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April 08 Sat, 2023
Homily for the Easter Vigil 2023
Dear brothers and sisters,
May the Lord give you peace!
Every night, the light of the risen Christ illuminates the darkness. We see it shining in the flame of the Paschal candle, which has drawn the light of the new fire. It is not a light that can only be seen; it can also be heard. We have heard it today, in the Word that the liturgy of this vigil has offered us: so many lights that illuminate the steps of our faith.
We have heard the story of a long promise of life. The promise of a God who created the world for the specific purpose of making a covenant with man. Starting from creation, we went through the whole story that mankind was called to follow: to accept and to become responsible for the gift received, the gift of God’s covenant. It is a story of elections and falls, a story that always begins again, even when it seems to be over, finished, with no way out because of the hardness of man’s heart. As God always intervenes to give something new: He gives life, He gives freedom, He gives the Law, He gives a new heart. In this way, He puts people back on the path, restores strength and hope, restores the certainty that He walks with us, among us.
Jesus’ death may make us think that, at some point in history, this promise suffered a final setback: Christ, the fulfillment of the promise, the Amen of the Father, was killed and buried. The one who had come to reveal again to humanity the Father’s unconditional love, the one who had come to do good and to heal all (cf. Acts 10:38), was met with misunderstanding and rejection on the part of His own. He was betrayed, denied, sold, handed over, mocked, tortured, crucified, killed. From a human perspective, His life ended in the worst possible failure. On the morning of the first day after the Sabbath, the women go to the tomb bearing in their hearts this sorrowful realization. The evangelist Matthew writes it well: "Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb." (28:1). Of that promise of life, nothing remains but a tomb, a tomb in front of which a great stone has been rolled (Mt 27:60). So begins the Gospel of this Vigil, with a tomb to go to in order to weep. A little further on, however, we see a reversal, a sudden change of direction: the Gospel says that these same women quickly leave the tomb, that they do not remain there weeping, but, with fear and yet great joy (Mt 28:8), return to the disciples bringing a proclamation of life. What happened? What caused this reversal? The text tells us about two elements: an earthquake and an angel. Earthquakes, in revelation, are always associated to great theophanies: in the Sinai (Ex 19) for example, when God reveals Himself, the earth trembles. It is a sign of God’s power, His transcendence, His surplus. But we also know that earthquakes destroy, and we have seen, just recently, what destructive force an earthquake can have. We could say that here too, on Easter morning, the earthquake destroys: not life, but rather death and its power. As indeed, it is accompanied by the presence of an angel, clothed in light, who approaches the tomb, rolls away its stone and sits on it (Mt 28:2). Death is defeated, and the angel sits on it, because he dominates it, because he holds it in his power. It is no longer death that holds the body of Jesus: the door of the tomb, of Sheol, has been opened. It was a heavy door, a rock that weighed on all our hearts, but now an angel sits on it. From the very beginning, angels, in Matthew’s Gospel, play a significant role. Think of Joseph; when he is troubled by Mary’s pregnancy, it is an angel who interprets for him the events that are happening, who reveals to him the significance of that birth, who says that it comes from God. We see the same thing here: the angel reveals to the women that what has happened comes from God, that what is happening is a new birth. Something has died, something is being born. A new life is being born, a new era, because the Lord is risen, the Lord is no longer a slave to death. Here is the reversal: if before the women were on their way to the tomb, now they leave the tomb behind, and return to life. If before all of humanity, together with the women, were on their way to death, now it is the other way around: from there, from death defeated, humanity starts again, on their way to life. The Gospel, however, also indicates a condition, a passage that makes this new birth possible. And the condition is the one told by the angel to the women, “Come and see the place where he lay” (Mt 28:6). It is a matter of standing, without fleeing, at the place of death, at the place of failure, of the impossibility of life. Even more, it is about doing what the angel asks the women to do, that is, to look at that nothingness, that empty tomb, to look at it well, to enter into that abyss that proclaims the failure of life and of God’s Promise. “Come and see the place where he lay” (Mt. 28:6).
