Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 9:36 - 10:8

Next weekend is father’s day weekend and as some of you know I’m a father to six, a grandfather to 20, and a great-grandfather to one, soon to be two. I’ve watched a lot of little humans come into this world who are all in various states of developing as human beings. I’m still developing myself, if I believe my wife. I learn things from my descendants. My oldest grandson was given an incredible talent -- he can sit down at a keyboard and play anything by ear and has composed music as well. And he makes part of his living playing for his local church. My youngest granddaughter is playing the lead in her school play. I could brag on all of them but don't worry, I won't. What I'm most proud of, though, is the fact that everyone, including the ones married into the family, are practicing Catholics. I hope that never changes. I look forward to many family reunions in heaven someday.

Today Jesus looks out on the crowds who follow him. They were a ragged bunch. They were poor; lived on the margins, many not knowing where their next meal was coming from. And the point is, they were his kinsmen. Jesus was a proud Jew, if you could call him proud. The one thing the Jewish people had that no one else had was a highly developed ethical system. IF you read the Jewish scriptures, they aren’t very different from what Jesus taught, especially the commandments of God having to do with the orphans, the widows, the stranger in your town. They say that among all the people of the world at that time, the Jewish attitude towards women was the most enlightened. Jewish women, despite abuses, had a lot of rights. And as Jesus looked out on his kin, he felt deep in his gut sorrow for them -- because the Jewish priesthood which had been established largely to keep the law alive among the people, had become more concerned about ritual and keeping the flow of money coming. The people, Jesus’ kinsmen, were sheep without a shepherd.

Jesus longed to set things right for his brothers and sisters. In today's Gospel we hear how he proposes to do that. He appoints twelve of his followers to do what he’s been doing -- to go and set things right, to not only proclaim the kingdom of God, but to begin to bring it about. They have been given the power to heal the sick, cleanse lepers, drive out demons and even raise the dead. And Jesus, because he loves his own people, his Jewish brothers and sisters, tells them that this is where they are to begin bringing about the kingdom.

In the first century of Christianity, the vast majority of Christians were first or second generation Jews. The Jewish people outside of Jerusalem loved the idea that you didn’t need to go to Jerusalem and offer a goat in order to please God. Christianity taught that God came to you wherever you were, in the preaching of his disciples and in the Eucharist. Yes, even in the first century Christians believed that Jesus had instituted a special way for him to be present to them. Now the sacrifice that Jesus had made to the Father on behalf of the people could be re-presented anywhere in the world. Not all Jews joined the Jesus movement. And of course here we are, people who have been adopted into Jesus' family.

We Catholics, and to be frank, most Christians, sort of believe deep in their hearts that Jesus' movement is best left to the professionals -- priests, ministers, religious men and women, professional missionaries. The rest of us support them with money and sometimes a commitment of time. But Jesus didn’t appoint professionals to carry out his work of ministering to his brothers and sisters. The reason Matthew names the twelve is because the people of his time knew about these men and knew they did not have a degree among themselves, were not ordained like the priests, were not full time religious like the Pharisees. The twelve were like you and I. And Jesus started his movement with uncredentialed people. And his movement will continue to the extent that uncredentialed Christians go and do what Jesus did.

Did Jesus ever take away what he gave to his disciples? The ability to heal, to drive out demons, even to raise the dead? I don’t know if he ever did. Sometimes I think we have those abilities but are afraid to act upon them. But I think Jesus wants us to feel what he felt -- an almost physical pain when we see our brothers and sisters -- Jesus’ brothers and sisters - wandering around like sheep without a shepherd, because until we do, we aren’t going to be moved to do much to proclaim that God’s kingdom is at hand.

I look at my extended family and when I see things going wrong, when I see one of them hurting, I hurt as well. When I see a grandchild's faith shaken by something, I want to tell them that things will get better. Their pain is my pain, but their triumph is mine as well. That empathy we have with our own family members is how Jesus wants us to see all people. Because you and I are being called to gather the incredible harvest that is there, ripe for the taking for Jesus. You and I are the laborers, we are the answer to Jesus’ prayer.

