If you hear the words “Easter Morning”, what image springs to mind? Likely you think about: a bright sun shining in a blue sky, birds chirping in the trees, a glistening church filled with people. Easter lilies adorn the altar. Men dressed in their Sunday best, and little girls delighting in bright new dresses.
As Mass starts, the jubilant sound of the organ resounds over the assembly, and the Alleluia is once again sung like no other day of the year.
Christ is risen, and we share a Communion with the Lamb who lives by receiving Jesus in Holy Communion! The joy is filled to the brim and runs over even to our homes, where Easter baskets are filled with chocolate and the sweet aroma of ham cooking in the oven teases of the feast to come.
Seventy-five years ago, for a small group of Americans and the priest among them, Easter looked nothing like this. In fact, the contrast couldn’t have been more stark. It was a cold, gray morning when the 60 or so prisoners, who were officers, made their way past guards and up the hill to the rubbled steps of a bombed-out church. It was a motley and bedraggled congregation, led by their Chaplain.
Father Kapaun looked like all the rest of the prisoners with long hair and a scraggly beard. He had an old sweater sleeve pulled over his head as a cap and an eye-patch over an infected eye, but he wore his purple confession stole around his neck.
On Easter Sunday, 1951, he hurled at the communists his boldest challenge, openly flouting their law against religious services. In the yard, of the burned-out church in the officers’ compound, just at sunrise, he read the Easter service.
He could not celebrate the Easter Mass, for all his Mass equipment had been lost at the time of his capture. All he had was the things he used when administering the last rites to the dying–the purple ribbon, called a stole, which he wore round his neck as a badge of his priesthood, the gold ciborium, now empty, in which the Host had been carried when he had administered Holy Communion, and the little bottles of holy oil used to administer the last sacraments.
He held up a simple crucifix he had fashioned from two pieces of wood as he began the service, reciting the Stations of the Cross from a borrowed missal.
As he spoke, the road to Calvary and the mysteries of our Lord’s Passion became real for the men, who themselves daily lived under harsh treatment and the shadow of death. "We are suffering", he told the men, "but Christ understands and suffers with us".
Then Father Kapaun switched tones, focusing on the Lord’s Resurrection and His glory. He reminded the prisoners that after their time of suffering, they too would experience the Lord’s Resurrection, as long as they didn’t lose faith or hope.
A chorus of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," sung by the Americans, echoed through the damaged church. They sang, "Mine eyes have seen the glory / Of the coming of the Lord ... Glory, glory, Hallelujah! / His truth is marching on."
Together all the men exercised their faith by singing the Lord’s Prayer, loud enough so that the rest of the men in the camp could hear. There was not a dry eye among them, and none who attended could ever forget the hope that Easter offered them.
The Easter service ended with the baptism of a prisoner. A priosner had confided in Kapaun earlier that he had wanted to become a Catholic, and the chaplain chose this special occasion to grant his wish.
Afterward, men shared with one another what the Easter service meant to them, and how special it was after having lived in the hellish prison for months.
But the chaplain broke into tears, surprising them all. When one of them asked why, he was crying, Fr. Kapaun said that it hurt him for not having been able to give them Holy Communion.
By outward appearance, this Easter service in Korea, was a very different vision than we will see in our churches today on Easter, but the reality was the same. Christ is Risen. He remains with us and are to remain with Him. We are to share His life with each other and the world.
This message wasn’t unique to Father Kapaun; it is re-echoed throughout history. On his Apostolic Journey to the United States in 1995, St. John Paul II left us the same message in different words: “There is no evil to be faced that Christ does not face with us. There is no enemy that Christ has not already conquered. There is no cross to bear that Christ has not already borne for us, and does not now bear with us. And on the far side of every cross we find the newness of life in the Holy Spirit, that new life which will reach its fulfillment in the resurrection. This is our faith. This is our witness before the world.”
On this Easter, we pray that the Lord will bless you and your family abundantly, with this new life in the Spirit. May we all share our joy in the Risen Christ in a world in great need. Venerable Emil Kapaun, pray for us!