Disciple . . .

Mary Magdalene by Gheorghe Tattarescu

Poem: “Tell Them” By Edwina Gateley

Breaking through the powers of darkness
bursting from the stifling tomb
he slipped into the graveyard garden
to smell the blossomed air.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
that I have journeyed far
into the darkest deeps I’ve been
in nights without a star.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
that fear will flee my light
that though the ground will tremble
and despair will stalk the earth
I hold them firmly by the hand
through terror to new birth.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
the globe and all that’s made
is clasped to God’s great bosom
they must not be afraid
for though they fall and die, he said,
and the black earth wrap them tight
they will know the warmth
of God’s healing hands
in the early morning light.

Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
smelling the blossomed air,
tell my people to rise with me
to heal the Earth’s despair.

The Resurrection of the Lord

 

The Resurrection of the Lord Readings: Acts 10:34a, 37-43 Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23 Colossians 3:1-4 John 20:1-9   During the Easter Vigil the Gospel proclaimed is from the Gospel of Matthew. He tells us that everything begins “after the Sabbath, at dawn of the first day.” This is not just a detail about time. It is the beginning of a new creation. Easter is not only about what happened to Jesus; it is about the birth of a new reality. Something has changed, not only for him, but for the whole world. The first people to arrive at the tomb do not come with certainty or understanding. They come with love. The women are not expecting the resurrection. They simply remain faithful. They stay close to Jesus even when everything seems finished. And it is precisely there, in that quiet fidelity, that something new begins. Not certainty, but love opens the way to encounter. Then suddenly, everything is shaken with a great earthquake. This is not accidental. There was already an earthquake at the moment of Jesus’ death. The two belong together. At the cross, the old world is shaken and brought to its end. At the resurrection, a new world begins. This is why the resurrection is not a small or private event. It is cosmic. Creation itself trembles because something fundamental has changed: death no longer has the final word. The angel descends and rolls back the stone. But not to let Jesus out, he is already risen. The stone is moved for us. So that we can see. So that we can understand. The resurrection is already accomplished. The question is whether we are ready to recognize it. And then there is a powerful reversal. The guards, who represent control and the attempt to seal death, are themselves shaken and become like dead men. Those who stand on the side of death are paralyzed by fear, while the crucified one lives. Easter overturns everything. What seemed strong is revealed as fragile; what seemed defeated is revealed as alive. Into this moment comes a encouragement that runs through the Scriptures: “Do not be afraid.” The women experience both fear and great joy. This is not a contradiction. It is what happens when we encounter something greater than ourselves. Faith does not mean the absence of fear, it means that fear is transformed into trust. And immediately, they are sent: “Go quickly and tell…” The resurrection does not leave people where they are. It moves them. It sends them. It opens a path forward. This “earthquake” is not only something that happened long ago. It is also something that must happen within us. There are places in our lives that feel sealed like a tomb; areas marked by fear, resignation, disappointment, or the sense that nothing can change. We all carry stones that seem immovable. Easter is God entering precisely those places. The resurrection shakes what we thought was fixed. It opens what we believed was closed. It tells us that what seems final is not final. The risen Christ is not found by staying at the tomb. The women meet him on the way, as they go, as they trust the word they have received. And again they hear: “Do not be afraid… go and tell my brothers.” This is how fear is overcome: not by explanations, but by encounter. Not by having everything figured out, but by walking forward in trust. The resurrection is like one great earthquake with three dimensions. It is cosmic, because all creation is shaken. It is historical, because a new world begins. And it is personal, because each of us is called to let our own closed places be opened. The stone is already removed. The question is whether we are willing to step into this new life and feel the urgency to go and bring the good news: Christ is Risen, Alleluya! Fr. Enzo Del Brocco, CP https://learn.ctu.edu/the-resurrection-of-the-lord/

Good Friday ~ And it was night . . .

 

 

Crucifix at Jesuit Retreat Center Oshkosh, WI

 

 

Crucifixion

Stripped of godliness,
hands hammered open,,
arms yanked wide,
the crossbeamed Christ
pours himself out
till rivers run red with
wine enough to satisfy
century-cries of thirst.

Irene Zimmerman, OSF
Woman Un-Bent

A Resurrection Reflection . . .

 

by Nancy Sylvester

Contributor

March 23, 2026

 

The stubborn hope of resurrection

For three years I have awakened to the "beep, beep, beep" of backing up trucks, the clackety clack of flatbed carts being pushed into place, the crashing of trash from the third-floor windows into barrels, the murmurs of the workers as they begin their day, all beginning around 6 a.m. Just recently most of the work has been finished and I had a chance to go through the building. Simply put, I was quite amazed. I thought that to make this happen it needed a vision and it needed people who were stubborn enough to believe in its new life. 