Corpus Christi 2026

John 6:51-58

When I was about five, I remember being introduced to the idea of Holy Communion.. Because my birthday was in December and I could read a little bit, the sisters of Charity put me in first grade rather than kindergarten, a choice that affected my whole life, because all my classmates were six months to a year older than me, and let me know it. But I remember that I lived in my body -- I thought my soul was sort of like a balloon tied to my body with a thread -- I didn’t pay much attention to it. When I received my first communion I could feel Jesus presence in my body, sort of like a warmth radiating from the host all through my body. This went on for a very long time. Somewhere, probably when I begin to live in my soul and considered my body as that which caused me to sin, I lost that sensation -- but was reassured that the body and blood of Jesus, which I really consumed in Holy Communion, had all the accidents of bread and wine, so not feeling Jesus was pretty normal, I guess. My body was where I sinned, my soul where I encountered Jesus.

But today we hear Jesus astonishing words -- Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you shall not have life in you. And John the gospel writer translates the word “eat” with a greek word that describes the kind of eating that a starving animal might exhibit -- not the mannerly eating we expect of our children and ourselves.

If you go back to Genesis, God said, Let us make man in our image and likeness. He went on to say that we would be given dominion over all other creatures. And afterwards God looked at his creation and saw that it was good. Someone once said, “why did God give us bodies, which cause us to sin, which get sick and grow old and eventually die?” and someone else answered, “because he thought we’d like them.” The bodies God gave Adam and Eve were indeed bodies we would like -- never sick, never aged, no pain, no rebellion -- these two, a perfect man and a perfect woman -- could stand naked in front of each other and control all their feelings and impulses. It says, “they were naked but not ashamed”. When they chose to disobey God, he took away a lot of those good things about the body, among them the gift of immortality. And in a way, that was as mercy, because to live forever in rebellion against God is the very definition of hell.

And after the fulfillment of time, the word of God became a body. God took on a body in the womb of Mary, was born, nursed at the breasts of his creation -- lived a totally human life, including an agonizing death. In doing so, he glorified the human body and restored its immortality.

We Catholics and many other Christians believe that the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ. When we partake of this it is our bodies which digest this heavenly banquet. Jesus chooses to nourish our flesh and blood with his own. But Jesus is nourishing us with his resurrected body, his immortal and unlimited body.

I was thinking about all this when I asked myself the question, why do I know people who are good Christians who do not receive the body and blood of Jesus? It’s clear that you don’t need to receive Jesus to be a good Christian. I can accept that the reception of the Holy Eucharist, given the right disposition, can be an occasion of grace, a channel of God’s power to assist us in carrying out his work and helping us avoid sin. But probably all of us can think of a protestant brother or sister who shares our baptism, who clearly has the makings of a saint, but never receives the Eucharist.

We can certainly argue that God is not limited by our rules and is clearly at work outside our Church. But why do we say you have to receive the Eucharist at least once a year, and it’s a great thing to receive weekly, or even greater to receive on a daily basis. So here are some reasons to receive the Eucharist as often as possible.l

First, Jesus really wants to show us that he is concerned about bodies -- our body and that of our neighbor. So we should be concerned as well. As James the apostle tells us “If a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is that?”

Second, Jesus reminds us that he wishes to make us into other Christs -- and we can pray as we receive, “Let my hands be your hands, my heart be yours, let my love be your love”. So the eucharist is a reminder of what being a Christian is all about.

Third, we know that receiving the Eucharist does not make a person a Christian. We know that receiving the Eucharist unworthily can be a cause for eternal punishment, if we go by Saint Paul. But think of it this way. YOu’ve probably known people who show their love by offering food. I had a grandmother like that. The Eucharist is the way Jesus shows his love to his people by offering them his resurrected body and blood for our food. To receive this offering is a sign that we recognize his love for us.

