Echoes and Moments

Sharon Welch, Road to Emmaus . Native American Abstract. Today is Easter, that time that we celebrate the moment that Christ transforms death into life; He is raised from the dead. That sentence is something that is virtually meaningless, on the order of " a supermassive black hole's schwarzschild radius determines how far the singularity is away from the event horizon ." Even if we understand the words seminologically, they are rendered useless because we have no analogue. Nothing in history prepares us for this fact. The best we can do is to relate to this obliquely, like gazing through a periscope hole or a mirror hallway to view angles and hints left around the rest of salvation history. This is revealed in scripture, and witnessed to by the people of the church. Elijah raises a widow's son from the dead. Ezekiel has visions of dead bones rising to life. Lazarus rises from the tomb. It is right that we celebrate the Resurrection in the manner of the grea

Much of my work with students in Santa Maria gives me joy and hope. I often return home surprised by the way that a student helped expand my understanding of God and the world. Yet it is said that when you do ministry on the margins, you become marginalized, and I think this is especially true in the lonely role of campus ministry at the community college. I cannot lie; for every good moment in ministry, there may be ten or twenty frustrating, alienating, and discouraging ones. I think immediately of Alvin,* a man actually a few years older than me, yet one of my first connections in ministry since coming to campus nearly two years ago. When I first met him he was clearly inebriated, intoxicated on a mixture of alcohol and marijuana--among the milder forms of stimulation he was prone to use. He attempted to argue with me over the moral dimensions of drug use. I immediately developed a fondness for him. Now, after three years in our InterVarsity community, many bible studies, one-

Lent is a season of penance, of waiting. The mystery of the empty tomb is such a scandal that I'm surprised that it doesn't bother us more than it does. Words can't do much to add to that splendid center of our Christian faith, that hope that we eagerly and perpetually participate in as we fall deeper into relationship with Christ. Yet there are a few who do attempt to put words to this. I'll post a favorite poem of mine by none other than that great wordsmith, Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ. Do yourself a favor and take advantage of his unique style, which works best if you read the poem aloud. It was written in 1888, and so you'll find some odd words like "roughcast" = drywall, "Jack" = guy, and the very reference to the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, who thought all matter came from fire and was in a constant state of change. That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Resurrection Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth,

Dorothy Day is one of the most famous converts to the Catholic faith, and so it is no surprise, as I wander through her account in the autobiography The Long Lonliness , that I find much that resonates with my own journey into the faith. Her circumstances took her from the itinerant, bohemian life of a communist community in the Northeast, writing articles for various periodicals and newspapers that circulated her revolutionary proletariat landscape. Through the birth of her daugher, Tamar Theresa, she found a joy beyond words, and saw the hand of God melting the paradigms and destroying the boundaries that mankind had erected in the unjust schemes of capitalism that her community was revolting against. When she writes of her imprisonment for participating in a protest in Washington, she recalls the experience of reading the Bible to pass the time and seek encouragement, yet still clinging to the stubborn pride of her agnosticism: "I tried to persuade myself that I was read