Caught Up in Resurrection

(Third Sunday of Sunday of Easter)

Rev. Dominique Peridans

​Easter week, I spent three days in Washington, 
the other, the original Washington, founded in 1776, 
the first city in America named after General George Washington. 
North Carolina, along the Pamlico River.
While there: a stroll through the large cemetery of Saint Peter’s parish.  
Azaleas abloom abounding.
Lime green lawn.
Towering oak trees planted in 1877.
Outstanding old graves.  
Indeed, not a grave after 1890, following the town ordinance 
forbidding further burials for fear of water contamination. 
Film director Cecil DeMille is buried in the church crypt. 
One particular grave caught my eye: 
Hattie Frizzle, died October 16, 1881, at age 4. 
The inscription is most unusual, perhaps perplexing to some:
 
Pa, don’t hold me back. 
It is all tangled up and I can’t undo it.
 
For me, it speaks to being caught up in the mystery of the Resurrection.
 
Pa, don’t hold me back. 
It is all tangled up and I can’t undo it.
 
We continue to celebrate the Risen Lord.
It’s still Easter!
We celebrate the Risen Lord every day, of course, but ‘tis the special season. 
We continue to let ourselves be caught up in the mystery of the Resurrection. 
 
God become human is victorious over death, 
which means that nothing can hinder God 
from communicating His love to me (us): not my exhaustion or exclusion, 
my loneliness or locality, my depression or depletion.
I know that I sound like a broken record, but what more is there?
Divine love has the last word 
and we are invited to experience it and to be transformed by it.
Jesus reigns and is, therefore, present in all that may feel like death, 
in all that feels like it is dying in us.
The mystery of the Resurrection 
is our mystery, our reality—if we so desire. 

It is, of course, mysterious, mystery-ous.

It was for these disciples. Hence, startled and terrified,
         they thought that they were seeing a ghost. (v. 37)
 
This incident follows Jesus’ appearance to the two disciples 
on the road to Emmaus, downcast and disbelieving.
That encounter reveals that 
Jesus comes to us when everything seems to be unraveling and isolating.
 
Those two disciples then rush to the others (our passage today)
         and, as they are sharing, voila, Jesus.
St. John Chrysostom (+407), Bishop of Antioch (now in southern Turkey),
Doctor of the Church, says, “He that was so much desired comes, 
and is revealed to them that were seeking and expecting Him”.
Jesus responds to the deep desires of our heart.
 
“Peace be with you”, Jesus says, and the
He invites them “touch me” (v. 39)
A powerful invitation, 
which should speak to us deprived of so much touch in the age of COVID.
Jesus is always inviting us to real intimacy in love.
 
Their believing is gradual.
They do not initially recognize Jesus.
Why?  Perhaps because, with Jesus, there is more than meets the eye. 

Just like us, the Apostles need faith truly to recognize Jesus. 
Perhaps, they’re not making good use of the gift of faith. 
Consequently, the newness of Jesus’ body post-Resurrection

to their eyes strangely veils who He is. 
 
Jesus goes further in the reality of real encounter.
He had no need to eat—as says Saint Bede, the 8th century English monk 
(after whom, BTW, a metro station is named in Jarrow, England!)
Yet, Jesus asks, Have you anything here to eat?
St. Cyril (+444), contemporary of St. John Chrysostom, 
Bishop of Alexandria (Egypt, not Virginia), also Doctor of the Church, says
The Lord had shown His disciples His hands and His feet, that He might certify to them that the same body which had suffered rose again.
But to confirm them still more, He asked for something to eat.
Jesus is merciful with us in our difficulties in believing.
So merciful is He, that He makes us, like He did these disciples, 
witnesses of His resurrection, instruments of the victory of divine love. 
For this truly to be possible, however, He sends upon us, 
as we read in the verse just after this passage,
the promise of the Father, i.e., the gift of the Holy Spirit.
 
Our inner journey is scarcely different than that of these disciples.

There is more than meets the eye, 
and sometimes we do not make good use of the gift of faith. 
We sometimes conclude that, because we do not see the Risen Lord and 

because some things do feel like they are dying in us, Jesus is far.

Au contraire.

Jesus is closer to us than we are to ourselves. 
He comes to us, downcast or disbelieving, unraveling or isolated.
And He sends upon us the Holy Spirit.
Touch the Risen Lord now, in faith and in hope, and receive afresh. 

All we must do is want it.  It is that simple. 

 
AMEN.