Whether or Not We Like It, Christ is Risen

By Fr. Jerry Pokorsky ( bio - articles - email ) | Apr 21, 2025

Nothing is sparkling new in the saying that "Life is a journey." The pagan trek from the womb to the tomb is nothing other than a movement from one dark nothing to another dark nothing. In between, we have endless turmoil. Then we die. The end. Depressing, perhaps terrifying.

Over the decades of my priesthood, I have always traveled light. My wardrobe is uncomplicated (black with a white tab collar), so my airport check-ins are simple, with one carry-on. Maybe it is nothing more than laziness, but I also shop at grocery stores and visit medical facilities in my clerics. People are very kind. I have never received an insult (in public, anyway) when recognized as a priest. I suspect those who see me as a priest see me as representing something mysterious.

Many weeks ago, I underwent a physical tune-up at a medical facility. I arrived and departed in clerical garb. The nurses and medical technicians were professional and kind, and (I learned from one of the nurses as I departed) curious about the priest in medical pajamas behind the curtain. As they were poking my veins and connecting me to electrodes, we had pleasant conversations. (The scene sounded like a joke: “An atheist, a Muslim, and a Jew walk into an operating room and see a Catholic priest in surgical pajamas….”)

The chief vein-poker admitted that he was an atheist. He was competent, professional, respectful, and honest. Our conversation was pleasant and sometimes playful. We’re all believers, I chirped. A believer accepts the truth of an assertion without the fullness of empirical evidence. We generally trust doctors when they tell us to take drugs to improve our health. I confessed that I’m a believer in religious matters. I do not have empirical evidence supporting the Resurrection of Jesus and eternal life. (The Shroud of Turin is compelling but not definitive.) Yet I believe the testimony of the Apostles, the Christian martyrs, and the Catholic Church, warts and all.

I suggested to my atheist medical technician that he was also a very pious believer. Without empirical evidence, he believes that death obliterates life. It’s a pious hope, and I commended him. (I made sure the conversation remained pleasant and playful as he targeted my veins with his needle.) But he has no empirical evidence to support his belief. Nor does he base his faith on human testimony. Nobody has ever died and returned to tell him the good news. Nor the bad news. His unwavering faith in the final result is irrational.

I had no sense of superiority over my new atheist acquaintance. My belief in the Resurrection does not make me better. I merely believe; I can’t help it. The belief gnaws at me because I cannot claim independence from God (an inclination everyone since the Fall of Adam must admit). My belief renders me accountable. After death, I will render an accounting of my life to Him. The teachings of Jesus have become the benchmarks in my life. To my chagrin, I have the same difficulties as anyone else in living up to them. But Jesus gives me the sacraments to help me, including the sacrament of Penance for my failures and the Eucharist to sustain me.

My atheist friend might be doing a better job of living a good life than I am, even without the help of the sacraments. If his compassion and competence in poking my veins are any indication, he’s not far from the Kingdom of God. But it sure would be nice—for his peace of soul—if he believed in the Resurrection of Jesus. Facts matter. Or so it seems to St. Paul: “I believed, and so I spoke.” (2 Cor. 4:13)

Belief in the Resurrection is consoling. I was in good humor when I went to sleep for that otherwise painful medical procedure. I realized the risk—that I may not have awakened—but I believed the medical statistics that gave me an excellent chance of a full recovery after the doctors tightened a few biological bolts. Still risks to life remained. I also placed my life in the hands of the risen Jesus with gratitude for my sacramental encounters with Him. (The remote possibility of death under the knife, under the influence of sedatives ordered by ethical doctors, has a basic human appeal—provided we add “in Christ.”)

We believers, atheists and Christians, share the same turmoil in life. We have the same worries about family, careers, and politics. We worry whether we will have enough savings for our retirement. But those of us who actively believe in the Resurrection (and are keenly aware of our responsibilities before God) are less likely to view the world with paralyzing desperation than those with the pious and irrational hope that death ends it all. We fear God, not the actuarial tables. Or we should.

We’re Christians. Whether or not we like it, Christ is risen.