As it turns out, this was one of those Sundays, the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A, for which I did not have any Fr Dennis Dillon, SJ homily notes or poems. There are a couple of reasons I can think of — the “Eleventh Sunday” might fall during one of the two Solemnities of the Lord this time of year (Trinity Sunday and Corpus Christi Sunday); this started to be vacation time for the Jesuits after the super hectic school year (even if you weren’t in Campus Ministry proper); and sometimes … I just might not have made it to the one or two Masses on the “Eleventh Sunday” that he actually preached. Or, maybe there is an Eleventh Sunday OT poem hiding in my collection of poem “orts,” poems that I know he read to us (by my hearing or someone else’s) but I/we couldn’t place the Mass.
However, I can share some of the ways he taught us how to engage with scripture.
First and foremost, Ignatian contemplation — imagine yourself in the gospel (usually) scene. Observe and feel, use your senses — smell, touch, hearing, taste, sight, your social sense — and feel. Yes, that’s right experience your emotions. One of the gifts of St Ignatius of Loyola to the Church is that he shared that God is in our imaginations, too (since God created human imagination!). Those feelings — joy, elation, anxiety, fear, courage, distrust, anger, frustration, and more — those are the experiences we then share with our best friend, Jesus Christ, who can and will only meet us in Love in the scripture. I find these moments of shared humanity and Christ’s gift of restored divinity to us, as God’s Created, help me understand the Love in even difficult or perturbing gospels. Or, be at peace with my lack of understanding for now.
His understanding of his own reading of scripture then led him into the theological underpinning and to poems, new ones and ones he was familiar with after 1/2 century of engagement. He might find several poems for a particular Sunday, and there might be different ones shared at different Masses once he experienced how their shared prayer in a particular Mass was unfolding.
D2 also shared how various scripture commentaries (e.g., The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, Eds I and II, and now III), helped him, as well as a tight line-by-line Greek to English translation in the Left Behind and Loving It blog.
Of course, there were many, many films. This is a good reminder to me to put up the selections from our parish film series.
And, many books — again, ranging from fiction to formal academic tomes and all kinds of genres in-between that might help us understand the humanity and divinity of the gospel. One of the books of his final recommendations is The Diary of Jesus Christ by Bill Cain, SJ.
We reflected with D2 that The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ is its own kind of mystery, following on the mystery of the Trinity:
We are called to eat the meal — manna and water in the first reading, now bread and wine, and Precious Body and Blood in the Mass.
This eating is not a passive act. We are called to bring our deepest selves and actively engage with the Mass and our lives. Among the changes created in the liturgy by the Vatican II Council are:
Greater communication, because the priest and congregation now engaged with each other in the Eucharist in a shared local language, as a native language conveys more of the heart, more intimacy. (Cf: The Latin Rite, which emphasized observation and distance, and separation between shepherd and flock in worship style.)
Music in the Latin Rite was beautiful, complex, and mainly for professional participation, while current liturgy music is for everybody to sing together and listen to each other, again, in a shared language.
We are called to prayer and action in community, with each other, in Christ.
In Jane Hirshfield’s poem, After Work, he experienced the seeing of the sacred in the everyday events, which is part of the wonder of the Body and Blood — seeing and experiencing the Body and Blood of Christ, in bread and wine.
John Shea’s poem, Fitzgerald’s Prayer, describes the healing and gift in receiving the bread and wine and sharing our stories with each other and to God, i.e., Meal as Eucharist …
… and as we share in the here and now, we bring in and can look forward to the eternal Banquet.
In 2011, we reflected from D2’s homily that —
Corpus Christi used to be celebrated with a parade / march (officially, “a procession”) through the streets with the Precious Body and as the body of Christ.
The diversity of the Communion line at St Mary’s reminds him of a “procession of the Body of Christ” — international, multi-generational, all different kinds of receiving of the Host, each piece of home-baked Host unique..
The commonness of the gifts — bread and wine — are available in virtually every culture.
