Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

Mark 4:35 - 41

I must have been about four or five when my parents took my sister and I to a cabin on Swan Lake in Montana.  We had the use of an old rowboat and Dad took us out on the lake a couple of times.  The last time the sky became dark and the wind started picking up and waves were lashing the boat.  I didn’t get too concerned until I saw dad straining to row the boat back to shore and telling us to hang on to the boat railing.  You could tell he was truly frightened.  When you grow up in Montana, as I later learned, you learn that you shouldn’t be out on a Mountain lake during a storm and every year there was some report of someone who had drowned in such a storm.  Of course in those days we didn’t have to have life jackets on or in the boat, so maybe things aren’t as bad now.

I suspect it must have been much the same in Jesus’ time; it’s a peculiarity of lakes that are surrounded by barriers to wind whether in the hill country of Galilee or the mountains of  Montana.  And our disciples, being skilled at operating their fishing boats, were also experienced enough to know they were in trouble.

“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” they call out.  That’s an accusation, you know, not a question.  After all, it was Jesus who told them to launch out onto the lake, and they had put all their trust in him.  And their world was coming apart.  Has that ever happened to you?  It’s happened to me, and I suspect most of us who have lived in this world for a while.  Lord, do you not care that my loved one is dying?  Lord, do you not care that I have been diagnosed with cancer?  Lord, do you not care that I’ve lost my job?  And I pray, and try to live a good life, and really make an effort to live the way you’ve taught us to live.  And despite this, you seem not to care that my life has been turned upside down.  

That’s one of the several reasons atheists give for not believing in God.  If God is totally good, totally powerful, knows everything, why does he let bad things happen to good people?  Why do prayers go unanswered?  Why do innocent children suffer?  Our world gives little evidence for a benevolent, loving, all powerful God.

Jesus wakes up, stands in the boat and tells the storm to quiet down.  He uses the same statement that he used when he told the demons to be silent about who he was -- “Be muzzled” is the Greek phrase, or we might say, “Shut your mouth”.  Our translation has Jesus saying “Quiet, be still!”.  The original readers of the gospel would see the Lord using the same exact phrase whether dealing with demons or with nature itself.  

And Jesus turns to his apostles and says, “Why are you terrified?  Do you not yet have faith?”  Saint Maximillian Kolbe had faith.  IN Auschwitz he told to Nazi guard to take him rather than the man who had been randomly selected to be put to death by starvation.  Kolbe said, “Take me instead of him.  I’m a Catholic priest”.  His faith was so strong that he was free and did not fear those who can kill the body, but never touch the soul.  And according to witnesses, Kolbe spent his last days ministering to those who were dying with him.  And Jesus asks us, “Why are you terrified?”  He is not criticizing us, it’s a genuine question.  In the gospel for this morning, Jesus told his apostles, “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink...Look at the birds in the sky who do not sow or reap … and your heavenly father feeds them … Are you not worth more than they? … And learn from the wild flowers … even Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these…”.  

Faith for Jesus is another term for trust in God’s providence, trust that God will see to it that things will turn out in keeping with his plan, even if it takes the  next life to do it.  And if you are someone of little faith, you trust a little, but not enough.  And when you have little faith, when something happens your tendency is to withdraw into yourself, trusting nothing.  On the other hand, faith is associated with inner peace knowing that you are loved by God, and that God’s plan will be fulfilled.  

The apostles feared for their lives when the storm came up, and they lost their fear when Jesus calmed the storm.  But before, during and after the storm, there was one certainty -- Jesus was in the boat, Jesus was with them.  

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal spoke about throwing herself into God like a drop of water falling into the ocean.  She was happily married with four children when her husband died in a hunting accident, killed by a friend.  Saint Jane went into deep depression, but gradually worked her way out of this with the help of Saint Frances de Sales, her bishop.  She even forgave her husband’s killer.  She eventually founded the Visitation Sisters.  She wrote extensively on “abandonment to divine providence”, learning to trust God in all things.

