyond my capacity. I may not be able right now to love with pure agape love, with total self sacrificing love, but I can love as Jesus loved his disciples. So keep Jesus’ commandments and you will experience his love for you.

Fifth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 14:1 -10

Today’s Gospel is consoling; we are promised that Jesus will come back for us and take us to be with him. We are promised a home in the Father’s house. We are told not to be troubled. Jesus tells us to believe in God but also in him. But then we get to some words that have caused a lot of division, a lot of misunderstanding. Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me.” These words have inspired missionaries to travel all over the world bringing the gospel to everyone they can; they have inspired martyrs who have died for the true faith; they have lead to thousands of arguments between denominations about who is more Christian, or indeed, what it means to be Christian. And it leaves an elephant in the room: what about all those good people who have never heard of Christ or indeed, have heard of him but rejected the whole notion of God being incarnate.

The Church has always held that life everlasting in the heart of the Trinity, what we call heaven, is not out of reach for any human being. When I was being taught by the nuns in St. Helena grade school, the implication was that for a non-Catholic it would be a lot harder to get to heaven than those who belonged to the true faith, namely, us. As a elderly deacon, I liked the theory put forth by Karl Rahner, that you can’t get to heaven except by being in relationship to Jesus, but there was such a thing as an anonymous Christian, someone who might not overtly believe but sought to live according to his conscience. But still, the implication was that you were better off being an overt Christian than an anonymous one, and as one Jewish rabbi remarked, “I don’t need your Christ to have a share in the world to come.”

My grandfather Silas was born into a Mormon family, but left home at 14. He had a fourth grade education, and became a cowboy. He met my grandmother at a dance and it wasn’t too long before they were married. In those days if you were a Catholic and were marrying someone who wasn’t it was an informal affair in the living room of the rectory -- no church wedding for you! I don’t know what my grandfather believed; he didn’t really go to any church. He took my grandmother to mass every Sunday and sat in the car reading the newspaper while she attended mass. I think that if anyone were to look at his life, they would see a good man, who took care of his family; who had a drinking problem that he mostly kept under control, and who didn’t have a great deal of ambition. My grandmother also had a dear friend who had been raised a Catholic but had married and later become a Jehovah’s Witness. She was always happy to see me and would give me a back issue of The Watchtower to read, along with cookies or cake. She wasn’t extraordinary in any sense except her kindness. And the point is, I knew a lot of people, some religious, some not, who were not Catholic but seemed to live upright lives, had generous spirits, practiced kindness, worked hard, and really were no different than the Catholics I knew except they weren’t. And I still do. So what is Jesus talking about? Or why did John emphasize this? We don’t hear Jesus saying things like this in the other gospels.

And yet we Catholics believe that our Church was founded by Jesus himself, that the Bible is the Word of God, and that the Church is the vehicle which carries on the apostolic tradition, and whose teachings on faith and morals have divine authority. And Jesus, the scriptures and the church all teach that the only way to the Father is through Jesus, the way, the truth and the life. If the only way to get to the Father is through Jesus and there are plenty of people around who don’t believe this, we have three possibilities: many people despite living fairly blameless lives will not see heaven; many of us who take advantage of the sacraments and live lives that are less upright than some in the previous group will see heaven; it’s all a matter of who God chooses to be saved and to be condemned. Or, all can get to heaven but the further away you are from the Catholic church, the harder it is. But maybe the third alternative is the best. Jesus is the way; he brought to our world a new way of living, a way that involves self-giving love. He brought truth in that he revealed the nature of God, that God is love, that God is Father, that God is approachable. He is life, because through his life, death and resurrection in some way he balanced out all the sins of all mankind, so that death, which is the consequence of sin, no longer has power over human beings unless they reject his gift.

So it isn’t that human beings are excluded from salvation when they are not members of the Church -- God gives everyone what is needed for them to go to the Father. When someone opens oneself to the love of the Father and communicates this self-giving love to those around him or her, God has been at work through the person -- every good thing, Paul tells us, comes from God. When one chooses a life that is inwardly directed, that is self-centered, that rejects the dynamic that Jesus showed us (I am in the Father and the Father is in me, and we are in you) then God is not involved; the person by his or her life has rejected union with the Father.

