The miracles experienced in the early Church are truly astounding. The divine, resurrected energy touched all, both physical and spiritual. The world in its entirety is being refashioned along a new principle. The Samaritans experienced at first hand its healing potential: evil banished from their midst and their maimed restored. The New Creation was merely dawning; yet they saw its light clearly and experienced its heat intensely. The Samaritans, the most despised of all the neighbouring tribes, joyfully welcomed this Good News.

Yet the context of our first two readings today must be carefully noted. Philip is living as a hunted refugee in Samaria. The murder of Stephen and the imprisonment of his other companions forced him to flee Jerusalem. The author of our second reading suggests that persecution was also the lot of the Christians at Rome. His are more accurately read as directions 'for right suffering' rather than 'for right living'. This should make us wary of either facile optimism or blind fundamentalism. Even in the immediate aftermath of the resurrection, the disciples lived and preached under the shadow of the Cross. Suffering and death remained at the heart of life. The Risen Christ retains his scars. His followers must not expect to avoid Calvary Hill. How then are we to comply with Peter's demand that we furnish ‘a reason for the hope that is in us’? Where do we search for our evidence? As Christians we proclaim: ‘He has destroyed death forever’. As human beings we know that death is still at work in our world and ourselves.

We may glean some light from the more fundamental miracle that lies behind the wondrous happenings of today's first reading. The miracle I refer to is the transformation effected in the lives of the early disciples. They had fled from Calvary a broken and dejected group of people: the one on whom they had pinned their hopes had died as a criminal. They had cowered, fear-filled, behind locked doors in Jerusalem, believing their own lives to be now at risk. Suddenly, they are transformed into eloquent preachers, brave men and women for whom death held no sting. This surely, rather than the moved stone or the missing body, is the ultimate proof of the resurrection of their Master. Their hope, so barbarously snuffed out on Calvary, is not simply restored to its original timidity. It is utterly transformed into a vital driving-force. They are, literally, new men. Yet, death as a cold fact has not been obliterated. But its power over them has been broken. Because death's fangs have been drawn, fear has been banished from their lives. And they had no hesitation in furnishing ‘a reason for the hope’ that was in them: ‘God has made this Jesus whom you crucified both Lord and Saviour’.

We experience most suffering as meaningless. But this is not the sum total of our experience. We also know that selfless love has suffering as a frequent, if uninvited companion. 1t seems to be the price demanded in our scheme of things. And this was supremely so in the case of Jesus. His entire life, based utterly on selfless love, offers us a glimpse of the New Creation. Not even death could deter him from following the Father’s plan. The Father’s response to this obedient self-giving was to restore him to us as Lord and Saviour. The fact of death remains. The significance of the fact is transformed. The believer can no longer view death as a life-quenching inheritance, the doubtful ‘gift’ of an indifferent God. Our perspective has been broadened to include God in this divine-human equation. He has absorbed suffering and death into himself. Because of Jesus, our sufferings have acquired a divine dimension. Because of his resurrection, they will acquire an eternal 'conclusion'. The problem has not been solved. But the mystery has been deepened and enriched. His resurrection is the reason for the hope that is in us.

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