On the Shroud of Turin

This past Sunday the Holy Father made a pilgrimage to Turin to venerate the Shroud enshrined there.

Naturally, he preached a homily there, the text of which follows, with my emphases and comments:

Dear brothers and sisters!

I am happy to find myself with you on this festive day and to celebrate this solemn Eucharist for you. I greet everyone present, in particular the pastor of your archdiocese, Cardinal Severino Poletto, whom I thank for the warm address to me on behalf of everyone. I also greet the archbishops and bishops present, the priests, religious, the representatives of ecclesial associations and movements. I turn deferentially to the mayor, Dr. Sergio Chiamparino, grateful for the courteous address and greeting, to the representatives of the government and to the civil and military officials, with a special thanks to those who generously offered their cooperation for the realization of this pastoral visit of mine. I bear in mind those who were not able to be present, especially the sick, those who are alone and those who find themselves in difficulty. I entrust to the Lord the city of Turin and all its inhabitants in this Eucharistic celebration, which, as every Sunday, invites us to participate in a communal way at the twofold table of the Word of truth and the Bread of eternal life.

We are in the Easter season, which is the time of the glorification of Jesus. The Gospel that we have just heard reminds us that this Glorification is realized through the Passion. In the paschal mystery, Passion and Glorification are closely joined; they form an indissoluble unity. Jesus says: “Now the Son of Man is glorified, and God is glorified in him” (John 13:31) and he says this when Judas leaves the Upper Room to carry out the plan of his betrayal, which will lead to the Master’s death: precisely at that moment Jesus’ glorification begins. The Evangelist John makes it clear: he does not, in fact, say that Jesus was glorified only after his passion, through his resurrection, but shows that his glorification is begun precisely with the passion. In it Jesus manifests his glory, which is the glory of love, which gives its entire self. He loved the Father, doing his will to the very end, with a perfect oblation; he loved humanity, giving his life for us. Thus, already in his Passion he was glorified, and God is glorified in him.

But the Passion is only the beginning. Thus Jesus says that his glorification is also to come (cf. 13:32). Then the Lord, in the moment that he announces his departure from this world (cf. 13:33), almost as a testament to his disciples to continue his presence among them in a new way, gives them a new commandment: “I give you a new commandment: that you love one another. As I loved you, love one another” (13:34). If we love each other, Jesus will continue to be present in our midst.

Jesus speaks of a “new commandment.” But what is new about it? Already in the Old Testament, God gave the commandment of love; now, however, this commandment has become new insofar as Jesus makes a very important addition to it: “As I loved you, love one another.” What is new is precisely this “loving as Jesus loved.” The Old Testament did not give any mode of love but only formulated the precept to love. Jesus, however, gave himself to us as model and source of love. This is a love without limits, universal, able to transform all the negative circumstances and all the obstacles into occasions for progress in love. In centuries past the Church that is in Turin knew a rich tradition of sanctity and generous service -- as the archbishop and the mayor pointed out -- thanks to the work of zealous priests, men and women in both active and contemplative religious communities and faithful laypeople. Jesus’ words thus acquire a particular resonance for this Church, a Church that is generous and active, beginning with her priests. Giving us the new commandment, Jesus asks us to live his own love, which is the truly credible, eloquent and efficacious sign that announces to the world the Kingdom of God.

Obviously with our own power we are weak and limited. There is always a resistance to love in us and in our existence, there are many difficulties that provoke divisions, resentment and rancor. But the Lord promised us to be present in our life, making us capable of this generous and total love, which knows how to overcome all obstacles. If we are united to Christ, we can truly love in this world. Loving others as Jesus loved us is possible only with that strength that is communicated to us in our relationship with him, especially in the Eucharist, in which his Sacrifice of love that generated love is made present in a real way.

