Homily for Mass for the Easter Octave Mass for the Eternal Repose of Pope Francis, Jn 20:11-18
It is the Octave of Easter. We’re supposed to be rejoicing, not grieving. Pope Francis himself said in his last Easter Message to the universal Church: “Today at last, the singing of the Alleluia is heard once more in the Church, passing from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart, and this makes the peopleof God throughout the world shed TEARS OF JOY. In the Philippines, many of our people shed tears of joy when they join the traditional Ritual of the SALUBONG. We usually fix our gaze on the image of the Blessed Mother, whose face is covered by a black veil, and await the angel’s descent. We let out a collective gasp as that nervous little child, dressed as an angel, is suspended in mid-air, struggling to reach and grab the black veil. But the moment the angel-child succeeds, pulls up the veil and flies away with it so that the face of the grieving mother could now behold the face of her risen Son. It is then that we usually burst in thunderous applause and strangely, our eyes well up with tears.
Is it okay to weep when we should be rejoicing? We can relate well with today’s Gospel about Mary Magdalene—weeping, after she discovered an empty tomb. Take note how she is made to answer the same question twice: “Why are you weeping?” First, in answer to the angel. And second, in answer to the Risen Jesus himself. The message seems clear—weep if we must, but we have to be able to say why we are weeping. Mary Magdalene had to account for her grief and sense of desolation by saying, “They have taken away my Lord… And we do not know where to find him.”
There are simply too many situations in life when we find ourselves expressing the same lament as Mary Magdalene’s, times when God seems to have been taken away from us. Even Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta lamented how, in most of her prayers, she felt a deep vacuum, not a consoling presence, but the unbearable desolation of God’s apparent absence.
How, indeed, can we feel the presence of God in situations where indifference prevails, where the innate dignity of our humanity is eclipsed by cruelty and apathy? When the thousands or even millions of victims on the waysides of modern societies continue to await a Good Samaritan? Pope Francis used to call attention to them in his Angelus messages—those dying under the rubble of bombed shelters in countries torn by armed conflicts, migrant refugees who float aimlessly for days in the open seas inside dilapidated boats, begging for a little mercy and compassion.
But we have more reason to be worried when people do not weep anymore, when they couldn’t care less. That’s when we see signs that our humanity, has, as it were been taken away from us. Pope Francis himself once said, “We can see more clearly only with eyes washed by tears.”
Jesus once told his disciples that it is when the bridegroom is taken away from them that the wedding guests will fast. Today, we weep and mourn the passing of our beloved Jorge Mario Bergoglio, who despite his advanced age was able to serve as successor of Peter, Bishop of Rome, and supreme bridge-builder of the universal Church. He has taught us to treat, not just fellow Catholics, not just fellow Christians, not just fellow believers, but all human beings or even all fellow creatures in our common home as fellow travelers in a common journey as fellow pilgrims of hope. Like St. Peter and the other disciples, we are led ashore after a night of fruitless fishing, only to encounter him there by the bonfire, inviting us to a meal already prepared by him.
He alone could turn our meals of denial and betrayal into meals of forgiveness by giving us of his own body and blood as food and drink so that we could be transformed ourselves into members of his risen body, in the Church. He offers his body, wounded and scarred for broken people like you and me, so that we can partake of his glory. All he asks of us is one word of love for every word of denial. It is more than enough to restore us and turn us into participants in his resurrected life, and in his redemptive mission. Let us therefore allow our tears of sorrow to be transformed into tears of joy. Pope Francis has died with the Lord and he now lives on with the Lord as part of the Lord’s Risen Body. He invites us to allow the Risen Lord to draw near to us, to walk with us, to join our conversations, to break bread with us and disappear, so that he can reappear in us and through us.