But does this mean that we don’t need the Church? By no means. The Church is Christ’s mystical body; the Church is the vehicle for communicating what Jesus taught to the world. And we Christians have to live out Jesus’ way, Jesus’ truth, and show the world the life that he gives – and when we don't, we've become useless servants, and are arguably worse off than those non-Christians who so obviously are being touched by the Holy Spirit, who blows where he wills.

Fourth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 10:1 - 10

I sort of sympathize with Jesus’ audience who don’t understand what he is trying to tell them. I’m confused as well; is Jesus the gatekeeper, the shepherd, or the gate? Are we the sheep? Who are the thieves and robbers? Who are the strangers that came before him? Sometimes I wonder if Jesus was just having fun with them.

But I hear two things in this gospel passage. The first is that the sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice. What does a sheep get out of the shepherd’s voice? He certainly can’t understand the words. The only reason he follows the shepherd because he hears his voice is because that is preferable to any other action for the sheep. He knows that the shepherd will see that he is fed and watered; he knows that he will be kept safe, and as the psalm says, he will be made to lie down in green pastures; and he has probably experienced the gentle hands of the shepherd who removes brambles from his fur and patches up cuts and scrapes.

And so the sheep hears the shepherd’s voice as a sign of security, of peace, of satisfaction. Jesus constantly tells us to have faith in him. He wants us to trust him,the way a sheep trusts his shepherd -- not on an intellectual level, because we can’t trust what we fully understand. Trust by definition means that there is an element beyond our understanding in this relationship. I think that is where we sheep often fail. We want certainty, we want to hang on to what we know; we create a whole web of things that make us secure, and that’s where we put our trust. So how do we know we are on the right path in knowing the voice of our shepherd? Saint Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuits, gave us a way. It has to do with first, recognizing decisions. A lot of times we tend to just choose the easiest path when we come to a decision point, perhaps not even seeing that this is a fork in the road for us. Second, we try to see which direction would would best be for God’s honor and glory; usually the first thing we think about with decisions is which is better for us. Third, we ask God for light, knowing that he will answer us; Fourth, we weigh the advantages and disadvantages of the potential outcomes of our decision, thinking about what God hopes for us; Fifth, we consider the most reasonable answer, and Sixth, we present our tentative decision to God and ask God to confirm it. The more we do this, the more we hear the shepherd’s voice, and the more we become capable of recognizing those competing voices which are not the voice of the shepherd. God is ready to help and the process described by Ignatius is actually acted out by Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. He’s the model; he's the shepherd. And all of Mary Magdalene’s doubts and sadness were lifted when she heard the shepherd say her name; she recognized his voice.

The second thing about this passage is that peculiar claim Jesus makes that he is the gate. I’ve read about how shepherds would lay across the entrance to the sheepfold so that sheep could not leave and predators could not get in. I guess that makes sense, but we eventually end up asking ourselves whether we are in or out, and whether those people who aren’t like us are out or in. That doesn’t seem to fit with what Jesus wants us to know.

Jesus is the gate in the sense that our passage from the sheepfold to the green pastures must go through him. Christians during this lifetime are supposed to have a foot in this world and a foot in heaven. We go back and forth, engaged in the building up of the kingdom through our work, through our relationships, through our taking up our crosses. Christians are supposed to be transforming society, not hiding out in an upper room somewhere. But the only way we can really transform society is to keep going back to the one who comes down from heaven, who brings with him the pattern of the New Jerusalem, the city on the Hill that represents our goal. We study Jesus, as much as we can by reading the gospels, by seeing what the Church teaches and trying to understand it; and by looking for Jesus in each other, especially in our fellow Christians. We can't build up the kingdom of heaven unless we know what heaven is like. Jesus is the bridge between this world and the next, and the Christian goes back and forth, intentionally seeking to be a more perfect disciple, with God’s help, since none of this is possible unless God is involved. As Saint Paul told us, every good thing comes from God.

So the more I listen, the more I hear his voice; and the more I recognize that voice, the more I trust and the less I depend on the stuff that I have accumulated that makes me feel secure -- all of which I know deep in my heart can disappear in a flash. Our coronavirus crisis is a hint at that.