I would like to say, then, a word of encouragement especially to the priests and deacons of this Church, who dedicate themselves with generosity to pastoral work, and to the religious. Sometimes being a worker in the Lord’s vineyard can be tiring, duties multiply, there are so many demands, there is no lack of problems: Know how daily to draw from this relationship of love with the Lord in prayer the strength to convey the prophetic announcement of salvation; re-center your existence on what is essential in the Gospel; cultivate a real dimension of communion and fraternity in the presbyterate, in your communities, in relationships with the People of God; in service testify to the power of love that comes from on high.

The first reading that we heard indeed presents a special way of glorifying Jesus: the apostle and his fruits. Paul and Barnabas, at the end of their first apostolic trip, return to the cities that they have already visited and reanimate the disciples, exhorting them to remain solid in the faith, because, as they say, “we must enter into the Kingdom of God through many tribulations” (Acts 14:22). Christian life, dear brothers and sisters, is not easy [I like to say, "The Christian life is simple, but it is not easy. Love is simple, but it is often difficult]; I know that there is no lack of difficulties, problems, worries in Turin: I think in particular of those who concretely live their lives in precarious conditions, because of the scarcity of jobs, the uncertainty of the future, physical and moral suffering; I think of families, young people, of old people who often live in solitude, the marginalized, immigrants. Yes, life leads to many difficulties, many problems, but it is precisely the certainty that comes from faith, the certainty that we are not alone, that God loves everyone without distinction and is near to everyone with his love, that makes it possible to face, to live through and to overcome the toil of daily problems. It was the universal love of the risen Christ that moved the apostles to go out of themselves, to spread the word of God, to spend themselves without reserve for others, with courage, joy and serenity. The Risen One has a strength of love that overcomes every limit, that does not stop at any obstacle. And the Christian community, especially in the situations that are the most pastorally demanding, must be a concrete instrument of this love of God.

I exhort families to live the Christian dimension of love in simple daily actions, in family relationships, overcoming divisions and misunderstandings, in cultivating faith, which makes communion still stronger. Also in the rich and diverse world of the university and culture, witness to the love that today’s Gospel speaks of is not lacking, in the capacity for attentive listening and humble dialogue in the search for Truth, certain that it is the same truth that comes to meet us and draws us. I would like also to encourage the effort, often difficult, of those who are called to look after the public sphere: Collaboration to pursue the common good and make the city ever more human and habitable is a sign that Christian thought about man is never against his liberty but in favor of a greater fullness that finds its realization only in a “civilization of love.” To everyone, in particular the young people, I want to say never to lose hope, that which comes from the risen Christ, from God’s victory over sin and death.

Today’s second reading shows us precisely the final outcome of Jesus’ resurrection: it is the new Jerusalem, the holy city, that comes down from heaven, from God, prepared as a bride for her husband (cf. Revelation 21:2). He who was crucified, who shared our suffering -- as the sacred Shroud also reminds us in an eloquent way -- is he who is risen and wants to reunite all of us in his love. It is a stupendous, “powerful,” solid hope, because, as Revelation says: “[God] will wipe away every tear from their eyes and death will be no more, nor will there be any mourning or lament anymore, because the former things will pass away” (21:4). Does the holy Shroud not communicate the same message? In it we see, as in a mirror, our sufferings in the sufferings of Christ: “Passio Christi. Passio hominis.” It is because of this that the Shroud is a sign of hope: Christ faced the cross to put up a wall against evil; to make us see, in his passion, the anticipation of that moment in which for us too, every tear will be wiped away, when there will be no death, no mourning, no lament anymore.

The passage from Revelation ends with this statement: “He who sits upon the throne says: ‘Behold, I make all things new’” (21:5). The first absolutely new thing realized by God was Jesus’ resurrection, his heavenly glorification. It is the beginning of a whole series of “new things” in which we also have a share. “New things” are a world full of joy, in which there are no more suffering and destruction, there is no rancor and hate, but only the love that comes from God and transforms everything.

Dear Church that is in Turin, I have come among you to confirm you in the faith. I would like to exhort you, firmly and with affection, to remain solid in that faith that you have received and that gives meaning to life; never to lose the light of hope in the Risen Christ, who is able to transform reality and make all things new; to live God’s love in a simple and concrete way in the city, in the neighborhoods, in communities, in families: “As I have loved you, love one another.”

