Death Through the Lens of Faith - Funeral Homily for Don Weigel, Sr.

 Funeral Homily for my Dad, Don Weigel, Sr.

Readings:

Wisdom 3:1-3, 9

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

John 11:17-27

    92 years. Can you believe it? 92 years. Just to put that in perspective, Dad was born a year before the stock market crash of 1929 and grew up during the depression. And throughout those 92 years, he had a range of accomplishments and life experiences that are pretty amazing – even if they might seem “ordinary” to so many folks.

    He was a corporal in the military police of the army during the Korean War, and was lucky enough to be stationed in Germany. He married my Mom 67 and a half years ago, and raised us three kids who ended up blessing him with 9 grandkids and 8 great-grandkids. And along the way he had a bunch of interests and loved family parties, and hunting when he was younger, and fishing – even had his own boat for awhile – and his orchard of trees at his PA house, and made a ton of friends and acquaintances – the folks gathered for a wing fest at Camp Strauss, or the guys sitting around the bar at Top Hill and the men playing pinochle at Queen of Martyrs Holy Name.

     But it seems to me that the thing that really helped define him the most was his love and talent for photography. It was photography that allowed him to find a career even though he didn’t go much further than the 6^th grade. It was photography that got him out of the factory and into the darkroom – turning a hobby and an avocation into a profession. It was photography that enabled him to build a life for his family, to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, and eventually to build a second home in PA that was always his favorite place to be.

     I was lucky enough to work with him in his own photography business for a short time while I was in college, and even though we had a few father/son squabbles, I learned a lot. One of the things I learned that has stayed with me is the importance of how things look through the lens of the camera. When he was setting up a shot of some new pizza product, or even an American Optical non-contact tonometer (I love saying that) he taught me that the only thing that was important was how it looked through the lens. We would set up all these lights and paper and backgrounds and reflectors and stuff hanging from the ceiling, and if you were in the studio, you could look at this whole set-up and see all the “tricks” we were using to make the picture look good – but all that mattered was how it looked through the lens.

     I think that each of us will remember Dad in his life through our own lenses – whether we shared 67+ years with him like my Mom; or whether we share his name like I and my son Donnie do; or whether we share his birthday like my brother Keith does or Dad’s grandson Brian does; or whether we shared photography like Lynn did when she worked with him, or like his granddaughter Ashley does now in her own profession. When we think of his life, nothing will matter except how we see him through our own lenses.

     But what lens do we use now to see him in his death? The only lens that makes sense for us, the reason we are gathered here in this church and around the table of the Lord, is to see his passing through the lens of our faith. The reading from Wisdom was clear – he now rests in the hand of God. The foolish only see his death, but those who are wise, those of us who have faith, know that he is at peace.

     It is not always a simple or easy perspective. There may be times when we wonder where God is – we might call out to Jesus like Martha did – “Where were you? if you had been here, things would have been different!” But then our faith brings us around again to answer Jesus’ question, “Do you believe?” And we say– “yes, Lord, I believe you are the Messiah, the Son of God” – and that makes all the difference. Our faith gives us the lens to see that Dad’s death is not the end, but the transition to another life, to a more complete and total life in the Lord, a transition to a final rest, at home with Christ Jesus.

     St Paul echoes much the same thought – “We do not want you to be unaware about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope.” That is the lens of our faith, that is the only lens that matters. And it is our faith that gives us hope in eternal life, hope in the Resurrection, and hope in the share of immortality that Jesus has won for us.

     So, as we grieve our loss, and as we deal with the reality of losing him from our lives here on earth, and as we remember all that he was for us, and all of our times together – in both joy and difficulties – we recognize how much we will miss him. But our faith gives us the lens of hope that helps us to see that our separation is only temporary until we are joined again for all time around the eternal table of the Lord.

So What Do We Do Now? - A homily for the 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - November 8, 2020

 Readings:

Wisdom 6:12-16
Psalm 63:2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Matthew 25:1-13

 

So what do we do now? The good news is that the commercials, the robocalls, the slick mailers, the speeches and the debates are gone for now. The bad news is that what remains isn’t necessarily all that pretty.

