During this Season of Lent we have just encountered, I experienced a great moment of grief in my life with a family who had just lost one of their beloved members. Specifically, I have spent much time in prayer on behalf of a mother who had lost her son. As a parish priest, I have been deeply moved by the faith of this particular community in the variety of experiences that I have been afforded here in Joliet. The most difficult experience I have to endure in my ministry, bar none, is ministering to a family in the throws of a great sadness of loss. And to minister to a parent that has lost a loved one� well, it is said that a child losing their parent makes one grieve, but for a parent to lose their child is exponentially worse.

In my prayer with God about this family, I know in my heart the pat theological response that resolves the issue: if you believe in the resurrection and the life, then you will rise from the dead and into heaven. However, the human world does not think very well in the world of theological. In the world of �the now,� the grief that sets in from a loved one not immediately present in one�s midst is a shell that becomes hard to break with words from the gospel.

And yet, you try. You speak to the family about the eternal Son who died for our sakes to conquer death once and for all. You know in your faith life that this Son of God willingly chose to die for us so that those who were held in hell, waiting for their redemption, would be freed from these gates of hell from the only one who could release them. You begin to realize that the whole reason that we read from the Gospel of John each Good Friday is to focus on the hope that springs eternal from the death that takes place on the cross � through the death of this seed, the new life of man springs forth. Through an act that appears hopeless to man, hope springs eternal.

I would like to tell this family that through this particular death, all believers are saved, including the life of her son. Pope John Paul II, in his wonderful writing Crossing the Threshold of Hope, mentions how Christ�s death was necessary for our salvation and because of it, those who believe in him will live. The Holy Father writes,

This truth which the Gospel teaches about God requires a certain change in focus with regard to eschatology. First of all, eschatology is not what will take place in the future, something happening only after earthly life is finished. Eschatology has already begun with the coming of Christ. The ultimate eschatological event was His redemptive Death and His Resurrection. This is the beginning of "a new heaven and a new earth" (cf. Rev 21:1). For everyone, life beyond death is connected with the affirmation: "I believe in the resurrection of the body," and then: "I believe in the forgiveness of sins and in life everlasting." This is Christocentric eschatology.

I wish I could mention to this family that this child will live because the Son of God died. I wish I could mention that the gates of hell will be opened to free those of faith and that Christ�s death redeems the faithful departed, even at this moment. I wish I could quote to them verses from scripture and our sacred tradition that promises hope for those who have died, from the first chapter of the Book of Revelation, which states, �Jesus Christ is the firstborn of the dead; to him be glory and power forever and ever,� to the Funeral Preface of our Eucharistic Prayer, which states,

In him, who rose from the dead,
our hope of resurrection dawned.
The sadness of death gives way
to the bright promise of immortality.
Lord, for your faithful people life is changed, not ended.
When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death
we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven.

Unfortunately, in my experience, none of these explanations seem to resonate with most families who are suffering in the now. Most times in my priesthood, all that many families of faith wish at their moment of grief is for us to allow them to grieve for their beloved one who no longer lives and breathes on earth. We are often called to be silent and to grieve with them.

And so, on this Good Friday, we, too, are called to be silent and to grieve for Christ, the infinitely most beloved member of our Christian family. We grieve for our loss of this divine brother and that his death was caused by our hands. We grieve that our savior was in our midst and we took that for granted. We grieve that no other way was possible for our salvation but for this brutal act of murder through the first century�s version of the death penalty.

And as we grieve, we ask for the hope that tomorrow is another day, a day to learn from our mistakes, mistakes made by Adam and Eve in the Garden to the mistakes made by the people of today�s age. We pick up our rosaries and prayer books and ask God our Father to care for His Son and our need to be reconciled with our act of hatred towards him. We turn to our Father in a spirit of repentance and seek his forgiveness for the sins of which we have been found guilty. And in this grief, we ask for the ever so small hope of redemption for our sinful condition, a hope that we are to find out will be overflowing for those who truly live the humble life.

Yes, we know theologically that the Easter Hope is inevitable for those who believe. And yet, we are called to be silent and to grieve anyway. We are called to venerate this wood of the cross as an act of humility and sorrow for our sins. For when we do, then this act that we commemorate today will not be held in vain. When we humbly come forth to seek our God, it is then and only then that we are ready for what is yet to come.

Two sentences in our first Eucharistic prayer summarize the sentiment that comes as a result of this act on the cross. The prayer states, �Though we are sinners, we trust in your mercy and love. Do not consider what we truly deserve but grant us your forgiveness, through Christ our Lord.� It is only when we truly are humble, it is then, and only then, that we adequately are ready for what is yet to come at the Easter Vigil. This is our prayer.