Amen.

After venerating the Shroud, His Holiness offered a few more words which follow, again with my emphases and comments:

Dear Friends,

This is a moment that I have been waiting for for quite some time. I have found myself before the sacred Shroud on another occasion but this time I am experiencing this pilgrimage and this pause with particular intensity: perhaps because the years make me more sensitive to the message of this extraordinary icon; perhaps, and I would say above all, because I am here as Successor of Peter, and I carry in my heart the whole Church, indeed, all of humanity. I thank God for the gift of this pilgrimage, and also for the opportunity to share with you a brief meditation, which was suggested to me by the title of this solemn exhibition: “The Mystery of Holy Saturday.” One could say that the Shroud is the icon of this mystery, the icon of Holy Saturday. It is in fact a winding sheet, which covered the corpse of a man who was crucified, corresponding to everything that the Gospels say of Jesus, who was crucified about noon and died at about 3 in the afternoon.

Once evening came, since it was Parasceve, the eve of the solemn Sabbath of Passover, Joseph of Arimathea, a wealthy and influential member of the Sanhedrin, courageously asked Pontius Pilate to be able to bury Jesus in his new tomb, that he had made in the rock not far from Golgotha. Having received the permission, he bought linen and, taking the body of Jesus down from the cross, wrapped him in the linen and put him in that tomb (cf. Mark 15:42-46). This is what is related by the Gospel of St. Matthew and the other evangelists. From that moment, Jesus remained in the sepulcher until the dawn of the day after the Sabbath, and the Shroud of Turin offers us the image of how his body was stretched out in the tomb during that time, which was brief chronologically (about a day and a half), but was immense, infinite in its value and its meaning.

Holy Saturday is the day of God’s concealment, as one reads in an ancient homily: “What happened? Today there is great silence upon the earth, great silence and solitude. Great silence because the King sleeps … God died in the flesh and descended to make the kingdom of hell (‘gli inferi’) tremble” (“Homily on Holy Saturday,” PG 43, 439). In the Creed we confess that Jesus Christ “was crucified under Pontius Pilate, died and was buried; he descended into hell (‘negli inferi’), and the third day he rose again from the dead.”

Dear brothers and sisters, in our time, especially after having passed through the last century, humanity has become especially sensitive to the mystery of Holy Saturday. God’s concealment is part of the spirituality of contemporary man, in an existential manner, almost unconscious, as an emptiness that continues to expand in the heart. At the end of the 18th century, Nietzsche wrote: “God is dead! And we have killed him!” This celebrated expression, if we consider it carefully, is taken almost word for word from the Christian tradition, we often repeat it in the Via Crucis, perhaps not fully realizing what we are saying. After the two World Wars, the concentration camps, the gulags, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, our epoch has become in ever great measure a Holy Saturday: the darkness of this day questions all those who ask about life, it questions us believers in a special way. We too have something to do with this darkness.

And nevertheless, the death of the Son of God, of Jesus of Nazareth, has an opposite aspect, totally positive; it is a font of consolation and hope. And this makes me think that the sacred Shroud acts as a “photographic” document, with a “positive” and a “negative.” And in effect, this is exactly how it is: The most obscure mystery of faith is at the same time the most luminous sign of a hope without limits. Holy Saturday is the “no man’s land” between death and resurrection, but into this “no man’s land” has entered the One, the Only One, who has crossed it with the signs of his passion for man: “Passio Christi. Passio hominis.” And the Shroud speaks to us precisely of that moment; it witnesses precisely to the unique and unrepeatable interval in the history of humanity and the universe, in which God, in Jesus Christ, shared not only our dying, but also our remaining in death. The most radical solidarity. In that “time-beyond-time” Jesus Christ “descended into hell” (“agli inferi”) What does this expression mean? It means that God, made man, went to the point of entering into the extreme and absolute solitude of man, where no ray of love enters, where there is total abandonment without any word of comfort: “hell” (“gli inferi”). Jesus Christ, remaining in death, has gone beyond the gates of this ultimate solitude to lead us too to go beyond it with him.

