Day 47: Easter Sunday – “He Is Risen”

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)
John 20:1–9
It was very early on the first day of the week and still dark, when Mary of Magdala came to the tomb.
She saw that the stone had been moved away from the tomb and came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb,” she said, “and we don’t know where they have put him.”

So Peter set out with the other disciple to go to the tomb.
They ran together, but the other disciple, running faster than Peter, reached the tomb first;
he bent down and saw the linen cloths lying on the ground, but did not go in.
Simon Peter, who was following now came up, went right into the tomb,
saw the linen cloths on the ground, and also the cloth that had been over his head;
this was not with the linen cloths but rolled up in a place by itself.

Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first also went in;
he saw and he believed.
Till this moment they had failed to understand the teaching of scripture,
that he must rise from the dead.

Reflection:
He is risen.
Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. But in the flesh, in glory, and in truth.

And so begins your real retreat: not the forty days you have walked, but the life you now must live.

And now, with trembling and hope, you behold it open.

The retreat has not ended. It has opened the door to Mystagogy.

Mystagogy is the sacred time after baptism or renewal, when we are invited to go deeper into the mysteries we have received. It is the unfolding of what has already been given, a divine tutoring of the soul by the Spirit. For the early Church, it was the season after Easter when the newly baptized were taught the hidden meanings of the sacraments they had just received. For us, it is every day after the Resurrection where we learn, by grace, how to live what we have received.

You are now living in Mystagogy.

You are invited to ponder the Eucharist with new eyes.
To read the Scriptures with burning hearts.
To carry the Cross not as burden, but as seal.

And above all, to pray. Not occasionally. Not only when it is quiet. But as a way of being.

St. Paul writes:

“Pray without ceasing.”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:17

This is not a suggestion. It is a spiritual necessity. Because we are not merely people who have seen the Lord—we are people in whom the Lord desires to dwell.

And so we must become people who listen:
Who live in the heart of the mystery.
Who carry within them a discerning heart—a Mystagogical heart.

This is the mystery St. John Paul II spoke of when he wrote:

“We are not called to an abstract knowledge of Christ, but to a living, personal relationship with him: to contemplate his face, and learn to love as he loves.” (Novo Millennio Ineunte, §16)

You have been invited into this love.

And now, every day, you must return to the voice that called your name at the tomb. You must pray with Scripture, not to master it, but to let it master you—through Lectio Divina. You must daily turn your attention inward, examining your movements with God in the Daily Examen. You must seek silence. And in that silence, you will find Christ again and again.

This is not spiritual ambition. This is Christian maturity.
This is the baptized living as they are meant to live:
as souls risen with Christ.

Abba Macarius wrote:

“The soul that has risen with Christ does not forget the tomb.
She carries the marks of love and lives only to give Him away.”  (Sayings of the Desert Fathers)

And so, beloved of God:
Do not go back to life as it was before.
Do not lose the silence. Do not forget the Word. Do not quiet the call.

You are still on pilgrimage. You are still being formed. You are still being called.

And each day—each moment of remembering Christ, turning toward Him, listening again—is conversion. Conversion is not a feeling. It is not a season.
It is a verb, an action word. It is the continual, daily, humble act of saying: “I choose You again.” “I turn toward You again.” “I will follow You—today.”

Let your life be a living witness of the Resurrection. Let your words be slow and your love be quick. Let your prayer be steady and your gaze be fixed.

And when the world forgets what you have seen,
when they ask why you are different,
when they accuse you of being strange or out of step, remember this:

You have come from the tomb. You have heard your name. You have seen the Lord.

Now go. Let your discerning heart burn with the light of Easter. And live as one who carries glory in your body.

1. What has risen in me that must now be protected and nurtured?
2. How will I continue to live as one in Mystagogy—in daily formation and conversion?
3. What concrete practices will I carry forward: silence, Examen, Lectio Divina, Eucharist, community?

Final Prayer:

Jesus, You are risen. And You have called us by name.

You found us in ashes. You carried us through fire. You laid with us in silence. And now You send us in light.

Let us never go back to who we were before. Let us never forget the road we have walked. Let us live now as those who listen in the heart of the mystery.

Make our hearts discerning. Make our faith active. Make our prayer ceaseless. Make our lives radiant.

