Reflection for April 5, 2026

Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord (A)

Acts 10:34A, 37-43 | Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23 | 1 Corinthians 5:6B-8 | John 20:1-9

​The psalmist prays today, “This is the day the Lord has made let us rejoice and be glad!". On this Easter Sunday, let us remember that our faith is bigger than life, and that Jesus is more powerful than death. By rising back to life, Christ has opened, for everyone, a path that leads to Life. He invites us now to put off our old corrupt self and be transformed anew.

​A devout Christian watched Mother Teresa of Calcutta as she cleaned a maggot-infested wound of a Hindu and fed starving moslems on the streets, only to say, “Why are you helping them? They are not Christians, are they?" Mother Teresa replied, "But I am a Christian".

In the First Reading, Peter initially believed that the Messiah had come only for the Jews. Yet God challenged and corrected this limited understanding. Peter came to realize that God shows no partiality, but welcomes people from every nation who fear Him and act justly. Jesus suffered, died, and rose again not for a select group, but for all. Consequently, Peter proclaimed that the old divisions between Jews and Gentiles no longer hold. In Christ, the barriers that once separated people are broken down. Salvation is revealed as a universal gift offered to all humanity. This universality calls for the rejection of every form of narrow cultural, ecclesial, or political exclusivity, and finds its fulfillment in a genuine respect for the dignity and life of every person.

Bessie stood on a stool, pulling dusty jars from the kitchen shelf. “General cleaning,” she muttered, tossing out packets of old yeast. Jill walked in. “Why are you throwing those away? Can’t you still use them?” Bessie shook her head. “Old yeast might not work anymore. If I use it, the bread might not rise. It’s better to start fresh.” Jill frowned. “So no bread for now?” “Not exactly,” Bessie smiled. “I’ll make pita for shawarma. That kind of bread doesn’t need yeast, so it stays flat. Then next time, I can bake properly with new yeast.” Jill nodded slowly. “So you’re clearing out the old to prepare for something better?” “Exactly,” Bessie said, wiping the shelf. “Sometimes, you set aside yeast completely—especially when you need to move quickly or start fresh.” Jill paused. “That sounds… familiar.” Bessie smiled. “It should.”

In his First Letter to the Corinthians, the Apostle Paul calls the community to conversion through the metaphor of leaven. He uses yeast in bread to symbolize the transforming power of the new covenant. Leaven, a fermenting agent, changes the very nature of the dough, causing it to rise. Yet in Scripture, it also represents corruption—something that spreads and spoils the whole. Following Passover, the Feast of Unleavened Bread required the complete removal of all old leaven from the household, leaving only what was pure. In the same way, sin has a tendency to multiply and permeate every aspect of life. The Resurrection of Christ, therefore, calls us to search out and remove the “old leaven” within us—to reject sin and embrace new life. Thus, on this first day of the Easter season, Catholics throughout the world renew their Baptismal promises. This act is a solemn and united declaration of faith in the Father, in Jesus our Life, and in the life-giving Spirit—a proclamation that we have truly been made new.

Why is Mary, the Mother of Jesus, not among the women who first saw the empty tomb? Before dawn, she rose, resolved to go. The house was silent, the memory of the cross still heavy in the air. Yet within her, faith did not waver. She had held on through the darkness of that long Sabbath, believing what no one else dared to believe. As she reached for her veil, a light filled the room. “Woman,” a voice said—gentle, yet filled with glory. She turned. Jesus stood before her, risen and radiant. He drew near. “Woman, you were the first to receive Me in your womb when the angel announced My birth. You were the first to keep Me in your heart as mysteries unfolded before your eyes. You were the first to receive My broken body when I was taken down from the cross. And now, this morning, you are the first to see My risen body—because you alone believed, without doubt, that I would rise on the third day.” Mary fell to her knees, tears of joy breaking through her silence. “My dearest Son, I knew You would come back, just as You promised. Even in the darkness, I held Your word.” Jesus lifted her gently. “You did not run to the tomb with fear, for your heart never left Me. What others sought in haste, you already possessed in faith.” She looked upon Him, not in surprise, but in fulfillment. “And because you stood firm when the world faltered,” He continued, “your faith will be remembered. Every Saturday, My Church will honor you—because when all seemed lost, you alone believed.” So she did not go to the tomb. The others ran in confusion, searching for signs. But she had no need to seek the living among the dead—because the Risen Lord had already come to her.

That first Easter morning was marked by confusion and urgency. Mary of Magdala came running to Peter and the beloved disciple with the startling news that the body of Jesus was gone. What followed was a whirlwind of awe, disbelief, and frantic movement. The Resurrection did not begin in clarity, but in darkness. Perhaps this reflects our own experience. Life’s burdens can weigh heavily, making it difficult to join in the joyful Alleluias of EasteAn And yet, even now, some live as though the tomb were still sealed—missing the reality that Christ has already triumphed. It is almost as if they have read the story incorrectly, lingering in sorrow when victory has already been won. Easter does not deny darkness; it transforms it. It begins in what is low and uncertain, but leads to what is radiant and full of life. The Resurrection proclaims that suffering and death do not have the final word. Christ has conquered sin and the grave, opening the way to new life. As St. Pope John Paul II reminds us, we are not a people defined by defeat, but by hope: “We are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song.”

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📸 Risen Christ appears to his Mother (1600, Italy) by Daniele Monteleone