The answer to atheism is not that God is real, because God is more real than you and I; The answer to atheism is recognizing that whatever the circumstances of life, Jesus is there in our boat.  

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

March 4:26 - 34

Blessed Charles De Foucald was 58 years old when he was martyred in Algeria. He had founded a congregation, and a few men had come to join him and gone away again; at his death he was the only member. Blessed Charles was orphaned at 6 and raised by an uncle; he inherited a significant sum from his grandfather and led a wild life. He joined the french cavalry where he was known for his pranks. He resigned from the Calvary and traveled through Morocco, pretending to be a Jew, and out of this experience he wrote an important paper on the culture of the Berber people. When he was about 30 he began practicing his religion again and at 32 joined the Cistercians. This didn’t last too long and he decided to become an hermit in Algeria. He was ordained a priest, and wrote documents on spirituality and a Berber - French dictionary. He was unsuccessful in converting any of the Berbers he lived among, and the order he dreamed of founding never happened.

But back in France, people began to study his writings and a few people wanted to imitate his life of poverty and prayer. Over time his writings have inspired nine religious congregations, including the “little brothers of Jesus” and the “little sisters of Jesus”. There are also eleven associations of lay and religious who try to base their lives on Charle’s spirituality. Charles spiritual descendents can be found all over the world.

Jesus gives us two parables today. On the surface they don’t seem very similar. Mark tells us that he didn’t explain the parables to the crowds, but he did to the disciples. Unfortunately we don’t have those explanations written down.

But Jesus is talking about the Kingdom of God. We all think we know what that means, but I suspect if we took a poll we would have some people thinking this means heaven, others that this describes a far-off future where everything is the way God wants it to be; and still others might see it as a synonym for the Church. And yet, none of these holds up well when we look at Jesus’ many descriptions through his parables. Perhaps a key is in another statement he makes -- the Kingdom of God is within you; and in another palace, he tells a lawyer “You are not far from the kingdom of Heaven”. The kingdom of God is something in each of us, something like a seed, something that we have very little to do with. Jesus sews the seed in us, and somehow, it will grow and bear fruit, and accomplish its purpose, apart from anything we can do to help it or hurt it. In another part of the Gospels Jesus tells his apostles that it was necessary that he had been betrayed by Judas, but woe to Judas who did the betraying. God’s purpose can’t be stopped.

There are times when I feel pretty useless. It’s probably a part of getting older. My kids used to ask me for advice. No longer -- they are all giving advice to their kids. I find I can’t do as much in a day as I used to and I know this is likely to get worse. I am having more and more of those moments when I am speaking and a particular word will not pop up in my brain -- it’s on the tip of my tongue, as they say. And that will probably get worse.

And one day, I, like Blessed Charles, will come to the end of my life and wonder whether it meant anything? Because I’m sure Blessed Charles must have been discouraged when he looked around and asked what his life had accomplished.

But that’s what these two parables are about. You and I don’t really accomplish anything. If anything comes from our having lived our lives, it’s because God planted the seed and sees to it that the seed grows into the kind of plant he wants. And all we can do is live our lives and continue to move in the direction God seems to want for us. Cooperating with God’s grace simply means getting up every morning, turning to God and saying “Speak, your servant is listening” and then going about the tasks of the day, doing them as well as we can. Saint Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei, said that for each of us, our sanctification won’t be because of some great work we accomplish -- or that God accomplishes through us, which is a different thing. Our sanctification will be through the work we do. We become holy by making the work holy, and we make the world holy by doing the work as well as we can. And maybe God will use us to build a vast enterprise; or maybe we will become an object lesson about how not to do something. But our holiness is under our control; God’s purpose for us is under His. They are separate things.

So imitate Mary, our mother, who never wrote a word, never founded a religious order, never preached a sermon, never built anything that lasted -- but did everything she had to do as well as she could. And through her God brought forth Jesus and His Church.