We have all at times felt a frightening sensation of abandonment, and that which makes us most afraid of death is precisely this [abandonment]; just as when as children we were afraid to be alone in the dark and only the presence of a person who loves us could reassure us. So, it is exactly this that happened in Holy Saturday: In the kingdom of death there resounded the voice of God. The unthinkable happened: that Love penetrated “into hell” (“negli inferi”): that in the most extreme darkness of the most absolute human solitude we can hear a voice that calls us and find a hand that takes us and leads us out. The human being lives by the fact that he is loved and can love; and if love even has penetrated into the realm of death, then life has also arrived there. In the hour of extreme solitude we will never be alone: “Passio Christi. Passio hominis.”

This is the mystery of Holy Saturday! It is from there, from the darkness of the death of the Son of God, that the light of a new hope has shone: the light of the Resurrection. And it seems to me that looking upon this cloth with the eyes of faith one perceives something of this light. In effect, the Shroud was immersed in that profound darkness, but it is luminous at the same time; and I think that if thousands and thousands of people come to see it -- without counting those who contemplate copies of it -- it is because in it they do not see only darkness, but also light; not so much the defeat of life and love but rather victory, victory of life over death, of love over hatred; they indeed see the death of Jesus, but glimpse his resurrection [too]; in the heart of death there now beats life, inasmuch as love lives there. This is the power of the Shroud: from the countenance of this “Man of sorrows,” who takes upon himself man’s passion of every time and every place, even our passion, our suffering, our difficulties, our sins -- “Passio Christi. Passio hominis” -- from this moment there emanates a solemn majesty, a paradoxical lordship. This face, these hands and these feet, this side, this whole body speaks, it is itself a word that we can hear in silence. How does the Shroud speak? It speaks with blood, and blood is life! The Shroud is an icon written in blood; the blood of a man who has been scourged, crowned with thorns, crucified and wounded in his right side. Every trace of blood speaks of love and of life. Especially that large mark near the side, made by blood and water that poured copiously from a great wound caused by a Roman spear, that blood and that water speak of life. It is like a spring that speaks in silence, and we can hear it, we can listen to it, in the silence of Holy Saturday.

Dear friends, let us praise the Lord always for his faithful and merciful love. Departing from this holy place, we carry in our eyes the image of the Shroud, we carry in our heart this word of love, and we praise God with a life full of faith, of love and of charity.

Thank you.

Translations via Zenit.

Homily - 3 April 2010

The Vigil During the Holy Night of Easter

Dear brothers and sisters,

It is one thing to be betrayed by one we love, but it is quite another to be the betrayer.
The words of the women seemed preposterous, indeed, “like nonsense” (Luke 24:11). The Eleven thought the women delusional, perhaps from grief, perhaps from exhaustion. But not Peter.

Peter, who said to Jesus, “I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you” (Luke 22:33); who went on the offensive in defense of the Master and cut off Malchus’ ear (cf. John 18:10); who tree times denied Jesus, finally exclaiming, “I do not know the man!” (Matthew 26:74); who looked into Jesus’ and saw Jesus’ love and suffering (Luke 22:61); it was this Peter who interpreted the words of the women in perhaps a different light.

Until that moment Peter lived in a sleepless state, filled with grief and shame, the knowledge of his betrayal of the one he loved. He lived with the remembrance of Jesus’ words to him: “Get behind me, Satan” (Matthew 16:23), and, “Will you lay down your life for me? Amen, amen, I say to you, the cock will not crow before you deny me three times” (John 13:38).

Jesus said those words so solemnly, with such anguish in his voice, and, though Peter protested, he proved them true. He found that what Jesus once said had proven true in him: “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it” (Mark 8:35). Yes, Peter preserved his life from the hands of the Romans, but in doing so he lost his only friend worth having. His life, his existence, was now meaningless and empty.

Peter desired - more than anything else - the friendship of Jesus, but in that moment of weakness Peter refused his friendship to Jesus. And though Peter knew the forgiveness of the Lord when he looked into his eyes, the Master was no longer with him; his friendship was no longer available.

