In my prayer life, I am an exhaustor of options. I wish this meant that I spent hours in contemplation, examining my needs and God’s responses as if marveling at a diamond under a magnifying glass. What it really means is that God is often the last place I bring my fear and worry.

My anxieties first get stuffed away. I minimize and hide them, frustrated that they have once again appeared. When that doesn’t work (it never does), I analyze. I put them to paper, turn them over in my mind, and attempt to calculate their causes and cures on my own. I do this because I fear that God’s attention is finite. If I can only go to him once, my thinking goes, I had better make sure I get the “ask” right. I have a hard time remembering that God wants it all, that I can bring him the mess without first attempting to clean it up on my own.

This methodical and measured approach to comfort-seeking is contrasted by the impulsivity of my 2- year-old son. His cries immediately and urgently ring out, when he is hungry or tired, when he wants help or sympathy, and sometimes for no clear reason at all. Every need, large or small, is loudly and instantly expressed. His demands are exclaimed with the confidence that someone is hearing and receiving, pleas and prayers of their own right.

And out of my infinite love for him, I respond with equal urgency. I place his bicycle back upright on the sidewalk, I retrieve the book he is reaching for, or repeat for the third time that dinner is almost ready. In these moments, I surprise myself with my patience and tenderness. And I wonder, if the human response to these cries is so immediate and attentive, how much stronger and more vast, must the instinct to comfort be for God?

In observing my toddler, I notice what is often missing in my grown-up prayers: a single, instinctual cry. I too often rationalize and reason, dissecting my worry and fear into more manageable pieces before it ever goes to God. When I found myself recently overwhelmed with balancing responsibilities of work and home during this time of quarantine, I parsed out to-do lists and turned to them wildly, looking to control whatever I could. I filled any time I might have had for being with doing, unable to separate out the symptoms of anxiety from their cause and therefore reticent about bringing them to prayer. The impulsiveness of a child buried within, a direct line to the almighty kinked by “shoulds” and “not yets.” This mess, I reasoned, was not yet worthy of God; mine was a thread too twisted and tangled for him to unknot.

We learn to temper and modulate emotion as we age, and this serves us in many instances. Yet the instinct to cry out is still wired within us. We are still those little people, somewhere deep in there. And when we struggle in prayer, I suspect it is those little people God simply wants to hear from. Just as a parent immediately responds to a young child calling for “Mama,” God only needs to hear the call “Abba,” the most tender “Daddy,” to summon his full attention, grace, and love. It is with these simple cries that we humble ourselves and by doing so, grow ever closer to Christ.

I often think of Jesus’ most poignant cry on the cross, visiting this moment as one of the rawest we see in Scripture. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he cries out. This scene presents in full color, Jesus as man, and simultaneously gives us a model of uninhibited, guttural, instinctual prayer. A holy and productive cry, not unlike the hourly cries of a child. His is a prayer that is immediately and urgently human, and in a language we sometimes forget that God understands.

This Easter Season, particularly with the weight of our world’s current crisis, how are we orienting ourselves as children of God and embracing the humility that comes with it? How can we reconnect with our ability to cry out? And when we sit in that gutwrenching moment on Good Friday, how are we modeling our prayer after Jesus’ own cry long past Easter Sunday?

Christina Ferguson is a nonprofit and corporate senior manager, writer, and mother. Currently serving at Graham-Pelton, Christina has worked with Leadership Roundtable, Georgetown University, Catholic Relief Services, and Ashoka: Innovators for the Public. She holds a Master’s Degree in Public Policy from Georgetown University and a Bachelor’s of Science in Finance from Villanova University.

How does one write about the joy of the Easter season in the midst of a pandemic? That was the question rattling around my mind for the past few weeks. I don’t want to be a PollyAnna with my head in the sand pretending everything is OK. Everything is not OK. There is real suffering. But I also don’t want to dwell on the negative because that helps no one.

It is important for us to give this season its due because it is the apex of Christianity. Without Jesus’ death and resurrection, we have no chance of eternal life with God. Said Fr. Jean C.J. D’Elbee in I Believe in Love:

“The only real drama is the death of Jesus. All our own dramas are melted into the great drama of Calvary. But that is then followed by His Resurrection and ours.”’