On this Sunday of the body and blood of Christ, let us approach the Eucharist knowing that Jesus loves everything about us, including our bodies, which are destined to become like His own resurrected Body.

Pentecost, 2026

John 7:37-39

What feast was it when Jesus made this strange statement?  It was the feast of booths, or Sukkot, one of the three great feasts of the Jewish religion.  This feast celebrated how God looked after the Jews in the desert. Each family would build a shelter of sticks and leaves and during the eight days of the feast, would spend some time in the shelter, in memory of their dwellings during the long time of wandering in the desert.  Each day a priest would fill a jug with water, and the people and the priest would carry the water to the temple, where it would be poured into a large jug and allowed to run out an opening near the bottom.  While that was happening, the assembly would remember how God provided them with water, and they would pray for salvation, for relief of their sufferings, for freedom for their nation.  And then the people would take some of the water and drink it.  

And that was the context of when Jesus cried out, let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.  The people were seeking their salvation in a ritual, but Jesus offered them the real thing.  And he promises more -- “rivers of living water will flow from within him who believes in me”.  John tells us that Jesus was referring to the Holy Spirit, who at that point had not yet been given to Jesus' followers.  

But the spirit has been given to us.  And on the feast of Pentecost, we need to ask, “what are we doing about it?”

I think most of us who go to church aren't bad people.  We recognize we have flaws, but when you study the saints, they all had flaws as well.  When you get past the saints of the early church, who are only known by their legends, we meet real people.  Saint Jerome used to become very upset with himself because he had a temper and a sharp tongue.  You can read some of his sarcasm online.  Saint Francis was such a poor administrator that the order he founded gave him an honorary title and appointed someone else to be the decision maker.  Thomas Aquinas made his companions go out of their way as they traveled back from more because he wanted to try a certain fish that could only be gotten out of a particular river; unfortunately when he ate the fish, he either choked on a bone or died of food poisoning – never made it home.  They were all very human.

So you and I are kind to people, usually; and we are reasonably generous with our time and our money; and we try to give good example, much of the time; and although we might have momentary lapses, we try to live lives of moderation.  Is that what it means to have the spirit, to have rivers of living water flow from within?  

Well, yes, in a way.  We know, as Saint Paul said, that everything good comes from God, so our goodness does as well, and the Holy Spirit is there pushing us along.  But what happened at Pentecost?  A handful of people, most of them illiterate, living at the bottom of the food chain, fearful and not knowing what to do, suddenly were transformed into great missionaries and martyrs, who would start a movement that involves a third of the world's population today.  

That's the same Spirit – has he gotten old and tired?  Has time and distance worn him down?  Looking at the saints again, we see what the spirit can do when we get out of the way.  Saint Theresa of Avila was a member of the Carmela order; she and the other nuns entertained visitors, read trashy novels, worried about their appearance – all despite being in a cloister.  About 15 years after she had joined this order, she began a process of reforming the order, a task to which she dedicated the rest of her life.   John xxiii was way past the age of retirement when he decided to let some fresh air into the church.  No one who knew him would have predicted that; he did not seem to have a rebellious bone in his body.  Andre Besset was a simple brother in the congregation of the Holy Cross.  His devotion to Saint Joseph and his welcoming presence as the doorkeeper led him to initiate the building of the shrine to Saint Joseph in Montreal. 

Each of us has some natural talent or gift that the Holy Spirit can transform into a supernatural blessing, if we cooperate.  Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, can probably identify that gift.  I know a parishioner who never misses a chance to thank someone who has done him even a small favor.  He thanks his kids for obeying him, and his wife for fixing his meals.  And he is sincere.  My “thank you” threshold is not nearly as finely tuned as his.  Someone else has dogged persistence in his devotion to what he sees as his ministry – despite discouragement that would probably make me look for something else.  Another person has tireless energy so that she is all over the place serving shut-ins, driving people to appointments, bringing holy communion to the sick, and serving on boards of charitable organizations.  I think all of these people have allowed the Holy Spirit to turn on a talent or gift which they have.  We can see living water flowing from them.   The true sign of the spirit is that you become a blessing to other people. 

