Isaiah 61:1-2, 10-11; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John
1:6-8, 19-28
Why do they call this Sunday
‘Joy’ Sunday? What is this joy? Have you ever felt it? Let me tell you about
someone who has.
Jacques Fesch was born in
France on the 6th April, 1930. Twenty-seven years later he was sentenced to die
by guillotine for the murder of a policeman. In fact, Jacques was the last
person in France to die in this way. A short account of his life and death is
given by K.V. Turvey on the Crisis Magazine website.
"In February 1954,
Fesch had entered the premises of a Jewish moneychanger in the Paris stock
exchange. The young man had bludgeoned the merchant with a revolver. As he had
done so, the gun discharged injuring the attacker. The older man was left lying
stunned and bloodied as his assailant fled carrying a large sum of money. A
policeman, on seeing Fesch, ordered him to stop. The young man turned and
fired, and then watched as Vergnes’ body slumped dead. Another man grabbed at
the killer, and he was also shot and badly wounded. In the confusion that
followed, and now desperate to escape, Fesch ran to a nearby subway station. He
discharged another shot when tackled by a retired police inspector at its
entrance, only this time it narrowly missed; and, with that, Fesch was finally
detained.
On being taken to La Santé
Prison, Fesch was immediately placed in solitary confinement. To be alone for
over three years could drive any man mad; in Fesch’s case, it brought him to
his senses.
As with most of the
prisoners awaiting execution, stripped of everything—both materially and
emotionally—in the darkness and emptiness of a bare prison cell, the lethal
sentence at times could appear to be a release from a living death. Fortunately
for Fesch, what happened next was a “liberation” of a different sort. All the
despair, anger and bitterness began to subside as, in its place, he found
himself being gently filled with mercy, forgiveness, and love. His prison
letters recorded this for those with whom he regularly corresponded, telling as
they did of a man emerging from darkness into light. A process begun in October
1954, on reading a book about Our Lady, had, by March 1955, inspired a change
in Fesch as evidenced in this following piece of his writing:
At the end of my first year in prison, a powerful
wave of emotion swept over me, causing deep and brutal suffering. Within the
space of a few hours, I came into possession of faith, with absolute certainty.
I believed … Grace came to me. A great joy flooded my soul, and above all a
deep peace.
The night before his
execution, alone in his cell, a final combat was to take place, with Fesch
writing the following:
Suddenly the thought comes: no matter what I do,
Paradise is not for me! Satan is behind this. He wants to discourage me. I
throw myself at Mary’s feet… . I am going to recite my rosary and the prayers
for the dying, then I shall entrust my soul to God…. But, good Jesus, help me!
On Tuesday, October 1—the
feast of St. Therese of Lisieux—the prisoner awoke in the middle of the night.
He asked a guard what time it was: 3 am was the reply. He asked the guard for a
light, because, as he informed him, he had now to make ready. The prisoner then
made his bed, before sitting with his Missal in hand to await the arrival of
the Chaplain. Fr. Devoyod duly came at 5:30 am. The prisoner then made his last
Confession, and received Holy Communion. Thereafter, as they spoke briefly, the
prisoner calmly told the priest that he offered his life for the conversion of
his father, for those he loved, and for the man he had killed; and then,
between them, a profound silence ensued. Soon after, those tasked to undertake
the sentence of the court entered the cell, and the hands of the prisoner were
tied behind his back, before, with the priest following, he was led to the
waiting guillotine. When the prisoner was bid to mount the scaffold, he turned
to the priest with his last words: “The crucifix, Father… the crucifix.” It
was offered to him, and he kissed it… . The blade rose before its swift
descent, and with that a life was concluded. Later, the broken body was
gathered and buried."
I began this reflection with a couple of
questions: What is this joy? Have you
ever felt it?
The prophet Isaiah in our First
Reading felt it. He bursts out: I exult
for joy in the Lord, my soul rejoices in my God … . And do you remember
why? …for he has clothed me in the garments of
salvation…
I guess that says it all: He has clothed me in the garments of
salvation. The garment of salvation is, of course, the grace of God – a share
in his own divine life and the certainty of heaven – which comes with sorrow for sin, a readiness confess
and make amends – a change of life.
Grace came to me. A great joy flooded my soul, and
above all a deep peace. Jacques experienced that the love and mercy of God is
greater than any sin. The silence and solitude of his cell, the prayers of
those who loved him, the motherly intercession of the Blessed Virgin, the
prayers of St Therese and his own surrender to the realities of his life had opened
his tortured heart to the merciful Jesus.
To finish let us recall the
words of the Entrance Antiphon: Rejoice
in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.