Peter was left, then, in a state much worse than the grief and mourning we experience at the death of one we love deeply. For three years his entire existence was built around the life and ministry of Jesus Christ; Peter invested everything in him and now he was dead, crucified and buried. He was left entirely without hope, which is a far worse state than even death.

Peter stumbled about in this hopeless state, having forgotten that the Lord had predicted not only his death, but also his resurrection. He explained to them that he must “suffer greatly from the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised” (Matthew 16:21).

That his friend and Master would rise from the dead was far from Peter’s thoughts, until he heard the words of the women when something stirred in his heart. Could their words be true? With this hope arising with him, he “got up and ran to the tomb” (Luke 24:12).

Peering into the tomb, Peter saw no lifeless body, but only the cloths from burial. Immediately he knew that what skeptics said could not be true: no one stealing a body would go to the trouble of leaving the cloths behind. He “went home amazed at what had happened” because he knew that what the Lord had predicted had come to pass: he was indeed risen from the dead (Luke 24:12). What Peter had said of Jesus, even at his own surprise, he now knew to be true: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16).

Now Peter had hope that these other words of Jesus would be made true in him: “but whoever loses it [his life] for my sake and that of the Gospel will save it” (Mark 8:35). If Jesus was risen from the dead – as he said he would – there was still hope for Peter. Having known the bitterness of betrayal, having lost his life in saving it, Peter now was willing to abandon himself completely to Christ. In losing himself in Jesus, Peter knew now that he would find true life, the life of lasting joy and peace, the life unending.

Dear brothers and sisters, will you this day devote your efforts, as Peter once did, to serving your own pride and ego; to serving your own ambition and desires; to serving your own preservation? We see from the life of Saint Peter that doing so only leads to despair for it separates us from Christ Jesus who has come seeking our friendship.

Or will you, my friends, learn the profound lesson Peter learned and devote yourselves to serving Christ – in whatever way he asks of you – so that you may find true life?

This hope that Peter found, is it in you? If you, with Peter, look in faith into the eyes of Christ with repentant hearts, you will see his suffering and his love, and the hope that Peter found will be in you. If you listen to the words of the women that they heard from the angels as you, with Peter, look in faith into the tomb: “He is not here, but he has been raised,” you will find this hope (Luke 24:6).

No, the Lord Jesus is not here, but he will soon be present in our midst at this altar. Preaching to the crowds, Jesus said, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him” (John 6:54-56). This saying was hard for the people to hear and many of the people abandoned Jesus and turned to their own way upon hearing it.

The Lord turned to the Twelve and asked them, “Do you also want to leave” (John 6:67). It was Peter who answered, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).

Yes, to whom else indeed shall we go? Having lost his life in seeking to preserve it, Peter learned the truth of the words he spoken: only the Lord Jesus, whom the Father raised from the dead by the power of the Holy Spirit, has the words of eternal life. Indeed, he himself is life.

Gathered here around the altar of God we have returned once again to the Upper Room to receive the Body and Blood of the Risen Lord. By receiving him worthily, with faith, we are united with him who has brought death to death and our friendship with Jesus will be strengthened.

If we look to Christ, and seek to lose our lives in him, we, with Peter, will go home amazed at what we have, at what we have heard, and the love that we have known. Yes, my friends, let us abandon ourselves to Christ, to him whom even could not contain, for he his risen! Alleluia!

Homily - 11 April 2009

At the Vigil During the Holy Night of Easter

This very night, dear brothers and sisters, all that was foretold and promised through the prophets is fulfilled. In this night, all of salvation history takes place and Christ Jesus is raised from the dead!

This night heralds the beginning of a new creation, for the women went to the tomb of Jesus “on the first day of the week,” the moment of a new beginning (Mark 16:2).

It was on the first day of creation that God created light. “Let there be light,” he said, “and there was light” (Genesis 1:3). Creation had begun.

