10th Sunday B (Mark 2:20-35)

The story of the creation includes the story of the fall. It purports to tell how the human race got in its present state. The trouble started when Adam and Eve ate fruit from the wrong tree. God had given them access to everything in the garden, with one exception. Right in the middle of the garden was one tree which was declared off limits. They were not to eat its fruit. They were not even to touch it. And the penalty of violating this prohibition was death. You know the story. Adam and Eve did the very thing they had been told not to do. They ate the forbidden fruit, each placing the blame on someone else, not taking responsibility for their own actions, much perhaps like what goes on in our world today, maybe even in our own lives. The devil made me do it. She made me do it. He made me do it.

This story is about you and me. It is a reminder that we have been endowed with the gift of choice. And what we do with that gift will largely determine the quality of our living.  We can misuse it. And the misery that can bring to ourselves and others is beyond calculation. Or we can use it. And those right choices can enrich our lives for time and eternity.

The gift of choice is not in itself a choice. We have to choose some things whether we want to or not. Time constrains us to make choices. There are more options in life than any one person can exercise. We can't have everything. We can't read every book. We can't visit every place in the world. We can't pursue every career. No one can have 1000 best friends. Choice is a fact of life, and to be human is to choose.

The gift of choice is the essence of our human dignity. It is what makes us most like God. As far as we know, none of the other animals has the gift of choice. They have appetites; they have instincts, but not the gift of reflective choice. With us humans, it's different. We consider a variety of options. We weigh one against the other. We choose one over the other, for whatever reason. It looks better, or it is more accessible, or it is less expensive, it's less bothersome or inconvenient. Then after the choice has been made, we look back on it, sometimes with regret, sometimes with satisfaction. For all the agony that choice brings into our lives, it is the source of our dignity. God has entrusted us with the gift of choice. God has lovingly made us superior to dogs, and cats, and cows, and gorillas. God has made us in his image and likeness, male and female, and in this lies our human dignity. And in this lies our challenge, to make life giving choices for ourselves and for other human beings, from conception through old age to death.

When Jesus responded to the crowd's question, he said "Whoever does the will of God is brother and sister and mother to me." In the challenge of our choices, our struggle is always to discern where the life giving will of God lies for us, and to respond generously with Jesus our brother, the one who is always with us and strengthening us in being true to him and to ourselves. And we continue to ask his help and to give thanks for his life giving presence among us and within us.

Al Grosskopf, S.J.


Trinity Sunday B (Matt 28: 16-20)

A special Catholic ministry is preparing couples for marriage.  In that ministry with couples, we do a lot of listening, more listening than talking. Not surprisingly our listening has to do with relationship problems. "She is always disagreeing with me." "Why won't he pay more attention to me?" "We were in previous relationships and I don’t know if I can really trust him or her.“ “Earlier relationships have broken up.” “My parents were divorced, and I don’t know if marriage will really work, because I haven’t seen the evidence of a successful marriage." I suspect that relationship problems dominate most of our personal issues no matter how old we are and whether we are married or preparing for marriage or whether we have suffered the pain of divorce.

Today is Trinity Sunday. How can we talk about the Trinity? The relationship of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one God, has always been difficult to describe. St. Patrick tried to describe the Trinity as a kind of shamrock, three petals on one stem. St. Ignatius used the imagery of three harmonizing organ notes on one organ. I think relationship is probably the most satisfying description for me. We all hunger for satisfying relationships where we are accepted just as we are, where mutual trust exists, and we are valued, respected, and even loved. We live in a society where characteristically people are alienated from each other, and where a sense of belonging is often absent and longed for.

Our reading from Romans gives us the ultimate answer to this need. It tells us that we belong to the family of God. God is our Father, and Jesus is our brother. Paul goes a bit further with that analogy, calling us "heirs of God and heirs with Christ." In other words God has written us into the family will, and whatever Christ stands to inherit, we are in line for the same. Exactly what that means, we are destined to discover. But it’s good to know that we belong to God's family.