Only there can we hear the promise again, only there can we believe in a new beginning. Only after becoming aware of sin and death can we experience forgiveness and salvation, and can we start again with a new joy in our hearts and with new words on our lips. “Go quickly and tell His disciples, ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see Him.’ Behold, I have told you.” (Mt. 28:7).
This is how the encounter with the Risen Lord takes place, about which I would like to emphasize just two elements.
The first is that this encounter does not take place at the tomb, but on the way, when the women have already begun to believe in the word of the angel and have reversed the course of their journey. For those who leave the tomb, for those who believe in the victory over death and set out on a new path, even with fear, even without having understood everything yet, with a minimum of faith, the encounter with the Lord takes place and a dynamism of announcements and new looks is unleashed; a proclamation capable of opening our eyes to see once again the living presence of Christ in our daily lives, at our side.
It is in the Church today that the angel’s words still resound: “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said... Behold, I have told you.” (Mt 28:5, 7). It is the Church’s task to proclaim that new dynamism of life, which from the angel reaches the women, from the women reaches the disciples, and from them reaches the whole world. It is the one thing the Church is called to do and for which she exists: to announce that Christ is risen, is the Kyrios. Everything else is an afterthought and may not even be there: “Behold, I have told you” (Mt 28:7). We too, like the women, may not understand everything. We too, like the disciples, may be uncertain and doubtful to the end (cf. Mt 28:17), with only a hint of faith. Yet we are not asked to be perfect, but only to accept to turn around, to leave our graves, not to give in to our small and big deaths.
The second element is the shocking ordinariness of this encounter: once again, the beauty of new life does not lie in great signs or events, in extraordinary effects, but in the humble simplicity of an encounter, in the joy of words given and received, in the horizon that opens up to the responsibility of bringing others too, brothers and sisters, to the encounter with the Lord of Life.
May our Church, then, the Church in Jerusalem, which first received this wonderful proclamation, not seek the Living One among the dead (cf. Lk 24:5), among those who have lost hope and remain locked in their tombs. Instead, from this Place, from the empty tomb of Christ, this good news still reaches the whole world today: “He is not here; he has risen, just as he said” (Matt. 28:6).
†Pierbattista Pizzaballa Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem
Every night, the light of the risen Christ illuminates the darkness. We see it shining in the flame of the Paschal candle, which has drawn the light of the new fire. It is not a light that can only be seen; it can also be heard. We have heard it today, in the Word that the liturgy of this vigil has offered us: so many lights that illuminate the steps of our faith.
We have heard the story of a long promise of life. The promise of a God who created the world for the specific purpose of making a covenant with man. Starting from creation, we went through the whole story that mankind was called to follow: to accept and to become responsible for the gift received, the gift of God’s covenant. It is a story of elections and falls, a story that always begins again, even when it seems to be over, finished, with no way out because of the hardness of man’s heart. As God always intervenes to give something new: He gives life, He gives freedom, He gives the Law, He gives a new heart. In this way, He puts people back on the path, restores strength and hope, restores the certainty that He walks with us, among us.
