I am usually very much in agreement with what I read from the American Jesuit James Martin. I was, therefore, full of self doubt when I didn’t feel quite at home with his story of a time he was at a retreat house at Easter time when the flat, cheerless proclamation of the triple alleluia, elicited an equally unenthusiastic response from the resident community of sisters. I understood, of course, the point he was making. Easter is a time of joy but at this, and at other times, Christians can present a face to the world which seems to deny their faith in this most central doctrine. Nevertheless, I was uncomfortable with the criticism of this poor man.
I didn’t have to wonder why I reacted in this way. I seldom experience joy as soon as Easter is upon us. This year, I went through the entire Easter Vigil feeling tired and unmoved by what we were celebrating. I did sing out lustily at the required times and I meant what I was doing, but I did not feel joyful. Once again, I felt inadequate. How can I be so uninspired? What is wrong with me? I knew that, as so often, I had to spend time, how much time I did not know, simply being at the empty tomb and waiting. Waiting makes me anxious. If I’m waiting for a parcel to be delivered, I worry that it won’t come. If I’m waiting for a person, my anxiety is about whether she or he will turn up. If I’m waiting for an outcome, a result, a happening, I am full of doubts and everything which can go wrong swirls around in my mind. There is nothing simple about my simply waiting at the empty tomb, although this year it didn’t feel too bad.
Jesus kept me waiting until Thursday. Today, as i was reflecting on my Easter week, I was aware of how different the Resurrection was for each of the disciples. Having the appearance to Thomas as the Gospel for the Sunday after Easter is, I feel, highlighting this fact. Poor Thomas, his doubts were not so different from that of the others, who didn’t believe until they saw, either. It’s all part of the fact that God treats us as individuals. He doesn’t expect me to react in the same way as you do. Because Peter jumped in the water in John 21 and reached Jesus first, doesn’t mean he loved him any more than the others, who took responsibility for bringing in the boat and the fish.
It occurs to me, too, that God knows we can’t turn on our emotions. It would be unreasonable to suppose that, because we are presented with a Resurrection liturgy on the evening of the day following Jesus’s death, everyone will be ready to enter into its meaning on an emotional level. The title of this piece is taken from a poem of Gerard Manley Hopkins and, in it, the word “Easter” is a verb. It reminds me of a long, slow sunrise. Easter, like the sun, does not appear suddenly. It takes it time to reach its fullness, to infiltrate its warmth, to fill us with its healing. Maybe the priest with the joyless alleluias was depressed. Maybe he wished he could be joyful but was not able to summon it up. Maybe we all need to pray that the Risen Jesus who, according to St Ignatius, comes to us “in the office of consoler”, will touch all who struggle as did that priest with his healing joy.
mariaevans1 