Trinity Sunday 2021

Matthew 28:16 - 20

I’ve always been interested in other religions. I think that’s because my grandmother was. She had many friends who were of different faiths -- one was a Jehovah’s Witness and would constantly bombard her with tracts about that religion and why other religions were wrong, especially Catholicism. In retrospect I admire the fact that she could maintain a friendship with someone like that and yet never seem to be shaken in her own faith. But I digress. In medical school I had a friend who was kind of a mainstream Jew, but like me, was interested in what other people believed. He talked me into attending a Quaker meeting one time, which basically consisted of people sitting in silence waiting for the Holy Spirit to speak through them. The few times the Spirit did so, he didn’t seem to have anything earth-shaking to say. But one time my friend invited me to a lecture by an Hassidic rabbi who was quite famous in Jewish circles. Now Hasidism is really different from mainstream Judaism. Hasidim seek to be united with God in a mystical way. So I was curious and went to the lecture.

The old rabbi came out and told a few stories from the Talmud. I don’t remember them, but they were humorous and we laughed. And then he began singing, a simple repetitive song, and invited us to join in. As we gathered steam and became more familiar with the melody and rhythm, he came down off the stage and started dancing, and got other people to dance behind him, like a conga line. Soon the audience of about 100 Stanford students were all dancing and chanting and I could sense a little bit of the ecstasy that some people must experience in this kind of activity. It was energizing; it seemed like all barriers between us dancers had come down as we all shed our inhibitions and entered into that simple unifying dance.

Today we celebrate a doctrine, the doctrine that there is only one God, and God is three persons equal in every respect except relationship. And most of us don’t pay much attention to this doctrine. Back in the eleventh century some bishops proposed that a universal feast be declared to honor the Holy Trinity. The pope at that time, it is said, responded that we honor the Holy Trinity every Sunday, but if we had a special feast heresy would be spread from every pulpit as preachers tried to explain the Trinity. Despite this warning, it became a universal feast in the thirteenth century, and sure enough, anytime we try to explain the Trinity, we come dangerously close to heresy. John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist church, said that all Christians had to believe in the Trinity, but trying to explain how three could be one, or one could be three was a waste of time.

But it is an important teaching about God. It tells us that God is in a sense a community of persons, united in love. A singular God like Allah has no reason to create, or for that matter, to save. Allah is perfect and complete in himself. But our God is never at rest, and being love itself, is always seeking to draw in other beings to love, even creating them for that purpose. The vision of the Eastern Church fathers was that the persons of the Trinity were in a sort of eternal dance, as they moved in and out of each other, and like the Hasidic dance I described and participated in, they do something similar, continually inviting all those they have created who are capable of love to enter into this dance. Saint Athanasuis even described this process as “Theosis” =-- becoming God.

Many years ago there was a fringe group of Catholics whose purpose was to pressure the Pope into declaring Mary as a fourth person in the Trinity. Of course that would mean we’d have to call it a Quaternity, which doesn’t really roll off the tongue, or maybe the Holy Foursome, which sounds like something from golf. Most people didn’t pay much attention to the group, but I think they had a point, maybe the same one Athanasius was trying to make. God wants us to be part of himself. God created us so that we would be complete when God lived in us. God wants you and I in the heart of the trinity, and the Father created us, the Son gives us the means to do this, and the Holy Spirit constantly pushes and prods us with his gifts. Mary, and indeed all the blessed ones in heaven, are already part of the Trinity.

In our gospel Jesus tells us to make disciples of all nations. Just as God is constantly inviting us to join the dance of the Trinity, we are to invite others, so that Love will flow through all of us for all eternity, so that in the end, there will be only love, as Saint Paul said.

On this Trinity Sunday, let us think about whom we might invite into the dance which someone else invited us?