We need to find that natural talent we have and turn it over to the Holy Spirit, who will help us refine it and magnify it and make it supernatural.  Maybe we need some insight from a friend or from a spouse, to help us find it.  Maybe we need a dose of courage to begin exercising that talent in a better way.  Maybe we need someone, like a spiritual director, to show us how to grow that talent.  That's how the saints did it.  If you read the lives of saints, you find that most of them had someone in whom they could confide, from whom they could receive advice, encouragement, or correction.  Each of us has the makings of a great saint if we want to be.  We just need to let the Holy Spirit operate.  And he operates through our natural gifts.  

So today as we celebrate the moment when the Holy Spirit began the church, let us grasp the promise that Jesus made, that rivers of living water will flow from those who believe in him.  May the Holy Spirit do for us what he did for the apostles and the saints.  

Fourth Sunday in Easter cycle A

 Fourth Sunday in Easter, cycle A

John 10:11-10

As some of you know, Joan and I have a great-granddaughter.  In addition to making us feel really old, she is a delight to hold and talk to, although not much talking can be done with a ten month old.  Not too long ago I was holding her and she was going after my glasses and the pen in my pocket and whatever else drew her attention.  And I would put my finger on her nose and say “boop!” which amused her to no end.  However, after 20 minutes or so, she became restless and started glancing around until she caught the eye of her mother, at which point she started yelling “Mamama” until she was safely nestled in her mother’s arms.  

We human beings are restless, never quite satisfied.  Henri Nouewen, the author of the book “The Wounded Healer” said that there is no such thing as pure joy.  Even in our happiest moments there is a shadow, a fear, a jealousy, a restlessness inside us, no matter how young or old we are.  That old New England transcendentalist, Henry Thoreau said that most men lead lives of quiet desperation.  Probably it would be safe to say all of us do.  We can be distracted for a while.  We know what distracts -- drugs, alcohol, gambling; but indeed activities like golfing or playing other sports.  We can throw ourselves into hobbies.  But we all know these distractions only last for a little while and then we are back to our restless selves.  One of the most insidious distractions today is the cell phone.  I watched several teenagers leaving the high school a few days ago.  None were talking; all were immersed in what their phones were showing them.  No one was talking to the guy or girl walking along with them.  And cell phones are probably the reason that  in our country the average young  woman is expected to  have 1.6 children in her lifetime -- there won’t be any of us left in 400 years at that rate.  

In the gospel of John at the very beginning Jesus turns to two men who are following him and asks, “what are you searching for?”  And the whole gospel is an attempt to answer that question.  It finally is answered when Jesus asks Mary Magdalene in the garden, “Who are you looking for?” and as she stumbles through her answer, he interrupts her by calling her name, and suddenly her soul is at rest. 

Do you ever imagine what heaven is like?  I can go back in my memory and see the evolution of the idea of heaven in my own life.  Obviously as a little kid it was a place where I could get whatever I wanted and there were no rules to ruin my fun.  As a teenager it was a place where all the things wrong with my life would be corrected -- my skin problems, the fact that I was taller than everyone else, the fact that the cute girls didn’t seem to gravitate my way -- I had a long list.  In college I learned about the beatific vision, that heaven was when I would behold God in all his infinite majesty and beauty and I would need nothing else to satisfy my soul.  It didn't sound like a good time, though -- but I figured Saint Thomas can’t be wrong.  And over the years I discover that I don’t think about heaven much anymore.  I can’t imagine a way to fill up an infinite amount of time.  It’s like someone said, “some people want to live forever but can’t find enough to fill up a Sunday afternoon.”  And of course the older I get the more I resonate to those words that describe the next life as eternal rest.  