Because what remains is a country that seems horribly divided. What remains is half a country feeling vindicated, or victorious, or gloating, or relieved, and half a country that feels angry, or sorrowful, or despairing, or anxious. And what remains is probably this church is divided that way too. And there, I think, is our challenge.

Because we’re not supposed to be like everybody else. We’re not supposed to follow what the general population does. We’re supposed to be different. We’re supposed to be the ones who let the light shine through us as Fr. Ron said last week. We’re supposed to be the ones to lead the way in forgiveness, and in mercy and healing. And boy, there’s going to need to be a lot of healing after this election cycle. And that’s where Wisdom comes in.

We hear a lot today about Wisdom – about how just seeking Wisdom is the beginning of gaining it.  But the wisdom that Scripture is talking about is not the conventional wisdom of the world. Rather it’s the divine Wisdom – and that Wisdom is embodied perfectly in what Jesus taught and lived.

That Wisdom is not just the foresight to have a full reserve of oil – but it’s the oil itself that keeps our lamps burning so that we can see the bridegroom even in the darkness of the night. Because tt’s all about the oil. All through this year we’ve been challenged with dealing with the covid-19 pandemic, tension caused by racial inequality, and a contentious election year. But all through the year we have also heard from Matthew’s gospel about what that oil is that keeps our light shining. All the way back in the spring we heard Jesus tell us that we are the light of the world. What good will that light be without oil? How will we shine without enough oil to keep bringing light to the rest of the world in times when darkness comes?

It’s all about the oil.

And as we heard so much from Matthew’s gospel, we were offered more oil when we heard Jesus tell about building our house on rock, not on sand; about turning the other cheek, going the extra mile, loving one’s enemies, investing one's talents fully – and taking up one’s cross.

Then two weeks ago there was more oil when we heard that loving our neighbor is on a par with loving God, and that the two are essentially inseparable.

And just last week we heard again the outline for living a life of a missionary disciple when we heard the Beatitudes. More oil. We are to be poor in spirit, meek, merciful, pure of heart – and peacemakers. Peacemakers. These are the qualities we’re supposed to bring to the world, to be the light Jesus says we are, really to let his light shine through us.

And in just two weeks we will hear the other end of Matthew’s gospel – the climax of Jesus’ teaching: the corporal works of mercy. When did we see you hungry and feed you? When did we see you naked and clothe you? When did we see you as a prisoner and visit you, or stranger and welcome you?

The Beatitudes and the corporal works of mercy are the bookends in Jesus’ teaching according to Matthew. And they are the oil for our lamps.  And it’s all about the oil.

And so our prayer is in the words of that great gospel hymn: Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning, give me oil in my lamp – I pray, give me oil in my lamp keep me burning – keep me burning to the break of day.

So what do we do now? Maybe what we do is to be who we are called to be – maybe we should be the voices of mercy and healing and peace and reconciliation. And maybe we should be the ones who bring hope and calm to everyone around us – maybe we should be the peacemakers. And maybe if we do our lamps will shine brightly enough for Jesus to recognize us and welcome us into his party. And we can only do that if we remember that it’s all about the oil.

Forgiveness - A Homily

24th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Sirach 27:30 - 28:7

Psalm 103: 1-2, 3-4, 9-10, 11-12

Romans 14:7-9

Matthew 18:21-35

Think of someone – friend, neighbor, loved one, co-worker – whom you need to forgive but have not yet really forgiven.

Last week we heard about the value of reconciliation – about how to repair relationships if they have gone off the tracks and Jesus even laid out a whole process to bring people back together in the community.

But reconciliation takes two parties – forgiveness only takes one. Reconciliation is not always possible. But forgiveness is.

And what is it that we mean when we talk about “forgiveness”? The Greek verb used in Peter’s question, and in the parable, and in the Our Father for “forgive” aphiemi, means simply to “let go, to set aside, to cancel, to leave behind”. Forgiveness is, like love, not a feeling, but an action involving our will rather than our emotions. But this kind of action never comes easy – even for so great an Apostle as Peter. “Lord, how many times?” Peter seems to be saying there must be a limit. Wouldn’t seven times be enough? Even the rabbis suggested that THREE times is a lot. No, Jesus says, not seven – seventy seven!