Sixth Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 15:9 - 17

I wonder if sometimes we miss the point about what Jesus is telling us.  Today he makes it very clear that just as he keeps his father’s commandments and remains in his love, so we are to keep his commandment if we are to remain in his love.  And his commandment is simple:  Love one another as I love you.  

In another part of the gospels Jesus tells the crowds that each person is called to love his neighbor as himself, and he tells the story of the Good Samaritan to illustrate what that means.  But I think there is a difference between loving each other as Jesus loves his disciples, and loving one’s neighbor as oneself.  

If I am a healthy human being, I love myself.  I see that I’m well fed, get enough rest, take care of my health -- in other words, I try to optimize my life.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  We are chock full of instincts that work to that end.  So Jesus tells the crowds, love your neighbor that way.  See to it your neighbors are given what they need to be fully alive, to at least have the opportunity to become what God wants for them.  And while it’s true that the Good Samaritan used his resources directly to help the half-dead stranger he met on the road, you love your neighbor as yourself in other ways as well -- donating to charity, working for justice -- and in a way this sort of activity is a force multiplier -- you can do more by pooling your resources with others, and that is loving your neighbor; and if you won’t rest until your neighbor has all the good things that you do, then that is loving your neighbor as yourself.  You are the measure of when you’ve loved enough.  

But in today’s gospel Jesus is telling his friends, his disciples, something slightly different.  They are to love each other as he has loved them.  And that is loving them enough to lay down his life for them.  And he’s not telling them to go out and do that for the stranger by the side of the road; he’s telling them to be prepared to do that for each other, for the members of the little community that he’s formed -- a gathered community.  The fishermen, the tax collector, the revolutionary, the guy who takes care of the group’s money -- I don’t know what each of the apostles did for a living other than that, but legend has it that Thomas was a carpenter, like Jesus; and Bartholomew may have been a scribe.  And I suspect if they hadn’t  been gathered by Jesus, except for the fishermen they probably would have had nothing to do with each other.  

We are a gathered community, in much the same way the apostles were.  We have been gathered together by Jesus, into this parish family.  And I think Jesus calls us to love each other in a deeper, more self-giving way than we are called to love people who aren’t part of this community.  That’s where supernatural love gets involved.  Because human beings like to hang around people like themselves; we are most comfortable in that situation.  And if we had to lay down our life we’d do it for a child, a parent, a spouse, maybe a best friend, but for the person who sits four pews over on Sunday that we’ve nodded at during the sign of peace?  Not so much.  And yet I think that’s what Jesus is calling us to do.  It’s the way the first Christians lived.  They held everything in common; when one was imprisoned the others would visit, even at the risk of their lives.  When one became sick, others would tend to that person, even risking catching whatever horrible disease was killing her. If someone lost a spouse, they were there for them.  And they would willingly go to their deaths rather than betray their fellow Christians; some of the early martyrs were tortured to give up the names of their fellow believers, but resisted unto death.  

That’s the kind of love we believe exists in the Trinity-  where God is pure love.  The Father empties himself out, holding back nothing, to generate the Son.  The Son gives himself up for the Father out of love; and the love between them is the Holy Spirit, love without limit.  

But Jesus wanted that kind of love between his followers for a very practical reason as well; it was what spread the kingdom that he began in the world.  And it did; the pagans looked and saw how these Christians loved each other, and many of them wanted a community like that for themselves and the Church exploded in terms of growth.  Jesus saves us through the church he founded, and our parish is the local embodiment of his universal church.  

It’s not easy to love each other as Jesus loved us and gave up his life for us.  It’s not easy to love people who under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have much to do with.  But face it, our Catholic church is not growing, it’s shrinking.  But imagine how it would be if our neighbors in Longmeadow looked at our parish and said, “See how those Christians love each other!”  That is the real challenge.  We did not choose Jesus, he chose us and appoints us to go and bear fruit that will last, and that will come about when we love each other enough to give up our lives if it came to that.  