The Pinnacle of Our Faith
So I will attempt to balance between being respectful of the uncertain times and the joyousness of the Easter season. The fifty days from Easter to Pentecost are “characterized by the joy of glorified life and the victory over death, expressed most fully in the great resounding cry of the Christian: Alleluia!” (USCCB)

Yes! Alleluia! These days are to be celebrated as one long, glorious feast. But we start with death because we can only rise if we first die. Memento mori is the consideration of our own death. During a pandemic who among us hasn’t given at least a little more thought to our own demise? It’s going to happen. This is one event we cannot avoid, yet we expend a lot of our resources trying to keep it as far away as possible. Even though we as Catholic Christians believe in heaven, most of us are in no rush to get there.

My husband works with elderly sisters. They are largely unperturbed by this virus because they are OK with their death and ready to go. They have faith that heaven is way better than earth. This is born of a lifetime of Easter seasons. At Easter and during the Easter season, we return to that pinnacle of our faith: Christ’s passion, crucifixion, and resurrection. During Holy Week we immerse ourselves in his suffering. This year especially, we can unite our suffering to his. We let his agony pierce our hearts. We feel the emptiness on Good Friday, the sorrow of knowing our Savior died and not only did he die a horrible, painful, barbaric death, he died because he loves us. He died to expiate our sins.

Dance with Joy!
When God created the world, heaven and earth were united. The pipeline between the two was clear. Adam and Eve enjoyed a loving, comfortable relationship with the Creator. Along galloped sin and that pipeline was destroyed. It was replaced, said St. Catherine of Siena, by an impassable, roaring river. We were unable to cross it on our own. We were separated from God by sin and death. There was no hope. Imagine if that were still the case during this pandemic. People are dying and there is no hope for eternity, just separation from God.

But it’s not like that and that’s why we must rejoice. Jesus’ cross is the bridge that wiped out sin and death. It is the bridge to heaven. It is where our hope comes from.

“Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit.” (CCC 1817)

If only we could forget each year, the splendorous surprise of Sunday, when he rises victorious over death. If we could enter into Holy Week not remembering the happy ending, we could celebrate even more joyfully and genuinely because Easter is a wild feast. We should be dancing in the streets, exclaiming loudly like fools, dizzy in our happiness. Jesus’ resurrection changed everything.

It changed everything. We don’t need to fear our death because Jesus conquered death. Thanks to him we can live in eternal happiness in heaven with our Father.

So how can we be joyful this season? How can we not? Our future has even more question marks than usual. We are holed up in our homes. Some of us have lost jobs. Our cities are ghostly quiet. We don’t know when it will end and what normal is going to look like when it does, but we know that Jesus is risen and we have a whole season of fifty days to celebrate.

Yep, life is confusing right now but we must be a hopeful people. I say we give this season what is due. We celebrate, we feast, we hope, we bask in the love of God and we place our trust in him. Alleluia! He is risen!

Merridith Frediani’s perfect day includes prayer, writing, unrushed morning coffee, reading, tending to dahlias, and playing Sheepshead with her husband and three teenagers. She loves leading small faith groups for moms and looking for God in the silly and ordinary. She blogs and writes for her local Catholic Herald in Milwaukee.

“That very day, the first day of the week, two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, and they were conversing about all the things that had occurred. And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. (Luke 24:13-18)

In October 1979, the South American nation of El Salvador entered into a civil war that not only allowed the rise of oppressive military dictators, but which also led to the systematic murder and oppression of tens of thousands of Salvadorans, particularly poor farmers.

Among those who lost their lives defending the rights of the poor and the Church was the archbishop of San Salvador, Saint Oscar Romero (d. March 24, 1980), and four American missionaries: Maryknoll Sisters Maura Clarke and Ita Ford, Ursuline Sister Dorothy Kazel, and lay missionary Jean Donovan (d. December 2, 1980). On November 16, 1989, a group of six Jesuits, along with their housekeeper and her daughter, were shot to death in their shared home because of their support of the poor. The total number of those murdered, raped, and tortured is known only to God.

In the year after the death of Archbishop Romero, the Jesuits of El Salvador began a bi-weekly publication known as Letter to the Churches. The newsletter re-told the stories of those who suffered from violence and terror at the hands of the military junta and its guerilla soldiers.