What are we looking for?  My great granddaughter has the right idea, and her mother satisfies that inner restlessness for now.  Jesus tells us today that he is the gate.  IN those days the shepherds would herd their sheep into an enclosure and take turns lying across the entrance.  The shepherd who blocked the entrance was called “the gate”.  And in the morning each shepherd would call his sheep and they would sort themselves out, and each flock would go with its shepherd in search of grazing ground.  My great granddaughter will learn, as she grows older, that all the places she looks, all the people she turns to, eventually will fail to satisfy that emptiness within.  And I pray that she, and you and I and everyone here in this assembly will eventually find that voice that will truly fill up the emptiness, the voice of the shepherd, the voice of Jesus, who will call us by name, as he called Mary Magdalene.   

Third Sunday of Easter, cycle A

Luke 24:13-35

It turns out Emmaus was a party town, something like a miniature Las Vegas.  For some reason the two disciples, one of whom was named Clopas, were taking that six mile walk from Jerusalem.  You get the feeling from the story that they lived there, but not necessarily.  It might have been an inn when they invited Jesus to dine with them.  But Emmaus was a party town where people made their money running gambling dens and selling wine and beer.

Clopas and his companion, probably his wife but I don’t know for sure, had been followers of Jesus.  Clopas is interesting because there is another man in scripture, called Cleopas, who seems to be an uncle of Jesus, maybe related to Joseph.  And it wouldn't be surprising if some of Jesus’ extended family were followers.  We suspect James and John might have been cousins.  Clopas and his companion were not apostles.  They probably would make a day of going out to hear Jesus when he was in the area, but the rest of the time it was ordinary work.  Jesus didn’t really ask for much, just that his followers believed in him.  For Clopas and his companion that meant paying more attention to the ten commandments, and especially the two commandments of the Lord -- love God with everything you’ve got and your neighbor as yourself.  Following those commandments was not as easy as it sounded, and seemed to open unending possibilities, but the disciples of Jesus were trying.

And then came the devastating moment when Jesus was arrested, tortured and crucified.  Some of the things Jesus had said toward the end of his life made it seem that he was the Messiah, and maybe more than that.  He said a lot of things that were just on the edge of blasphemy -- “I and the Father are One”.  “I am the way, the truth and the life.  No one comes to the father except through me.”  And the miracles.  Clopas and his companion had heard about them, probably did not witness them personally; but the stories of healings seemed to back up what Jesus claimed about himself.  But it seemed as though all that power, all those teachings, were really nothing compared to the power of the Jewish and Roman authorities.  

So when Clopas and his companion decided to go to Emmaus they were through with all this nonsense.  Emmaus was close to Jerusalem, but a long way away in its orientation.  Jerusalem was the center of the religion, the home of the temple.  Emmaus was the rejection of religion in a way -- a place that said, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we all die.”  

In other parts of the post-resurrection story, we hear different reactions to Jesus’ death and the despair that his followers must have felt.  Peter and the gang decide to go back to Galilee, back to the place they started following Jesus.  They embraced the familiar, maybe remembering the excitement of those early days.  If you read the stories, you get the feeling that no one quite knew what to do.  But the resurrected Jesus is never far.  He’s hard to recognize -- almost like he keeps you from recognizing him until you've demonstrated some degree of faith.  Mary Magdalene didn’t believe Jesus had risen,  but she demonstrated great love in seeking the body to bury properly.  The apostles thought they’d seen a ghost, but they had good hearts and at least were trying to stay together.  Thomas may not have believed but at least he was willing to meet with his fellow apostles in that upper room.  And on the shore one of the apostles thought to himself -- that guy with the fish, he’s doing something that Jesus would do, he’s feeding us.  And so it is with the Clopas and his companion.  It was one thing to talk theology to pass the time on the road, but that didn't do much.  It was when Jesus sat down and broke bread that the scales fell from their eyes and they ran back those six miles convinced that they had seen the Lord.   