Fifth Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 15:1 - 8

We have a Japanese Maple tree in our back yard.  It has leaves that are sort of dark orange in color; it’s bent over in a very untreelike shape, and it seems to thrive, because every year my wife, who has learned not to trust me near her favorite plants, tells me that I should trim this tree -- and I mean, really trim it.  So I do.  I get rid of most of the branches until it looks dead.  And here it is spring, and the tree is thriving, sending out new branches, bursting with more leaves.  And I know I’ll have to trim it in the fall, as always.  Pruning the maple tree is one image that comes to mind when I read this passage.  Another comes to mind as well.  Recently my wife and I visited Sedona, Arizona, where we once again saw the chapel of the Holy Cross built into the beautiful landscape.  The crucifix is unique; Jesus is hanging from a tree with branches that seem to grow out of him.  

The image Jesus presents us in this familiar passage of the vine and the branches is radical.  We think of ourselves as members of our church; we could be members of other communities as well, and many of those who used to be members of Saint Mary’s have gone elsewhere for various reasons, just as we have people in our parish who would normally be in other parishes.  That’s kind of an American thing -- we like to keep our options open, we belong to organizations at arms-length, even our church. But Jesus is talking about a different kind of belonging; an organic unity.  Jesus is identifying himself with the church to which we belong; and when the Father trims away fruitless branches, and cleans up the fruitful ones, these are painful actions on Jesus’ own body.  You can’t escape the vine grower’s trimming knife whether you are fruitful or not; if you are fruitful, he’ll want more fruit from you.  Just check with any random saint.  

Jesus is speaking to us when he says “remain in me”.  That’s probably not the best translation of the Greek word.  It used to be translated as “abide” but we don’t use that word much anymore. Some other meanings include “dwell”, “stay”, “endure”, and “continue”.  I think the last two words are probably better. They imply that we are connected to Jesus, and we need to actively deepen that connection, not be neutral about it. 

I am reading an interesting book by Daniel Taylor, called “The skeptical believer”.  He traces his own faith journey; he grew up in a fundamentalist church, eventually became disenchanted with what he saw as real contradictions between what he was being taught in church and what he was learning in college; and he dropped out for a while.  He began going to a more mainstream denomination after he met his wife, but he talks about his “inner atheist” which was always doubting, always questioning.  He plunged more deeply into reading scripture and the writings of the fathers of the Church and concluded that a lot of very religious people were like him -- they had an inner voice that questioned everything, and that held them back from commitment.  He then decided that the thing was not to worry about what he couldn’t prove, as long as it was reasonable; and to see himself as part of a story that was unfolding.  In other words, he chooses to be part of the story, or world-view, that Jesus had.  He says that if he is wrong, he’ll never know, but if he is right, the reward is infinite.  I think Jesus is daring his disciples to be like that -- to draw closer and closer to him, to learn more and more about him, to deliberately go out and bear fruit, and invite the Father to prune you so that you can bear even more.

What in your life is keeping you from bearing fruit?  What is keeping you from committing totally to the vision that Jesus gave his followers?  There isn’t much time; the vine grower is deciding whether to cut off this branch or trim it back so it can bear more fruit.  

Fourth Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 10:11 - 18

How many of you listened to the gospel about the good shepherd and thought about the picture of Jesus dressed in a white robe, neatly groomed, carrying a quiet little lamb around his neck?  Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.  And that’s what we generally conclude from the idea of Jesus as the good shepherd.  He is always there to rescue us, to console us, to keep us clean and well-fed and protect us from wolves.  

