Month: April 2021

This afternoon, Ruthie and I, our son, Luke, and our granddaughter, Sydney, watched the movie, “Field of Dreams”. For those who have never seen this film, it concerns a young man, his wife, and young daughter who own a farm in Iowa. Walking his corn one night, a mysterious voice tells him, “If you build it, he will come.” Eventually, it is revealed to him that what he is being asked to do is to plow under a field of corn and build a full size baseball field, complete with lights. One night, he finds the ghost of the great baseball player, Joe Jackson, who had been thrown out of baseball for accepting money to throw the 1919 World Series, wandering alone out in the field. Over time, Joe brings the ghosts of the other disgraced eight players of his team and they begin to play baseball.

The film is very amusing, interesting, and emotional all wrapped into one film. At the end of the film, the purpose behind the young farmer building this baseball field on his farm is revealed. It is to repair the estranged relationship the young farmer had with his father, who, having played many years in the minor leagues, had never made it to the major leagues. In the end, the great emptiness and regret the young farmer had in never repairing that relationship before his father died is resolved as he plays catch with the young looking ghost of his dad. The love relationship that had been broken earlier by the ignorance and impetuousness of himself as a youth with his dad, was healed.

This movie is very moving for me. As the sole living member of my family, as I watched this film, I found myself mourning the loss of my sister, Mary Ruth. I remember how excited she was to see this film back in 1989. She actually traveled south to Iowa to see the farm and the baseball field that was constructed as part of this film’s set. Mary Ruth died eight years later at the age of 42 years. At the end of the film as the young farmer is playing catch with the ghost of his father, I found myself grieving the death of my own father in 2004. I miss him so much. It is my relationship with my dad and my sister that I miss so greatly. Yes, by faith, I know that that relationship has never been broken, however, not being able to see them, hear them, touch them is a huge loss to me.

What does this have to do with this Second Sunday of Easter? Today we hear the same post resurrection story we hear every Second Sunday of Easter. The disciples are gathered in the upper room, very scared and grieving the great loss of their relationship with Jesus who have been brutally tortured and executed three days earlier. Jesus suddenly appears within their midst and wishes them peace. In the gospel of John, he imparts upon them the Holy Spirit (John’s version of Pentecost). The only one not present is Thomas. When they relate to Thomas excitedly that the one whom they thought was dead and gone forever was resurrected and alive once more, he scoffs at them. As we know so well, seven days later, Jesus visits them again, this time Thomas is present. Jesus confronts Thomas about his disbelief. Thomas is overwhelmed with joy and shame, and simply states to Jesus, “My Lord and my God.” The relationship with Jesus that Thomas thought gone forever, had never been broken.

Oh, that we all could experience the same reestablishment of the relationships we have had with those we love who have died, that Thomas and the disciples had with Jesus. The bottom line is this. It is our belief that Jesus rose from the dead that will assure us that the relationship we once had with our deceased loved ones will also be reestablished. In rising from the dead, Jesus promised the same resurrection for those who believe in him. We get a glimpse of this from time to time, often at the death beds of our family and friends. I remember two days prior to mys sister’s death, she suddenly started to greet our dead relatives in the room. She turned to my mother and I and said, “They are playing my song. I am not ready to hear it.” Others have spoken how their loved ones, entering the twilight that exists between our world and that which awaits us, having conversations with deceased family and friends. It is our belief in the resurrection of Jesus that is our doorway to the everlasting relationships we have with our deceased family and friends. More importantly, our belief in the resurrection of Jesus is the doorway through which we pass to enter into the full, loving relationship with God who loved us into life and will welcome us into eternal life.

In the past, my life as a liturgist, musician and cleric was so busy with rituals and Masses of Holy Week, that by the time I got to the last “Happy Easter” exchange following the last Mass of Easter Sunday, the two things that I felt were: 1) exhaustion, and, 2) a need to sip that Brandy Manhattan my dad would have prepared for me beforehand.

This is my second Easter without all the busyness of Holy Week. As Ruthie and I prayed our liturgy at home yesterday (Easter Sunday), I reflected with her that I still feel exhausted. The exhaustion is not from the frantic pace of Holy Week, far from it. Rather, the exhaustion of all the events of the past year because of the pandemic, the number of people I know who were alive last Easter and now lie in a grave this Easter is emotionally and spiritually exhausting. I wondered out loud with my bride yesterday is whether the exhaustion I am feeling this year similar to that of many citizens of our nation during those Easter covering the years of World War II, when families lived on pins and needles as their husbands, sons, brothers, cousins, and friends fought fierce battles in Europe and the Pacific. Did they experience the grand joy of Jesus’ Resurrection with so much death and destruction afflicting many of the families of our nation?

Am I the only one feeling this way, or are there so many others experiencing this same feeling this Easter?

During the first year of my retirement, tired of all the sexist language and prayers of the Liturgy of the Hours (formerly called The Divine Office), I reconstructed and composed my own Liturgy of Hours from Biblical and prayer sources using more inclusive language. The opening “hymn” I chose for Easter Sunday morning was a poem from Madeleine L’Engle’s collection of poems, The Ordering of Love. I found that this poem, “Pieta”, accurately reflects how I am feeling during this Octave of Easter.

PIETA

The other Marys radiated joy.
The disciples found the truth hard to believe. There had to be breaking bread, eating fish, before they, too, even Thomas, were lit with joyfulness. Not much was said about me.
I said good-bye to the son I carried within me for nine months, nursed, fed, taught to walk.
On Friday when they took him down from the cross, I held the son I knew,
recognizing him in my arms, and never saw him again,
not my body’s child. How could I laugh, weep tears of joy?
Like the others, I failed to recognize him;
the Christ who rose was not Bethlehem’s babe… And it was right. For this was meant to be.
Here in my head I would not have had it otherwise. But empty arms still longed for familiar flesh.
My joy, a sword that pierced through my heart. I understood, more, perhaps, than the others when he said that he could not stay with us— that it was better if he went away,
was one again with God, his Father. And when the Spirit came
I once again could love my son
and know my Lord. If Easter came later for me than for the others,
its brilliance was as poignant and bright.

As I prayed this poem yesterday morning, I marveled at how accurate it expressed what I am feeling this Easter. I also reflected back on the song I composed last year at this time, bearing the same name as the poem, though, as I composed the music, I was thinking more of the bittersweet feelings my mother had when my sister, Mary Ruth, died in 1997. Mom’s faith in the Resurrection sustained her when my sister died. However, the sorrow, the loss of a mother for her dead child could not be denied. Here is that song.

So, this is a bittersweet Easter for me, and I believe, so many others. Like my mother, my faith in the Resurrection sustains me, yet, I continue to mourn the losses of the past year.

I wish those who similarly feel this way, peace, and pray that the last sentence of the poem, “If Easter came later for me than for the others, its brilliance was as poignant and bright.” is true for you.