Holy Saturday, April 4, 2026

“And the Lord God brought forth of the ground all manner of trees, fair to behold, and pleasant to eat of: the tree of life also in the midst of paradise: and the tree of knowledge of good and evil . . .  And he commanded him, saying: Of every tree of paradise you shall eat: But of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat. For in what day soever you shall eat of it, you shall die the death” (Genesis 2: 9, 16-17).

When we contemplate Adam as he came forth from the hand of God, we must set aside every image of frailty or decay that now clings to our experience. He stands in the garden not as we know ourselves, but as man in his original harmony: body and soul ordered, desires at peace, creation itself answering gently to his presence.

In the midst of that garden stood two trees, and between them, as it were, the whole drama of human history.

God had placed there the Tree of Life — not as a mere ornament, but as a sign and instrument of a deeper truth. Adam’s life, though real and full, was not self-sufficient. His body, formed from the earth, was by nature capable of dissolution. Yet he did not decay. He did not weaken. He did not approach death as we do now. Why? Because he lived not only from himself, but from God.

The Tree of Life was the visible pledge of that dependence.

To eat of it was to receive, again and again, the quiet gift of preservation. It was as if God had woven into creation a sacrament of life, by which man was sustained—not made immortal by nature, but kept from death by grace. Adam lived, therefore, in a kind of continual reception. His life was not something he possessed absolutely, but something he was always being given.

And this is why the command concerning the other tree carries such weight: “Of every tree of paradise you shall eat: but of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, 

you shall not eat” (Genesis 2:16–17).

The prohibition was not arbitrary. It marked the boundary between receiving life from God and seizing autonomy apart from Him.

When Adam chose to eat of the forbidden tree, he did not merely break a rule — he altered the very posture of his existence. He turned from dependence to self-assertion, from trust to grasping. And in that turning, something profound was lost: not his nature, but the grace that upheld it.

Then comes that mysterious and solemn moment after the Fall: “Lest perhaps he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever…” And so he is sent out.

The Tree of Life is not destroyed — but it is barred.

Why? Not as punishment alone, but as a kind of mercy. For to eat of it now would mean to continue indefinitely in a wounded, disordered state — to prolong corruption rather than heal it. What had once preserved life would, in fallen man, preserve misery.

And so Adam is placed outside the garden — no longer sustained, now subject to time, to aging, to death. The body that had been held in harmony begins to return to the dust from which it was taken.

Yet even here, something astonishing remains.

The Tree of Life is not forgotten.

It stands, as it were, at the beginning of Scripture as a promise suspended — withdrawn, but not abolished. And all of salvation history moves toward its restoration.

For in the end, life will again be given—not now in the garden, but through another tree.

And man, once barred, will be invited again — not merely to preservation, but to a life that death itself cannot touch.

Good Friday, April 3, 2026

The Gospel reading today is the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to St. John.

Just a few notes on St. John’s Passion.  When we hear it or read it today, we should pay attention to the majesty with which John presents the Lord throughout his sufferings.  We see the Lord utterly in command in the Garden of Gethsemane when the thugs come to arrest him.  The Lord completely maintains his composure while his enemies fall down and seem to lose heart.  We get the impression that the Lord could only have been arrested if he had positively willed it.  He is not so much brought to the Sanhedrin as that he goes along with the crowd to it.  He stands unimpressed by the chief priests.  When he is brought before Pilate, the procurator almost treats him as an equal.  He is clearly of a mind to release the Lord and hands him over for crucifixion only under great duress.  Then, hanging on the Cross, the Lord is the one on control, giving his Mother into the care of his Apostle John.  He is careful to fulfill even the last bit of Scripture, calling out, “I thirst”.  And then, as John tells us, “He gave up his spirit.”  That is, it was not taken from him, nor did it depart solely out of the weakness of his Body, but the Lord sent it forth.  He died because he willed to die.

Such is the dignity and majesty of our Savior even in his terrible sufferings.  In like manner we are called to live our lives, ever looking beyond this world to the blessed repose in the next, alongside our Lord.

Holy Thursday, April 2, 2026

John 13, 1–15

Before the feast of Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father. He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end. The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand him over. So, during supper, fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God, he rose from supper and took off his outer garments. He took a towel and tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and dry them with the towel around his waist. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Master, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered and said to him, “What I am doing, you do not understand now, but you will understand later.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.” Jesus said to him, “Whoever has bathed has no need except to have his feet washed, for he is clean all over; so you are clean, but not all.” For he knew who would betray him; for this reason, he said, “Not all of you are clean.” 

“Before the feast of Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father.”  For us, to know the exact hour and day of our deaths would be a terrible agony, but the Lord could hardly constrain himself, waiting for it: “I came to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled! I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how I am constrained until it is accomplished!” (Luke 12, 49-50).  This “fire” is the grace of redemption that “burns” away our sins.  “He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end.”  In John 1, 11, the Evangelist had said plainly that “his own” did not receive him, by which we can understand the greater part of his family or of the Jews or of the world.  They did not receive him, but he did not let this stop him from loving them even to the end.  One of these was Judas: “The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand him over.”  

“Fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God.”  The Son of God was both sent by the Father and came of his own will.  He also both conducted himself on earth in obedience to the Father and according to his will.  He had revealed on an earlier occasion, “The Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever he does, that the Son does likewise” (John 5, 19).  By this he explains that he acts only in concert with the Father and does not act on his own.  We should strive to imitate him in this, for the conformity of our will to that of the Father is crucial for our salvation.

“He rose from supper and took off his outer garments.”  He does this to show how he had put off the glory he had with the Father in order to go to the floor, as it were, and take on a human nature for our service.  “Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and dry them with the towel around his waist.”  He made himself the slave of all in order to save all.  The water signifies his Blood with which he wiped clean our bodies and souls from sin, signified by the feet.  The towel signifies the grace which makes us capable of living in heaven, signified by the house in which they ate the Last Supper.  “You will never wash my feet.”  Peter did not understand the sign.  He objected to his Master taking the place of a slave to wash his feet and he saw this as an injustice, just as John the Baptist had not understood why Jesus insisted on being baptized.  Or, Peter may have seen this as a test to see which of the Apostles would declare that he was unworthy that the Messiah should was him in this way.  “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.”  That is, unless Peter accepted the sign of service to the Church with the other Apostles, he would exclude himself from God’s plan for him.

“You are clean, but not all.”  The heart of Judas was already hardened against the Lord and against his grace.  Grace is not magic.  It can be refused.  The forgiveness of God can be refused, the prospect of heaven can be refused.  

We pray that we may gratefully receive the grace of Almighty God, won for us at a terrible cost by his Son, so that we may dwell in heaven with all the angels and saints.