Nothing is more fundamental to Jesus’ teaching than his call to forgiveness and mercy: giving up debts, letting go of grievances, pardoning those who have harmed us. It’s an element of the one prayer that Jesus taught his disciples. And every time we say the Lord’s Prayer, we remind God that we ask to be forgiven only insofar as we ourselves have extended forgiveness to others: "Forgive us our debts as we forgive those of our debtors". Because forgiving others teaches us to see how much we too are in need of forgiveness.

I think maybe God does not withhold forgiveness if we haven’t forgiven others – I think it might be that if we don’t know how to forgive, we don’t know how to accept forgiveness either!

Think of that person again – the one whom you need to forgive. And think about how angry they made you, think about how whatever they did caused you pain. Think about even how you might have wanted to see them hurt as well.

We’re not supposed to be vengeful; we’re called to forgive. The Psalm reminds us, “The Lord is kind and merciful”, and so we are to be forgiving people. But we’re not. Instead, as Sirach says, we take our wrath and our anger and we “hug it tight”. We take comfort in our indignation and we refuse to release our anger and reach out in forgiveness to those who have wronged us. 

Because forgiveness is hard. Sure, it’s somewhat easy to forgive the little things – like leaving dishes in the sink, or clothes on the floor, or when someone is late for an appointment with us or forgets our birthday. It is harder to forgive the close friend who talks behind our back or the co-worker who betrays us or the family member who doesn’t approve of us and our lifestyle or our politics. And if those are hard, how do we ever get the point of forgiving the murderer on death row, or the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center 19 years ago?

Think of that person again – and think about why you have not yet forgiven them. Have they not asked for forgiveness? Have they not said they were sorry or tried to repair whatever it is that wrong you?

The uncomfortable truth is that real forgiveness doesn’t depend on the action of the other. What we are frequently looking for is not forgiveness and mercy, but what we think is justice.

Forgiveness is so central to Jesus’ message that he gives us the parable as a warning for what happens when we don’t forgive. When we’re unforgiving, what we’re left with is our concept of justice. Who can blame the unforgiving servant for demanding his money? Isn’t it just? Who can blame us when we’ll have nothing to do with those people who have hurt us? Isn’t it only fair? Who can blame us when we refuse to admit Muslims into our country and to wage war against them to avenge the terrorist attacks nineteen years ago? Isn’t it only what our honor and security demands?

The problem is, as Jesus points out, that when we withhold forgiveness from all except those who have “earned” it or “deserve” it, our attitude keeps us in deep and abiding bondage to our fear, our conflicts, and our insecurities, and prevents us from ever being open to the limitless forgiveness that God offers us.

Think now of someone – friend, co-worker, relative, neighbor – that you need forgiveness from but have not yet asked for it or received it.

I know very few people for whom forgiveness – being merciful – isn’t a day by day challenge. We’ve been wounded, and the wounds often last a lifetime and sometimes even spill over across generations.

But we’re not only victims with a cause to be angry. Our own experiences should tie us, should bind us to the suffering of others around the block and around the world. We are linked not only to our sisters and brothers by injuries that we all suffer, but also because the truth is that we cause some of those injuries – by what we have done and what we have failed to do. Sometimes we are that close friend who talks behind another’s back or the co-worker who betrays another or the family member who doesn’t approve of another family member and their lifestyle or their politics.

And yes, sometimes we can cause pain for others whom we don’t even know personally – "by tolerating or turning a blind eye to racism or exclusion in any form", as Pope Francis says, or voting for policies that harm the least among us, or trying to solve diplomatic problems with military might.

But there is another way. The good news is that God’s grace is there for our own forgiveness, and to strengthen us to forgive others. This eternal gift of the forgiveness that we celebrate in the Eucharist can help us to find the courage  and the strength to embrace Jesus’ words, to take up the cross, and to live differently. And when we do, starting now, starting today, and a little more each day, the power of violence, and retribution and inequity is truly broken.