Paul points out two different ways of belonging. One way is belonging as a slave. "You did not receive a spirit of slavery, leading you back into fear." What was frightening the Christians of Rome? What was threatening to enslave them? The apostle didn't say. But we know some of the things that have this effect on us. Drugs do, and for some people alcohol does. Lust for power and control and possessions may enslave us. And there are a variety of other addictive habits.

There is another kind of belonging that leads to freedom. When you belong to the family of God, you’re free to go. You’re free to stay. And if you so choose, you’re free to become the best that you can possibly be. Paul did that. He started out as a bigoted little nationalist. No one was important to him but the members of his own race. But when Paul met Jesus, he joined the human race. He came to see himself as a member of God's family, along with many others from every nation on earth. And in one lifetime, Paul probably broke down more barriers and built more bridges than any other person who ever lived.

Let’s allow Paul to remind us that we belong to the family of God. This is a kind of belonging that brings freedom. God is our Father, Jesus is our brother, and in the power of their Holy Spirit we may grow ever more deeply in our mutual relationship with our brothers and sisters as the family of God.     Al Grosskopf, S.J.


Pentecost Sunday  (John 20:19-23)

When we think of those first followers of Jesus we usually see them in terms of strength and stability. We remember them as men who went out to meet life and lived it with great enthusiasm. They faced persecution with poise, met danger with courage, and handled problems with unwavering confidence. In short, they were the kind of persons we would all like to be. But they weren’t that way all of their lives. They were a lot like us in our weaker moments. Our Gospel today tells us they were huddled in fear behind locked doors. “Look what happened to Jesus; he got killed. That may happen to us if we appear in public and are recognized as his followers.” They were paralyzed by fear for fear almost always paralyzes. They were not at peace, for fear always robs us of peace. They had lost heart and were wallowing in hopelessness and their spirits were crushed.

So Jesus bursts in through locked doors, standing before them and proclaiming, "Peace be with you," his most frequent proclamation in the Gospels after his resurrection. Somehow, he knew that the greeting of peace was something they most desperately needed to hear. Knowing that they must be even more frightened by this sudden appearance and doubtful that it was really Jesus, he showed them the wounds of his hands and his side. The marks of the nails and the imprint of the spear were, and continue to be, the badges and signs of his recognition, and of his deep, passionate love for each one of us. Jesus without his wounds is not the real Jesus.

Perhaps the woundedness of Jesus is the main point of our contact with him. Our wounds may be different from his pierced hands and side, but woundedness nonetheless. We may sometimes be imprisoned by fear, intimidated by life. Our lives may be layered in fear resulting from child abuse, sexual abuse, the pain of divorce, perhaps the evil of drug abuse or alcohol abuse. It may seem that we live in a culture of death in which children and adults are killing each other with guns and our streets are no longer safe. Abortion is so commonly accepted, assisted suicide becomes more commonplace, and capital punishment, as politically correct, continues to dehumanize us. Perhaps illness or the infirmities of old age may be our wounds in which we may feel lonely and useless. The insecurity of unemployment may feed our fear, and the struggles and challenges of single parenthood may discourage us. The oppressiveness of guilt may pervade our lives and we may stay stuck in hopeless unforgiveness and resentment when forgiveness is so readily available. Fear cripples us more than any disease ever could and tempts us to sell our souls in exchange for the grossly lesser prize of false security.  Our late Holy Father, John Paul, told us over and over, “Be not afraid.” Sister Joan Chittister states in her book, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope, “Fear is not the opposite of courage. Fear is the catalyst of courage.”

Into our discouraged and locked hearts, bursts the wounded Jesus who proclaims to each one of us, "Peace be with you." The joy of his presence touches us, as the first followers were touched. And he breathes on us as he breathed on them, "Receive the Holy Spirit," the Spirit of the wounded and risen Jesus who energizes us, strengthens us in our struggles, gives us courageous hearts that are no longer locked in fear, for perfect love casts out all fear. "Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful; and kindle in us, kindle in your Church and renew it with the fire of your love.”      Al Grosskopf, S.J.


