There are often letdowns after we make it to the other side of a holiday. Some feel a little lost after Christmas Day, for instance. Those grieving the loss of a loved one do their best to hold it together, but then once the holiday passes, the loneliness and depression can set in. It is a common dynamic.
And so, with the roller coaster of emotion that Holy Week brings us, and the liturgical culmination coming with the joy of Easter Sunday, our spirits can be left wanting. How do you follow the most important day in human history, the day Jesus rose from the dead? Now what?
Going to scriptural accounts of the events immediately following the Resurrection may be one way to keep in touch with the energy of Easter. We remember that Jesus came to us again. He appeared first to Mary Magdalene, a woman out of whom He had driven demons, a woman who followed Jesus loyally and with great love. At the tomb she didn’t know Him at first, but then He said her name and she knew it was her risen Lord.
Who among us has failed to recognize our Savior when He was appearing to us in the guise of someone in need?
In 1982 the city of Beirut was being bombed. The staff of an orphanage for children who were severely mentally and physically challenged had fled, and the children were abandoned. When the dilemma came to Mother Teresa’s attention, she came to Beirut. She expressed to officials her desire to go behind the lines and get the children out but was assured it was impossible; only a ceasefire could save them.
Mother Teresa let everyone know she was praying for just that. And in a complete surprise to many, the next morning Beirut was suddenly quiet, a ceasefire in place. Mother Teresa got to the orphanage and, as she embraced the first child, she exclaimed with a great, wide smile, “I have found Him! I have found Jesus!”
When Mother Teresa embraced the child, as when Mary Magdalene heard her name, she recognized the Savior. Perhaps that is part of our post-Resurrection activity – finding Jesus in a family member, a friend, a co-worker, a stranger.
Another appearance of Jesus after the Resurrection was to the two grieving disciples on the road to Emmaus. They were saddened by recent events but asked their companion to join them for a meal. It was then, in the breaking of the bread, that they recognized Jesus.
The Emmaus Road that is the unfurling of our daily life leads to the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. We come to know Christ, to share in His life, in the Eucharist. In weekday or vigil or Sunday Masses, we come to know Him. When hospitalized or homebound, the ill and burdened come to know Him in the Eucharist. He appears to us if our eyes and ears and hearts remain open.
Jesus had appeared to some of the apostles but not to all of them together until Thomas was present – Thomas, the great symbol of our human nature, of the human mind and heart given to doubt, falling to the limits of reason. Jesus’ solution for His doubting disciple was to offer up His wounds to be touched.
When Thomas did so, he uttered a phrase that means the world to me. During a Bible study years ago, two older ladies in the class shared the tradition of saying Thomas’ very words as the host and the chalice are raised during the Consecration: “My Lord and my God!” I took to saying it myself and have been doing so for many years now.
The Resurrection is alive when we touch the wounds of a fellow traveler. If hands are reaching out to those suffering, we see Jesus perhaps in ways we had not before.
He is risen. Now what? I will listen for my name. I’ll know it when I hear it, and then I will try to speak to others about feeling His presence. Now what? We all walk our daily roads with those we love and, every now and then, we are joined by someone special who ultimately, as we come to know each other, makes a real difference. And we know that in that engagement is the presence of God. We go to Mass, and we are fed.
He is risen. Now what? We get busy loving those neighbors who are wounded, those lonely and forlorn, those hungry and devoid of guidance, those who have adopted the rationalism that oppresses the soul and dominates our culture. We figure out how to translate the touching of Christ’s wounds and apply the action to a current situation. It may mean just listening to someone. Most people, especially the wounded, just want to be heard. So we listen. We let the better angels of our nature take charge.
Now what? We say, over and over and over throughout our days and nights encountering His presence, “My Lord and my God!”
Fred Gallagher is an author and editor-in-chief with Gastonia-based Good Will Publishers Inc.