We are called to forgive. We need to seek forgiveness, offer forgiveness, and accept forgiveness. We are followers of Jesus who taught us forgiveness – even when his hands were nailed to the wood of the cross: “Father forgive them, they know not what they do”

 

 

 

 

When haste will make things even worse...

There is a lot of bantering back and forth about the President's comments today about opening churches this weekend. I'm going to avoid the political implications and motives here, and instead tell you a personal story.

Almost six weeks ago, my Dad began a difficult medical journey that took him to the VA Hospital for about 5 days, then to subacute care at Elderwood for three weeks, and now he has been in a memory care unit at a facility in Cheektowaga for the past 2 weeks. When he entered the VA, I dropped him off at the Emergency Room, and I have not been able to see him in person since. Neither, of course, has my Mom, who has now been without the love of her life for six weeks - the man to whom she has been married for 66 years. She will be celebrating her birthday next week, and their anniversary is in June, and she will likely not be able to see my Dad for either of them.

And my Dad, who suffers from dementia, has a hard time understanding where exactly he is and why we can't be there with him. Each day my Mom and one of my siblings or I has to tell him again that we can't be there "because of the virus" and how we have to keep him safe.

These are the real consequences of having our community shut down to prevent infecting people with this deadly, vicious virus called COVID-19. What are the consequences of opening things too early? They are simply this - that when it is realized that we rushed to open up, and we moved sooner than we should have, new sanctions will have to be put in place, and we will lock down again, and instead of "opening up", we will prolong this horrid agony even longer than necessary.

So when you want to scream about your "rights", and when you insist that we open churches for "religious freedom", and when you want to go to church because you're missing it, I'd like you to think about my Dad - and think about how much he is missing his family and how much we are torn apart not being with him.

We, of course, are not alone - this is a story that is told about all sorts of folks across the country. We all are the Body of Christ. Can you not have enough respect for the dignity and pain of other parts of the Body to sacrifice for another few weeks, or a couple of months, or whatever it takes to ensure the safety for enough of the Body as practical? Can you not put yourself out for the sake of the common good? Can you not actually live Christ's law of love? For my Dad's sake, I hope that you can.

"Houses of Worship the Last to Reopen"

That's the headline that appeared in today's Buffalo News. I know that this might be discouraging news to many, but I would like to offer a few brief reflections on why we need to continue to be patient and be absolutely sure that it is safe before we reopen our churches to large gatherings. These reflections are not "practical" - they are theological, which is how we are called to address issues as Catholics. Once we have the theology correct we can talk about practical ways to implement it.
1. Just this past weekend we heard Jesus, in the Gospel of John, remind us that if we love him we will keep his commandments. And just earlier in that same "farewell discourse", Jesus told his disciples that he has given us a "new commandment - love one another as I have loved you". That kind of love that we are commanded to is self-sacrificing. And a self-sacrificing love means that we must remove the "I" from what we need to have happen. If any of us are insistent that we reopen churches because "I" need to go back, or "I" need to receive Communion, we are not participating in the self-sacrificing love that Jesus calls us to.
2. Another aspect of the love commandment is that of the core teaching of the Church of the "common good". Following Vatican II and Pope John XXIII's Mater et Magister, the Catechism notes three essential
elements of the common good: respect for the individual, the social well-being and development of the group, and peace. If we reopen too soon and have to turn people away, or find ourselves closing again as a result of a spike in COVID-19 cases, or - worse yet! - if our opening causes the sickness or death of any one person, how are we living the call to the common good. The elderly, who are some of the most vulnerable, includes so many of our faithful parishioners. How can we expose them to this risk, or tell them to stay away while others who are "safer" can return to church?
3. Finally, it seems to me that gathering too soon is an exact counter-sign to what the Eucharist is to be about. When he established the Eucharist, Jesus said, "Do this in memory of me" and he was not just talking about breaking bread. The "this" he asks us to remember is also to be a community of disciples who puts each other and the welfare of the entire community first, just as he did. In that same reading from this past Sunday, Jesus promised to send us the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth. Jesus is with us - always and everywhere. We gather not to make Jesus *appear*, but to celebrate his presence among us and within us. He is already here. He is already present. If we cannot celebrate that reality sacramentally for a little while, perhaps we should be recognizing and celebrating all the other and varied ways that he is, in fact, with us. We are the Body of Christ even when we are unable to receive it sacramentally - let's be the Body of Christ for each other in the meantime.
I can certainly understand the desire to return to our celebration of the Eucharist. (And, by the way, this experience of the longing for the Eucharist should give us compassion and empathy for those who live this separation from the sacrament on a regular basis - many in Latin America, and the Amazonian region, for example.) But each time we have to wait until another time to celebrate sacramentally, let's rejoice for all the ways that Jesus is with us. Let's celebrate the goodness and mercy of our God. Let's recognize our hunger for wholeness and for community - and then when we return, let's be a people of compassion and oneness, and love - and greet each other with a renewed dedication to being the self-sacrificing, other-centered disciples we are called to be.

