April 2022: An Easter Message of Sacrifice and Hope

4/29/2022

Michael A. Marinelli, Ed.D. '76

Dear Friends,

We just celebrated Easter Sunday and the Octave of Easter, which concluded with Divine Mercy Sunday. With our Lenten prayers, fasting, and almsgiving over, and the celebration of Easter Sunday behind us, perhaps we feel as though we are sliding back to our pre-Lenten and pre-Easter daily routines, and the impact of deepening our faith journey seems more diluted, as the responsibilities of everyday life crowd our schedules. I was starting to feel that way, then I was reminded of the “reason for the season” at Mass.

We celebrated the Sacrament of Confirmation in our parish with Mass on April 24, and our newly-appointed Bishop William Keonig celebrated the sacrament with us. During his homily he referenced a story that struck a chord with me, so much so that I had to find the reference on the internet. The story as told on the website, “anecdotes for preachers”, is reproduced here:

"I know you died for me, but I don't give a damn!"

It was the height of summer in Orleans, France, 1939. School was out, and a small group of restless, rowdy boys ran through the streets, trying to find ways to entertain themselves as only boys know how: by getting themselves into trouble. Today's entertainment was a dare. A dare to go into the nearby Catholic Church and confess a fictitious list of incredible sins to the parish priest in the confessional. At first, no one was brave enough to take on such a dare. Being Catholic, they feared to risk the wrath of the pastor. But then one of the boys, a Jew by the name of Aaron Lustiger who didn't fear the Catholic priest, decided to take the dare. He marched into the gothic church, went straight to the dark confessional, and lambasted the priest with a list of sins that would make your hair stand on end. But the priest was no dummy. He caught on to what the boy was doing and assigned him a rather unusual penance for his made up sins. He told the boy to go back out into the empty church, walk up to the large crucifix hanging on the wall, and say to it three times, "Jesus, you died upon the cross for me, and I don't give a damn."

Now, being a Jew, Aaron had no problem with this penance and gladly took up the challenge. He walked up the imposing stone crucifix, looked upon the face of the dead man hanging there, and shouted, "Jesus, you died upon the cross for me, and I don't give a damn!" He laughed at how easy it was to fulfill the dare and said again, a little softer, "Jesus, you died upon the cross for me, and I don't give a damn!" But as he spoke the words a third time, something happened. He said, "Jesus, you died upon the cross for me, and I--" He faltered. He fell to his knees and looked up at the man who had died for him upon the cross. Really looked at him. And he saw the nails that pierced the dead man's hands and feet; the wound that bared his vulnerable side; the thorns that scarred his noble brow. He saw a brave man; a good man; an innocent man who bled innocent blood. He saw God in that man. A loving God. A true God who would do anything--absolutely anything to bring his lost children home. And Aaron wept at the sight of such perfect, unadulterated love.

A year later, Aaron was baptized into the Catholic Church and took the name Jean-Marie Lustiger. As an adult, he entered the seminary and was eventually ordained a priest; and in 1983 after thirty years of faithfully serving God's people, he was made the Cardinal Archbishop of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.

The priest in the confessional was wise to ask Aaron to verbalize his feelings, confronting his unbelief and his unwillingness to see what was before him - the extreme suffering of an innocent man who gave up his own life out of love for every other person - even his persecutors. Jesus’ life was a demonstration of God’s love for us, which is ever-present and is renewed in our Catholic tradition through his presence in the Eucharist. By his sacrifice, we have hope. Isn’t that the way of life for us, too?

How often I recall now the sacrifices my parents made for me, and the kindnesses and support I received from family and friends throughout my life, with no expectation of reciprocity. How often I think about the compromises and collaborations that my wife supported over our 35-year marriage that made our family stronger in the end. In my position at Archmere, I witness countless sacrifices of family members and friends to support our current students and to make sure the Archmere experience is financially feasible for future students. Through all of these sacrifices, we experience hope.

From May 3 through May 5, Archmere is presenting “Giving Days.” This is an opportunity for members of our school community to make a gift in support of the educational work we do. Every gift is important and valued, no matter the amount, because each gift is a sacrifice that gives hope to another. I ask those who have not yet contributed to the Archmere Fund or those who wish to make a second gift which supports annual operating expenses that are not covered by tuition, to thoughtfully consider a gift that will have a direct impact on the student experience.

When Mary Magdalene arrived at the empty tomb of Jesus, she was troubled and asked a person she thought was the gardener, “Sir, if you have taken his body away, please tell me, so I can go and get him.” Then Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him, “Rabboni.” The Aramaic word “Rabboni” means “Teacher.” Jesus told her, “Don't hold on to me! I have not yet gone to the Father. But tell my disciples I am going to the one who is my Father and my God, as well as your Father and your God.” Mary Magdalene then went and told the disciples she had seen the Lord.” (John 20:13-18)

While Jesus’ body has been “taken away,” like Mary Magdalene asked, we “can go and get him,” receiving him in the Eucharist, and manifesting his love in the world through our actions. The same hope Jesus gives us through his ultimate sacrifice is the hope that is within our grasp. It is the gift we can give to others through our sacrifices.

Michael A. Marinelli, Ed.D. ‘76

Head of School

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