We Love the C&Es! (Easter Morning)

Our parish was saddened a few weeks back by the death of our first pastor.  Father Tim McCarthy was fondly remembered as both a good shepherd and a builder who was committed to Catholic schools.

One thing he wasn't remembered for was humorous homilies. He was a serious preacher who didn't tell too many jokes.

But he did tell a funny story I'll never forget.  It was about the woman who came up to him after Mass on Easter and complained about the flowers.

"This parish has no imagination.  Poinsettias and lilies, poinsettias and lilies. It's all I ever see.”

Obviously, the floral critic was what we like to call a C & E—a Catholic who attends Mass only at Christmas and Easter.

Now contrary to what you might think, we love C & E's.  I admit that I wasn't that fond of them back in the days when I needed a seat in the pews, but now that my seat is guaranteed, I couldn't be happier.

Because in a world that has turned its back on God, people who celebrate his coming at Christmas and his rising at Easter are already half way to the fullness of Christian life. They don't think of themselves as "religious,” yet study after study shows they are—including those done by our own parishioner, Angus Reid, who's been called Canada's most trusted pollster.

Easter is a greater challenge than Christmas for a preacher. Today's feast gets to the heart of the story of salvation, and it's not dressed up with the same sentiment and social customs as Christmas. A preacher can let the C &E's go home happy at Christmas, but he needs to send them away with something of a challenge at Easter.

At the same time, the regular members of the congregation need to focus on the visitors sitting beside them today, whether family, friends or strangers. The reason is simple. At Christmas, the good news of Christ's birth was proclaimed by shepherds and wise men from afar. But the news of his Resurrection of Easter was announced by Christ's own friends.

The Gospel we've just heard tells us what happened that first Easter morning. While the Apostles are licking their wounds after the disaster of the crucifixion, Mary Magdalene remains at Christ's tomb, just as she stood at his cross. And Jesus chooses her, his friend, to be the first to announce the good news.

That's why Pope Francis has called St. Mary Magdalene "the Apostle to the Apostles” and why she is a model of evangelization.

It's obvious that Mary's special role on that first Easter highlights the dignity of women in the Church and their essential role in it. But I think it's equally important that a lay person, not an Apostle, not a priest, was the first to say "I have seen the Lord.” 

So this Easter, and every Easter, challenges the committed Catholic to tell others he or she has seen the Lord—to share the news that Jesus has risen from the dead.

Let's return now to challenging the Christmas and Easter Catholic, or even the casual Christian. Or even the "nones” —not the Sisters in habits but what Angus Reid calls those who answer "no religion" on his survey.  There may well be some "nones” with us today, and they too are welcome.

But the welcome comes with a challenge. Although the story of the first Easter we read this morning is exciting and beautiful and dramatic, the other two readings are all about the consequences of the Resurrection.

In the first reading, St. Peter is giving a very important speech. He's preaching to a centurion—a Roman commander—who had a vision that told him to bring Peter to his house and listen to him. So what is Peter inspired to say?

He doesn't give him the fine details about Easter. No mention of angels, or Mary Magdalene mistaking Jesus for the gardener. Instead, Peter tells him the whole story of Christ and his mission, in condensed form.

Because Easter without the rest of the story—without the message Jesus preached, the message that took him to the cross, and without the forgiveness of sins—is a drama with only one act.

Peter gives Cornelius and his family the whole truth, which is what every preacher must do today.

And the whole truth is what each and every one of us, whether you're a C ≈ E, a curious visitor, or a devout Catholic, is what we have to seek together this morning. 

Our second reading, from the apostle Paul, invites us to do that: to set our minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. 

I've come to believe that the main reason folks don't come to church regularly is simply that they don't feel the need. And that makes some sense. However, that's short-term thinking, because it only means they don't feel the need right now.

If we "seek the things that are above," as St. Paul says, we aren't just looking for pie in the sky when we die, as the old expression goes. We might just be preparing ourselves for situations we have yet to face.

There's a remarkable editorial in the National Post this week about the death of Colonel Arnaud Beltrame, the French policeman who died after swapping places with a woman held hostage by terrorists. It's far better than any Easter sermon I could preach.

"His widow insisted that his sacrifice could not be understood apart from his Christian faith, nourished by the monks at the nearby Abbey of Lagrasse. It was one of those monks who attended to Beltrame in hospital, administering the last sacraments before he died," the Post reports.

The wise editorial writer at the Post calls Colonel Beltrame the "saviour" of the woman for whom he died. On its own, that's a powerful message. But there's more.

The editorial continues: "Then comes the One who can overcome. Jesus is man, the faithful believe, but also God. And the hostages are freed, not freed by overwhelming power, but because there is One to take their place.

"On Good Friday, Christians look to the Cross and hear just that: 'You may go, He has come,'" the Post says.

Rich and beautiful words, but the writer's final point is the one that challenges us most: "The good news of a Saviour is only good news to those who know they need saving. On that Friday morning in Trèbes, the people did not think they needed a saviour until they needed one. On that Friday morning in Jerusalem, the people did not think they needed a Saviour, even though one was at hand."

We must set our minds on things that are above today, not tomorrow, every week, not twice a year. Otherwise, we will not think we need a saviour, until we need one, even though one is at hand.

Our parish has decided to make this great challenge concrete and actual this year—not just words and ideas. A week from Thursday, everyone here is invited to come back for an Easter evening. We want to share the rest of the story, the part of the story that's personal—the part of the story that can make a difference to the rest of your life.

Otherwise, we may not think we need a saviour until we need one, even though one is at hand.