Brief synopsis of the readings: Our first reading comes from the Acts of the Apostles, the account of the first years after Jesus when the Apostles begin to come together as the Church we now recognize. Here Peter addressed and spoke about the life of Jesus. Peter explained how Jesus came out of Galilee, was baptized by John, cured people in need of healing, and was crucified. But after three days he was raised from the dead and has been appointed by God to judge everyone, alive and dead. John’s Gospel describes how Mary Magdala came to Jesus’ tomb but found it empty. Thinking the grave had been robbed, she found Simon Peter. Peter, along with the other followers, reached the tomb and finally understood that Jesus had been risen from the dead.

Palm Sunday and the days leading to Easter fill us with action. Jesus entered Jerusalem to great fanfare, celebrated Passover (that we call the Last Supper), was arrested, bounced between Herod and Pilate, and on the day after Passover was crucified.

Well, that’s not exactly true: in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus and his disciples celebrated Passover. But in John’s Gospel the Last Supper is the night before Passover: here Jesus is portrayed as the lamb sacrificed for Passover (and therefore deliverance and salvation).

In any case today’s Gospel strikes us as … quiet. The focal point in our salvation history, the epicenter of our understanding of who we are, comes to us as an empty tomb. Our salvation begins as emptiness.

There are other clues to this emptiness. The 2nd reading on Palm Sunday describes how Jesus “emptied himself” and took the form of a slave. Also, in Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy (sometimes called “Paul’s Last Will and Testament”) he describes himself as “being poured out like a libation.”

This “emptying out” speaks to the heart of Jesus’ message: we do not achieve what God wants for us by building ourselves up. Our salvation rests not on the mountaintop or by winning a competition, but by embracing the emptiness of the tomb. Again and again we find ourselves in a world where power and cleverness are adored and humility is derided. Despite everything the world would tell us, the empty tomb leads us to glory.

If there is anything as amazing as that scene, perhaps we find a close second in the first reading. Here Peter speaks eloquently of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection and how is marks our salvation. During the season of Easter we’ll read a great deal of the Acts of the Apostles and it’s easy (perhaps too easy) to think that it was a smooth transition from the Gospel to the first reading.

It wasn’t. Mary Magdalene’s first reaction was to believe Jesus’ body had been stolen: she didn’t recognize that this was what Jesus was talking about all along. And while it’s easy for us to “connect the dots” we need to understand that news that cataclysmic can’t be understood instantly.

And it is, perhaps, part of our story. When we hear something we don’t understand, instead of asking for clarification, we assume we’re not smart enough to understand. When I was an altar boy our church was led by a pastor with many gifts. Alas, speaking clearly through a microphone was not one of them. Additionally, his theology was deeply steeped in the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) and when he preached he was hard to follow. I remember hearing several people who commented that he must be really intelligent “because I can’t understand what he is saying.” Years later, as a seminarian, I lived with this priest. And while I found him to be a good and humble priest I had no trouble understanding his beliefs and preaching.

And that makes me wonder why his disciples didn’t ask for clarification when he predicted his death and resurrection. Perhaps, since the Gospels were written decades after the fact, Jesus’ words speak louder in the words of the Gospels than they did from the mouth of Jesus. Or perhaps the Passion wouldn’t have the impact if his followers had surrounded his tomb with champagne and expectations.

And so, let’s get to the heart of this Easter. Last week I asked why Jesus had to die, and this week we ask how his resurrection leads us to salvation and how we claim that. I speak a great deal with my patients about “what awaits them on the other side.” Nearly without fail they hope to see those who have died and hope to be joined by those who survive them. Salvation, for them, means that death is not the end of things, but is a transition into something infinitely better and permanent. They believe that Easter gives us the gift of eternal life in a place without the pain or suffering we’ve all experienced here.

But some struggle with the question of exactly who is saved. Jesus does talk about this several times but give us no clear path. And the worry goes beyond “Am I saved?” to “Are all those I loved saved? And if not, how can Heaven be paradise for me if someone I love is excluded?”

Many Catholics grew up hearing that salvation was difficult: that salvation could be denied if you ate a hamburger on Ash Wednesday or missed mass with no good reason. I don’t think many of us still believe that, but that fear still lingers. Am I good enough? Have I done enough? Have I avoided enough? How do I know? And even this aside nearly every Catholic I know is familiar with the last half of the 25th Chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (“for I was hungry and you fed me”). Here salvation appears steeped in what we do or don’t do.

Beginning 500 years ago Martin Luther began to teach that salvation isn’t dependent on our actions. He found that this belief in “salvation through works” led to all sorts of problems. Wealthy people could donate money to build churches, or even leave money to the church after their death so that priests would pray for them.

Luther rebelled against this. Instead of being saved through a “to do” list, salvation finds its place in belief: if we believe that Jesus is our savior, we’re in. And for many during that time it was a freeing belief. Christians of his time would likely never meet a non Christian; certainly there were Jews in Europe (and Luther condemned them) but they lived apart and contact with them would be minimal, if at all.

But as we’ve progressed, the idea that a public confession of belief in Jesus determines our salvation should concern us. Does this mean that Albert Einstein and Mahatma Ghandi are doomed? If someone is faithful to his family but professes faith in someone other than Jesus, is that person denied salvation?

I’ve found myself struggling with this, but perhaps we need to look at Jesus’ promise of salvation for the whole world through new eyes. Perhaps salvation isn’t achieved through works, or through faith, but through consent.

The idea of “standing in judgement” presupposes that the decision about our future does not rest in our hands. But what if it does? What if God invites us into paradise and it’s ours to accept or not with no other conditions? What if Jesus tells us that when he died and rose from the dead to save the entire world, he meant it?

If that’s true (and I hope it is), it means great things for us. It means we don’t have to be “good enough” but means we don’t need to hold correct beliefs. It means that a Hindu or a Muslim or an atheist will join us.

Last December Pope Francis announced a “Year of Mercy.” It certainly calls us to renewed understanding of how we treat each other, but I like to think it also calls us to see God’s mercy in the salvation of all.

And in the final analysis, if we believe in the unconditional love of God, shouldn’t we believe that unconditional love is also universal love, and includes all of us? I hope so.