And this Easter - the 56th anniversary of my baptism, the 27th anniversary of Tom's funeral - when did I first catch the scent of resurrection, push aside the veil to peer out of the Lenten tomb? I intoned the incipit to the Gloria, acapella in the dark church, my voice clinging to the last threads of the Vigil's darkness, holding the last note until it was caught into a shimmering cascade of light and music as piano, organ, flute, trumpet, strings, choir and assembly took up the major doxology. Was that this Easter's "moment when"?
Or was it when I walked past the 2nd grader at Mass this weekend, his face buried in his hands after receiving the Eucharist for the first time? And for some reason, it all made me think of John Updike's poem
Make no mistake: if he rose at allPerhaps each year we must painfully let the bones of this Body of Christ reknit, the amino acids fall back into their places, the cellular machinery creak and groan its way back to life.
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecules reknit,
The amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.