He’s. Not. Here.
3 simple words, but the incontrovertible evidence that the tomb was empty – the tomb until moments prior guarded by Roman soldiers, sealed by decree of Pilate, and scrutinized by those who hated and loved Christ alike – that He is not there, that He is somehow alive, marvelously outshone the splendor of the angels on that first Easter morning.
Sinfulness, fear, awe … all those emotions that would appear in any “normal” encounter with angels are obliterated and overwhelmed by the truth of the resurrection. They run back to the disciples, yes, “with fear”, but, all the more incredibly, with “great joy”. Never had such a transformation been brought about in human hearts.
They come to the tomb despondent – having seen the brutality of the crucifixion – devastated – still feeling the horror of that great stone rolled over their God’s grave – despairing – excepting the remnant of love that they can still offer His body. But 3 words later, and with one blinding-flash of angelic light, hope returns to their hope. The hope … that somehow the bloody nightmare of Golgotha wasn’t the end. The hope … that somehow this grave and grief were somehow all part of God’s plan. The hope … against hope that their redeemer lives.
But those three words were to be outshone by a single one several swift steps back towards Jerusalem:
“behold, Jesus met them and said, “Hail!”
The same single word that announced the beginning of God’s great invasion into His enslaved world – hail, rejoice, be glad – now announces His definitive re-conquest. The women need not fall down in shame and sin. Sin has been annihilated, shown to be nothing in comparison with the superabundant Love of God. They need not fall down in fear or trepidation. Death has no power here, it has been overthrown; the tomb is now our passage to eternity. And they need not fall down awestruck at the work of God, for their God bears wounds in His human hands, and feet, and heart. Never again can any of us claim to be unworthy, unloved, or uncherished once we have embraced the Body of the Risen Christ.
My dear friends, in Christ. Your and my sins – if we give them to our Risen Savior – stand the same chance against God’s Love as that rock did. Your and my fears – if we live out of our identity as sons and daughters in the Risen Son – will be transformed into icons of His resurrecting-power, as Christ’s burial shroud was. And, your and my wonder at the mystery and power of our Risen Christ – if we receive His greeting of profound love – will be the catalyst for our great joy, in the midst of a world that otherwise might seem pretty crazy.
Happy Easter!!! Yes, it’s a weird one, a daunting one even, but so was the very first Easter! Those women approached the tomb thinking that the greatest good God could bring out of that morning was Jesus’ body anointed properly. But God grace isn’t like ointment, it doesn’t just cover over the problems or pains of our lives, it radically inverts them. If He can bring the greatest of all goods out of a roman execution … If He can conquer the powers of Sin and Death by enduring the shame of Golgotha … He can manage, in the midst of anything, to make the greatest of saints out of you and I. Alleluia, He is Risen! He is Risen indeed!
Fr. Dominic Rankin is a Parochial Vicar at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.

We can learn a lot about evangelization from the World War One film 1917. On imdb.com, a reviewer, calling himself “grantss” (no relation to me) summarized 1917’s plot with these words:
This year’s liturgical reading cycle focuses on Matthew’s Gospel, thus the Passion Narrative that is presented to us this Palm Sunday. Matthew, like Luke, relies heavily on Mark’s Gospel. Luke’s Passion Narrative, however, has a different feel than Mark’s narrative. Luke’s narrative shows us a Jesus who ministers to those around Him to the very end; as grim as the narrative is, it is immersed with compassion and light. That is not the same feeling that is elicited from Matthew’s Passion Narrative. Like Mark’s narrative, from which Matthew greatly draws, Matthew’s narrative is dark with a sense of swirling and impending doom around Jesus. Towards the end of Matthew’s narrative, he records the Lord crying out in the words of Psalm 22: My God, my God, why have you abandoned me (Ps 22: 2)?


What does sacrifice look like?
Like so many high school seniors, I had a plan for how the rest of my life would go. Since eighth grade, I had been completely in love with the idea of attending the U.S. Naval Academy. I felt a call to serve God by serving my country. I spent my last year and a half of high school applying to get in, forming my academic schedule around the classes the selection committee encouraged, and choosing my extracurriculars accordingly. I made it to the last stage of the application process and then, suddenly, didn’t get in. After stretching myself thin and shaping my life to be the perfect applicant, the plans I had made fell apart.
In the past, I never paid much attention to Lent. The little I had heard about this season in the Church just led me to believe that Lent was a time of personal austerity, when you weren’t supposed to enjoy things (especially chocolate!). It seemed to me that Lent was mainly about following outward restrictions. But in the last couple of years as I’ve drawn deeper into my faith, I’ve begun to realize that Lent is an important season that prepares us spiritually for the joy of Easter. Of course, sacrificing a favorite food or pastime and giving to others during Lent are important ways to engage with the themes of the season, and I’ll try to do both this year.