Reflections

The Hope of Easter Monday 

As far as holidays go, Easter Monday in Canada is a bit “hit or miss”! The Federal Government lists it as a statutory holiday and some provinces and territories keep it as such, others don’t or it is left to the discretion of employers. When I immigrated to Canada from the U.K. I must confess this was a big surprise and disappointment especially when studying theology at the University of Toronto I found myself having to take exams on Easter Monday! I had been used to Easter Monday as a day of joyful relaxation, of sharing happiness with all. In many countries it is a day marked by festivities with families and friends, a time to take trips, enjoy meals together and, from a Christian perspective, a time for continuation of Easter celebration. 

Once I had recovered from my Easter Monday nostalgia I began to think of the day anew. At the very heart of Easter Monday is the hope-filled news of resurrection – new life and promise as Springtime too unfolds with its gifts. It isn’t simply a continuation of Easter celebrations. Rather, Easter Monday reminds us to move forward in hope. It is a day to celebrate faith and self-giving love, a time for reflection on the promise of life given us in Christ and in the seasons celebrated more widely by all. Easter Monday provides us with a gateway into the long Easter season of joy as we contemplate the transformative potential given in faith in the Paschal Mystery. Even in hard, dead times the memory and rebirth of hope to be rekindled is ever-present. The whole Easter season sends out an invitation to reach toward others, especially those who may be struggling with disillusionment, grief, anxiety and to the decimated Earth. A good question to ask of ourselves is “what difference does resurrection make in my life and in my care for others and in my world perspective”? Perhaps we can say, “it makes all the difference in the world!”  

In a beautiful, albeit sad, poem called, “Easter Monday”, written by poet, Eleanor Farjeon in memory of her friend, Edward Thomas who was killed on Easter Monday, 1917 on a battlefield in France during World War 1, we catch glimpses of still-existent hope. We read of promise beyond the present moment, a restoration of life even in death, resurrection in harsh reality and loss.  The poem reflects a sudden and extreme grief but also echoes magnificently in the final verse, the consolation of the Divine in its images of Easter and the new life of Spring: 

That Easter Monday was a day for praise, 
It was such a lovely morning. 
In our garden we sowed our earliest seeds, 
and in the orchard, the apple bud was ripe.  

May this easter Monday bring seeds of hope and new life to all.  

-Sister Mary Rowell, csj

Images: Unsplash Tim Gouw

Thinking Fast and Thinking Slow

Resurrection has many faces and many paces…both fast and slow.

In the Christian tradition we celebrate Jesus rising from the dead which on the face of it appears to be a one-time event causing us to rethink a conclusion that death is the final word.

Over and over, we experience resurrection’s faithful and irrepressible pattern…. if we open our eyes wide enough.

Think of how over half a million people marched peacefully in the United States on April 5 to cry out for justice and security for people, for the primal instinct of caring. Is this not also resurrection?

Think of the snowdrops that are coming through the frozen earth, again, against all odds. Is this not also resurrection?

Think of the long painful process of reconciliation which seems to move both at a snail’s pace with every now and again, a leap forward. Some resurrections take generations to complete their arc toward truth.

Think of the present world chaos and disruption of everything we thought was reliable and steady (at least for some of us on the planet). Now we wonder if there is something new trying to emerge in terms of relationship and interdependencies and fresh seeing.

Think of the gestures of connection that can occur everyday…an open door, a sincere gratitude, a recognition that all of us belong to and with each other, not turning away from pain, both our own and that of another, the simple fact of the sun shining.

-Sister Margo Ritchie, Congregational Leader, Sisters of St. Joseph in Canada

Image:Simon Berger/ Pisit Heng/Annie Spratt/Unsplash

AWAITING: A Reflection on Holy Saturday

Today, across the world, we encounter a profound stillness. Symbolically, on Holy Saturday, churches, chapels, and tabernacles are empty - sanctuary lamps extinguished, and altars are stripped bare. This bareness mirrors the tomb itself and draws us into the mystery of Holy Saturday.

Holy Saturday, often overshadowed by the solemnity of Good Friday and the jubilance of Easter Sunday, calls us to pause, to wait, and to reflect. Today occupies a unique space between two defining moments of the Christian faith.

What insights does this day offer us? Might this day of invitational waiting speak to us of the quiet, hidden processes that precede transformation. Can we, like the disciples of old, sit with our doubts and hesitations, acknowledging that the path to new life is often paved with darkness, difficulty, and deferred answers? Holy Saturday beckons us to acknowledge that inner change often comes not with instant clarity, but in the spaces in between, where our belief is stretched and refined.

“Transformation is not a future event. It is a present activity.”
— Jillian Michaels

Holy Saturday’s spiritual richness lies in its invitation to trust even when we cannot see the way forward. Our hope has the capacity to sustain and reassure us that God’s love holds us through all the seasons of life.

Let us pause to embrace this sacred, solemn interlude, and allow its stillness to deepen our awareness of the God of Goodness, who is always birthing new life.

-Sister Nancy Wales, csj

“The slow work of God is so much greater than the instantaneous. We can’t rush things into existence.”

Image: Alicia Quan/Unsplash

Holy Thursday - The Gift of Jesus at the Last Supper

Forever United :  The Gift of Jesus at the Last Supper

When we choose a goodbye gift for those we love, it is sometimes a photo, or maybe a memento of some event we shared, and it is not only to remind our friends of our past, but to say that the present and future also always hold our love. 

What is so moving is the gift Jesus chose for us, a gift that would unite us to him forever. “This is my body, This is my blood”.  It is not only the gift of his body, but of his blood.  In the Torah no Jewish person is permitted to consume blood ‘because the life is in the blood”. (Lev. 17:11-14) Everyone knew that loss of blood in any creature results in death, and since it is God who gives life to all things, blood is not to be consumed.   Even today, that taboo is observed in the way the animal is dispatched and in the recipes for serving meat, which must not allow for any blood, for life is in the blood.

In that Last supper, Jesus’ gift meant a sacred breeching of that Law.  And it would have been the very first time the apostles partook of what they were to understand was the Lord’s blood, his very life joined to their own ‘for the life is in the blood.”   This is what Jesus thought to give us, his goodbye gift, that unites us to him and to each other in his love, and united to him in this way , we bring his life and love to our world,  until  we all meet him face to face in that joyous reunion.

--Sister Wendy Cotter  CSJ

Images: Rey Proenza/Unsplash