And the more I go back and forth between this world that I am supposed to be turning into God’s kingdom and the model for that kingdom, Jesus himself, the more I know that there is only one gate, and the more I will confidently go through that gate some day to rest forever in heaven. All God wants for you and I is that we become saints, and all he asks of us is to let him make us saints.

Third Sunday of Easter, cycle A

Luke 24:13 - 35

Our gospel story for this third week of Easter is an appropriate one. The two disciples are downcast; they say, “We had hoped…” And for many of us those sentiments are applicable to us. We had hoped that maybe by now we would have seen the light at the end of the tunnel, when things get back to normal; we had hoped that by now someone would have found a treatment for the coronavirus; we had hoped that maybe an old anti malaria medicine would have miraculously been found to be effective; we had hoped that our churches would have been opened..

When our hopes are dashed, our instinct is to seek a safe place. The apostles sought to shelter in a locked room; the disciples on the way to Emmaus were going home, back to the familiar little town outside of Jerusalem.

And there on the dirt road, Cliopas and his companion encounter a stranger. I think it’s interesting that Jesus, fresh from conquering death and sin, appears to these two disciples in the guise of a stranger. No fanfare, no showing of his wounds, no saying “Peace be with you”. He puts himself at their level, and meets them in their disappointment. He draws them out, and they articulate their sadness, they put it into words. “We had hoped,” they say. “We had hoped that this Jesus would be the one to save Israel.” It’s interesting that these two disciples not only experienced the disappointment, but also have heard the good news -- from the women, from Peter and John who visited the empty tomb; they’ve heard about angels and a stone rolled back and the burial cloths neatly folded -- but they choose not to believe. I sympathize.

After Jesus encourages the two travelers to put their sadness, their sense of betrayal, their loss of hope into words, he does something remarkable -- he retells the story in the context of the big picture -- the story of God’s faithfulness to his people, of God constantly calling them back from apostasy, of God keeping his promises. And as they see their own experience in context, they experience their hearts “burning within them” as hope is rekindled and as faith once again wakes up a little.

And when they reach their destination Jesus keeps on walking. In that moment they can choose whether to allow themselves to be changed, or to remain in their unbelief, in their loss of hope. Jesus never compels us; he always respects our freedom. I wonder if these two were the only followers whom he encountered, or if he met with many who did not invite him to stay with them. I wonder if that is still the case today, when Jesus quietly accompanies us for a little while, inviting us to see our sufferings in the context he offered his apostles more than once: “If anyone wishes to save his life, he must lose it…” and “If you would be my disciple, you must take up your cross and follow me.” He told us “Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” And he perhaps reminded them that the passion,death and resurrection had been predicted by Jesus himself. Saint Louis Martin, the father of Saint Therese of Lisieux, questioned his pastor along these lines: “How can I hope to be a saint if I am not given suffering?” And he spent his last years suffering and rejoicing that he had been given this gift. He saw things in the context Jesus offers.

But the climax of this story is when Jesus sits with them and shares their meal. He takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it and shares it with them, and in that moment they realize who has been with them the whole time. And of course they rush back to the Apostles and share the good news.

But the climax of the story is the breaking of the bread. Did they recognize Jesus then because of the familiar gestures, words -- but it’s not clear who was at the Last Supper -- it seems to have been the apostles only, because the whole theology of the priesthood implies that the apostles received that grace when Jesus told them to do this in memory of him. More likely Cleopas and his companion were given a revelation at the moment, and then Jesus disappears from their sight.

And I think Emmaus continues to happen; I think Jesus joins his disciples -- that’s you and I, especially when our faith is weak, when our hopes die down, when we are tempted to become bitter and resentful. Our loving savior comes to us in disguise, reminds us that our misery can be redemptive, that our mourning can be turned into dancing, our grief will become joy -- all promises made by our God and recorded in our scriptures, by the way. And he still reveals himself in the breaking of the bread.

One thing I’ve learned from this long fast from the celebration of the Eucharist is that there is a joy in joining my fellow Christians as we allow ourselves to listen to the word of God, to have an opportunity to see how our lives can be transformed by this, and to break the bread which is at once the food Jesus provides and his real presence. I hope we all will never again be tempted to take this for granted -- this summit and substance of the Christian life.