Ascension B (Mark 16:15-20)

Ernest Hemingway once said, “When two people truly love each other, there can be no happy ending.”  And I suppose there’s a sense in which that’s true. Sooner or later, all relationships come to an end. Some of them are terminated by choice. One or the other, or both, decide to call it quits. And they go their separate ways. That may be the saddest ending of all. Others are terminated by death. This is a normal part of life, except when it comes prematurely. But even at a ripe old age, the death of a loved one is sad. So Hemingway’s pessimistic statement would seem to be true. When people love each other there can be no happy ending.

Today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles tells of a different kind of parting. It was when Jesus left his friends for the last time, in what we call the Ascension. He had already left them once, through the door of death. And that had been utterly devastating. But then he rose from the dead, and began to surprise them with his presence. For a period of 40 days he appeared to them at various times, in various places. But they still didn’t seem to understand the mission of Jesus, and they asked him if he was yet going to restore the earthly kingdom to Israel. Jesus was very patient with them and promised to send the Holy Spirit who would make the mission of Jesus very clear.

But these episodic experiences of Jesus lasted only a few weeks. Then one day, Jesus led them to a point near Bethany, blessed them, and was taken up into heaven. That was his final departure. They never saw him again. But that separation wasn’t sad. In fact, our Gospel says that after he was gone, “They went forth and preached everywhere,” and the Lord worked through them and with them. This is the one instance when people truly loved each other, and there was a happy ending. What made it that way?

It wasn’t really an ending; it was a transition. They simply moved from one kind of relationship into another. They would never know Jesus as a flesh and blood person who came and went, who ate and drank. From now on they would know him as a spiritual presence, who would never leave.  Death had already done its worst. It had separated them once but could never do it again. He would always be with them and they would always be with him. And because that’s true of Jesus, it’s also true of others whom we have loved and lost. They aren’t gone, but have simply moved into another dimension of life.  Someday, through faith in the risen Jesus, we will be together again. And then there will be no more sorrowful good-byes.  

And so the disciples went into the whole world and proclaimed the Good News of the risen Jesus who would never abandon us because he was and is passionately in love with us.  And we continue to proclaim this Good News to every creature as we grow in our personal relationship with the One who will never leave us. We are more inspired to become life givers, healers, justice seekers for others. doing the work of Jesus. The needs are great, and our ministry is one of meeting the needs of people whom we encounter each day, a ministry of life giving service to our brothers and sisters in need. With grateful hearts we give thanks that we have been entrusted with the saving ministry of Jesus Christ.  And we remember him in the Eucharist, the one who will never leave us.

                                                                                                       Al Grosskopf


6th Sunday Easter B (John 15:9-17)

I think it can be stated with some conviction that one of the chief qualities of human beings is that we are in the search for happiness.  Our Declaration of Independence acknowledges this fact of life, that this is a self-evident truth, as an inalienable right from our Creator, the pursuit of happiness. Sometimes in the process of preparing couples for the Sacrament of Marriage, the question may be asked about the happiness they find with each other. One may say: “I think I can make him or her happy.” Sometimes the response may be by telling them that they may not have that power if the other doesn’t choose to be happy. And then there are the license plate frames: “Happiness is being a grandfather.” “Happiness is being Irish, or Norwegian or Swiss.” If we were to take a poll here today, we would probably come up with about as many definitions of happiness as there are people present. But there’s at least one point on which we could all agree. Virtually everyone wants to be happy. No healthy minded person wants to spend his or her days in gloom, boredom, desolation, and sadness.

