Yesterday, on Saturday, I saw the Death, the cold and ugly Death. We passed her by not more than 10 minutes after a young motorcyclist had crashed against a lorry coming from the opposite direction, as the just arrived Police was starting to order the traffic while taking pictures for the files, of a lying object, as he was no person anymore. He must have miscalculated speed against the sharpness of the curve; how long does it take to die? in his case: 1 second. Several hours later we passed back. Instead of him, on the very spot of the accident, girlfriend and friends were crying. So much grief, a day of mourning, and yet the 5 of us, we were so happy for having had a last day of skiing this season, happy for 10 years of friendship- forged in battle against Death, too – but this is another story. The whole situation was so unfair but I could only feel a little bit of shame for not being able to really feel their sorrow. That was all.
It is such a terrible loss each and every time someone passes away, each and every time, regardless of age or circumstances, yet we are so accustomed to death, we simply do not care anymore. We got so far that we kill unborn children by the millions and we regard this as a right worth fighting for; but, again, this is another story.
Today is Sunday: another day, another story. Apart from the usual, each and every Sunday has a special story: it speaks of Life, it speaks of the Glorious Resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ. He has died to crash the cold and ugly Death we passed by yesterday and rose that we may live forever. He said: “I am the Resurrection, and the Life: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.”
They say that each and every Sunday, on his way back from the church to his monk cell, St. Seraphim of Sarov used to walk through the Cemetery. Passing by, he used to cry out loud:”Christ is risen!”; so the dead, as it was proper, would answer: “Indeed He is risen!”.
This Sunday is a special Sunday for the Western part of the Church, the Easter Sunday, the Sunday of all Sundays. And even us, in the East, one week to go, let us celebrate together with our brethren, for it is Sunday, and shout out loud now and ever unto the ages of ages: “Hristos a inviat! Krisztus feltamadt! Christ is risen! Christus ist auferstanden! Le Christ est resusscite!” that even the cold and ugly Death should hear, remember and fear…