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The Southern Cross, Page 4 G Thursday, April 12, 2001
“Death will stand stupefied...”
Mors stupebit et natura
cum resurget creatura
iudicanti responsura
—Thomas of Celano (?),
Dies Irae
I n the great sequence formerly sung on All
Souls’ Day and at funerals, the Dies Irae, the
resurrection of the dead is proclaimed in these
striking terms:
“Death will stand stupefied,
and nature as well
when creation rises from the dead
to give answer to its Judge.
For something like 1,966 years, Christians
have gathered together at Passover time, in the
spring, to celebrate the “opening act in the end
of the world”: with the death and resurrection of
Christ, the world as we know it is passing away.
Death has been vanquished and life has trium
phed in the case of the God-man. Death will be
vanquished and life will yet triumph for all who
are in Christ on the last day. That day began to
dawn on the first Easter. Its rays, graces of the
Holy Spirit, shine through the Church into every
Christian life.
Yet it is easy to forget this basic truth of faith
and to become discouraged in the face of the
seemingly relentless progress of the “culture of
death.” The proponents of death—for that is
what they are—have made inroads in public
opinion and in the law in many nations and
states, in areas such as abortion and euthanasia.
The death penalty actually has its fans.
The history of the last century, in fact, is one
of appalling inhumanity, with mass genocides
beginning with the Turkish slaughter of Arme
nians, through the Nazi attempt to eradicate the
Jews in the Shoah, through the continuing epi
sodes of “ethnic cleansing” in the Balkans,
Rwanda and elsewhere. The murders of bishops,
priests, religious and lay missionaries in suppos
edly Catholic countries in South America have
made it clear that no one’s life in this world is
safe from the forces of death. It sometimes
% seems as if humanity were bent on crucifying
§> itself.
< „ But the blood-drenched pages of history do not
y tell the whole story. The resurrection of the Lord
{5 Jesus reveals something that the world cannot
-g know on its own: that death has lost its ultimate
•■£ power, that life has already won the victory. As
we proclaim in the Easter Proclamation (Exsul-
° tet) at the great Vigil Mass of Easter: “This is
3 the night when Jesus Christ broke the chains of
_§> death and rose triumphant from the grave.” The
.E celebration of Christ’s resurrection can and
00 should remind us that death’s “victories” are
transient and only illusory. It can and should
S remind us to look for the signs of Christ’s victo-
o ry, which is permanent and real, in the world
£ around us. Such saintly reminders as Mother
J Teresa and Blessed Pope John XXIII are among
g the cloud of witnesses to Christ, who bear wit-
ness that life, not death, is the ultimate victor,
-q that good, not evil, will certainly triumph,
o because God, not Satan, not even humanity, is
“- the sovereign Lord of heaven and Earth.
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not an iso
lated event. It is cosmic in its implications. The
day is coming when death itself, and nature, will
stand stupefied at the sight of the resurrection of
God’s people. Death will be revealed as impo
tent, powerless, when the victory of the Lord of
life is fully shared by those he came to save.
—DKC
The Magdalene Awakening
By Mary Zipter
o many times on our spiritual journey we are like Mary Magdalene—
searching for Jesus. We have our lives, our families, our careers, but
have misplaced the someone in our lives who is all-important. Somewhere
we have forgotten the necessity of joining with him in love. We begin a
long search. Is it after the stress of that career move? Is it after a familial
relationship that went sour? Or is it in the mere tedium and boredom with
life itself that we have lost hold of him and dropped him like the ball that
has seemingly never been fully planted in our hands?
Life provides many challenges that we are not always up to handling. We
travel from challenge to challenge coping as best we can. Without the felt
presence of Jesus at our side, we feel alone and helpless.
Mary Magdalene’s acute loneliness and utter helplessness in the face of
her Savior’s absence at the tomb and apparent death went much deeper,
however. She yearned body and soul for his presence. Like the great mys
tics of the Church, she loved him. She was very human, however, and her
heart ached for him in a human, almost wistful way.
How many times have we experienced the Lord’s absence? Even the
great twentieth-century Carmelite poet Jessica Powers had cause to com
plain that “My soul has been arrested by the sound of a ... tremendous
loneliness.” Often, we experience this loneliness and we, too, are con
vinced that he will not show his face to us again. We believe, as Mary did,
that all is lost.
In the midst of life’s woes, each one of us is confronted with a radical
challenge—should I trust in this Jesus—despite his apparent absence? Is he
credible? Can I count on him? The way we answer these questions is not
dependent on the depth of the personal challenges we face, but more on the
love we profess for him, and more on the grace of God, for we can make
no move toward him unless prompted by the Spirit.
Mary Magdalene’s trust waned when she beheld the empty tomb and the
finality of death. When we encounter difficulties on life’s journey we must try
to tap into the hidden groundedness of our very being, and this hidden groun
dedness is love itself. How often have difficulties seemed insurmountable
until we place them in the context of how we are loved by God and oiiiers.
Mary hoped for what she did not immediately perceive, so her faith and
hope conquered both fear and despair. And so it is with us: our lovt gives
rise to deep faith, which in turn produces the fruit of persevering love.
With Mary, we begin the journey of recognizing the gaze of the one who
loves beyond all loves.
This darkness is a time of fertility and growth. What did Mary Magda
lene learn when she embraced the darkness? She learned, first of all, to
yearn and long for her beloved. It is the same with us: growth in the gifts
of the Spirit prepares us for our intimate encounter with Christ. When
Mary recognized Jesus outside the tomb, she immediately clung to him,
signifying her deep love for him as well as showing that the darkness of
death that had enshrouded her had come to an end.
Jesus remarks that she must not hold onto him, for he has not yet ascend
ed to the Father. This new type of intimacy is solely spiritual in nature.
Jesus is returning to his Father and her Father, his God and her God. So
what is this new intimacy like?
For us, the thought of surrendering our feelings and emotions to the
winds so that we can taste more fully the delights of the Spirit in prayer
becomes more than a little unsettling. For how can we savor God if we
have no tangible sense of the presence of God? The Spirit, says the Apostle
Paul, makes inexpressible groanings for us when we cannot muster sensate
devotion. This letting God pray for us in God is the highest form of aban
donment to the one who loves because he is love itself. Slowly but surely
we become a people who loves and prays automatically like the pilgrim
who recites the Jesus Prayer until it has become the incessant beating of his
heart.
So, giving up feet-kisses we approach the loving heart of the Lord in a
less egotistical manner. We give up the sensate to embrace the spiritual
presence of Christ. We approach the Eucharistic table pot eating fleshpots,
but real manna-like spiritual food. And we, like Mary, have awakened.
Mary Zipter is a member of Most Holy Trinity Parish, Augusta.