Jesus was aware of this universal longing of the human heart and spent a good deal of his time trying to teach people the way of happiness. One of those lessons is found in our Gospel reading for today. On the night before he died, Jesus said to his disciples: “All this I tell you that my joy may be yours and that your joy might be complete.” Here was a young man who was just about to die and he knew it. Tomorrow he would be crucified. His earthly life was almost at an end, and yet he was talking with his friends about the joy of living. This may seem incredible, for our sense of well being is contingent upon circumstances, the things that happen to us. If we could get a better job, if we could live in a better house, if we could get married, if we could get unmarried, we could be happy, and we place our joy at the mercy of circumstance. Circumstance isn’t unimportant. People can’t be happy when they are hungry, hurt, abused or caught in the trap of real misfortune. Yet our happiness, or sense of well being, our joyfulness is not entirely at the mercy of unpredictable and uncontrollable events.

I think all of us would agree that a common characteristic of joyful happiness is being loved. Jesus spoke of remaining in the Father’s love by being faithful to God’s commandments. This kind of faithfully living our lives with integrity and truthfulness results in a depth of love that engenders a deep peace and experience of total acceptance by God. Another characteristic of joyful happiness follows from loving people. I’ve never met a happy person who wasn’t in love with people. Selfish, narcissistic people, even though wealthy and saturated with possessions, and often possessed by them, may wallow in a sad hell of individual isolation. Another ingredient of joyful happiness is feeling useful, doing something that’s worthwhile, making yourself useful to another person or persons.

An interesting thing about happiness is that mature people never seek it, seldom think about it, seem strangely indifferent to it. They’re busy with something else. They’ve attached themselves to the world’s sorrow and struggle and are doing their best to help make the world a better place. “This I command you: love one another.” ”All this I tell you that my joy may be yours and that your joy might be complete.”

                                                                                                                  Al Grosskopf, S.J.


5th Sunday Easter B (John 15:1-8)

Some of our Protestant brothers and sisters often speak about being born again, having a personal experience of Our Lord Jesus. Often at revival meetings, an altar call is given. “Come forward as a witness that you are claiming Christ as your redeemer.“ Then the long lines coursing though the aisles move forward to the stage to make public their dependency on the Lord. Sometimes we may be asked, “Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?”  For some Catholics, this may be a question that is too personal, too intense, too emotional, and perhaps too uncomfortable a question. This uneasiness is somewhat paradoxical.  

Catholics make it a weekly, and sometimes daily practice of leaving their pews, proceeding to the altar, and receiving the body and blood of Jesus Christ, the, most radical, direct, and intense expression that Jesus Christ is indeed our personal savior. Sometimes we may overlook how extreme our belief in the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist may look to our brothers and sisters who are separated.  It is our way of saying that our personal savior is truly found in the Eucharist, “body, blood, soul, and divinity under the appearance of bread and wine.” In the Eucharist, we recall and remember the saving mystery of the passion and death of Jesus, and this mystery becomes our food, our sustenance for our life journey of faith. Jesus becomes part of us and we become part of him.

The reception of Holy Communion makes little sense if we don’t intend to affirm that Jesus Christ is our personal savior.  “You are my food and drink/you are my flesh and blood.” And we come forward, a procession of witnesses, testifying that there is nothing deeper or more personal than acknowledging Jesus as our way, our truth, our life. He is the one who is our savior, our redeemer, our healer, our brother, our friend, and our very sustenance.

In our Gospel, Jesus speaks of our close union with him, he the vine and we the branches, as we draw life from him. He seeks full union with us, so in love with us is he.  He promises that we will live in him and he will live in us, just as he lives in loving unity with his Father. “I am the vine, you are the branches. You who live in me and I in you, will produce abundant fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”  “Live on in me as I do in you.” If we believe that, we believe that Jesus Christ is indeed our personal savior, and we are born again, and again and again and again.


                                                                        Al Grosskopf, S.J.


4th Sunday Easter B (John 10:11-18)

In today's Gospel, Jesus speaks of the qualities of a good shepherd, and he lays claim to being the good shepherd. The good shepherd is always ready to give up his life for his sheep. The shepherd is the protector and the one who knows each one of his sheep and the sheep know him.  I guess it’s reassuring if you’re a sheep to have such a shepherd. And here we are, his disciples, being compared to sheep. This is a familiar biblical analogy. Prophets and poets often used it. Isaiah tells us: "We have all gone astray like sheep." All through the Bible, people are compared to sheep, not a very flattering comparison. Sheep are not noted for their intelligence, or their strength, or their speed, or any other qualities we admire. Maybe they do need a protector like a good shepherd.

