In the season of Easter we are caught up in a rapture of brilliance, a spiral of vibrant color and newness of life. We delight in heralding, “Christ is Risen! Hallelujah!” Somehow, life is happier and refreshed.
Yet, over time, as we wind our way back to ordinary time, some of that newness wears off. The ordinary of everyday life creeps back in. The hidden parts of our life that are gray or black start to stick out among the fading color. Perhaps we have been dealing with a long-term illness or other weights that pull on our lives, such as infertility or divorce, the loss of a loved one, debt or job loss.
We remember back to our jubilation at Easter and think: If Christ is master of even death, then why, after countless hours of prayer, am I still dealing with this burden? If Jesus were here beside me, would He touch me and heal me? Would He bring the lost back to life? Would He make it all new again? What did I do to suffer so much?
In John 9, Jesus and His disciples came upon a man blind from birth. The disciples asked, “Teacher, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
Jesus gently and simply answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him” (Jn 9:1-5).
We see this same truth played out again and again. Look at the countless stories of infertility down through the generations from Abraham to Zechariah that eventually brought forth a holy nation as numerous as the stars. In our own lives, what if the inability to have children leads one couple to adopt a small child into a Christian home who would have otherwise not known Christ? What if that child grows up to be a Catholic priest?
Now, think about Ruth, the Moabite, who followed her mother-in-law Naomi back to Bethlehem in the land of Judah. Ruth experienced great loss even before completely pulling up stakes in her home of Moab. Her husband, father-in-law and brother-in-law died in battle, leaving the women completely alone, unprotected and unprovided for. So Ruth clung to faith in one person, Naomi, who became a bridge builder for her to come to know God – and ultimately for His glory to be revealed through her.
Ruth told Naomi, “Where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (Ruth 1:16). In Bethlehem, they had a very poor existence, to the point that Ruth went to glean leftover grain in the fields to feed them both. But it was there that she caught the eye of Boaz, a wealthy and respected landowner, and God’s glory began to be manifest. They married, and their great-grandson was King David, in whose line Jesus was born.
If you, too, have lost someone dear to you, it is not so much a door closed as a new door opening for you to invite someone else into your life who may need you.
Could you be a bridge builder to God’s glory, as were both Ruth and Naomi?
Another example of God’s glory being revealed through death can be found in “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” by C.S. Lewis. In it, Aslan the lion acts as Christ by giving himself freely over to death at the hand of the White Witch to save the life of another. The stone table, on which the lion was sacrificed, then cracks and Aslan reappears in all his shining glory, romping around with such newness and vigor that no one can keep up with him. He bounds to the witch’s castle and frees those who had been turned to stone.
God is at work in you even through loss, illness and strife. His glory is close at hand.
Continue to allow the joy of Easter to pulsate through your life. Give yourself over to it and let God’s glory be revealed and fulfilled.
In his book “Spiritual Warfare,” Dan Burke encourages all Christians to pray “God, open the gate of the path that I am to go for your glory.”
This has become a prayer I say several times daily, and I cannot believe the doors that open, directing me down the path God has prepared for me in order to serve His ultimate purpose.
April Parker is a teacher and curriculum director at St. Pius X Parish in Greensboro.