Solidarity in a Time of Pandemic

(Originally published in Western New York Catholic, May 2020)

Every crisis not only tests the faith and resolve of those who experience it, but it also creates opportunities for both compassion and reflection. This pandemic is no different. In the midst of so many concerns about business, the economy, eating out, and “normal” life, we are called to acknowledge that, as in so many other situations, Covid-19 will disproportionately affect the poor.

One especially hard-hit group will be low-paid and low-benefit workers who cannot work from home, and typically had the lowest levels of protection like paid sick leave, and they are frequently uninsured or under-insured for medical care. 

And while we have (rightly) closed schools and instituted quarantines, not every kid has the ability to take advantage of “virtual learning”, and so many poor children rely on school breakfasts and lunches as a necessary part of their nutrition.

The elderly, too, are among the most vulnerable not only because of their tenuous health situations, but also because they are among our nation’s poorest. And in many cases they rely on home health aides or others for so much of their food and hygiene needs.

In a joint statement between Catholic Charities USA and Catholic Health USA, these organizations offered a pledge for their continuing ministry: “to promote and defend human dignity for all in our care while advancing the common good; to attend to the whole person, recognizing that this pandemic affects not only our bodies, but also our minds, emotions, and spirits; to advocate and serve those who are vulnerable or living on the margins of society; and to work to ensure that in this moment of darkness nobody is forgotten.”

And the situation around the world is even worse in many cases. There are  nearly 50 countries who fall under the UN’s Least-Developed Country (LDC) status, home to nearly 900 million people worldwide. Many of these countries lack the economic resources and medical infrastructure to be able to respond to the medical needs of their people during this pandemic.

Catholic Relief Services has been on the front lines in these countries teams across the world continue to expand their programming to prevent the spread and reduce the risk of COVID-19 in some of the world’s most vulnerable communities.

CRS is adapting much of its programming to incorporate activities that help to prevent the spread of the virus. This includes targeted information campaigns and the provision of hygiene materials for communities, as well as investment in strengthening the capacity of local partners to respond. 

During this time of crisis, we are called to embrace and act on the principle of Solidarity in Catholic Social Teaching: We are one human family: we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, wherever they may be -whether around the block or around the world.  It will be important for us to support the efforts of Catholic Charities and Catholic Relief Services as they help our brothers and sisters to cope with this pandemic.

And let us embrace the insights of this excerpt from an anonymous “Prayer in Times of Pandemic”:

May we who are merely inconvenienced

remember those whose lives are at stake.

May we who have no risk factors

remember those most vulnerable.

May we who settle in for a quarantine at home

remember those who have no home.

As fear grips our country,

let us choose love.

During this time when we cannot

physically wrap our arms around each other,

let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace

of God to our neighbors.

Amen.