Some creatures have the ability to find their way home. Dogs do, cats do, pigeons do. But not sheep. Take them away from the fold and they will wander aimlessly. If they get home it will be by accident. Sheep need a shepherd to take care of them or they won’t survive. I don't like this biblical analogy. I'd rather be compared to a lion. "Look at him; he's as strong as a lion." He’s strong and courageous. "Look at him; he’s just like a sheep." It would mean easily led, not having a mind of his own, just going along with the crowd. Being a wimp! A lamb would be a little better. That would mean gentle.

Sheep is, however, what Jesus called his disciples. "My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish." What does this mean? From his side, it means that he loves his disciples and is committed to their care for time and eternity. From our side, it means that we’re vulnerable, we can be easily hurt. This may not be flattering, but it's true. We can be easily hurt, and perhaps have been. With skinned knees in childhood, or pets that ran away. In adult years, it’s broken relationships and broken hearts, and ruined reputations, and faded hopes, and unfaithful friends, and unfruitful efforts. We sometimes come out of the machinery of life battered and broken. Jesus knew of what he spoke when he called us sheep. We’re vulnerable. So what do we do with it?

First, accept it. We’re like sheep, but we often act as if we weren't. We swagger through life as if everything is under control. We’re big, and strong and tough. Come what may, we can handle it. No challenge is too great. The illusion of control. We are unhurtable. If we ever got to the place where no one could hurt us, or we couldn’t fail, we wouldn’t be real men or women.

Secondly, another thing we can do with the reality of our sheep likeness is to share it. Sheep are gregarious. They live in flocks and don't go it alone. For some reason we, like sheep need each other. When we’re surrounded by family and friends who are also vulnerable, we don't have to hide it any more and we can become more trusting of others. Perhaps this is a reason for coming together in the community we call church. When Jesus said "My sheep," he was talking about you and me. Jesus as shepherd has also experienced the role of sheep. He was vulnerable, even unto ridicule and death. He understands our pain because he’s been there. He’s felt the same pain. In our prayer we can ask him to remember, and we don't have to do a lot of explaining. So let’s cast our cares upon the Lord Jesus, the good shepherd. We can trust him to hold us gently and firmly in the hollow of his hand.                                

Al Grosskopf, S.J.



3rd Sunday Easter B (Luke 24:35-48)

We occasionally hear about the work of some con artist. Perhaps we may have been bilked ourselves at one time. A con artist is a person who steals without the use of a gun. His method is to win peoples' confidence and then cheat them out of their money or something else they want.  We often get spammed on our email, sometimes even by a con artist. Phone solicitors may call, especially at dinnertime. Not all phone solicitors are con artists, but the best defense against this kind of overture is to develop a healthy skepticism. If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is too good to be true.

The Gospels, however, call for the opposite approach. Here we’re challenged to believe in what seems to be too good to be true, the resurrection of Jesus. The Gospel slogan might be, "In God's world, nothing is too good to be true." But believing isn’t easy. Just watch the disciples struggling to believe that Jesus is alive and risen from the dead. Luke's Gospel tells us that the disciples were together somewhere in Jerusalem. Jesus suddenly joined the group. And the disciples were frightened out of their minds. They thought they were seeing a ghost. This seems to be a strange reaction, since Jesus had already appeared to Peter, and Peter told the disciples about his experience. Jesus appeared also to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and they were sharing that experience, when Jesus appeared again. Why did they think that Jesus was a ghost? Perhaps it was because the real Easter event, the resurrection of Jesus, was just too good to be true. Nothing that good ever happened to them in their entire lives.  They were stuck with low expectations. It was hard for them to believe in such an extraordinary expression of God's love for them, a new life and hope promised by Jesus, their friend. And low expectations may be true of us as well.