Well … I am still looking for our featured image! I am trying to find one I can use from the Calgary (Alberta Province of Canada) Stampede. Over the years, the chuckwagons, who would later race, formed caravans (processions) … and then the cooks with the chuckwagons began making flapjacks (pancakes) for the stampede / race attendees. Eventually, the Stampede and Race merged; other community pancake breakfasts emerged as fundraisers and community builders, including the 2022 StampEid, intentionally combining an African traditional chickpea stew with the offering of flapjacks. This article offers a history of the event, a good example of how the Gospel grows itself — through community processions, meals, and sharing. I love the image of the first flapjack cook, Horace Inkster. His driver/racer/boss, Jack Morton, also shared his chuckwagon with his two pet badgers. đ
The Trinity is a dynamic relationship — One God with relationship between one and all and with each other and all of us and each of us, AND a revelation of who we are:
The Trinity is celebrated all together. (rl note: don’t sweat it; we won’t get it. That’s why the Trinity is a mystery.)
New York Times article about the metal artist / worker, Alex Calder, who is quoted, “The work is the same but it keeps changing.”
Kilian McDonnell’s poem, “The Monks of St John’s File in for Prayer,” reminds D2 of the St Mary’s Communion line — all the stories and variety of us, together.
He thought Robert Hadyn’s poem, “Those Winter Sundays,” captured how God is relational, or as St Ignatius says, “Love is shown more in deeds than words.” Robert Hadyn, our first U.S. Poet Laureate, taught at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor [rl — where the St Mary’s of these posts is located].
In 2014, we reflected from D2’s homily that —
God is community, 3-in-1 family. We constantly depend on other people for purpose and happiness, like we depend on God.
God is wider than our imaginations as captured so beautifully in the Frederick Faber poem, the lyrics to the hymn of the same name, “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy” (Gather #626).
Billy Collins’ humorous poem, “The Lanyard” lays out so truthfully that somehow, through God’s Grace, we are “even” with the Trinity with whatever gift we offer at the Altar, đ even a lanyard.
Our featured image is the famous Trinity image of Andrei Rublev from 15th century. I leave you with a wiki link for more information.
This is a brief excerpt from the Pentecost, Cycle B entry, based on my notes from Fr Dennisâ homily from the Mass of May 20, 2018 10AM.
______
In 2018, Fr Dennis kept it real, simple, and direct.
At the time, it did not feel particularly Easter-y as the news was filled with news that could cause despair and disgust. D2 noted that having such behavior seemingly fill the news can be disheartening.
And while we are called to forgiveness, perhaps most especially when it is difficult, Fr Dennis offered that forgiveness is not a call to passivity. Peacefulness is the fight for justice; it is our foundation. Forgiveness, peacefulness, justice — all these states are dynamic, rather than static or passive conditions.
And that is a nice thought in the year 2026 when so much seems amuck (again or still).
*****
For our image this week, I stumbled across a Danish fresco in the Cathedral of Aarhus in Aarhus, Denmark. It is a fresco of Pentecost with the tongues of fire descending on the twelve apostles … and one title indicates Mary of Magdala but, gospel-wise, Mary the Mother of God and the Church. She is the one with light hair and no beard. đ
Seems to fit with the Roman Catholic Church’s observance of Mary, Mother of the Church on the Monday after Pentecost .
The image was part of a “free download,” but it did not seem the same as other free downloads. The attribution is asked to be ID 85709227 Š Stig Alen’s | Dreamstime.com
In the gospel, Jesus knows he is leaving again and relatively soon but offers some confusing statements when considered in tandem:
Jesus and the Father are one
Jesus is going to the Father (which implies distinctness or separation).
A note of exasperation at Phillip can be detected in Jesus’ words (“Have I been with you for so long a time …?”), but also with Phillip’ and Thomas’ expectations for an understanding they perhaps ought to have internalized by now. That being said — their puzzlement is also a balm to us as we are both enamored and struggle with the mystery of the Resurrection nearly 2000 years later!