When the women arrived at the tomb, “the sun had risen,” but it must have only begun to rise for it was still “very early” (Mark 16:2). The women saw the word of the Lord spoken through his prophet Malachi fulfilled: “But for you who fear my name, there will arise the sun of justice with its healing rays” (Malachi 3:20).

Saint Francis of Assisi praises Brother Sun because “he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor; and bears a likeness to You, O Most High.”[1] The rising sun was a symbol of the Risen Christ, just as the light of the paschal fire, which we blessed a short time ago and from which the paschal candle was lit, also symbolize the Risen Lord. The paschal candle was three times lifted high, that the “light of Christ, rising in glory, [might] dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds” as its healing rays fell upon us.[2]

But the women did not make this connection, so concerned were they with their final act of love for Jesus – the proper anointing of his body; their thoughts revolved around that stone. Yet their concern over the stone proved unwarranted, for “when they looked up,” that is, when they looked to God, “they saw the stone had been rolled back” (Mark 16:4).

Do not misjudge this, my friends. The stone was rolled back “not to throw open a way for our Lord to come forth, but to provide evidence to people that he had already come forth.”[3] The stone was not moved for the Lord, but for us, that we, too, might enter into the tomb.

The stone at the tomb can also be said to be the stone that covers our hearts; it, too, must be rolled back if we are to see the evidence of the Risen Lord, if we are to encounter him. The three women could not roll the stone away themselves; neither can we. With them, we ask, “Who will roll back the stone for us” (Mark 16:3)?

Is your heart shut this night? Are your eyes closed? Then hear the Lord say to you this night, as on the day of your Baptism, “Ephatha! Be opened” (Mark 7:34)!

Yet still you ask, “Who will roll back the stone for us?” That blessed Doctor of the Gospels, Saint Anthony of Padua, says to us, “O feeble minds! Draw near and look! Do not hesitate, and you will see the stone already rolled away.”[4] For who is that angel who rolled back the stone if not “the grace of the Holy Spirit, who removes the stone from the door of the sepulcher, strengthens our faith, smoothes out all the roughness, and sweetens all bitterness with the balm of his love?”[5] Yes, cast your eyes to the Lord, and you will find the stone before your heart rolled away!

As they stood at the entrance to the tomb, the women knew God entered into human history, fulfilling the ancient prophesy given through Ezekiel: “And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people. And I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live” (Ezekiel 37:13-14).

The Lord Jesus is able to raise us from our graves – to give us new life - because he himself has tasted death.

He died, but he vanquished death; in himself he put an end to what we feared… Where is death? Seek it in Christ, for it exists no longer; but it did exist and now it is dead… Be of good heart; it will die in us, also… But when? At the end of the world, at the resurrection of the dead in which we believe and concerning which we do not doubt.[6]

This is the promise he gives us in the Sacraments, the promise of everlasting life in God, the promise that will soon be given to one among us this night.

This new life, the very life of the Blessed Trinity, can be ours because that stone has been rolled back, suggesting the “unlocking of the sacraments of Christ.”[7] Before we give this everlasting life to Sandy, let us consider, just for a moment, that young man “sitting on the right side, clothed in a white robe,” the sight of whom filled the women with utter amazement (Mark 16:5).

Saint Matthew described that heavenly messenger as having an appearance “like lightning, and his clothing white as snow” (Matthew 28:3). “In lightning, indeed, are dread and fear, but in snow there is the soothing quality of whiteness.”[8] The angel looked like lightning because God is fearful to sinners, but because he is soothing to the righteous the angel’s robe was like snow. “By its very sight the angel might then frighten the condemned, and reassure the devout.”[9]

Upon those who fear the Lord, the healing rays of the sun of justice, Christ the Lord, the Morning Star, have fallen and will fall, leading their hearts and minds to conversion, to love. For this reason, the angel says to the women, and to us, “Behold the place where they laid him” (Mark 16:6).