One reason for this difficulty in believing may be a sense of our own unworthiness. It's hard to believe in the best when we know the worst about ourselves. All of the disciples had failed, Peter most of all. He had boasted shamelessly of his courage and commitment and his loyalty to Jesus. But when the chips were down, Peter failed just as Jesus had predicted. And he was so ashamed of his betrayal that he went out and wept bitterly. How could he expect the best when his own heart was filled with self-blame and remorse?

On a lesser scale, something like that has happened to all of us. We have failed and we know it. What then gives us the right to expect the best from life? Just to get by would be enough, and we’d settle for that. The good news in all of this is that God doesn't deal with us on a basis of merit. God never has. When things go wrong in our lives, usually the first question we ask ourselves is "What did I do to deserve this?" When things go right, we may ask the same question. God doesn't dole out good gifts to those who deserve them. We don't merit God's grace and love; we don't have that power. For our God is passionately in love with us, as Jesus came proclaiming, and living, and suffering, and dying and rising from the dead for each one of us.

Our Gospel tells us that Jesus showed the disciples his badges of identity, his wounded hands and feet, his badges of authentic, astounding love for each one of us. And then, the disciples were incredulous for sheer joy and wonder. And Jesus shows his wounds of love to us and that joy and wonder are Jesus' gift to each one of us, as we gather to recognize him in the breaking of the bread.

Al Grosskopf, S.J.


2nd Sunday Easter B (John 20:19-31)

I'm often overwhelmed by promises as I thumb through the ads in our national magazines, watch TV commercials, and listen to politicians defending party platforms that may be glib, or meaningless, or deceptive. Promises of health care reform, clean energy, support of a limping educational system, ending the unemployment rate in our country, prompt the bombardment of promises. Promises are enticing. Significant tax cuts will solve our financial woes. Increased national security will protect us infallibly from terrorist attacks.  Struggling airlines can get us to exotic places at the lowest cost in years. Promises, promises, promises!

           What really promises us happiness and fulfillment and real peace?  What truly fulfills our dreams of a better life, without worry and anxiety? In today's Gospel, Thomas has the answer, faith in Our Lord Jesus Christ. This faith comes not through seeing and touching, but rather through hearing the saving, life-giving message of Jesus Christ, growing in a deeper personal knowledge of him, and committing ourselves to him and his saving mission in the community of  believers. In this we experience that great gift of peace which Jesus so freely gives. We are touched by God’s mercy which comes to us through the loving heart of Jesus.

          Thomas is very much like ourselves. He fails to understand what he hears and he needs to be shown concrete evidence. Seeing is believing for Thomas. Fittingly, the name Thomas, Didymus, means "twin," and we are indeed his twin, you and I, for his skepticism is our skepticism, and his doubting is our doubting. The other disciples kept telling him, "We have seen the Lord." And Thomas' typical skeptical response was "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” However, when Jesus appeared the second time to the disciples with Thomas present, Jesus said to Thomas: "Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.” In the power of Jesus' presence, Thomas proclaimed: "My Lord and my God."

          We too who are Thomas' twins know his confusion and his struggle to believe, in our wrestling and searching about the meaning of life, and our quest for authentic peace. There are times when we may struggle in our confusion about broken relationships and perhaps divorce, about personal insecurity and self doubt, about illness, and unemployment, and poverty, and ultimately, death. Yet in the power of the risen Lord Jesus and his Spirit, we too can cry out with Thomas, "My Lord and my God." Faith comes not through seeing and touching but through hearing, hearing the life-giving Word of God proclaimed in the midst of the Church, and in the way we live our lives in relation to each other, in our sharing and our loving.

          As Church, we are a people listening in faith to the teaching handed down to us by the apostles, hearing of the astounding, healing love of our Lord and brother, Jesus.  We are one in fellowship, caring compassionately for each other's needs, and reaching out beyond our Church to the world as healers and life givers for others. Dissatisfied with empty promises, we gather regularly at the Eucharist to share in the body and blood of the Lord who sustains the life of our community and nourishes the spirit that God has placed within each one of us. In this is our peace; in this is our happiness. Peace be with you.     Al Grosskopf, S.J.