This dialogue and conversation captures the sacred tension between religious structure and the spiritual realm.
Catechism / Structure
 <â Sacred Tension â>
Spiritual Realm / Mysticism
What am I supposed to do? Where are we going?
Who am I supposed to be? Who do I follow?
Jesus is teaching that by staying with Jesus, the Jesus inside each one of us, we stay close to God and this means that it matters who we’re traveling with (not as a matter of feet and maps) but our intention and focus (Matthew 6:21, also comes to mind)
with Jesus in our hearts
with eyes and ears for Jesus in others
in prayer and Mass (the actual Presence being given to us anew, each time, for taking into ourselves and taking out into the world).
The Lincoln prose-poem of David Shumate is set in 1865, describing the man himself and what he had lived through the prior four years (recalling President Lincoln was assassinated on 14 April 1865 at 10:15PM, the country’s first presidential assassination, just five days after the Union received the words of surrender from the Confederacy on 9 April 1865, and several days before the Civil War’s official end). It was not just Lincoln’s words that built community out of great division, but the man himself.
Some rl musings —
Our image of the post is The Boyhood of Abraham Lincoln by Eastman Johnson (1868). I first saw it at the University of Michigan Museum of Art (UMMA) (It rocks! Check it out!). Young Abraham Lincoln is leaning into the only light available in the darkness of his cabin to capture the light of the words from one of the only books available to him. His act of hope in the future, a better future for many, is an echo to me of how Jesus himself brought Light into the world, and we need to have that Light inside us and share it and Jesus, as best we can.
rl – I have vague memories of the folk song, sung by any number of artists, titled “Abraham, Martin, and John” offered by Dion or Marvin Gaye. I remember Dad growing quiet, or Mom quietly crying to it or having a social sadness that I wouldn’t understand at the time, but feels all too familiar these days.  My horizon of hopes ahead for me personally is, understandably diminishing as I age — both because of my limitations and because I’ve been blessed with so many hopes realized. But it is the thought of what we need to do for our younglings to have a full horizon of hope that shakes any melancholy, renews my faith in Christ “who called [us] out of darkness into his wonderful light,” and sets my sail accordingly to the hope the Resurrection encompasses. We are an Easter people, children of the Resurrection, called to follow and share Christ’s Light, irrespective of the darkness around us. That is our Faith.
In Jesus’ time, the relationship between the sheep and the shepherd was personal, the sheep were family. Even now, in the south Sudan, the Dinku tribe keeps cattle for food and milk. The cattle sleep in the tents with the humans, and there is a ritual, an emotional and intentional mourning, at their eventual death. And, as we know from the Nativity stories, the shepherds were closest to story but among the lowest tier of Jewish social status. Jesus, once again, goes to the margins of society to love and be present like the best of family, the best of friends.
Before the Resurrection: Jesus was Master.
After the Resurrection:Â Jesus is friend and peer
He returns to his friends and consoles them
.
He moves on in our lives with us, together, each of us with Jesus and each other.
One of the reasons to go with this interpretation of friendship is that in last week’s Emmaus story, the primary experience must have been one of Jesus consoling the disciples. Why? Because he is not teaching — none of the links of his life to the scripture are recorded!, so the intent is more to show there was meaning to this suffering, from the beginning of God’s revelation in the person of Jesus of Nazareth to the current moment of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, and a clear meaning at that (the many and unspecified scripture references).Â
rl paraphrases as: What was remembered from the encounter at Emmaus was not the makings of a killer scholarly paper, but the relief, the consolation of mercy from your dearest friend after fatal betrayal and abandonment by everyone that you were and are and will be forgiven and that you remain dearly beloved. Jesus gave their frailty context, meaning, and humanity.
David Budbill’s The First Green of Spring — eating and life, each day is a new resurrection. Also, much of the resurrection is Jesus sharing meals with his friends.