But we know some things about lost sheep.  In places where there is a lot of wide open space and sheep herding, lost sheep will sometimes find each other and travel around together, because they are social animals.  A leader will emerge, one who is bigger and stronger and more aggressive than the  rest.  Of course the leader gets the lion’s share of what to heat and other privileges; but in truth the whole little tribe suffers.  You wouldn’t know they are always hungry by looking at them; they tend to look a lot fatter than the sheep overseen by the shepherd.  That’s because domestic sheep never stop growing wool.  But that’s a liability, because without someone to take care of it, the wool becomes very heavy and the sheep is in danger of overheating; and a good rainstorm can soak into the wool and make it almost impossible for the sheep to move around.  A domestic sheep is just smart enough to recognize the voice of the shepherd and respond to a few simple commands.  Being in the wild for a week or two will be enough for the sheep to forget all that, so even if the shepherd finds the sheep, it will be like domesticating a wild animal again -- not easy.

You can see why Jesus compared his followers to sheep.  And we can look around and see that as well.  We are here in church for various reasons -- some because it’s what we always do on the weekend; others because somewhere they fear what will happen if they stop going; and still others because they are hoping God won’t zap them if they keep following the rules.  And of course we are all here because at some level we know this is where heaven meets earth, where God begins to feed his faithful from the heavenly banquet.  But there are a lot of Catholics who aren’t here, and show up every now and then for a baptism, wedding or funeral, or maybe one of the Christmas masses.  And the Catholics who are dropping out are increasing, and the Catholics that are now identifying as something else are increasing.  And people in the broader society look at our church and see no reason to consider becoming Catholics; and many of our children look at the behavior of their parents and see no reason to stay in the Church.  And being “spiritual but not religious” seems more and more attractive; you go where your heart leads you, unbound by rules, because in the end, all that matters is that you are a good person.

Sheep that follow their shepherd know one thing -- that the shepherd can be trusted.  They know from experience that they will be fed, watered and protected and cared for.  It isn’t always fun; sometimes when the shepherd makes you get up and move to a different pasture, not fun.  When the shepherd shears the wool off of your body, that’s not pleasant.  When you have cuts and bruises and the shepherd disinfects your wounds, that burns.  But you get up and keep following him, because you trust.

But I think there’s something in every sheep that wants to be free; that’s why they wander off.  But if they survive sooner or later they will be found by the shepherd or will join a wild flock of sheep, because sheep need someone to follow.  

Jesus is the good shepherd.  But all of us participate in Jesus and in his ministry.  This weekend we pray for vocations -- and we in our church today are desperate for priestly vocations and we could certainly use vocations to the religious life.  And I can’t forget vocations to the diaconate -- which for married deacons becomes a vocation for the wife as well -- because I’m getting old and hoping someone in this parish will consider becoming part of the class of 2027, which will be selected in the next few months.  But because we all participate in the ministry of Jesus, we all have a vocation, first of all to call back those who have strayed, second, to call those who are not of this flock, and third, to encourage young people to consider a church vocation.  And yes, we do this by leading the kind of life that attracts people, but how about inviting others to come back to church? 

You probably know someone, or maybe even some family, who are Catholics who don’t attend Sunday mass anymore.  Here’s a suggestion.  INvite them to come to Mass with you and go out to breakfast together afterward.  It’s an opportunity to criticize  the pastor and the deacon and the choir after all, which makes for great fun.  Here’s another; think of someone who has dropped out and make it a point to fast for them along with praying specifically for them to return to the church.  IF you have a favorite saint, get him or her to help.  Ask your guardian angel to talk to his or her angel, and get involved in getting him or her back to church.  Storm heaven.  And maybe do the same thing if you notice a young man who would make a good priest, or a young lady who could do so much good as a woman religious.  You may be a sheep -- I certainly am, in the worst possible way -- but I’d like our flock to increase, and the good shepherd lives in me, and this weekend let us make a resolution to take on a little of the good shepherd’s ministry ourselves.  

Third Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 24:35 - 48

I ran across an article recently which asked the question, “If you could be in heaven right now for an hour and visit with just one person, who would that be?”  It’s a good question.  I’m sure some people would name a favorite saint, and most would  think about a parent or a loved one.  But to pick out just one?  What would be our standards?  How could we choose?”

