SILENT NIGHT

A SERMON FOR EASTER SUNDAY

In a few moments, we will make our usual Sunday affirmation of our faith in our Lord’s Resurrection in the words of the Creed: “On the third day he rose again from the dead.”  Today is that third day.  It is Easter Sunday.  The day of the glorious Resurrection.  “Hail thee, Festival Day, blest day that art hallowed forever.”  “This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us be glad and rejoice therein!” 

During the last few days, we have been focusing on the horrifying events of our Lord’s Passion and Death.  We are plunged into the depths of compassion, sharing the sufferings of our Savior and of his blessed Mother who had to witness them.  Finally on Good Friday, between the hours of noon and three o’clock, we prayed at the foot of the Cross as the Son of God breathed his last tormented gasps of air.  This terrible moment when Jesus died is perhaps the most striking moment in all of human history.  But at some point, between that moment of death and this happy Easter morning, there is another moment, surely even more striking, even more dramatic, even more phenomenal in its import and significance.  This was the moment, not when Christ died, but when his soul re-entered his lifeless body, and he rose again from the dead.

What of that moment?  We’ve seen what happened at his death.  We have seen the great signs that God displayed on the earth at that time.  What more could nature display than the peculiar darkness that suddenly covered the land at that time, the terrible thunderstorm, the earthquake, graves opening to release the dead, the thick veil of the temple being rent in two, the shock and awe of all those terrible events?  How was God going to “top” that? 

And so here’s a very strange and wonderful thing.  For as Our Lord’s soul left his body to the accompaniment of thunderclaps and lightning bolts, it returned to his body like the “still, small voice of calm.”  His resurrection from the dead in many ways resembled his nativity 33 years earlier in Bethlehem.  It occurred “while all things were in quiet silence, and night was in the midst of her swift course.” Only this time, there was no fanfare waking the shepherds to come and worship the risen Lord, no mighty choirs of herald angels singing Gloria in Excelsis Deo, no shining stars of wonder in the heavens leading wise men from afar to the holy sepulcher.  There was only the simple silence of the night—the one soundless note of Christmas that was repeated on the first Easter—“Silent Night, Holy Night”.  And in the midst of all that silence, all that holiness, unannounced and known only to the Almighty Father and the hushed angels who stood watch over our Lord’s holy sepulcher, the divine soul of Jesus Christ, only-begotten Son of God, rejoined his broken body in that tomb, and a heart began once more to beat, blood began again to flow through veins and arteries, and the Son of God lived and dwelt amongst his people once more.

Perhaps there was a great flash of light, imprinting the image of Our Lord on the Holy Shroud?  Perhaps so, but what kind of noise is made by light alone?  Or maybe there was some commotion as the great stone guarding the entrance to the tomb was rolled back?  Again maybe, but it apparently didn’t wake up the soldiers who guarded it.   No, this greatest event in the entire history of our world was unseen and unheard, silent in its magnitude, tranquil in its supreme moment of victory and triumph.

What message does this great but silent event convey to us on this joyful Easter Sunday?  Simply this:  that in spite of our human nature, and our natural inclination to proclaim from the rooftops that “Christ is Risen”, we must remember that the quintessential truth of the Resurrection transcends all the fanfare of our displays of joy, and is ultimately a message of peace.  When Our Lord appears to his disciples after his resurrection, he greets them with the words “Pax vobiscum”, Peace be with you.  And to you today I say the same:  Peace be with you.  Be at peace. 

There are rumors of war in the air today—even the word “nuclear” is appearing more than we have ever seen in our lifetime.  But be at peace.  Our own lives may be in turmoil, with financial woes, medical problems, worries about our beloved family members, and of course the terrible apostasy of our Church leaders that has caused such chaos in the world at large and in our own confused souls.  But be at peace.  “Pax vobiscum.”  Christ is risen.  After our sorrowful mysteries, the glorious shall surely follow.  Death is followed by resurrection.  And when the hour of our death finally comes, we will quickly realize as we pass into the everlasting life beyond, that death is not terrible and fearful thing we had been dreading, but the hour of our glory, our own glorious resurrection.  We know this because Christ is risen.  His resurrection is our sign, our proof, that we too will one day rise incorruptible into the arms of our heavenly Father.  If our life is spent now in peace under the shadow of the Almighty, when death shall come we will be able to lay down our heads one last time in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection, with the words of the prophet on our lips:  “I will lay me down in peace and take my rest.  For it is thou Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety.”  And after all the drama, the sadness and bereavement of death has passed, and our soul departs this vale of tears, we will be able to rejoice in that final, eternal Eastertide in heaven, entering into the glory that was vouchsafed to us on that first silent Easter night so long ago.

This is the true joy of Easter.  We must keep this happy peace in our minds, even as we express our joy more openly in the Easter traditions that are meant to be nothing more than its pale reflections:  the end of the Lenten Fast, your new Easter bonnet, the visit of the Easter Bunny and the Easter Egg hunts with our children, maybe a few days off work or school.  Easter is so much more than these happy trivialities.  Let’s celebrate Easter, but let’s not forget the real reason we’re celebrating.  Let’s not forget that peace which has descended now upon us all, as we breathe this fresh Easter morning air, and as we sigh with a profound and sincere relief that the gates of heaven have been re-opened to us and our souls have been reprieved from the fate they surely deserve.  “Peace I leave with you,” our Lord now reassures us, “my peace I give unto you.”  The peace of our Lord offers joy without limit, and on behalf of Bishop Petko and myself, I pray that this peace fills your hearts, and that all of you and your families may enjoy an abundance of that peace, and a very very Happy Easter.  God bless you.