Published in La Voce E Il Tempo on April 5, 2026

What kind of Easter for a parent whose child dies

How can one bless one's own story when a child dies? And what sense does Easter make, then? The Gospel does not give us pre-packaged little answers but paths of resurrection, as in an episode from the life of Jesus, recounted by the Evangelist Mark: a large crowd has gathered in front of the house where he is. There are four friends carrying a paralyzed man, lying on a little bed. They go up on the roof, uncover it and, 'having made an opening, they lowered the little bed on which he lay.'

The paralytic, as Saint Augustine said, is the man who no longer has the strength to walk, weighed down by suffering, who has forgotten his goal, that is, Heaven. Which is not only Paradise, joy, or the fulfillment that we all desire, but also rest. But what rest can there be for a parent who has lost a child? How much time must pass for them to find peace? A lifetime is not enough, because that pain does not change, but renews itself. True rest is not forgetting or turning the page: it is the peace that comes from Heaven.

The four friends understand that there are sorrows that can only be experienced from the perspective of Heaven. The paralytic is lowered from above: he is laid on the ground on his mat. And what does Jesus do? He does not heal him immediately, but surprises us: “Son, your sins are forgiven,” He tells him. Why? Because healing the body is not enough. First and foremost, the heart must be healed. And this healing, which is the true miracle, is called salvation. Indeed, a heart full of God is capable of enduring everything. Like the royal official in the Gospel of John who asks Jesus to heal his sick son. He pleads with Him until the Lord grants his request: “Go, your son lives.” And upon this Word, without having the certainty that he is truly healed, he sets out to return home. In that instant, his heart changes. The official started with a problem and came to discover not only who he is (a father and a man), but also to enter into a relationship. Happiness depends solely on having found this treasure: the relationship with the Father who, even on the Cross, allows us to live in peace, spreading the fragrance of God's love in the world. That fragrance is the jar of nard oil that the woman breaks at the Lord's feet before Easter. In the harshness of our stories, we can allow God, even when we seem to have no way out, to draw from them the nard oil that is the way of the Resurrection, the humble strength that challenges and overturns the stone of death.

That oil is called hope, faith, and true, concrete love. It is the strength with which the paralytic rises and walks: “Rise, take up your mat, and go to your home.” The mat is his story. What happened does not change. The pain of the death of a child does not diminish. But it can be transfigured if we look Upward. That mat paralyzes us and crushes us in desperate mourning, but if the Lord gives us the strength to take it under our arm, it becomes a gift for us and for others, and opens the door of Heaven for us. It is from there that one can begin to walk again, so that the mat is no longer a place of curse, but a place where the Lord makes us capable of loving and living the Resurrection.

This is God's plan: not death, but life; not sadness, but joy. The Father does not save us from history, but within history, to make our lives, whatever they may be, a blessing, a stretcher from which we take care of one another, to transform every mourning from the perspective of Heaven.

Have a good and holy Easter

Father Francesco Buono