For many, the initial feeling that Easter brings is not so much joy, but more relief relief

f because at last we can drop the somber purple of Lent and sing those alleluias and back to normal life; relief because at last we can end the almost suffocating silence of a gloomy Holy Thursday and a dour Good Friday, of closed moviehouses, and off-the-air TV channels; relief because at last we can do away with the guardedness and the discipline of abstinence and the sometimes artificial imperative to be more subdued, and more reflective, and more prayerful; relief because at last we can now set aside those little sacrifices, and little penances, and little deprivations and we can stop worrying about Mother Guilt watching over us when we are not able to do them. Yes, Easter, for many of us, brings such relief. And the raw symbol of Easter is, I believe, a most fitting one for this feeling of relief; and the symbol is none other than the quiet and the calm of the empty tomb. After the emotional encounters of Holy Thursday the last supper, and the agony in the garden, and the betrayal and abandonment by friends; after the frenzy and drama and the build-up of Food Friday, with the high-pitched trial before Pilate, and the excitement of the walk to Calvary, and the spectacle of the cross, and the darkness, and the earthquake; and even after the liturgical fanfare of the Easter Vigil, of fires and songs and incense we find ourselves in todays gospel of Easter morning calmly and quietly confronted by nothing more than any empty tomb no trumpets blaring, no alleluias from Handels Messiah. Instead, we have the questions, and the doubts, and the hopes, and the simple challenge of the empty tomb. Scripture scholars point out that there are only two empirical proofs that Jesus did indeed rise from the dead. The first is a positive proof-the testimony of those who saw Jesus, and talked to him, and touched his wounds, and heard his words, and watched as he broke bread and drank wine and ate fish. It is on this testimony that our faith is built, our Church founded, our unity sealed. The second proof is a negative proof, and this is the empty tomb. It is negative in that it points not to what is there, but rather to what is not there. And that is what todays gospel brings out clearly. And so, on this day, let us for a moment consider the empty tomb. So what exactly was not there? What was not there was the decaying corpse of a man who was nailed to a cross. What was not there was the stench of corruption and the heavy air of lifelessness. What was not there was the depressing darkness of hollow space shielded by a rock from the light of the day. What was not there was the ugliness of mortality drying up the blood that once energized and moved and impassioned a human body. What was not there was the stagnant stillness and silence of a heart that beat once but now no more. And because these were not there, then we rejoice in our faith, because negative though theses absences were, they represent to us the victory of God over death. But the power of the symbol of the empty tomb lies in more than just representing what is not there. The empty is powerful also because of what it stands for, and because of what it reminds us of and poignantly never makes us forget. The empty tomb reminds us that after all, it is still a tomb, a place for the dead, a place that is the endpoint of our lifes pains and anxieties, fears and miseries, our heartaches, woes, misfortunes, torments, afflictions, infirmities realities that not even Easter can undo. And because it is, it reminds us of what our Christian faith begins with the rough clay that is the raw material of our lives, our

imperfect and weak and sinful selves. And the empty tomb is a reminder for us that our faith not a faith that does away with the pain and the sorrow and the dying. Rather, it is one that embraces the dying, and bears it in the heart as Jesus did. Our faith is not one that denies our weakness and our mortality and our sinfulness. Rather, it accepts these in humility. In other words, if I might borrow the words of one of the more popular songs today, our faith is not one that cries out to God to unbreak our hearts, and un-dry our tears, and undo our pains. No! Rather, we are to take our broken hearts, and our broken lives, and our broken selves, and place them in the hands of God, so that God might bless them and make them holy, and use them, and make of them something better, and more complete. We do