Let us, too, approach the empty tomb of our Lord in “utter amazement” (Mark 16:5). You, Sandy, are soon to die with Christ and to rise with him in the waters of Baptism. Approach these waters as though you approached the tomb of our Lord. Death is soon to be destroyed in you and you are soon to become one with Christ. Fully aware of what you are about to ask of the Church – and what she will ask of you – approach these waters with a holy fear and a loving confidence in the Lord’s tender mercy, for “he has been raised” (Mark 16:6). Amen! Alleluia!

[1] Saint Francis of Assisi, “The Canticle of Brother Sun”, 4. In Francis and Clare: The Complete Works, Regis J. Armstrong and Ignatius C. Brady, eds. (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1982), 38.
[2] Roman Missal, .
[3] Saint Bede the Venerable, Exposition on the Gospel of Mark, 2.7. In Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament Vol. II, Mark, Thomas C. Oden, et al. eds. (Downers Grove, Illinois: Inter Varsity Press, 1998), 230.
[4] Saint Anthony of Padua, Homily for Easter, 9. In Sermons for Sundays and Festivals, Vol I: General Prologue, Sundays from Septuagesima to Pentecost, Paul Spilsbury, ed. (Padua, Italy: Edizioni Messaggero Padova, 2007), 238.
[5] Ibid., 238-329.
[6] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 233, 3-4. In Oden, 232.
[7] Saint Anthony of Padua, Ibid., 238.
[8] Saint Gregory the Great, Homily 21, in Forty Gospel Homilies. David Hurst, trans. (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercisan Publications, 1990), 159.
[9] Ibid.

Homily - 22 March 2008 - Holy Saturday

Dear brothers and sisters, this night we have begun in darkness, but “the darkness has not overcome” the light (John 1:5)! He who is “the light of the world,” Christ the Lord, has not been extinguished (John 8:12)! Though yesterday it seemed this light had been snuffed out by death, his light still shines brightly, “dispelling the darkness of this night!”[1] This is the night!

This is the night of our salvation “when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death and rose triumphant from the grave.”[2] For this reason the angel says to us, “Do not be afraid” (Matthew 28:5)!

Do not be afraid, for Christ our light shines brightly within our midst. Christ our Light shines brightly upon the path before us, illuminating the way in which we are to walk and live. Christ our light shines brightly, having “destroyed the darkness of sin!”[3]

All of this we proclaim this night with the great Paschal candle, symbol of the Risen Lord among us.

This candle was lit at the beginning of our festivities from the newly blessed fire. Then, I proclaimed:

Christ yesterday and today, the beginning and the end, Alpha and Omega, all time belongs to him, and all the ages, to him be glory and power through every age for ever. Amen.

As I proclaimed Christ the Lord of time and history, I traced the Cross – the sign of death but also of victory - upon the candle, as well as the Alpha and Omega and the year two thousand and eight. These words and actions give to this candle the symbolism of the power and lordship of Jesus Christ.

Next I prayed, as I inserted five grains of incense into the candle – one for each of Jesus’ sacred wounds:

By his holy and glorious wounds, may Christ our Lord guard us and keep us. Amen.

The grains of incense I inserted in the form of the Cross, marking the candle with the glorious wounds of the Savior by which we are saved and in which we find refuge.

Then we entered the Church, following the Light of the World as the Israelites followed the pillar of fire in the desert.

Leading and shepherding the pilgrim Church, I held aloft the light of Christ to which you exclaimed, “Thanks be to God!”

Yes, thanks be to God! Thanks be to God for this glorious night when Jesus Christ, the “Morning Star, who came back from the dead, [sheds] his peaceful light on all mankind![4]

Whenever we look, then, upon this candle we see Christ our light and recall his glorious death and resurrection and the wounds he still bears for us.

Yes, Christ is risen! He does indeed go before us and he meets us on the way. We are not alone! We do not walk in darkness! Christ is with us “always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20)!

Yes, this is the night! This is the night when all things are changed and the long reign of sin and death is ended.

Rejoice, all you who walk in the light of faith! “Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice” (Philippians 4:4)! Christ “has been raised just as he said” (Matthew 28:6)! Amen! Alleluia!

[1] The Exultet.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid.