We have heard the words many times; so much so that we seldom really listen to them anymore. “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the holy Spirit be with you all.” And then these words pass by without much attention. “In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit!”
Strange how we come to visit each birthday with diverse sentiments. Years come and go, with ever increasing speed; as surely does the day follow relentlessly the one before and tomorrow will encroach undeterred upon today. While there, on that uncaring page, the calendar so glaringly does so remark that salubrious moment when first one entered upon this earthly stage.
For we the living this universe, this world, this place we call home is our inheritance. As long as we may live we are thus in the world and it is up to us to deal with it as it is now, to leave it a better place for those who are yet to come.
Bittersweet the memories when the silent stillness of their leaving brings an aching and a yearning for yesterday. How the heart weeps as shadows slide across the vacant room, late filled with such sweet laughter.
How often have we described ourselves as Christians and Catholics, followers and disciples of Jesus Christ? We attend Mass and volunteer for all manner of church events. Many of us actively participate in various ministries, both liturgical and communal, and yet, just how many of us can honestly claim to have a lived relationship with God?
Throughout the Old Testament we hear of God speaking and of those who heard his voice. The New Testament is, of course, replete with the voices of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. But beyond the pages of Scripture—God is silent. Yet, Jesus said he would be with us always, that he would never leave us. If we are truly his disciples, should we not take him at his word?
Each of us, at some time in our lives, will have an Emmaus encounter, a moment in which we come face to face with the unfamiliar, accompanied by its own unique risks, challenges, and uncertainties; an encounter which we are reluctant, even afraid, to embrace. Many of us will encounter more than one such moment, if we should be so fortunate. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, it is not so much the encounter which is most important but how we embrace the moment and learn from it.
Nine years ago, at the beginning of April, three of my siblings came for a visit and to do a bit of skiing. One evening, after a day of skiing, as we enjoyed some pleasant conversation, a sister asked, “How long have you been married?” to which I replied, “April 27th it will be 40 years.” Looking intently at my wife, she said with great sympathy and compassion, “Oh, you are a saint!” To which I could only nod my head in complete agreement for it still absolutely amazes how anyone, especially the love of my life, could have so steadfastly put up with this irascible, often unpleasant, obstinate, cynical human being. While it still amazes, I am and will always be grateful to God for his precious gift of her; she is much more than I deserve, she has made me whole.
The late Jesuit priest, Father John Kavanaugh, in an Easter Sunday homily once said, “Jesus entered the deeps of death, a plunge he need not have made had he not loved us in our sorry state.”1 How profound the thought of lifeless death, so deep no light should penetrate; so silent, no thought can break the stillness of the void where eons, long past and now forgotten, do forever coldly lie.
Once again we proclaim him king; and yet anew we do betray him for the sake of our own base desires. The shame he bears with silent grace is ours; he owns no guilt or sin; the cross belongs to those who will not hang upon its beam. His wounds severe, inflicted with foul unclean hands and hearts made of stone, weep bloodied tears for our redemption; all forgiven, all are loved.
