Franciscan Sisters of the Poor US Area

“He descended into hell, on the third day He arose again from the dead…” There is an ancient Christian homily (now part of the Office of Readings for Holy Saturday), which paints a picture of this as you might see depicted on an icon. In that ancient homily describing Jesus’ descent into hell, as Jesus wakes up Adam he says to him: “I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. . . . Arise, let us leave this place.” This is, no doubt, the most consoling doctrine in all of religion, Christian or otherwise. What it tells us is that Jesus goes into every dark, taboo place on this planet and takes God’s light and healing there.
One of our major beliefs about Jesus is that, by entering death, a place of separation and alienation, a “hell,” and, once there, breathed out God’s light and healing forgiveness. There are many forms of death, and many forms of  hell: depression, incurable bitterness, a wound so deep it can never heal, helplessness in the face of addiction, a beaten and crushed spirit, an alienation too deep and long-standing to be overcome — any of these can leave us huddled in a locked room, in some underworld, in some private hell, too weak to open the doors that lead to love and life.
Many people – perhaps each one of us – have spent some time in our own private hell. The message of Easter is that we don’t have to stay there. The hope of Easter is that we know we can reach out and Christ will be there, standing gently inside our private hell, breathing out love and peace. The joy of Easter is that Christ says to me: “I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. . . . Arise, let us leave this place.” And we breathe in His Light and Healing forgiveness, and we are whole again. Happy Easter!

When Henry Lewis Gates, the Harvard professor who was arrested on his own front porch (July 15, 2009), speaks of Nelson Mandela, he insists that Mandela always has been a free man, because he was free from any need or desire for revenge. Ever since his release from prison, Mandela has given the whole world a demonstration of forgiveness. He has shown us that it takes more courage, more stamina, more humanity to forgive than to say “let my people go.” And his attitude can be applied by each one of us.

The only thing that may be harder than forgiving a transgressor is being that transgressor and accepting the extended hand of forgiveness. In order to acknowledge that you are being forgiven you have to admit to and acknowledge that you have done something that requires forgiveness. You have to swallow your pride. The pride that keeps us from forgiving another person is the same pride that prevents us from accepting forgiveness. If forgiveness is so hard—why do it?

The power and purpose of giving forgiveness is to release us from pain and free us to participate in life once again. The power and purpose of accepting forgiveness is to free you from self-diminishing guilt, to allow yourself to be your best self so that you can participate fully in the human community. 

The word “participatory” comes close to defining the highest good in African society. It is the core meaning of the word “ubuntu” and is enshrined in the Xhasa proverb: “a person is a person through persons.” “Ubuntu” affirms an organic wholeness of humanity: that one realizes one’s full potential only through other people. “I think, therefore I am” is replaced by, “I participate, therefore I am.” Life together is the quintessence of an African understanding of what it means to be human.

        “Mandela was participating.” Ubuntu.

        A person is a person through persons! Ubuntu.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Ubuntu.