Second Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 20:19 - 31

In today’s readings we have a glimpse into the life of the early church -- people gathered together, worked great signs, shared everything, and were well regarded by all. They lived in such a way that others joined their way of life, sometimes large numbers, even people who had been priests in the Jewish religion. And we look around and say, that’s not the way it is now. And we sometimes decide that the reason for the difference is simply that we don’t have enough faith. Because deep in our hearts we think that with enough faith, things would go well for us, we would be able to really experience the joy that comes from being a people formed out of Christ’s resurrection. If we had enough faith we would conquer sin, we would face death with courage and even joy; we could see that everything worked for the glory of God, which, since we are brothers and sisters of Jesus, the God-man, would be our glory as well.

And the gospel story seems to be about faith as well. Why didn’t Thomas believe? And it seems as though Jesus indirectly reprimands him when he says, “You believe because you have seen, Thomas. Blessed are those who have not seen, but yet believe.” And Thomas will always be remembered as the one who doubted, even though the other apostles had the same reaction.

If only we had enough faith! But maybe we are going about this wrong. Someone once said that the opposite of faith is not doubt, the opposite of faith is certainty. There isn’t any room for growth in certainty, yet the New Testament writings are always talking about growing in faith, having little faith -- but when you are certain about something, that’s it. There are many Christians out there who seem to feel that the more faith you have, the more certain you are. I remember someone telling me that despite all the evidence to the contrary, despite biblical scholarship and the pronouncements of the Church, he believed that the bible was literally true in every respect -- because he insisted that was a consequence of his deep faith.

But Saint Paul said that we work out our salvation in fear and trembling. And maybe that’s what faith is really all about.

Faith is not proportional to how you feel, or for that matter to how certain you are about a statement of truth. Faith is really about doing what we know is the right thing. It’s easy to tell the truth when there are no consequences. But it can be very painful to tell the truth when we know we will suffer for it. A parent finds it easy to love a teenager who makes him proud; but it’s harder when the teenager is always getting in trouble. Faith means we love anyway. We can see that in the saints. The martyrs especially, but certainly every saint we can think of was a saint because he or she did the right thing regardless of the consequences. And we recognize and admire that, and attribute it to faith.

The apostles in the locked room had lost what faith they had; when Jesus appeared in their midst, they were afraid, until He showed them his hands and feet. In order to enter into the joy of that first Easter,the apostles had to see His wounds. And Thomas was really no different. He had lost his faith as well, and had to see the wounds before he would believe. And that is part of the faith journey. We do experience joy now and then, and in those moments find it easy to do what is right. Some people are helped along by that joy for long periods of their lives -- they delight in doing good -- and when the good bears fruit, they delight all the more. But part of faith is experiencing the wounds, just as the apostles did, and to identify the joy of doing good with faith is dangerous, because inevitably a time will come when a choice will have to be made, and the joy will no longer be there.

Saint John of the Cross identified two “dark nights” for the soul. One is when you face adversity, and you are able to get through it because you are aware of God’s presence. The other, the more serious, is when you face adversity and you discover you have no sense of God’s presence. It is as though there is no God. John tells us that this is actually a prelude to even higher levels of spiritual growth; but during that dark night you have to continue doing what you know is right, feeling no reward, feeling no closeness to God, trusting only that the dark night will end and you will be united once again to Jesus.

I think when Jesus reprimands Thomas, he is not criticizing the fact that Thomas believed because he had seen; He is instead saying that Thomas will have a hard time moving from certainty to true faith, precisely because of the certainty; Thomas knows Jesus has risen; those who have not had a personal revelation but still believe are at an advantage. But Thomas in those moments afterward reveals the beginning of his faith journey. He says, “My Lord” which is a proper response to someone who has risen from the dead, someone who had been his teacher and leader. But he says “My God” which is a leap of faith, and Thomas will spend the rest of his life doing what he knows is right, even to his eventual martyrdom, because of his faith, not his certainty.