I gave myself that test.  All of my relatives of my parent’s generation are there, hopefully.  But I don’t feel a strong need to talk with Mom or Dad or Uncle Paul; I assume that if I get to heaven for real I’ll spend eternity talking or not talking with them, whatever makes us happy.  I have a couple of cousins who have passed on.  Same deal.  As far as Saints are concerned, Ihave my favorites, but there again, what is the urgency?  And then after a great deal of thought, I tentatively picked out one person -- my grandmother on my dad’s side.  She and I were very close.  She was the only daughter of a protestant Scottish coal miner and his fresh from Ireland catholic wife -- the product of a mixed marriage when that was almost unthinkable.  Her four brothers went into the mines as well and like their dad, met early deaths from lung disease.  Grandma put herself through nursing school at a time when that was only slightly more respectable than working in a dance hall.  She married a real honest to goodness cowboy who eventually gave up alcohol for her -- only to take it up again the afternoon of her funeral.  And she was an avid reader and seemed to have reasonable answers for every question I could ask when I was growing up.

I got a call during medical school that they didn’t expect her to live after she had undergone a cancer operation.  I left my wife and our daughter and returned to Montana to spend a few hours at her bedside as she drifted in and out of consciousness.  I said goodbye and returned to Stanford; she died a few days later.  I didn’t go to the funeral.

Death doesn’t become real to any of us when we are kids or even young adults.  There is a moment for each of us when we suddenly realize, deep in our bones, that we are mortal, that we are going to die, that we can’t do a thing about that.  The death of my grandmother was that moment for me.  The world had changed radically, and I’ve been preparing to die ever since.  So I’d love to spend an hour with her -- it would definitely take the edge off of my fear of death.

That’s what happens in today’s gospel.  Jesus takes the edge off of the fear of death that is in each of his apostles -- indeed in each human being who has gone through that life-changing moment when they realize they are mortal.  And the only way this could have happened is if they were totally convinced that the person standing in front of them was the same one they had spent three years with, the same one that died on the cross.  A ghost couldn’t do that -- you can hallucinate a ghost, and a ghost by definition is not the person it might represent.  And the resurrection was not wishful thinking, or some other myth we could tell our unbelieving friends.  Luke -- and the other gospel writers -- make clear that the tomb which had contained a dead body is now empty; and that Jesus had to tell Mary Magdalene to let go of him; and that he picked up bread and broke it in his two hands; and that he ate some fish because his body was hungry and could digest the fish; and that he bore the wounds of his crucifixion and dared Thomas to touch them.  And in the last appearance recorded by John, he made breakfast for them.  The apostles were convinced; they never looked back, even to the point of giving up their lives -- because Jesus had taken the edge off of the fear of death that was in them.  

Do I still fear death?  On some level, sure.  I’m human.  Even Jesus feared death, otherwise he wouldn’t be human.  He begged his Father to let the cup pass from him.  When we read that statement of his it seems so calm and resigned; but when you read the story carefully, he didn’t say it just once; he prayed intensely for a significant length of time -- long enough for the apostles to doze off twice.  

And he invites you and I when he says, “Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you can see I have.”  The proof of the Resurrection, the real physical resurrection, is there in the pages of scripture and what came after, in the lives of the apostles and indeed over the next two thousand years.  Some people who knew death had been conquered went to their own deaths cheerfully -- reluctantly, yes; aware of pain, sure -- but believing that if God could raise Jesus from death to life, and if Jesus promised the same for his followers, then he can certainly do that for you and I.  The Resurrection is God’s promise that all that is a consequence of our sin and mortality will be made right; you and I and our loved ones will live again.

My faith needs  the Resurrection.  As Saint Paul said, “If Christ were not raised, then your faith is in vain, and you are still in your sins”.  Without the Resurrection, we Christians are fools.  And the world needs the Resurrection.  And Jesus tells us in this gospel today, “You are witnesses of these things.”  So pray that you will be a witness of these things by your own conviction that Jesus rose from the dead and lives even now.