Kiersten Dierking’s Lucky is a poem capturing the quiet work of God in our lives, much like a Good Shepherd leads us to green pastures. The intimate trust of being safe with someone.
In fond memory of Fr Dennis Dillon, SJ, whose homilies comprise so much of this blog, and Pope Francis.
The day that had to happen, that I didn’t want to happen (all love of our theology and the Resurrection aside) … has happened. Father Dennis Dillon, SJ, died at peace on Monday, April 21, 2025. Yes, Easter Monday, and the same day as Pope Francis. His are the homilies and poem selections that form the main content for the liturgical entries in this blog.
I’ve delayed posting this for all kinds of reasons, but it seemed fitting to do so as we begin the 13th season (in-person) of the parish film series he began at St Mary’s (St Mary Student Parish in Ann Arbor, Michigan) in 2012.
I’ve included the various notes and materials below of his Vigil and Funeral Mass at Colombiere Chapel in Clarkston, Michigan. It was a one-time Jesuit college and in its hey-day filled with budding Jesuits. Now — the Colombiere Conference and Retreat Center runs side-by-side with the Colombiere Jesuit Community — a retirement and healthcare facility. We should all be so graced to receive such love and care in our final days.
Vigil, Thursday, April 24, 2025
Colombiere Center takes down the Vigil and Funeral services after a certain time, and such was the case with the videos for Fr Dennis’ wake and funeral.
In the Vigil, you hear wonderful testimonies of friendship & family and the overwhelming memory of relationship with him — kindness. And, as his adult nephew said, somehow, no matter what was going on, if Dennis was around, it just felt like everything would be alright. Not because of any particular acumen on his part (though he was accomplished as priest, prophet, and magician!), but because of his faith and how he walked with Jesus.
Prelude to Funeral Mass
Prior to the beginning of the funeral Mass, Fr Mark Luedtke, SJ, superior of the Colombiere Jesuit Community, queued up Odetta’s version of “Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold This Body Down.” This was one of D2’s requests, as his final two full-time assignments prior to semi-retirement at St Mary’s had been to predominantly African-American parishes in Ohio. Unfortunately, the prelude was not captured on the livestream.
“Ain’t No Grave (Gonna Hold This Body Down)” (originally by Claude Ely)
There ain’t no grave can hold my body down. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down, my body down. When the blues trumpet sound, Iâll be gettinâ up walkinâ round. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down. Well, I heard, beautiful sinner, well its Jesusâ words takinâ me home. Been I headinâ out, headinâ a-headinâ O lord, I been told when I call this Throne of Grace itâs gonna coin my soul in place. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down. When Jesus hanginâ on the cross well it made poor Mary [??]. Then he look down on his disciples and take my brother home Ainât that a pity, dark shame How they crucified his name Ain’t no grave can hold my body down. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down, my body down. When the blues trumpet sound, Iâll be gettinâ up walkinâ round ain’t no grave can hold my body down.
Funeral Mass
Funeral Mass Livestream (has been removed for some time, but details/links of the funeral Mass follow) —
Entrance Hymn: I Want to Be a Child of Jesus
First Reading: Job 19:23-25, 27
Psalm 23
Second Reading: 1 John 3:1-2
Luke 24:13-35 (The Road to Emmaus)
(read in alternation with Fathers Gary Wright and Bob Scullin, SJ)
Alas, it falls to me to carry the lowly prose section of this. I hesitate to even say anything following those beautiful words. Iâll begin with a story of my third to last visit with Dennis. He was still in the hospital in the throes of co-vid. He was not lucid and couldnât really speak at all. But, part way through the visit he suddenly snapped to alertness and looked me right in the eyes. I thought, âAh! A moment of clarity!â And I said, âYou know who I am!â âYes, of course! You are the Pope!â And to this day, I donât know if he was hallucinating or just being his usual playful self with me.