You are risen. You are here. And we are Yours.

Alleluia. Amen

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 46: The Great Silence

Scripture Reading: (Jerusalem Bible)
Luke 23:55–56, 24:1
The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid.
Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments.
And on the Sabbath they rested, as the Law required.
But on the first day of the week, at the first sign of dawn, they went to the tomb…

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Reflection:
Today is the silence that holds everything.
It is the still point at the center of all we have walked through.

Holy Saturday is not a space of absence.
It is a space of fullness.
A fullness too deep for sound.

The tomb is sealed.
The world is quiet.
The Church has no liturgy, no Eucharist, no words—
because today, Christ speaks from the depths.

He is hidden. Descending. Gathering the lost.
Breaking the gates of death, not in fire or thunder,
but with the silence of love that will not abandon those who wait in darkness.

And we, too, are called to descend.
Into our hearts.
Into our memory.
Into our love.

Today we remember everything.

We remember how He called us.
How He forgave us.
How He healed us, taught us, walked with us, wept with us.
We remember Gethsemane. The scourging. The weight of the Cross.
We remember the last breath—and the yes that poured out from the Cross to cover the whole world.

And we remember the forty-five days that brought us here.
Forgiveness. Justice. Trust. Interior poverty. Spiritual clarity.
We remember how we were invited to love when it hurt,
to surrender when it didn’t make sense,
to stay when we longed to flee.

And now, the invitation is simply this:
Remain. Rest. Love.

Because this silence is not empty.
It is the heart of prayer.
The prayer that does not need words.
The prayer that waits with Mary in darkness.
The prayer that allows what is broken to remain broken,
until God raises it.

This is the deep contemplative space that so few know how to enter.
But you—you have been led to it.

The Catechism tells us:

“In prayer, the Holy Spirit opens the eyes of our hearts and teaches us to see everything in the light of Christ.”
— CCC 2711

And on this day, the Spirit does that not through speech, but through silence.

St. John of the Cross writes:

“Silence is God’s first language. Everything else is a poor translation.”
— Sayings of Light and Love, 118

And Abba Isaac the Syrian says:

“The highest form of prayer is to stand silently, inwardly attentive, in love before God.”
— Ascetical Homilies, I.5

So that is what we do now.

We stand in love.
In memory.
In the in-between.
Where death has passed—but resurrection has not yet been seen.

This is the hour where you ask not for answers, but for presence.
Not for resolution, but for communion.

You are being invited into the prayer Jesus prayed in the tomb:
The silent offering of all.
The trust that God would raise what was placed in His hands.
The hope that love, hidden though it is, still holds the final word.

And so today, remember to love.

Let that be your prayer.
Let that be your offering.
Let that be what rests with Him in the tomb, waiting for dawn.

There is a line found scratched into the wall of a cellar in Cologne during the Holocaust—believed to have been written by a Jewish prisoner:

“I believe in the sun even when I don’t see it.
I believe in love even when I don’t feel it.
I believe in God even when He is silent.”

This is the posture of Holy Saturday:
Not loud. Not triumphant.
But reverent, watchful, and full of hope that does not depend on sight.

It is the silence of Mary’s heart—pondering all these things.
It is the stillness of the Church at the tomb—keeping vigil in faith.
It is the prayer of the soul that trusts in God’s promise,
even when everything remains hidden.

Because silence is not empty.
It is the stillness where heaven breathes and eternity begins to speak.
It is where God’s deepest work unfolds—beneath words, beyond vision,
in the furnace of the heart.

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Reflection Questions:
1. What is Christ asking me to remember today—not just in my mind, but in my heart?
2. Have I learned how to pray in silence? Can I let love be my only word?
3. What must I place in the tomb with Christ tonight—trusting it will be raised?

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Closing Prayer:
Lord Jesus,
This is the silence I feared—
and yet now, it feels like home.

I bring to You every moment of this retreat.
Every quiet “yes,”
every small surrender,
every prayer prayed in secret.

You remember it all.
You hold it now—
even the parts I don’t understand.

I will not rush the silence.
I will not fill the stillness.

I will let love remain here.

Let my memory be prayer.
Let my silence be trust.
Let this quiet become union.
I will wait.
I will remember.
And I will love.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.