Easter Sunday (John 20:1-9)

          More people go to Mass on Easter Sunday than on any other day of the year. Some who go haven’t gone since last Easter, and many who go only irregularly make a special effort to be present on this day. The result is that sometimes there’s standing room only. I wonder why this large attendance happens. I think that this day has a grip on our hearts. How can we explain this grip, this strange hold that Easter has on our hearts?

          I suspect that it’s rooted in the temporary nature of our lives. Nothing human lasts very long. We see ourselves here today and gone tomorrow.  People have populated this planet in the billions.  All of us have lost friends and relatives over the years.  The question arises, “Does death have the final word on everything?” Our minds revolt against that. Our dictionaries have words like “permanent,” “enduring,” “eternal.”   (lifetime warranty, or at least, extended warranty on cars or appliances).  Our minds rebel against the thought that all will come to an end, that nothing is permanent, that death is the end of life. We long for something that endures. And that longing is part of the reason Easter has a hold on our hearts.

          Our love for people is another part of the Easter hold on our hearts.  Mary Magdalene was at the tomb “while it was still dark.” She came to anoint the body of Jesus with additional spices. Why did Peter and John race to the tomb in the first gray hours of dawn? These friends of Jesus weren’t thinking in terms of common sense. A dead body is just a dead body. They were motivated by love. Even though Jesus was dead and gone, they couldn’t stop loving him.

          These same thoughts and feelings lie at the heart of our Easter faith. We don’t stop loving people just because they die. Our concern, of course, goes beyond the physical bodies that have been buried or cremated, or returned to the dust from which they came. They had personalities; they were unique creatures made in God’s image. It has been said that “There is a sniff of immortality about our love for one another.” Our Easter faith is deeply rooted in that.

          Those who came to the tomb had broken hearts at the death of their friend, Jesus. It not only broke their hearts, all their hopes were destroyed. Then on the third day, they discovered that he was alive again. And this time he was alive forever. The resurrection was an answer, not to selfish fears, but to unselfish love.  Death had no dominion over him, and life made sense again, and hope returned.

          St. John Chrysostom  in the 5th century spoke to this in his powerful Easter sermon:  “Christ is risen, and you, O death, are annihilated! Christ is risen, and the evil ones are cast down! Christ is risen and the angels rejoice! Christ is risen and life is liberated! Christ is risen and the tomb is emptied of its dead; for Christ having risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To him be glory and power forever. Amen!”

This is why this Easter day has such a firm hold on your heart and mine. He is risen indeed! Let us rejoice and be glad. Alleluia!   

Al Grosskopf, S.J.


Sundays in Lent

Sundays 2-6 Cycle B

Christmas - Holy Family - Epiphany

Sundays in Advent

33rd Sunday A

32nd Sunday A

31st Sunday A 

30th Sunday A 

29th Sunday A 

28th Sunday A

27th Sunday A

26th Sunday A

25th Sunday A

23rd Sunday A 

22nd Sunday A

21st Sunday A

20th Sunday A

19th Sunday A


17th Sunday A

16th Sunday A

13th Sunday A

Body and Blood of Christ A

Ascension Thursday A

6th Sunday Easter A

5th Sunday Easter A

4th Sunday Easter A

3rd Sunday Easter A

2nd Sunday Easter A

Passion (Palm) Sunday A

5th Sunday Lent A

4th Sunday Lent A

3rd Sunday Lent A

2nd Sunday Lent A

1st Sunday Lent A

8th Sunday A

6th Sunday A

5th Sunday A

3rd Sunday A

4th Sunday Advent A

2nd Sunday Advent A

Christ the King C

33rd Sunday C

32nd Sunday C

31st Sunday C

29th Sunday C

28th Sunday C

24th Sunday C

23rd Sunday C

19th Sunday C

18th Sunday C

17th Sunday C

13th Sunday C