Christ Has No Body Now But Yours - A homily for the 5th Sunday of Easter 2020

Readings: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/051020.cfm

Acts of the Apostles 6:1-7

Psalm 33:1-2, 4-5, 18-19

1 Peter 2:4-9

John 14:1-12

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers out there – especially to my Mom Sandy, my wife Kathy, and my daughters Christie and Kathie – and all of you mothers who have shared your love and care for all of us throughout our lives. Allow me to share this special prayer with you:

“Good and Gentle God, we pray in gratitude for our mothers who have joined with you in the wonder of bringing forth new life.

You who became human through a woman, grant to all mothers the courage they need to face the uncertain future that life with children always brings.

Give them the strength to live and to be loved in return, not perfectly, but humanly.

Give them the faithful support of family and friends as they care for the physical and spiritual growth of their children.

Give them joy and delight in their children to sustain them through the trials of motherhood, as they watch them grow from infants to adults.

Most of all, give them the wisdom to turn to you for help when they need it most. Amen”

----

Boy, it didn’t take long for tensions to arise in the early Christian community, did it? In the last couple of weeks, we heard from the Acts of the Apostles how the community was “of one mind and heart” and “shared everything in common”. At least, that was true until the community expanded to include others who were different. The Hellenists in the first reading were Jews who spoke Greek instead of Aramaic, had their Scriptures read in Greek in the Synagogue instead of Hebrew, and who probably came from somewhere other than Palestine, Judea.

And apparently their widows - these women who had no means of support because they were without a husband, or a grown son to provide for them – these widows were being neglected in the daily distribution that was supporting all the needy of the community. What was recognized by the community was the injustice that was underlying the problem – there was a disproportionate treatment being given to one group over another. There was, in fact, an unequal distribution of the necessities of life in the community.

And so the Apostles asked the community to recommend seven men to oversee the distribution – to address the injustice that had become a part of the early church.

It’s really not surprising why this reading from the Acts of the Apostles has traditionally been considered to be a story about the first deacons. In the first verse, the second verse, and the fourth verse, this reading uses the Greek word diakonia, where we get our English word Deacon from.

That's why this reading is used at all ordinations of deacons. More recently, scholars have debated whether this episode really represents the first deacons – but if we get wrapped up in that debate today we would be missing the point of this Scripture – especially in the context of the other readings.

Because the point is that injustice must be rooted out – whether it exists within our Christian community or outside of it. Notice the words of today’s psalm – “Upright is the word of the LORD, and all God’s works are trustworthy. God loves justice and right; of the kindness of the LORD the earth is full.”

Our God is a God of justice, and right; of mercy and lovingkindness. And when those characteristics are missing, or damaged, when right relationships have been broken or wounded, then, just as in the first reading, someone must be sent to repair them and to lead the way back to justice and mercy.

This is the specific call of the Deacon – to have a ministry to Word, to Sacrament and to Justice and Charity. And for us deacons, the ministry of justice is what informs, invigorates, and gives real meaning to our other ministries of Word and Liturgy. Because we are ministering to all those in need and on the margins, our “job description” is contained in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy – to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, to comfort the afflicted, to visit the sick and imprisoned…to engage in life-giving activities rather than death-dealing ones…to put meaning into life rather than suck it out.

Our experiences in ministering to those who are oppressed and poor, who are lonely or sick, who are unborn or forgotten…those experiences are what we bring back to our communities to put the Scriptures in the context of the life of suffering humanity, and to bring the needs of the table of the world to the table of the Eucharist.

But it’s not just the role of the deacon…because, just as the Church teaches that there cannot be an ordained priesthood without a priesthood of the faithful, I don’t think there can be an ordained diaconate without a diaconate of the faithful. All of us, and each of us, because of our baptism, are to have the works of mercy as our guide and our blueprint. It’s like the song John Wilde sang this past Thursday, “We are called to act with justice, we are called to love tenderly, we are called to serve one another, and to walk humbly with God.”

This is what the letter of Peter means when it says that we are to “let ourselves be built into living stones” – to be shaped into the image of Christ, the ultimate living stone, the one who has given us a model and footprints to follow, the one who has assured Thomas and all of us that we do “know the way” because he has not only shown us the way, but IS our Way, our Truth, and our Life.