This close-to-100-year-old structure had been the dorms for the college we built in Detroit, Michigan. As I walked through, I thought about the thousands of young women who would have walked these halls, living in dorms, and studying in pretty small spaces. Hundreds of our sisters, robed in blue, teaching, administering, devoted to education. Now it is ready to receive new occupants, groups like the Black Leaders Detroit, who inhabit a newly created conference space looking out onto the campus. The Detroit Youth Choir, which has at least two wings filled with practice rooms, and the small chapel with beautiful stained-glass windows now complemented with large mirrors for practicing their routines. The Marygrove Conservancy administrative offices are housed there, welcoming all who come to campus. 

It thrilled me, and as I walked around, I thought about the stubborn hope of resurrection.  

When Marygrove College closed, its fate was unknown. But with vision, hard work, good luck and the stubborn belief in, as the CEO said to me, "good bones," it has undertaken a new birth. 

Those two thoughts — "the stubborn hope of resurrection" and "good bones" — stayed with me as I reflected this Lent on what is happening to us today. 

President Donald Trump's choice to start a war in the Middle East intensified the dismantling of political, cultural, economic and religious structures that have served humanity, some for hundreds of years. What we hear and see are the sounds and signs of demolition — in some cases these structures, policies, laws, norms and values are being abandoned; others are demolished, others are too quickly replaced and few are being seen with the potential for transformation. And I wonder: Where is the "stubborn hope" for the "good bones" to anchor us as we move into the future?

Even as we hear the sounds of destruction we must tap into our stubborn hope to assess what are the good bones and begin the revisioning of what we have into what can be

Throughout our evolutionary process we have experienced extinctions and mutations. We have seen evolution's powers for destruction as well as creativity.  Life forms disappear and new ones emerge in more complex and stronger forms. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin believed that there was a directionality in it all, moving toward the Omega Point.

I wonder what our time is telling us and asking of us in this evolutionary process? Are we to struggle with new understandings of what our "good bones" are, which will continue to evolve? What are the "good bones" which make a good human being? Ensure the health of our Earth Home? Create the political and economic systems that can serve us into the future? Or what does it mean to be a citizen of one's country and of the world? What can provide a skeleton, framework or container within which such transformation happens? 

The evolutionary process will continue long after we have left this world, and what we do now is critical to its ongoing emergence. Even as we hear the sounds of destruction we must tap into our stubborn hope to assess what are the good bones and begin the revisioning of what we have into what can be. 

We have to be stubborn about this and have hope. I invite you to reflect on what is happening today in light of resurrection. I don't think of this as an easy fix, a giving over to someone else. Rather, it is a deep belief that there is an underlying desire and trajectory within the universe and each life toward union and love. I believe Teilhard's insight of evolution's directionality offers us some of the "good bones" that we need and which reflects the vision of the resurrection. 

In John's Gospel (14-17) we hear Jesus share promises with his friends that were to give hope after he was gone: "Do not let your hearts be troubled; I'm going to prepare a place for you; I will not leave you orphans; you all are one; you will do greater things than I and you are to love one another."

Science tells us that we are not isolated individuals, but that we are both interconnected and separate. We have more in common genetically with each other than how we are different. Jesus may not have known the science, but from the depths of his prayer, he knew that we are all one as his Abba God and he are one. 

For many scholars, the next stage of evolution is the development of consciousness and that what each of us does is essential to its emergence. In this context, Jesus' desire that we will do greater things than he did is critical. Jesus wanted people to follow him; to live out of love; to show mercy and compassion; to be just. This is not so that we'd get to heaven, but rather that we could bring his "kindom on earth as it is in heaven." Jesus lived and died aligned with Divine Love, assuring us that we can live that way as well. We can draw strength from him here and now to live lives with the fullness of eternity. Jesus offered us some of the "good bones" of a future consciousness that continues to emerge. 

Jesus died with nothing to show for it. There was no church or organized movement. Even most of his disciples deserted him, except for the women. However, Jesus' words and life became the "good bones" that would evolve into the early Christian community. 

How would they begin to enflesh those bones? In the midst of persecution, there were those who believed and were stubborn about it. The Acts of the Apostles 2:44-47 tells us: "Those who believed lived together, shared all things in common; they would sell their property and goods, sharing the proceeds with one another as each had need. They met in the Temple, and they broke bread together in their homes every day. With joyful and sincere hearts, they took their meals in common, praising God and winning the approval of all the people."

Although that early structure didn't prevail as it was, it did inject itself into the evolutionary process, offering some insight and hope as to how to enflesh the good bones of the Gospel for the future. 

Jesus' life puts forth the vision. The circumstances of our time provide the environment in which we choose to keep that vision alive and from where we discern the "good bones" we want to evolve as the future emerges. Resurrection is the invitation to keep that "stubborn hope" alive, to trust, to love one another as ourselves and to align with Divine Love permeating and embracing our evolutionary process toward a future in which we can know, love, serve and be with God forever.  

Good Friday Reflection . . .