We know that at the Ascension of Jesus, which we will celebrate in a few weeks, this was the end of the period when He would appear ot his followers.  But he did tell his disciples that He would be with us all days until the end of the world.  He told them, and us that where two or three are gathered together in his name he would be there.  And he said, what you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.  Jesus is still with us as he promised.  He is there when you and I get together over a parish event.  He’s there when we stop to help that lady who lives out of a shopping cart.  He’s there at a family dinner, the school of love, as Saint John Paul called it.  He’s there in you when you do something that Jesus would do in your place.  Jesus continues to reveal himself to us in many ways.  Let us pray that we will recognize him, especially in ourselves.  Saint Bernadette, whose feast we celebrated last week, had this to say: “Allow Jesus to dwell in your heart; he will owe you rent.  

  

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Second Sunday of Easter, 2026

John 20:19-31

Sometimes I envy Saint Faustina. There in her convent over several years she was given the privilege of conversing with Jesus. She left a diary full of things Jesus told her and we honor her, in a way, on this day, because she is the apostle of mercy. There have been many other saints who have had the privilege of some sort of communication with God, with Jesus, with Mary, or one of the saints. We hear about them because in some way they left something besides the stories of their conversations behind—perhaps founding a religious order, maybe leaving behind an important theological writing, or maybe dying a martyr for the faith. It’s as though God confirmed their witness by something else.

And of course there are saints that didn’t have direct communication with God or his saints, at least that we know about. John Paul II did not, apparently. Saint Paul of the Cross, who used to break into tears when he thought about Jesus’ passion, did not report any visions. You apparently don’t need to be a saint to have heavenly interventions. Saint Augustine had some kind of mystical communication before he was baptized. Saint Francis, whose real name was John but because he loved fine clothes he was called “Frenchy,” received the call to rebuild Jesus’ church before he tore off all his clothing and gave them back to his father. I suppose there are a lot of people that have heard heavenly voices who haven’t told us about them for fear of being locked up. Just for the record, I haven’t heard any messages myself. The nearest thing to a heavenly voice was when I was trying to decide if I had a vocation to marriage because I had met this really cute girl; and I had this inner voice tell me that “whatever you decide, I’ll still love you.”

Most of us are more like me than the great saints, I’m sure. I don’t know if the apostle Thomas ever had a special message like I’m talking about. After what happened in today’s gospel, however, he spent the rest of his life creating Christian communities up and down the shores of the Arabian Peninsula and into India, where he met a martyr’s death. But you and I probably aren’t going to be like Thomas, either. But this little story from the Gospel of John can tell us a few things.

Thomas was not with the other apostles when Jesus first appeared. There’s an old story about a young man sitting in front of the fireplace with his pastor, complaining that his faith was very weak and he wasn’t even sure if he believed anymore. The pastor said nothing, just threw a log on the fire which had burned down to glowing coals. In a few minutes the log caught fire and flared up. Your faith isn’t going to grow if you don’t hang out with faithful people. One of the martyrs of Japan, now considered a saint, initially took the emperor up on his offer to have his life spared if he renounced Christianity. As he watched his fellow Christians being put to death, he announced that he was a Christian after all and went to his death proudly. Make it a point to find a few faithful people to associate with, to become friends with, and see your faith grow. Join the Knights, the Ladies Guild, the Saint Joseph Society; make a Cursillo. Don’t be alone in your faith. And while there are exemplary married couples who strengthen each other, it’s still a good idea to look to people of the same sex to help you grow in faith. After all, our very souls are stamped male or female, and my wife will never understand what it means to be a male Christian, and vice-versa.