In one issue, Letter to the Churches shared the testimony of Ismael, a lay catechist, who shared some of his experiences of living with the poor in a war zone, accompanying the people as they fled into the mountains to try to find safety. There, hiding beneath the branches of trees, with stars providing their only light (because the people were afraid to light candles), the people would retell and reflect on the stories of the Gospel. Recalling those terrifying days, Ismael wrote:

We suffer a great deal here. Our bodies are wasting away, and we have many worries. The old people and the children we have to carry concern all of us. We have no money, no clothing, no shoes. But God will look after us. We are going to suffer in this life. These are only the birth pangs, but joy will come. The consoling words of Christ will wipe away every tear. No more will there be crying, pain, worry, or death—everything will pass away. Our hope is to know God. (Quoted in Oscar Romero: Reflections on His Life and Writings by Marie Dennis, Renny Golden, and Scott Wright)

Ismael’s ability to find comfort and even hope in Christ is a powerful witness to us in these Easter days, particularly on this Third Sunday of Easter as we hear the story of the journey to Emmaus.

Saint Luke presents Cleopas and his companion fleeing Jerusalem after the death and burial of Jesus and, although they had heard the testimony of the women that Jesus had been raised from the dead, their disappointment and grief would not allow them to believe such an amazing story. Their despair is captured in one simple but profound statement: “We had hoped…”

And yet, Jesus was there with them, walking with them through their grief, helping them recognize how God had been—and continued to be—at work in the violence of Good Friday and the silence of Holy Saturday. As Father James Martin, SJ, reflected in his book Jesus: A Pilgrimage: “The Risen Christ tells the two disciples that hope is never dead, and nothing is impossible with God. Then he shows them this by revealing himself fully. Seeing this, they are filled with joy. Hope has been rekindled and so their hearts burn. Their first impulse, as always in the Gospels and with us, is to announce the Good News.”

The hope and promise of the Resurrection on that Easter Day was able to dispel the darkness of grief and despair for Cleopas and his friend, just as it did for Ismael and his companions as they hid in the forest in those terrible days in El Salvador.

This is what we celebrate as we continue to celebrate in this Easter Season: The Resurrection shows us that there is always hope and that Christ remains with us, journeying with us as we walk our pilgrim path: “Easter is a shout of victory! No one can extinguish that life that Christ resurrected. Not even death and hatred against him and against his church will be able to overcome it. He is the victor!” (Saint Oscar Romero).

An Invitation for Deeper Reflection

• When have grief, doubt, disappointment, or pain clouded your vision, making God seem far away?
• How is the Good News of Easter inviting you to a new hope, even in these days of quarantine and COVID-19?
• When have you experienced Christ “walking beside” you? In another person? In the words of Scripture, a hymn, or poem? How did it feel when you recognized that he was with you?

A Benedictine monk for nearly 11 years, Br. Silas Henderson, SDS, is an author, retreat leader, and catechist, and former managing editor of Deacon Digest Magazine and Abbey Press Publications. You can find more of Br. Henderson’s blogs at www.fromseason2season.blogspot.com.

This Sunday concludes the Octave of Easter. An octave is a celebration of eight days in the Church and each day is honored liturgically in the same way as the day in which the octave began, in this case Easter Sunday. Following the reforms of Vatican II, only two octaves remain in the ordinary form of the Churches liturgical calendar: Easter and Christmas. While the octave may be finishing, the joy of the Easter Season continues on. This was a Triduum unlike any other. The liturgies were beautiful and I am grateful for the comments that we received from folks via social media. While they were beautiful, they were lacking in that you were not able to be there and that subdued the joy that naturally comes from the celebration of Easter. I wish to thank our own Mark Gifford for providing us with the beauty of the organ during our celebrations, thank you to Andrew Hansen and Michael Hoerner from the Catholic Pastoral Center for filming/streaming our celebrations, and thank you to my confreres in the clergy and our seminarians for helping to make the liturgies happen.

