Easter Message 1972
Diocesan Press Service. March 10, 1972 [72033]
The Rt. Rev. John E. Hines, Presiding Bishop
In the New York Post of February 2, 1972, one of the Post's regular columnists, Pete Hamell, wrote movingly of his reactions to the funeral service of Patrolman Gregory Foster, held in St. Patrick's Cathedral on New York's Fifth Avenue. Gregory Foster had survived a tour of duty in Vietnam (where he had won a Silver Star), only to be cut down with a fellow Patrolman, Rocco Laurie -- shot in the back, both of them, by unidentified assailants. After describing the rank-on-rank formation of policemen at the service, the grief of Foster's widow, the presence of city officials headed by Mayor Lindsay, Hamell had this to say: "Organ music boomed from the choir loft and high above the pews the stained glass windows glittered with light and told the old sweet promises of Christianity; death as redemption, the necessity for love, the grace and splendor of human beings.
" The troops marched in and heads filled with visions of two young men who had been shot repeatedly on the streets of this city, shot in the back, shot out of hatred, shot by men who would not look them in the eye.
"The Christian promises never seemed farther from fruition."
I admire Pete Hamell's honesty of reporting. That in itself is an all-too-rare attribute on the part of people who report the "good news" of God's "tabernacling with mankind." in the powerful and compassionate ministry of the crucified Christ. He did not try to "sweep the incongruities under the altar." He did not try to romanticize the Christian expectations in the face of the wickedness of human beings -- oft-times expressed destructively in hatred and violence. But his account stopped at Good Friday's grim testimony -- baffled, hurt, and inarticulate.
I knew that I would need it some day for myself, if not for others, so I tucked it not too far back in my memory. It is the vibrant, compelling painting splashed across the wall of what was a monastery refectory, now the Town Hall in a little-known, out-of-the- way town, Sansepoicro, located between Florence and Rome. The artist, Piero della Francesca. The theme, "La Resurrezione Di Christo." As the artist conceived it, the Christ has bolted upward out of the tomb, a bold, strong, confident, triumphant face -- a banner firmly grasped in his right hand, his bodily wounds unmistakable -- his left foot planted firmly atop the shattered fragments of the tomb's marble cover. In the immediate foreground two Roman soldiers are asleep, the third is shading the incredulous, astonished look in his eyes with his hands. The fourth is falling backwards in alarm, unbelief and paralyzing fear. The powerful impression that is conveyed is that there is nothing tentative about this risen figure. No "reductionism" as to prior claims. Absolute reassurance coupled with joyous confidence. A look in the straight-forward, unblinking eyes that says, "Well, what did you expect?" The faith of Piero della Francesca and the honesty of reporter Hamell are indispensable ingredients of the Easter reassurances. The promises do not dissolve the world's wickedness and ignorance. They say simply that they do not have the final word in God's world. They are self-authenticating despite them -- and that is the meaning of Easter!