But I can assure you, he was not being playful in choosing these readings today. These selections from scripture give a wonderful window into the soul of Dennis, a wonderful way into his spirituality.
Last night at the Vigil Service many of us spoke about how gentle a soul Dennis was, how kindly, how compassionate. But, I found the first reading from the Book of Job today to be almost defiant in tone, not like Dennis at all. âO that my words were chiseled into the rock forever. I know that my Redeemer will live and stand upon the dust of the earth. And from my flesh I will see God.â Heâs almost like a defiant proclamation to us, of Dennisâ own belief in God and a life beyond this one and in the Resurrection. But I think itâs more than a belief in the Resurrection. Heâs also saying something about our destiny, our purpose in this life as human beings, which is to see God. âFrom my flesh I shall see Godâ that we might see something of the divine mystery that gives birth to all of us, that is our life, that is our destiny, and our calling.
In the second reading today, from the Letter of St John, I think Dennis is making clear that that seeing God is a lifelong process of transformation in us. That every time we get some glimpse of the divine mystery, some glimpse of the depth dimension of our lives, we are transformed, and we become more like God ourselves. The reading says that we know we are Godâs children now but we donât know what we will be then, bespeaks of that process of transformation. But we do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him ⌠we shall be like him for we shall see him as he is.
Now those are wonderful thoughts and we know Dennis would never leave us there with some lovely theological truths that are somewhat abstract. And, so the gospel today, I think, brings out the human dimension, brings out the human story, and a narrative how we do see God and find God in our very human, our everyday experience. If this gospel were a movie, as Dennis might look at it, I see in it three scenes that are critical for our reflection.
Scene 1: there, the disciples are walking along the road on the way to this village, and it is said they were conversing about everything that had happened. And this stranger comes up, and it says he walks with them, he walks with them. And, it seems to me, this captures a great deal of the life and even the ministry of Dennis Dillon: conversing about everything thatâs happened.
I know I first met Dennis when we were assigned to live together in a Jesuit community in 1972. And over 53 years, we conversed a lot. Many of you knew him as a priest, as a pastor, as a spiritual guide, I just knew him as a friend. And we talked and talked and talked and talked. It was a lot of conversation. And Iâm sure you enjoyed conversation with him. And I think he had a deep trust that in that conversation Jesus would come up and walk with us. Maybe we didnât recognize him but Jesus was there in the conversation.
Scene 2: Jesus begins to reveal himself to them, and he begins to explain the scriptures to them. And I think this was an essential part of who Dennis was, he explained the scriptures to us, but NOT by talking about the Bible. <chuckle> He explained the scriptures through poetry, through film, through the arts. He gave us a way in to words and to thoughts that helped us articulate what our lives are really about in this world, with one other, with our God. And, I think in this, Dennis was really exercising a prophetic ministry. I think we all know today religious language is lost on most people. Itâs just not heard any more. And I think Dennis very deliberately developed, as it were, a second language, an alternative language, other words to give us a way into the sacred, into the sacred words, into some understanding of our faith and of the life that we live.
Scene 3: They arrive at the inn, they go in, and they sit down to eat. And there, Jesus takes the bread, says the blessing, blesses it, and breaks it, and gives it to them. This was another dimension of the ministry of Dennis, of his life â sharing meals with his friends. But above all sharing the sacred liturgy. I think of all the years of Dennisâ life as a Jesuit and all the many different assignments that he had; he was never far from the altar. He was never far from the altar. And Iâm sure many of you sitting here from his various parishes may remember him primarily as one who celebrated the Eucharist. Who called us together at this table, and Dennis was the one who took the bread, and said the blessing and broke it and shared it with us. And, I think in that, we could recognize who Dennis really was, just like those disciples finally recognized Jesus who he was.
In the Eucharist, I think we see, really, the deepest part of Dennis, his most real self, what he believed and lived most. It was a world of symbols, signs, sacrament, that went beyond words, in which we are called to experience the presence of God with us, in his Christ, and experience that call to be broken and shared ourselves to give our lives to one another.
