Gulf Pine Catholic

6 Gulf Pine Catholic • March 9, 2018 I found it rather ironic how this year, Ash Wednesday that began Lent was also Valentine’s Day. Also, Easter Sunday falls on April 1 that happens to be April Fool’s Day. So, the more seri- ous part of me conjures up more morbid thoughts of penance, self-denial, morti- fication. Yet, the more jovial side of me conjures up more romantic and loving thoughts and challenges. In the same way, the more serious side of me, as it exits Holy Week, brings with it the left- over baggage of self-sacrifice. Yet, the more jovial side of me reminds me that Easter has the greatest laugh. Given that I have almost endured and survived the disci- plined cross of Lent, maybe it is time for me to lighten up and enjoy the new hope and possibilities that allow me to chuckle at the greatest Easter joke on All Fool’s Day. The irony is not confined to the two bookends -- Valen- tine’s Day or Ash Wednesday and April Fool’s Day or Easter Sunday. It is also seen in the approach of the authorities at the time concerning Jesus’ claim to be a king. He is covered with a purple royal coat of rags and crowned with a crown of thorns rather than a gilded crown -- mocked as a puppet king in a foreign land. The irony reminds me of Eugene O’Neill’s dark and trou- blesome play, “Lazarus Laughed” in which everyone dies -- Jesus dies; Lazarus’ parents die; his sisters Mary and Martha die; his wife dies; his children die; and yet, Lazarus laughs. The thread that run through the play reminds us why Lazarus laughs as he says, “Laugh! Laugh with me! Death is dead. Fear is no more! There is only life. There is only laughter!” The refrain continues, “Laugh! Laugh! There is only God! Life is His laughter. We are His laughter. Fear is no more! Death is dead!” The two disciples on the road to Emmaus, travelled sadly as their hopes were dashed. The Stranger walks with them, listening to their sad story. Later on, the puzzle is complete and their hearts began to burn with joy and hope. Later on, Peter began his sermon in a strange way. He said “These men are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day” Peter imbued with the spirit of the Risen Christ, has to explain to the crowd that he is not intoxicated by drink but instead, is completely sober in the resurrection experience. In the early Greek Orthodox tradition, we find a custom where, on the day after Easter, the clergy and laity would gather in the sanctuary to tell stories, jokes, and anecdotes. The reason given was that this was the most fitting way of celebrating the big joke that God had pulled on Satan in the resurrection. The American playwright, Thornton Wilder, in his play, “ Our Town” “says We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being.” Easter is a reminder that you can crucify life and it will resurrect. You can bury truth in the grave, but it will spring to life again. You can make a mockery of promises, but they will haunt you by coming true. You can nail truth to a cross, but it splinters into hope. You can roll a stone of finality to the grave but, it explodes in joy. You can come to the grave to anoint the dead, but you are surprised by a gardener. You can bribe grave minders, but they will be blinded by the dawning of an eternal day. You can close the book of life, but you will be surprised that the last chapter has yet to be written. Robert Fulghum, in his book, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts On Com- mon Things,” reminds us to “believe that imagination is stron- ger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.” Easter reminds us that God had the last laugh, and, as the old proverb says, “He who laughs last, laughs best!” Father Michael Tracey is retired and lives in Ireland. He can be contacted by email at mtracey1@bellsouth.net . His website is www.michaeltracey.net The last laugh Across the Pond Fr. Tracey Father is a metaphor: Part Two A three-part series of reflections BY DEACON ED RAMOS 3) Father is a metaphor for forgiveness. “Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him, put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. (Luke 15:22)” Long were his daily vigils on the lookout point. Long did his servants plead earnestly for him to return to the comforts of his wealth and social standing. But anguish will not let him rest. Wakefulness comes before midnight and then hours of tossing follow before dawn. Morning breaks and he begins his vigil anew. Alone in the lookout, his eyes are fixed on the point of his hope. His eyes fix on a point where the road rises to the horizon, and nothing else can be seen. “O my son Absalom! O Absalom, my son, my son!” (2 Sam 19:4), he prays mournfully. Ten years of vigil have taken their toll. A river of tears has carved deep channels in his face during the nightly wakefulness. He has forgotten what happiness feels like. Despair threatens. Vocal prayer is dry; he only has faith left for silent prayer. Anguish does not cease; he weeps still: “O Absalom!” It is hot past midday on the forlorn lookout where the dusty, rocky road meets the sky in the distance. Suddenly a dark dot appears on the road disturbing the shimmering heat eddies. The old man barely notices in his stupor. But the dot grows bigger until it can be seen that it is the figure of a man who limps and support himself with a walking stick. A little closer and he sees the man is bald and dressed in rags. The sentinel is now fully awake. “Could it be?” -- hope whispers in his ear. The man on the road is the right height, but so thin! He is still too far away and cannot clearly see his face. “Could it be?” The very thought makes his heart race. Quickly he descends from the lookout and starts walking towards the thin bald man in the dis- tance. He still cannot see his face. But what was that? The man is waving at him, and he seems to be limping faster. He can wait no longer. For a moment he thinks of how custom and law dictate that a man of his im- portance and social status should never do something as undignified as running. But who will know? Who is there to see what is done in secret? He has to know right now! Is this my son, my Absalom? He begins to run but his rich ornate robes -- encrusted with jewels and gold -- is heavy and he cannot run as fast as he could. His turban is hot as sweat beings to drip into his eyes. He takes the turban off and throws it down on the dusty road. Then he takes off his coat, and his sandals; they too slow him down. So much lighter, the sentinel sprints up the road. All this time the thin bald man keeps waving and limping as fast as he can. He throws down his stick and a little sack. It is not long now. He begins to call out: “Abba! Abba! Abba!” ceaselessly. At first the senti- nel cannot make out the cries, but his growing certainty impels him. They keep moving towards each other. The sentinel is now also dirty and disheveled; his long gray hair flailing in the wind. The sentinel falls; his knees are now bloody. A while longer, a little unsteady, he falls again, and his face is now bloody. The road that as- cends to meet the sky is very rough and filled with sharp rocks. The sentinel gets up only to fall a third time. His hands are now bloody as well. They are close now. They both stop to look at each other as if to make sure that their hope is true. The thin bald man asks in a whisper: “Abba?” And the father immediately responds: “Absa- lom? Are you my son, my Absalom?” Guest Columnist Deacon Ramos SEE GUEST COLUMNIST, PAGE 7