I was cleaning up the yard on a recent Saturday afternoon. For too long, sticks — snapped during months of rough New England wintry weather — littered the backyard. But that nice early spring day, the time came to roll up my sleeves and avoid being a neighborhood blight.
As I bent and burned debris in my fire pit, I listened to the rosary. Though the Joyful Mysteries were prayed, my mind and heart were weighed down by a lack of self-confidence — both in my work and as a soon-to-be husband to my wonderful fiancée. Questions pressed in: How will I provide for our family? Will I be a good husband? A good father?
Undoubtedly, many men share these anxieties, even after marriage. And no doubt, the forces of darkness exploit them, pulling our focus away from the pursuit of heaven. In that moment of weakness, however, I asked for greater trust.
Then, in a way I cannot fully explain, I heard a voice — clear, distinct, and not my own: “Do you know the glory that awaits you? So, don’t be afraid — I’m with you every step.”
I cannot claim it was the divine — or mysticism. Certainly, as baptized Christians, we all have that capability in prayer. But the words, lovingly received, nourished my weakened soul. It reoriented me, turning my mind toward God’s sovereignty and my heart toward gratitude for His goodness.
Even if the source is unknown, as Scripture teaches, “Every good endowment and every perfect gift is from above” (James 1:17).
With Easter approaching, I found myself reflecting that afternoon on the Resurrection and our true mission: to be instruments of His divine love and peace. In a way, what I heard echoed Christ’s reassurances to His disciples after He rose from the dead — and reminded me that Easter’s joy is not affixed in history, but a constant reality.
Indeed, we live in the Empty Tomb Era — and for all time.
In Matthew’s Gospel, Christ meets Mary Magdalene and the “other Mary” — who have left the empty tomb — and greets them, saying, “Hail” and “Do not be afraid”; in John’s, Christ asks Mary Magdalene, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?”; in Luke’s, He converses with the disciples on the road to Emmaus, and lovingly corrects them, sharing, “O foolish men, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?”; and in Mark’s, Christ tells his disciples to “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation.”
In these encounters, Christ demonstrates four distinct ways He heals our souls: He builds our confidence, so there is nothing to fear; He turns our mourning into joy; He opens Scripture’s truth and shows how He is the crux of history; but, in turn, He gives us the duty — and responsibility — to evangelize and share the good news.
The last one, particularly, edifies — and even transfigures — the spirit because as St. Francis is credited with observing, “It is in giving we receive.” In truth, in giving, we are more attuned to our intended purpose: to “serve and love God and to offer all creation back to him,” as The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches.
I do not share my private revelation out of hubris. In fact, I debated whether to recount it publicly; but any vision of hope or encouragement should not be smothered under a bushel — and no gift selfishly clutched.
Ultimately, Easter is not reserved for the few, or those Apostles, early disciples, or the saints — but for everyone. Every soul that has — or ever will — exist is meant for that eternal glory: our family members; our friends; the strangers at the grocery store; those sitting next to us at a ballgame; the people who annoy us; and even our enemies. Indeed, Christ went “all the way down” into the depths of human depravity to rescue us from sin, as Bishop Robert Barron, founder of Word on Fire, preached.
Why? Not to condemn or guilt us, but out of mercy and infinite love. But this love is not merely collectivistic. As C.S. Lewis reportedly acknowledged, “When Christ died, He died for you individually just as much as if you had been the only person in the world.”
On Good Friday, Christ prayed and died for you and me, specifically. And on Easter Sunday, He rose in glory so that you and I can join in eternal redemption. With this realization, as I experienced on that Saturday afternoon, life should become more simple in the Empty Tomb Era.
Though significant, worldly affairs do not supersede God for His divine providence is, has been, and will always be on display. After all, as Isaiah prophesied:
“Thus says the Lord: Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; The things of the past shall not be remembered or come to mind. Instead, there shall always be rejoicing and happiness in what I create…”
Easter Sunday is our liberation, and reassurance that Christ nurtures and pursues us individualistically. Moreover, the great joy and freedom is understanding we can contribute to salvation history, laying further groundwork for future unborn generations to reap the benefits of what we have sowed via our corporal works of mercy and prayers. As St. John Henry Newman suggests, there is no finitude to faith — but it ever expands, much like a mighty river that once sprung from a small spring.
Christ calls each of us by name. We are His prize. He loves and likes us. And we are not slaves to sin and death anymore, but His friends pursuing and persevering toward a new life. Confidently, we should not fear, as Christ has won the eternal victory; as Julian of Norwich, a 14th century mystic, once succinctly said, “All shall well.” Moreover, Christ has great confidence in us to perform the duties and vocations that will, ultimately, mold us into saints. All we must do is remain in His love, and ask to do His divine will daily; in doing so, we will “bear much fruit and become [His] disciples.”
Pray — and He will answer. Strive — for He is striving after you. Love — and you will be with Him, and like Him, forever.
That is the truth I needed to relearn that Saturday afternoon. That is the hope of Easter. And that destiny — and even revelation — awaits you too.
Happy Easter!
Andrew Fowler is the Editor of RealClearReligion. He is also the Communications Specialist at Yankee Institute and author of "The Condemned," a novella about a Catholic priest fighting off the cartel to save the residents of a small desert town (which you can find here).