The Gospel for the Second of Sunday of Easter is popularly known as the Gospel of Doubting Thomas. Here our Lord appears to Thomas, and the other ten Apostles, and invites Thomas to see and probe his wounds so that Thomas might believe that the Lord is truly risen and that he is who he says he is. While the Lord’s body has been changed and glorified, the wounds from his crucifixion remain. Theologians have marveled over this reality for 2,000 years and posed various reasons as to why. As in the case of St. Thomas the Apostle, the wounds identify the Lord for who is but they also tell us what death is no longer; death is no longer an eternal reality for those who live and die in God’s friendship. The marks of the Lord’s death remain but, but death has no power over him, and through him neither over us. St. Leo the great says it more eloquently in a homily on the Lord’s Passion:

He did away with the everlasting character of death so as to make death a thing of time, not of eternity.

As we continue our journey through this Easter Season, let us turn to the risen Lord to draw newness of life from him, remembering that the wounds of our present lives, painful as they may be, are only things of the here and now; in the Resurrection on the last day, when Christ makes us new, those things will be no more.

Father Christopher House is the Rector of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, namely Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

It looks like many of us will be spending more time at home for a few weeks, whether for selfquarantine, lockdown, or social distancing. What can we do to keep ourselves spiritually engaged and even grow during this time, rather than stagnate or fall away from our spiritual disciplines? Here are a few suggestions.

Why Has God Given You This Time?
Your initial impulse might be to get more yard work done or to tackle certain home improvement projects. Maybe you are excited about catching up on some television shows, movies or novels.

But what does God want from you with this time? One of the most consistent themes of spiritual writings is that all things are ordained for our holiness. For example, in her fantastic work The Spiritual Life and Prayer, Cécile Bruyerè observes:

“All God’s designs over us in this world are intended to bring about our supernatural perfection.”

Begin and end each day asking God what he wants from you during this time. Pay attention to what’s happening in your life. How is God using this disruption to direct your attention to what he’s trying to accomplish in you? You may have numerous plans for what you want to accomplish. But to what do you see God calling your attention? Maybe the Lord wants you to slow down, spend more time in leisure. Or maybe he wants you to devote more time to prayer. Or maybe he’s asking you to trust him and stop relying on yourself so much. Come back to the question of what this time is for repeatedly. The Lord is calling you to grow!

Jesus, I Trust in You!
There are many things to fret about at this time. Even if you are not worried about getting seriously ill, you can worry about friends and family members getting ill. Or you can worry about your job, the economy, and your retirement account. If your mind is like mine, there will be numerous moments throughout the day when it takes a hard turn toward worryville. When you start doom dreaming, make a habit of saying, whether aloud or internally, “Jesus, I trust in you!”

Study
Instead of binge-watching shows, challenge yourself and exercise rather than relax your mind. Grow in your understanding of your Faith. The deeper your understanding of your faith, the greater the personal connection and engagement. Don’t let this opportunity pass by.

There are so many excellent online resources available that you don’t even have to worry about shipping delays. Ascension has numerous “instant access” study programs at affordable prices. Could you do any better than to think about the life of Jesus Christ through Jesus: The Way, the Truth, and the Life? Or, why not spend these weeks learning about the history of the Church through the excellent program, Epic? You can explore the biblical roots of the Catholic Faith through Sonja Corbitt’s Fulfilled. If you are a mother, you can think more about your vocation to motherhood with Danielle Bean’s cleverly named Momnipotent program. Perhaps you want to use this time to go deeper in prayer? Check our Fr. Mark Toups’ Oremus: A Guide to Catholic Prayer or Lenten Companion. Finally, you could master Scripture by working through Ascension’s excellent Great Adventure Bible study series. Or why not work through Romans?

Prepare for Massless
Sunday Worship More and more dioceses are canceling public Mass. But canceling Mass or dispensation for the Sunday obligation doesn’t mean you don’t have to worship God. The worship of the Lord is mandated in the first three commandments and it is our first duty. How are you going to worship the Lord outside of Mass? You can spend a couple of days during the week preparing a home service.

Why not have your family process to a place dedicated to prayer (see #8) while singing a hymn. You can find some hymns online that you could sing. Then you could make a general confession and sing the Kyrie. Read the Mass readings. In place of the homily, listen to the Mass readings explained by Dr. Brant Pitre, Dr. Scott Hahn, or Jeff Cavins. Or listen to some homilies that are posted online, like those from St. Mary’s Cathedral in Aberdeen. Take a crucifix or icon of Christ and spend some time in mental prayer. Include an Act of Spiritual Communion.

Read or Listen to Stories of the Saints
The saints faced much adversity but did so virtuously. They have much to teach us in these uncertain times. You can pick up dramatized audio stories of St. Francis, St. Cecilia, and St. Patrick from the Augustine Institute. If you have children who are home from school, check out the series of saint stories from Holy Heroes. Or read about St. Albert the Great, St. Colette, St. Robert Bellarmine, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Francis de Sales, St. John Henry Newman, St. John Paul II, St. Therese, or her saintly family. If you want to read a novel about a saint, look into the novels by Louis de Wohl.

Pray Compline
If you don’t already, end the day with Compline or “night prayer.” This is the last hour of prayer for the day. It is meant not only to prepare you for rest, but to prepare you for death. It includes a time for examination of conscience. You can view the “night office” through Universalis, which offers an excellent app if you’d like to have all the offices. Magnificat also has a version of Compline, and during the Coronavirus outbreak, they are offering complimentary access to an online version of their monthly book.

Spiritual and Corporal Works of Mercy
In times like these, we can fall into the trap of thinking only about ourselves and taking care of our needs. We can see our fellow human beings as threats. But the hallmark of our devotion to God is our concern for those in need. What can you do to help others during this time? Consider the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy and ask yourself what you might do to help.

Build a Home Shrine
Why not get crafty during this time? If you don’t have one, build a little home altar or shrine. There is a great book that can help you called The Little Oratory: A Beginner’s Guide to Praying in the Home by David Clayton and Leila Marie Lawler.

Dr. James R. A. Merrick is a lecturer at Franciscan University of Steubenville, Senior Fellow at the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology, and a theology and Latin teacher at St. Joseph’s Catholic Academy in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania. Follow Dr. Merrick on Twitter: @JamesRAMerrick.

As we age, we come to expect letdowns and disappointments. Because of so many unfulfilled promises and unmet expectations, we become cynical of anything that can seem too good to be true. Our hearts grow calloused to protect us from future disillusionment. And so, we come to demand proof and assurances before committing ourselves to anything.

Such is the case with Thomas and the other apostles in today’s gospel. They had set all their hope on Jesus. And it all came to a horrifying and humiliating end with the crucifixion. Now, they were reduced to hiding behind a locked door for fear that the authorities would do to them what they had done to Jesus.

While they were cowering in fear, Jesus appeared to them. John tells us that Jesus shows himself to them, “despite the locked doors.” John is not just referring here to the heavy wooden doors of their hiding place. He is talking about the closed doors of their hearts. Jesus doesn’t wait until they calm down or get perspective on the situation. Rather, he breaks through the door of their fear announcing the good news that he is alive.

Just as Jesus is not shut out by the closed doors of the apostles’ fear, neither is he shut out by the closed door of Thomas’ doubt. Instead, taking up Thomas’ challenge, Jesus appears to him so that he can put his doubt aside. The nail marks on his hands, feet, and side dispel any doubt that this is truly the risen Jesus standing before him.

All of us have times when we approach God with a closed heart. We might fear that He will take from us more than we’re willing to give. Or, we might fear that we’ll be made fun of if we live His message in a total and radical way. Our hearts may also be hardened by doubt. With so many different religions and so many different opinions, we might wonder, who’s to say which is the right way?

No matter where we are with our faith — no matter how closed our hearts may seem — Jesus can break through that closed door and reveal himself. If you can only go so far, Jesus can meet you there. If you can only believe so much, Jesus can take your hand and lead you a little further along. There is no doubt, fear, or weakness that Jesus, through the power of his resurrection and the power of his Holy Spirit, cannot surmount.

Thomas is an example for us here. He is famous for his doubt — but his story doesn’t end there. Tradition tells us that he went on to preach the Gospel in India. He is often pictured with a spear, because he was run through with a spear and killed. Doubting Thomas was martyred for his witness to the good news of Jesus’ resurrection. Jesus broke through the closed door of Thomas’ doubt and filled him with the faith which enabled him to eventually give his life for Jesus.

The same is true for us. On Divine Mercy Sunday, Jesus wants nothing more than to reveal himself to us, dispel our doubts, and lead us to freedom and peace.

Douglas Sousa, S.T.L. is an author for Liturgical Publications, Inc., and writes reflections on various topics, including reflections on Sunday readings.

I wonder what those holy women were feeling early in the morning on that first day of the week, as the Scriptures teach us, when Mary Magdalene and the others came to the tomb only to find it void of the one whom they sought, when in their amazement they were told:

“Do not be afraid! I know that you are seeking Jesus the crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said” (Matthew 28:5-6).

Those holy women were the first to receive the good news that has forever changed the course of human history and the meaning of our shared human experience.

Our shared human experience as of late will make this an Easter to remember, sadly for the suffering that our nation and many parts of the world have experienced throughout the Lenten season and even before due to the COVID-19 pandemic. While we are not able to celebrate Easter in the many ways that might wish to, the good news of the empty tomb is not changed, nor is our Lord’s invitation to new life in Him rescinded.

On behalf of Bishop Paprocki and the Cathedral clergy and staff, I pray that the Lord will bless you and yours this Easter with the fullness of His grace and the joy that comes from Him alone. With every cross may we remember that the cross is never an end unto itself. In moments of sacrifice and desolation may we know that we are not alone or forsaken. May we always be mindful that Easter teaches us that God always gets the last word, and in the case of the cross and the tomb, His last word is life. All honor, praise, and glory to the risen Christ, who, by His death and resurrection, has gained for us the rewards of everlasting life! Happy Easter (and I hope to be able to wish that in person at some point during the fifty days of this holy season)!

Father Christopher House is the Rector of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, namely Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

Christians, to the Paschal Victim

Offer your thankful praises!

A Lamb the sheep redeems;

Christ, who only is sinless,

Reconciles sinners to the Father.

Death and life have contended in that combat stupendous:

The Prince of life, who died, reigns immortal.

Speak, Mary, declaring

What you saw, wayfaring.

“The tomb of Christ, who is living,

The glory of Jesus’ resurrection;

bright angels attesting,

The shroud and napkin resting.

Yes, Christ my hope is arisen;

to Galilee he goes before you.”

Christ indeed from death is risen, our new life obtaining.

Have mercy, victor King, ever reigning!

Amen. Alleluia.

This ancient hymn, the Victimae Paschali Laudes, is one of only a few “sequences” still in use in the Catholic Church today. A sequence— for your Catholic trivia file—is a hymn traditionally sung just before the Gospel proclamation. Before the reforms of the Mass in 1570, there were many such hymns on feast days and solemnities throughout the Church year. The current Roman Missal has only three: the above sequence for Easter, the Veni Sancte Spiritus for Pentecost, and the recommended (i.e. optional) Lauda Sion for the Solemnity of Corpus Christi.

The Easter Sequence is one of my absolute favorite pieces of prose in the entire Church year. Traditionally, the hymn is dated to the 11th century, one millennium after Christ’s Resurrection and one millennium from our current day. As such, it’s not only a beautiful hymn, it’s a sort of “bridge of faith,” connecting our belief down the centuries to the faith of the Apostles on that Easter morning, when the dawn from on high had only just begun.

Take a few moments to read this beautiful hymn, proclaimed proudly to believers this and every Easter (better yet, find a version of it on YouTube and listen to it!). It speaks in simple words an almost unfathomable reality: Christ, who alone is sinless, reconciles us to the Father! Death and life have fought for us in these days, my brothers and sisters, but the Prince of Life has conquered—not will conquer, but has conquered, definitively, once and for all, this nighttime of our fears.

And now, in the light of Easter morning, our hope indeed has risen. Postured again before the empty tomb, having lived a more realistic Good Friday and Holy Saturday than we ever could have imagined, we stand amazed, realizing once again what it is we truly live for.

Our Lord’s Resurrection, I pray, is as real to you today as it is to me. I pray the light of this Easter morning sheds light and glory on the struggles of this past Lent. And I pray that with this new dawn, the grace of the Lord’s favor will once again shine on His pilgrim people: we who live in this world, but who have long hoped for a world not yet completely our own.

Christ indeed from death is risen, brothers and sisters! May our King, ever reigning, come to meet us in His glory and bring us at last to life with Him and the Father, in the unity of His Holy Spirit. Amen, alleluia!

Father Michael Friedel is a Parochial Vicar at the Cathedral and Chaplain at Sacred Heart Griffin High School.