Jesus’ death may make us think that, at some point in history, this promise suffered a final setback: Christ, the fulfillment of the promise, the Amen of the Father, was killed and buried. The one who had come to reveal again to humanity the Father’s unconditional love, the one who had come to do good and to heal all (cf. Acts 10:38), was met with misunderstanding and rejection on the part of His own. He was betrayed, denied, sold, handed over, mocked, tortured, crucified, killed. From a human perspective, His life ended in the worst possible failure. On the morning of the first day after the Sabbath, the women go to the tomb bearing in their hearts this sorrowful realization. The evangelist Matthew writes it well: "Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb." (28:1). Of that promise of life, nothing remains but a tomb, a tomb in front of which a great stone has been rolled (Mt 27:60). So begins the Gospel of this Vigil, with a tomb to go to in order to weep. A little further on, however, we see a reversal, a sudden change of direction: the Gospel says that these same women quickly leave the tomb, that they do not remain there weeping, but, with fear and yet great joy (Mt 28:8), return to the disciples bringing a proclamation of life. What happened? What caused this reversal? The text tells us about two elements: an earthquake and an angel. Earthquakes, in revelation, are always associated to great theophanies: in the Sinai (Ex 19) for example, when God reveals Himself, the earth trembles. It is a sign of God’s power, His transcendence, His surplus. But we also know that earthquakes destroy, and we have seen, just recently, what destructive force an earthquake can have. We could say that here too, on Easter morning, the earthquake destroys: not life, but rather death and its power. As indeed, it is accompanied by the presence of an angel, clothed in light, who approaches the tomb, rolls away its stone and sits on it (Mt 28:2). Death is defeated, and the angel sits on it, because he dominates it, because he holds it in his power. It is no longer death that holds the body of Jesus: the door of the tomb, of Sheol, has been opened. It was a heavy door, a rock that weighed on all our hearts, but now an angel sits on it. From the very beginning, angels, in Matthew’s Gospel, play a significant role. Think of Joseph; when he is troubled by Mary’s pregnancy, it is an angel who interprets for him the events that are happening, who reveals to him the significance of that birth, who says that it comes from God. We see the same thing here: the angel reveals to the women that what has happened comes from God, that what is happening is a new birth. Something has died, something is being born. A new life is being born, a new era, because the Lord is risen, the Lord is no longer a slave to death. Here is the reversal: if before the women were on their way to the tomb, now they leave the tomb behind, and return to life. If before all of humanity, together with the women, were on their way to death, now it is the other way around: from there, from death defeated, humanity starts again, on their way to life. The Gospel, however, also indicates a condition, a passage that makes this new birth possible. And the condition is the one told by the angel to the women, “Come and see the place where he lay” (Mt 28:6). It is a matter of standing, without fleeing, at the place of death, at the place of failure, of the impossibility of life. Even more, it is about doing what the angel asks the women to do, that is, to look at that nothingness, that empty tomb, to look at it well, to enter into that abyss that proclaims the failure of life and of God’s Promise. “Come and see the place where he lay” (Mt. 28:6).
Only there can we hear the promise again, only there can we believe in a new beginning. Only after becoming aware of sin and death can we experience forgiveness and salvation, and can we start again with a new joy in our hearts and with new words on our lips. “Go quickly and tell His disciples, ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see Him.’ Behold, I have told you.” (Mt. 28:7).
This is how the encounter with the Risen Lord takes place, about which I would like to emphasize just two elements.
The first is that this encounter does not take place at the tomb, but on the way, when the women have already begun to believe in the word of the angel and have reversed the course of their journey. For those who leave the tomb, for those who believe in the victory over death and set out on a new path, even with fear, even without having understood everything yet, with a minimum of faith, the encounter with the Lord takes place and a dynamism of announcements and new looks is unleashed; a proclamation capable of opening our eyes to see once again the living presence of Christ in our daily lives, at our side.
It is in the Church today that the angel’s words still resound: “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said... Behold, I have told you.” (Mt 28:5, 7). It is the Church’s task to proclaim that new dynamism of life, which from the angel reaches the women, from the women reaches the disciples, and from them reaches the whole world. It is the one thing the Church is called to do and for which she exists: to announce that Christ is risen, is the Kyrios. Everything else is an afterthought and may not even be there: “Behold, I have told you” (Mt 28:7). We too, like the women, may not understand everything. We too, like the disciples, may be uncertain and doubtful to the end (cf. Mt 28:17), with only a hint of faith. Yet we are not asked to be perfect, but only to accept to turn around, to leave our graves, not to give in to our small and big deaths.
The second element is the shocking ordinariness of this encounter: once again, the beauty of new life does not lie in great signs or events, in extraordinary effects, but in the humble simplicity of an encounter, in the joy of words given and received, in the horizon that opens up to the responsibility of bringing others too, brothers and sisters, to the encounter with the Lord of Life.
May our Church, then, the Church in Jerusalem, which first received this wonderful proclamation, not seek the Living One among the dead (cf. Lk 24:5), among those who have lost hope and remain locked in their tombs. Instead, from this Place, from the empty tomb of Christ, this good news still reaches the whole world today: “He is not here; he has risen, just as he said” (Matt. 28:6).
†Pierbattista Pizzaballa Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem
Source: lpj.org with image from the FB Page of the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem
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