This came together for me in an image, a memory that came back to me recently. One week ago yesterday it was Holy Thursday, and at the time I didnât realize how close Dennis was to passing. At the HT service, my mind was just filled with the memory of Dennis presiding at a HT service many years ago when he was the pastor at Gesu parish, and I was sitting in the congregation. At the end of that service, the priest takes the communion, the Sacrament the blessed Sacrament, and makes a solemn procession through the church preceded by candles and incense. This memory came back to me and just filled my mind and my heart because that day many years ago when I watched Dennis come down the aisle toward me somehow time stood still for a minute. And as it were I saw into another dimension of Dennis, and in that moment he became for me an icon, of the human being bearing the presence of Christ as he walks through the world. That was Dennis, an image of Christ walking through the world.
And if it is true that we are all called to be other Christs, and, if it is true that we believe that Dennis now is moving more deeply into union with Christ, then, it isnât a scandal for us to say of Dennis what we might say of Christ. And so I want to end by quoting an Easter hymn that is addressed to Christ that we sang at that Holy Thursday liturgy so many years ago.
Dennis, we remember how you loved us to your death, and still we celebrate for you are with us here. And we believe that we will see you once again in your glory. We remember. We celebrate. We believe. —***—
Offertory: Jesus, Let All Creation Bend a Knee to the Lord
Closing: Jesus, We Remember
Take and Receive (Old Melody)
Song at Final Commendation of our funeral Masses (Song of Farewell, Dennis Smolarski, SJ)
Thank you, Dennis, for your many, many gifts of kindness to so many; for a spirituality of humbleness and gratitude as a way to learn to walk with Christ; and for all the shared and sharing love of poetry, film, and the arts.
D2 opened with a joke. (!) “Someone gets in a cab in New York City. After a bit, the passenger has a question for the driver and, from the rear seat, taps his shoulder. The driver violently reacts to the touch, almost careens into a bus, swings back almost over the meridian, back to the curb, and stops just short of a plate glass window. The passenger says, ‘I’m so sorry!; I didn’t realize you were so shell-shocked from all these years driving a cab!’ The driver said, ‘Oh no — it wasn’t you! This is my first day driving a cab; I’ve spent the last twenty-five years driving a hearse.'” đ
Jesus in the Resurrection has that sort of startle effect.
In his apparitions, Jesus doesn’t make much of his resurrection, or why he keeps popping up all over the place — other than the obvious reason that he’s forgiving them (for abandoning him, betraying him, and giving way to despair (Cleopas)) and offering “Peace.”
It is notable how gently Jesus forgives — in a delicate way, a gentle way … so he doesn’t startle or haunt or afflict them beyond the abruptness of his appearances and vanishings.
Last week’s e.e. cummings poem, i thank You God for most this amazing, also works this week, particularly with the line “(now the ears of my ears awake and // now the eyes of my eyes are opened)” echoing Luke 24:32 (“With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him.”)
In an email exchange with D2, he passed on VelĂĄzquezâs Servant Girl (c. 1620, Dublin, National Gallery of Ireland, Beit Collection) (our image today) and Denise Levertov’s ekphrastic poem composed to it, “The Servant-Girl at Emmaus (A Painting by VelĂĄzquez). The painting depicts a young woman listening through a kitchen window onto a conversation, looking much like the Emmaus dinner. Interestingly, that corner of the painting had been overpainted and a later cleaning revealed the interesting composition of the ordinary life (the servant girl) as central to the composition with the Divine in the background, but providing the dynamism to the painting.
The image, the Levertov poem, and one more, Kitchen Maid with Supper at Emmaus, or The Mulataâafter the painting by Diego VelĂ zquez, ca. 1619, by Natasha Trethewey, are available on this page of the SALT Lectionary, if you wish a single site for reflection on gospel in imagined image and poetic words. (And, yes, in case you were wondering, I received D2’s email prior to the SALT Lectionary arriving in my inbox.) đ
Our readings for this Sunday, the Second Sunday of Easter, the Resurrection of the Lord, also known as Divine Mercy Sunday and, colloquially, as Rebound Sunday, are here.
These are the poems, my notes, and interpretations of Fr Dennis’ homilies from Cycle 2014. The Mercy Sunday masses we are visiting are:
The story of “Doubting Thomas” is one of the most familiar from the Christian gospels, and it is easy to identify with Thomas. Most of us have Thomas-like doubts about God, God’s Presence, and ourselves.
The apostles are in the upper room because
they are in fear of the other Jews (the religious leadership, who had just murdered Jesus through the crucifixion),
the upper room is a safe haven, a Jerusalem safehouse as it were,
the upper room is the last place all the apostles were gathered with Jesus, and
the upper room hosted the Last Supper, the place of the Institution of the Eucharist
Jesus meets them in peace in this place. You can almost imagine the apostles somewhat teasing Thomas — “We saw the Lord [and you didn’t]!”
RL’s take is that Thomas was so wounded from the emotional journey of being the one to exhort that they go with Jesus to Jerusalem, even if they might die, to watching it all “end” horribly and running away as they all did. That it all hurt too much. He couldn’t deal with any more uncertainty, so he withheld himself from the thought of Jesus’ return. Also, it is as if Jesus is saying everything I said and did in this place, prior to these wounds, is still true with the resurrected wounds. đ Anyway, that is RL’s take on Thomas and place. đ
In the gospel story, Jesus offers “Peace” and reassurance (“Don’t be afraid”) to his friends. (rl – In one of the upper room accounts (Luke 21:41), Jesus asks, “Do we have anything to eat?” I imagine him looking around, maybe rubbing his belly, and looking for the chow.)
The image of the upper room is one in which Jesus gave himself completely in the bread and wine, in death, and the resurrection … and us? what do we do? … or be?? This universal call in Christ, to be with each other “in the upper room” — what is it?
The early Jewish disciples / first unlabeled Christians? The response was to sell everything they had and share with each other in community.
Nowadays? We try to help each other.
e.e. cummings was a rebel in many ways, but particularly in how he found that people took their lives for granted, when, in truth, all we have to do is look around at the world and let the gift of it all fill us.
And so e.e. cummings offers this song of praise in i thank You God for most this amazing poem, humble and exuberant at the same time, “how should tasting touching hearing seeing // breathing any–lifted from the no // of all nothing–human merely being // doubt unimaginable You?
We trust in God, believe in God, follow Jesus and his way of service to others … by God’s Mercy.
In the hometown of Padre Pio, Pietrelcina, Italy, one of the churches has stations of the cross composed of scenes from the Resurrection. Our image today is one of those, depicting the scene in the Upper Room with Thomas to one side … and that basket of fish in the Light of the Resurrected Christ. Pax Vobis or “Peace be with you” can be seen in the upper right of the image.
It seems most Easterly to provide a bounty of poems from Fr Dennis’ Easter homilies ! đ
Our readings for this Sunday, Easter, the Resurrection of the Lord are here. The readings are ABC, meaning they are used every Easter Sunday when the Mass of the Day is celebrated (versus the readings of the Vigil Mass, the evening before).
Again, these are the poems, my notes, and interpretations of Fr Dennisâ homilies from seven different years. Since the readings are the same each year, weâll enjoy a feast of the poems, some notes, and a reflection or two of my own. The Easters we are visiting are:
The following are notes from the earlier Easter celebrations â in later years I was often serving at other St Maryâs liturgies during the day and didnât always get to hear the homilies associated with the poems and notes!
In 2016, we reflected on â
That we donât know much about the actual Resurrection â
There is nothing in scripture about it.
Not much else outside scripture.
The folded face cloth in the tomb helps John believe in the resurrection. A robber or someone opposed to Jesus as the Messiah would not have taken such care; the cloth would have been tossed about.
