Easter Retreat

For many years I was a Catholic tourist. I became Catholic simply because it was "close enough" to my Episcopal upbringing and it would make it "easier" for me and my ex-wife to attend church together. I could simply be a part of her faith without compromising much of anything, so it was a good deal. I remember attending Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, checking off the ways that Catholicism was similar to my Protestant background, and was able to intellectualize the tenets of the faith in ways that I could rationalize or understand so as to make my transition from "observer" to "practicing Catholic" as smooth as possible. Once I became Catholic I went to church regularly (mostly), sang in the choir, and joined a small group for young couples in our parish. My faith was solid enough, and that was that. It wasn't until my separation and divorce that I experienced a true awakening, an aching desire to be close to God, or as the Psalmist poetically states, "My soul is thirsting for God, the God of my life; when can I enter and see the face of God?" (Ps 42:3).

Holy week of 2013, ushered in by a crippling blizzard in central Illinois on Palm Sunday, was a life changing event for me. During that week I began to understand the true mercy of God, to finally allow myself to be receptive to the power of the Christian message, and to truly begin to grapple with my own faith on a personal level. Why am I Catholic? What do I believe? Is there something for me on a more than purely intellectual level? Was Jesus just some good guy that was killed horribly two thousand years ago or is he truly the Son of God? During that week and subsequent year I challenged all of my previous assumptions about Catholicism and my own faith, and began a journey which continues to this day. I am certainly not, nor will I ever be in this lifetime, at the end of the journey. My Christian calling is a path and not a destination.  

This year, rather than having an amazing experience like 2013, or a beautiful retreat at a monastery like I did last year, I simply stayed home. It's been a quiet and somewhat lonely week in Springfield. I sang in the choir at the Cathedral right across the street from my apartment, but was otherwise alone most of the time. I was feeling sorry for myself until I realized that this isolation and opportunity to completely devote myself to singing at Triduum was a new type of retreat for me: completely self-guided, completely alone, and all within the context of my own little "monastery" in Springfield. Once I realized this, my outlook shifted and I suddenly was filled with gratitude and wonder - and slightly embarrassed for being so thick headed and self-pitying.

"God exists: that is the real message of Easter," says Pope Benedict XVI. Sometimes in my own self-absorbed daily life I forget this. I am grateful for the Easter liturgy each year, because it brings me back to my center - if I allow it. Pope Francis calls this a "return to Galilee." The Holy Father says, "to return to Galilee means above all to return to that blazing light with which God's grace touched me at the start of the journey." As Christians we get to get experience this every Easter as a "returning to our first love in order to receive the fire which Jesus kindled in the world and to bring that fire to all people." We get to experience the fellowship and covenant of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, the tragedy of the Passion on Good Friday, and the triumph of the Resurrection at the Easter Vigil. Easter is the center of our world as Christians, or as our Bishop said in his homily this morning, "we are an Easter people."

However, the reality of Easter is that it comes with a cost. We cannot have the triumph of the Resurrection without the suffering of the cross. Jay Cormier captures this sentiment beautifully by stating simply, "Easter begins in the dark of night. If you have ever kept vigil at the bedside of a dying loved one or if you have ever been unable to sleep because of what was to come, Easter has dawned in your life." My own reception of the Christian message and willingness to fully embrace my Catholicism came only after my life had collapsed on itself - when I was finally ready to let go and allow God's mercy and forgiveness to wash over me. In my emptiness and brokenness I truly thirsted for God. I gradually came to realize that when I finally hit rock bottom, Jesus was indeed there to share in my suffering and transform it through the power of his Resurrection. He offers me a hand, picks me up, and walks alongside of me in the darkest night. In other words, God's answer to human suffering and misery is "a new story that contains the first glimmer of encouragement, the only hint of an explanation, that heaven has ever deigned to offer earth," as Thomas Cahill asserts in his book, Desire of the Everlasting Hills, "I will suffer with you."

In meditating on the duality of the Easter story this year, I am greatly encouraged by the message of hope in the Gospel, which contains both suffering and redemption. In Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, Richard Rohr speaks about this duality. "The genius of the Gospel was that it included the problem inside of the solution. The falling became the standing. The stumbling became the finding. The dying became the rising." Jesus had to suffer and die so that he could conquer suffering and death from within. We acknowledge this in the Apostles Creed when we say, "He descended into Hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven..." In a similar way, God transforms each us from the inside rather than imposing His will upon us, if we are receptive to Him. St. Paul reminds us of the transforming power of Christ when he writes to the Corinthians, "I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Cor 12:10).

Suffering is a doorway through which we enter joy. Through the love of God we are able to transform our weakness to strength. The duality of our lives, the darkness and light, is what makes us complete human beings, therefore we should embrace our falling down. Rather than struggle against our faults, as Christians we own up to them and embrace them. Thomas Merton captures this beautifully in a reflection from Easter Sunday, March 28, 1948 which can be found in The Intimate Merton: His Life From His Journals. It captures the spirit of the day as well as the duality of the Easter mystery so well. "On these big feasts you come out on top of a plateau in the spiritual life to get a new view of everything. Especially Easter. Easter is like what it will be entering eternity when you suddenly, peacefully, clearly recognize all your mistakes as well as all that you did well: everything falls into place."