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.”

Spy Wednesday . . .Kisses of Betrayal

Image by J. O'Brien

Reflection: #1
This is the day that stories speak of Judas Iscariot as moving to the “dark side” to conspire with the religious leaders to betray Jesus and hand him over to be arrested. I often think of the writings of Megan McKenna and a particular story she tells within a story. It goes like this:

Megan was driving the back roads of Ireland’s countryside listening to the radio. There had been a short-story writing contest and the stories submitted were to be limited to thirty words.  As she was listening to the stories being presented over the radio – the following entry was read:

“Welcome home, son!
Hello, father.
It is so good to see you.  It’s been a long time.
Yes, father, a very long time.  It was hard.
Hard as nails.  Hard as wood.
I know.  What was the hardest?
The kiss, father, the kiss. (long pause)
Yes.  Come in and let me hold you.”

Megan continues with her story – “I nearly drove off the road.  Within seconds I was crying and had to pull over.  It hit me hard.  I was overwhelmed by the realization that sin is evil and terrible, and some sin is more evil and more terrible . . .” (From LENT by Megan McKenna)
Also, let us be aware of the “kiss of betrayal” in its many subtle forms . . .

Reflection: #2
This Wednesday is sometimes referred to as “Spy Wednesday” in Holy Week because the Gospel selection for the day tells of the secret negotiations Judas has with the religious authorities about betraying Jesus.  Here we are in this liminal space – meaning an in-between space – a threshold, so to speak, moving us from darkness to light, from death to life, from close friendships to betrayals and back again.  Last week in the Scriptures, we heard of Jesus turning the tables over of the money changers in the Temple.  Today’s readings tell us of the night of the sharing of the Passover meal – a table of friendship that will be “turned over” with the betrayal of Judas.

I often reflect what that may have been like for him and the others who shared so much of their lives, hopes, feelings, fears, and gifts. We, too, are often challenged with choices of darkness and light, good and evil, fear and courage, doubt and faith. In her book, Radical Gratitude, Mary Jo Leddy writes that we are “set up” for challenge in our culture. The pull of consumerism for instance, she says: “This artificially induced dissatisfaction afflicts all types and classes of people. It is manifest in the unhappiness of the rich … in the anxious strivings of the middle class, and in the bitter resentments of the poor who sit and watch the young and the restless and the bold and the beautiful drive their cars.”

Also this hum can find its way into our very psyches, for it whispers to us - “I don’t have enough which becomes I am not enough which becomes I am not good enough.” Maybe this is what Judas heard within and became consumed by something that turned over his table of intimate relationship and unconditional love shared with Jesus. Let us all pray for the grace to be people of authenticity, integrity, and trust. 

Every Week is Holy!

O God, we pray for all those in our world
who are suffering from injustice:

For those who are discriminated against
because of their race, color or religion;

For those imprisoned
for working for the relief of oppression;

For those who are hounded
for speaking the inconvenient truth;

For those tempted to violence
as a cry against overwhelming hardship;

For those deprived of reasonable health and education;

For those suffering from hunger and famine;

For those too weak to help themselves
and who have no one else to help them;

For the unemployed who cry out
for work but do not find it.

We pray for anyone of our acquaintance
who is personally affected by injustice.

Forgive us, if we unwittingly share in the conditions
or in a system that perpetuates injustice.

Show us how we can serve your children
and make your love practical by washing their feet.

                                                             Mother Teresa

Palms of Hosanna!

 

 

 

Blessings of Palms
By Jan Richardson

This blessing can be heard coming
from a long way off.

This blessing is making
its way up the road
toward you.

This blessing blooms in the throats
of women,
springs from the hearts
of men,
tumbles out of the mouths
of children.

This blessing is stitched into
the seams of the cloaks
that line the road,
etched in the branches
that trace the path,
echoes in the breathing
of the willing colt,
the click of the donkey’s hoof
against the stones.

Something is rising beneath this blessing.
Something will try to drown it out.

But this blessing cannot be turned back,
cannot be made to still its voice,
cannot cease to sing its praise
of the One who comes
along the way
it makes.

From: Circle of Grace, Wanton Gospeller Press, Orlando, FL, 2015
 http://www.janrichardson.com/index.htmlichardson.com 
©Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com