 

https://www.catholicwomenpreach.org/preaching/04032026

Yes, the Simons, the Veronicas, the weeping women are all still present in the face of executions today. But at the same time, we continue to see people today who echo the call of the crowd, like those bolded words in the misal. The phrasing has changed, but the spirit feels hauntingly familiar:

“They should get the death penalty.”
“We’re seeking the death penalty.”
“We will pursue the death penalty.”

We hear our political leaders say it. We hear our justice department say it. We hear it in courtrooms. And sometimes we hear it around our own dinner tables.

I often hear, “We’re just following the law.” But the story of Jesus reminds me how easy it is to pass responsibility. Religious leaders appealed to Pilate. Pilate appealed to the crowd. Each person had a role. Each person could say, “It wasn’t really me.”

And yet, it was all of them. And in ways I think we would rather not admit, it is all of us too.

So the question lingers for me: Who will we be? Will we be part of the crowd, swept up in fear or anger or even ignorance, crying out for death? Or will we step onto the road; shouldering weight, offering mercy, daring to weep?

In 2015, Pope Francis invited us into this contemplation during the Way of the Cross on Good Friday. He said, “We gaze at you, Jesus, as you are nailed to the cross, [...] And our conscience is troubled.”

He says, “We anxiously ask: When will the death penalty, still practiced in many states, be abolished? [...] When will every form of torture and the violent killing of innocent persons come to an end? Your Gospel is the surest defense of the human person, of every human being.”

On this Good Friday, as we gaze at Jesus nailed to the cross, our conscience should be troubled. Because now we know what we once did not. We know what it means to join the crowd, to speak those bolded words aloud, "Crucify him."

There is an invitation in this discomfort: not simply to remember the story or blindly speak the words, but to recognize our place within it.

With open eyes and awakened hearts, we ask: Who will you be this Good Friday?

 

Another Sorrowful Mystery . . .

 A poem posted by Fr. Stephen Verbest . . .

 
A poem by an unknown author, titled "Two Mothers", tells of their anonymous heavenly encounter as follows: 
 
A long time ago, so I have been told,
 Two mothers once met on streets paved with gold.
“By the stars in your crown,” said Mary to the other
“I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.
"And by, the violet-tinted halo you wear
 You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair.”

“Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son.
 A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.
“But tell of your child.”
 “Oh, I knew I was blessed
 From the moment I first held him close to my breast,
 And my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.”
“Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”
 
The former continued: “The first steps he took-
So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look
 Which came over his face – he trusted me so.”

“Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know."
 
“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy,
 So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy
 To have him just walk down the street by my side.”

“Ah yes," said the other mother, “I felt the same pride.”

“How often I shielded and spared him from pain.
 And when he for others was so cruelly slain.
 When they crucified him – and they spat in his face
 How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”

A moment of silence – “Oh, then you are indeed
 The mother of Christ!”; and she fell on one knee.
 But the Blessed one raised her up, drawing her near.
 And kissed from the cheek of the mother, a tear.

“Tell me the name of the son you love so,
 That I may share with you in your grief and your woe.”
She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other.
“He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”

Holy Thursday . . . so many feet to wash . .

 Holy Thursday ~ God in an Apron!

 

 A Prayer for Washing Feet by Macrina Wiederkehr

(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Jesus, is it really you kneeling before me with the bowl of water in your hands? I’d feel more comfortable if we could trade places. I wouldn't mind kneeling before you, but you before me? I can’t let you love me that much. Your piercing eyes suddenly heal my pride. I’m able to accept your gift of love and I am blessed. O Gift Giving God, I blush with the memory of gifts I've refused because they weren't given my way.

God in an Apron by Macrina Wiederkehr
(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Supper was special that night. There was both a heaviness and a holiness hanging in the air. We couldn't explain the mood. It was sacred, yet sorrowful.  Gathered around that table eating that solemn, holy meal seemed to us the most important meal we had ever sat down to eat.

We were dwelling in the heart of mystery. Though dark the night, hope felt right as if something evil was about to be conquered. And then suddenly the One we loved startled us all. He got up from the table and put on an apron. Can you imagine how we felt?

 God in an apron! Tenderness encircled us as He bowed before us. He knelt and said, “I choose to wash your feet because I love you.” 

God in an apron, kneeling. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was embarrassed until his eye met mine.  I sensed my value then. He touched my feet. He held them in his strong, brown hands. He washed them. I can still feel the water. I can still feel the touch of his hands. I can still see the look in his eyes.

The he handed me the towel and said, “As I have done so you must do.” Learn to bow – Learn to kneel. Let your tenderness encircle everyone you meet. Wash their feet not because you have to, because you want to.

It seems I've stood two thousand years holding the towel in my hands, “As I have done so you must do,” keeps echoing in my heart.

 “There are so many feet to wash,” I keep saying. “No,” I hear God’s voice resounding through the years, “There are only my feet – what you do for them you do for me.”