The community in the early church found itself in the midst of injustice and a lack of mercy – and took steps to correct it. Today, we too, find ourselves frequently facing injustice, a lack of compassion, we encounter bias and prejudice, and we see so many turning their backs on the least, the last, and the lost. But it is our call to be Christ to all those on the margins, to show mercy and work for justice for all our brothers and sisters.

If you listened to John Wilde Thursday – he sang a beautiful song based on the inspiring and challenging words of St. Theresa of Avila’s reflection:

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks around doing good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

Normal Circumstances - An Easter Homily in a Pandemic

Under normal circumstances, right after this Mass my wife Kathy and I would be getting the house ready for our family to come over and celebrate a traditional Polish Easter dinner.

Under normal circumstances, most of you would have been preparing to host friends and family, or to go out for Easter brunch, or to visit with friends and relatives.

Under normal circumstances, I would be speaking to a church filled with people, with standing room only, with old and young, couples and singles, Moms and Dads, and kids and family from out of town, most of whom would be dressed up for this great holiday.

But these are anything but normal circumstances. Our experiences over the last month are anything but “normal”, anything but what we expected, anything but what we are used to and anything but comfortable.

In a recent interview, Pope Francis said that this is a “time of great uncertainty” – and that may seem like an understatement, but think about how disruptive and disconcerting uncertainty is. We don’t know when this will end, or how it will end, or where we will come out on the other side.

But here is the good news that we celebrate today – that our God is NOT a God of “normal circumstances”!

Because under normal circumstances, our lives of selfishness and self-centeredness that began in the Garden would have continued without ever having a Savior to rescue us from sin and death.

Under normal circumstances the Israelites would have continued to be oppressed by the Egyptians and would never have passed dry shod through the Red Sea to freedom.

Under normal circumstances, a radical preacher who “went about doing good and healing all those oppressed by the devil” would have been crucified and nobody witnessing his humiliating death on a lonely hillside, with his followers absent, would have predicted that this would be the most remembered death in history.

No, our God is not a God of normal circumstances but rather a God of extraordinary awe and wonder.

St. Paul reminds us we have no need to fear because we have already died with Christ and been raised up with him in our baptism – that what we celebrate today and every Sunday is precisely our awe and wonder as we participate in the Paschal Mystery of Christ – raised up from the dead, focused on “what is above”, people of a new existence in our Lord Jesus.

Ours is an Easter faith. We don’t deny or turn away from the evils that surround us: the wars that have killed some 100 million people; the poverty that grips more than half of the human race; the hunger that kills millions every year and ruins the lives of millions more; the discrimination that divides the human family into warring tribes, the virus that is killing so many. We don’t deny these miseries, but we do refuse to surrender to their power because of our faith in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

What we are saying when we celebrate the Resurrection is that God is ultimately still in charge of this universe, despite any indications to the contrary; that at the end of the day violence, injustice, and sin will be silenced and overcome; that graciousness and gentleness, as manifested in Jesus, are ultimately what lies at the root of all reality; and that death, like Jesus’, is redemptive precisely because in the face of helplessness before the worst brutality the world could perpetrate, we can still hear the words of our God of extraordinary awe and wonder: ” Be not afraid”.

Suffering will be vindicated; death will be overcome; a new life will arise: that is the Easter message of the paschal mystery. And so there is no room for despair: our Easter faith tells us that God will “raise us up and renew our lives.”   As our Gospel Acclamation proclaimed, “Let us feast with joy in the Lord.” Just as Christ passed through death to resurrection, so too will the world pass through its suffering to the glory of a new life.

The resurrection of Jesus enables us to let our God of extraordinary awe and wonder reign in our ordinary lives in ways that demonstrate we are part of a new creation—not complete, but we are evidence that the kingdom is built up wherever communities allow the spirit of the risen Lord to have its way.

Easter is our celebration of the belief that our God is not a God of normal circumstances, but a God of extraordinary awe and wonder.  And so, as St. Augustine reminds us, we are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!