It was still dark when Mary Magdalene walked to the tomb. It was not just the dimness of early morning but the kind of darkness overwhelming a grieving soul. Jesus had been crucified—hope, as she knew it, lay buried behind a heavy stone.
But then, she saw. The stone had been rolled away.
Easter begins not with fanfare but with confusion, in the heart of the chaos. It isn’t with alleluias but with an empty space and a frantic race between Peter and the beloved disciple. With trembling hearts daring to believe the impossible: He is not here. He is risen.
And with that one stunning truth, everything changed.
Easter tells us something profound and empowering: hope is not an escape from reality. The unwavering light pierces even the darkest tombs, transforming despair into possibility.
Hope in the Graveyards of the World
But where do we even begin to speak of hope today?
To the hundreds of Christians murdered in northern Nigeria during Holy Week—our brothers and sisters whose blood soaked the soil while they cried Hosanna? To their mothers, burying sons; dads not having a chance to kiss their daughters a final goodbye; to children orphaned too soon?
To war-torn corners of our world where children fall asleep to the sound of bombs; and ashes have replaced playgrounds?
To those trapped in addictions—alcohol, pornography, opioids, gambling—trying to numb the ache of despair, but sinking deeper?
What about the man sitting alone in his apartment, untouched by affection, paralyzed by shame, watching life pass by like a stranger through the window? Or the successful woman with the perfect smile and the packed schedule, lying awake at night wondering why her soul feels so empty?
What of the person beside us in Church, holding secrets too heavy to speak, burdened with pain no one seems to see?
Think about the crowd outside the Church—estranged from love, caught in a culture of vanity, scrolling endlessly, but starving for real connection? What of the lonely ones hiding behind social media filters and followers, only to face a brutal emptiness once the screen darkens?
Even the earth itself groans. Forests fall. Rivers choke. Skies fill with smoke. The planet we call home is weary of our greed.
Can hope reach even here?
The Resurrection Is the Answer
Yes. Because Christ, our Paschal Lamb, has been sacrificed. And in Him, life is changed, not ended.
The stone was not rolled back just from Jesus’ tomb—but from every sealed grave that holds us captive. From despair, indifference, and sin.
Peter stood up in Acts of the Apostles and declared: “We are witnesses,” not just of an event but of a new reality. We do not simply remember the Resurrection, we embody it. We carry it forward.
And hope? It is no mere optimism. It is not naïve positivity.
Pope Francis reminds us of the Biblical truth in Spes Non Confundit—“Hope does not disappoint.” Because it is anchored not in fantasy but in the risen Christ, who conquered suffering, death, and hell. He is our hope. This hope speaks to personal wounds, social tragedies, and even the cosmic groanings of creation.
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” Paul asks. “Shall trouble or distress or persecution? Famine or nakedness or danger or sword? No… in all these things, we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (Romans 8:35, 37).
Called to Be Witnesses of Resurrection
To be a Christian of hope is not to pretend the darkness is gone. It is to walk into it carrying light.
As bearers of Christian hope, our role is not to ignore the darkness but to step into it, carrying the light of hope. We have an invitation to sit with the lonely, visit the prisoner, listen to those struggling with addiction, and speak up for the vulnerable. Hope is to sow seeds of mercy into our world’s dry, bitter ground.
The Jubilee of Hope must bloom in the dusty alleys of northern Nigeria and the camps of South Sudan. In Cleveland, in Port-au-Prince, in your neighborhood. In strained marriages and in strained hearts.
This Is the Day the Lord Has Made
Psalm 118 sings: “I shall not die but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” That is our anthem.
The old yeast—of malice, fear, and apathy—must be cleared out. Christ calls us to be new dough: alive with sincerity and truth, strengthened by love.
And when you grow weary, remember Mary Magdalene. She came weeping, expecting despair and death. But her weeping became witness—because she saw. Hope is alive.
The beloved disciple ran to the tomb. He saw—and believed. Can we? Will we dare to see beyond sorrow, through the grave, into the glory? Will we believe that even now, through cracked voices and trembling hands, God is raising up a people of hope?
This Jubilee year is more than a celebration. It is a commission. Hope is Christ alive. And as long as he lives, we live too.
Let us face tomorrow with courage, knowing that as long as Christ lives, we live with audacious strength. Amen.
As part of the Jubilee of Hope celebration, we will be providing a month’s worth of food to five thousand people who are less fortunate than most of us. To support this act of hope and generosity, you may donate through Gratia Vobis Ministries.
