Easter Monday

Not Over Yet

A quiet melancholy usually settles over me on Easter Monday. And I blame the Church; She is brilliant in her liturgical theatrics: She sweeps us into the solemnity of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, descends with us into the sorrow and profundity of Christ’s Passion and Death, then suspends us over Holy Saturday, until sundown. But that sense of suspension doesn’t completely vanish at dawn on Easter. There is a sense of relief, yes, but it is coupled with anticipation.

The same melancholy settles after Christmas day: the anticipation of Christ’s advent isn’t fully satisfied. And the readings of Advent prepare the Church for that reality. Though Christ came to earth incarnate, He will come again. We repeat this promise at each Mass: As we await the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

It’s not just melancholy; there’s joy, too. But it’s a quiet joy, a joy of awe and wonder, a joy of things to come. It’s Mary Magdalen at the tomb, desperate to touch the risen Christ, but restrained, and instructed to, “Go!” Go, tell the disciples; go, share the Good News; go, make disciples of all nations. Celebrating Easter is a reminder that someday we will rest with Christ; we will touch Him, unhindered. The Triduum liturgies create that hunger for Christ’s triumph, for eternal rest and eternal communion.