Easter Sunday, 2020

John 20:1 - 9

When I was growing up Easter was almost as big a holiday as Christmas. We kids gave up candy for Lent, and on Holy Saturday at noon Lent ended for us. We would see how quickly we could eat a chocolate bar at precisely noon. The other thing was that we would get presents, not as lavishly as Christmas, but usually something nice. My sisters would get Easter clothes to wear to church. I’d get new clothes also, but as my wife could tell you, clothes don’t interest me. And there would be Easter eggs, and we kids would race around trying to get as many as we could. I’m sure everyone has their favorite Easter memories. However one that was sort of unique to us in Helena, Montana was that Easter Sunday the local nursery would usually open after being closed all winter. We would go just outside of town and join a lot of people as we walked through the greenhouses and saw the flowers blooming. In one part the owner had several exotic plants, including trees bearing bananas and oranges. The nursery reminded us after a cold and gray winter that spring was coming and the earth would be waking up.

I enjoy reading the accounts of the Resurrection in the Gospels. They are all a little different. In all the accounts women discover the empty tomb. In all the accounts some sort of heavenly being or beings announces that Jesus is risen. And then it’s crazy; he appears to Mary Magdalene, he appears to Peter; he appears to two travelers, he appears to his apostles in a locked room., he appears to all his apostles on the shore of the sea of Galilee. And it goes without saying they rush around telling everyone. I am not doubting the Resurrection appearances, but I wonder if the people who reported them just had no words for what they experienced. The only thing they were certain of, so much so that many went on to be martyrs rather than deny what they had experienced, is that they had encountered Jesus Christ in a glorified bodily form, after his terrible death on the cross.

When I think about the Easter of my childhood, another thing that comes to mind is that every adult that I knew then has passed away -- my grandparents, my parents, my uncles and aunts who were such a big part of my life. Four of my cousins have died as well. My wonderful wife and I are both getting more and more hints that we have far less time ahead of us than behind us. And I am a scientist by nature, and my reason keeps telling me that there is no afterlife, that when you die, that’s it. Oh, I know there are rational arguments that conclude that the soul lives on for all eternity, that it can’t be destroyed; but I’m also aware of arguments on the other side -- that our being conscious is just an illusion, and that there really is no such thing as free will. We are more complex than dogs, and dogs more than lobsters. But we are all just variations on the same theme.

But then I think about that time when Jesus’ disciples were hiding in a locked room, and suddenly they knew Jesus was in the room with them. And all the other times as well. In the heart of every Christian is the same supernatural instinct -- the hope that the Resurrection stories are more than pious legends, the faith that against all logic and science the Resurrection happened, and the fact that we Christians love someone who was crucified 2000 years ago but still moves among us, still speaks to us, and still loves us back.

And I remember all those people I loved when they were alive, the people who shaped me and were my role models, good and bad; the people who all shared in creating my personality and my past. And I am sure that they live on in some unimaginable way. Can I prove it? No. In the end it all comes down to faith, hope and love, and we Christians believe these virtues are theological, that is, they come from God himself.

So I think the stories of Jesus’ appearances after the Resurrection are true stories; they really happened. But the scriptural accounts are just the tip of the iceberg. The bottom line is that after the Resurrection the followers of Jesus and many others (Saint Paul says more than 500 and includes himself) experienced the living risen Christ.

Some Christians think that when Jesus ascended into heaven that was the end of his appearances. But I think they continue, even today. It’s just that we draw a line between how it was in the time of the first Christians and how it is now. Maybe it’s not, maybe Jesus still appears to some of his followers in such a way that they can hardly put it into words -- but their lives were changed by the event, and that is for me an excellent demonstration of authenticity. And those of us who have not had dramatic moments when we experienced the presence of Jesus Christ, if we are believers, if we are living lives in accordance with Jesus’ teachings, well, maybe we don’t need those experiences. After all, most Christians are persuaded by the testimony, both verbal and through action, of other Christians.

My faith tells me Jesus is risen and I will rise because of that. And I think on Easter morning of all those I have known and loved, and how, if I were a loving and all powerful God, they would never be forgotten; and if I were that God I would not let a single human being slip away into oblivion; and in those moments I sense that cloud of witnesses, my brothers and sisters in faith, my family members and friends who have passed on, and I know that if Jesus rose from the dead, so will they; and I choose to believe Jesus rose from the dead.