The resurrection seems to be in the small things, in the overall fit of things. It is not a perfect conclusion, but a sensible one, a reasonable one for a person of faith. It leaves us âlooking up.â
Blackbirds by Julie Cadwallader-Staub captures this with her final line âah yes, this is how itâs meant to be.â
In 2015, we reflected on â
That Easter Sunday is a bit of a letdown from the Vigil and other Triduum masses, a less elaborate and less detailed exaltation of the Resurrection.
Itâs interesting to note that compared to his public ministry of healings and miracles prior to the Passion, Jesus âdoesnât do muchâ after the Resurrection. He could have done fantastic things. But other than the fish catch, there are no miracles. Even that is not on a par with those miracles before the crucifixion or the Resurrection itself.
It seems that all he wants to do is eat with his friends. He seems quite content to be ordinary.
So ⌠weâre going to rise, but we want to cherish what is happening all around us â food, eating, breathing, living.
Breathing â the miracle and depth of it in any given moment. The Hoarfrost and Fog poem by Barton Sutter captures this beautifully. Perhaps imagine that first breath again for Jesus.
We are all born again when we realize we have a God who became human so God could see things from our point of view; and he died and rose so that we could learn Godâs point of view, i.e., Godâs Love for us.
In 2014, we reflected on â
âIn times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.â W. H. Auden.
That Easter Sunday is more easily expressed in singing (or tail-wagging!) than words ⌠and yet we try.
The reign of God, the Kindom (co-opting Greg Boyle, SJâs phrasing) that the Apostles and early Christian communities tried to live and witness in light of the mystery best captured in the gospel, its profit is ⌠of no earthly value at all. There is no economic profit in the Kindom. Instead we might look to the âInvest in the milleniumâ stanzas of Berryâs Manifesto poem. âSay that your main crop is the forest / that you did not plant, / that you will not live to harvest.â
â[P]racticing resurrectionâ is living life for life and love itself; there is no purpose in this world. We have nothing to lose [in this world] because we have everything in Jesus.
For myself, I found that even the tomb of Holy Saturday begins the tail-wagging, though Iâd never known there was a quote to match the feeling â let alone its source!! And the final stanzaâs reference to the resurrection fox â âmaking more tracks than necessary / some in the wrong directionâ â was a wonderful synchronicity to my 2014 Lenten fox of Mary Oliverâs Maker of All Things â Even Healingsâ and currently, of course, âourâ neighborhood foxes.
I struggled a bit with an image for the Resurrection. I was not taken with (for these purposes) the Van Gogh suggestions from the SALT lectionary; tempted but not taken with Rembrandtâs Christ and St Mary Magdalene at the Tomb (is the top left angel playing marbles?).
Finally, I stumbled across a Jim Hasse, SJ prayer-poem and painting. It is titled Searching, as in the woman searching for her coin (Luke 15:8-10), like God seeks to gather us. But the dust and everydayness of this image remind me of one imagining of the Resurrection: Jesus must have smelled of the earth, had a gardener’s smell to him, for Mary to think of Him so. And that is a reassuring thought, to think that breathing, opening earth is part of the Resurrection.
For this year’s images … field daisies. I always loved them, but loved them all the more learning that they are one of the few (if only) flowers found through the one huge continent of America, from north to south with its thin waist in the center. They cannot be sold or cultivated commercially because they have one bloom per stem. Isn’t that grand?
Yo Yo Ma said of his own art, âAm I trying to get it right?, or am I trying to find something?â I might paraphrase that as âAm I trying to find someone?â And, in Hasseâs prayer-poem, âSearching,â I find my resurrection this year is the insight that Jesus witnesses what life is like when we find Love Loving. We canât live that experience every single moment. Weâre human. But we can have faith that we will have resurrection when we let God find us, and we find God, and like Jesus and to Godâs delight, abide in Love Loving for all eternity.
The Surest Sign 