Second, Thomas recognized Jesus not because of his face or his voice. We learn from all the appearances of Jesus that there was something mysterious about him. Mary Magdalene didn’t recognize him at first; when he first appeared to the apostles, they thought he was a ghost. There on the shore of the lake, it took a while before the beloved disciple shouted out, “It is the Lord!” And Peter jumped in the water, clothing and all, to get to his side. And don’t forget the disciples going home to Emmaus. In all the appearances we see that initially he is not recognized, then he does something that makes them recognize him. He simply called Mary by her name; he ate fish in front of his disciples; he broke bread in that home in Emmaus; he prepared a meal on the shore of the lake. Thomas recognizes Jesus when he sees the wounds of the crucifixion. I think we can conclude that the glorified body of Jesus still bears those wounds. And maybe when Jesus moves among us we need to look for wounds; you and I need to look for him especially among those who are wounded—physically, psychologically, socially, or even spiritually—and our chances of encountering him will go up substantially.

So on this Mercy Sunday, let’s not give up on encountering Jesus. Let Saint Thomas the apostle lead the way. 

Easter 2026

John 20:1-9

The revised common lectionary was developed by scholars from many different denominations working together.  The whole three year cycle was actually based on the revised Catholic lectionary which was put out in 1969 after Vatican II.  So much of the year we will be hearing the same readings as our Episcopal and United Church friends. But this year on Easter Sunday we hear what we just heard, which comes from the original Catholic lectionary, and the people down the street will hear the rest of the story -- when Mary Magdalene returns alone to the tomb, meets Jesus after mistaking him for the pardner, and at his command going to tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead.  So I wondered, why don’t we get the whole story?  Why stop our reading with Peter and John witnessing the burial cloths folded neatly, and walking away wondering what it all means. 

The author of this gospel, John, is writing toward the end of the first century, sixty or seventy years after Jesus' crucifixion.  John’ gospel is organized very differently from that ofMatthew, Mark and Luke, who all follow the same time line; and John tells of miracles that are not mentioned in the other gospels, like the raising of Lazarus or the wedding feast of Cana.  And John at the end of his gospel tells the reader why he is writing -- not to give a history, but so that the reader may believe.  John is always concerned about belief -- which for him is the decision to base one’s life on something, even though you don’t have certainty about whether that is true or false.  So with that being said, the reasons our church doesn’t give us “the rest of the story” on Easter Sunday, but unfolds it during the following week, probably has to do with faith.

The story we just read emphasized the Resurrection as a mystery.  The early church quickly recognized that despite the evidence, the meaning of the resurrection required faith to grasp.  Even if you had been one of the 500 or so people who saw Jesus after his death, you would still need faith to see how this mystery applied to you.  John emphasizes Mary, Peter and the beloved disciple as grieving, anxious and uncertain.  The resurrection is not primarily something we see with our eyes, it’s a spiritual reality for you and I, who like Jesus’ first followers takes a while to become real to us.

It reminds us that the mystery of the resurrection is ongoing, as we’ll see during Easter Week.  If you were to read the gospels for the weekdays you’d see this unfold.  The mystery is still ongoing, we are still people who work to see what the resurrection means to us.  Finally, by leaving the reader with the disciple’s uncertainty, we are called to trust in the Resurrection as God’s gift;  the empty tomb  is the beginning of the journey of belief that follows the Easter event.  

We are like Mary, Peter and John.  We haven’t met Jesus in the garden; we haven’t walked with him to Emmaus; we haven’t seen the wounds in his hands and feet or eaten the fish he prepared on the lake-shore for his disciples.  We only hear of these events that convinced the first Christians to risk their lives to spread the news, to go happily to a martyr’s death, to transform the world with the good news that death was not the end.  But like them we can have their kind of faith, faith that informs all our actions, faith that preaches the gospel to everyone we meet, faith that assures us that we are loved unconditionally by so great a Father.  So on this Easter Sunday let us continue the journey into faith, the continuous effort to see how the mystery of the resurrection applies to you and me.  Happy Easter!