As an antique car enthusiast, I subscribe to a magazine that features photos of cars from bygone eras. I enjoy seeing cars that were new when I was young (’50s-’70s), but to my eye, nothing quite compares to a Packard from the 1930s. That combination of towering engine grille and graceful pontoon fenders is a thing of real beauty. Their interiors were well-appointed and spacious, the engine and transmission quiet and smooth. And some of these cars look like they just rolled off the showroom floor.
But not all of them. Many old cars languish in fields and barns. Others fare better; they’ve been acquired by new owners willing to go through the arduous process of restoring them. That process contradicts the adage that beauty is only skin deep. To restore an old car, one typically has to rebuild the engine and transmission, as well as repair the frame, suspension and electrical system. The most thorough restorations involve taking the car’s body off the frame and rebuilding it from the ground up.
All this might be more than you wanted to know about restoring antique cars, but it’s actually leading somewhere. We just celebrated Easter, the feast of the Resurrection, the heart of the liturgical year. For 50 days, the Church extends the celebration of this great and wondrous mystery: The rising of Christ opens the way for the thorough restoration of our humanity.
Indeed, that is why Christ came into the world — to restore our wounded human dignity, damaged by sin and spiritual neglect, to undo the effects of original sin, to make us shine with the glory he shares eternally with his Father in the Holy Spirit. Divine restoration neglects no part of us. The Lord is out to re-create us, body and soul.
A really thorough restoration is always from the inside out. After all, what good is it to restore the body of an antique car if the engine won’t start or the transmission’s gears are slipping? What kind of restoration contents itself with a shabby interior? Just so, the Lord seeks to restore us in the deepest truth of our existence — in the depth of our being, from the inside out. The Gospel says that Jesus knew human nature well (Jn 2:25), and small wonder: It was through him we were made, and it was our nature that he assumed (Jn 1:3,14). So, like an expert restorer, Jesus knows the repairs that need to be made, not merely in how we appear to others, but in how we really are, in the core of our being. The Lord, in the power of the Spirit, is out to cleanse our consciences from sin, to purify and enlarge our hearts, to empower us to advance in holiness.
That is why Christ came into the world — to restore our wounded human dignity, damaged by sin and spiritual neglect, to undo the effects of original sin, to make us shine with the glory he shares eternally with his Father in the Holy Spirit.
That is why, when the risen Lord appeared to the Apostles in the upper room, he gave them power to forgive sins, a power that reaches us in the sacrament of reconciliation. That is also why, on the Second Sunday of Easter, we celebrate the Divine Mercy by which God forgives and restores us, his handiwork. He makes us shine outwardly with the beauty of inward truth, integrity and love.
God’s restorative work extends throughout our lives and indeed beyond this earthly life. Just as an old car is most thoroughly restored when its body is removed from its frame, this is what happens when we die. Our body and soul are separated until the resurrection of the dead. Purgatory provides further restoration of the soul before it beholds the glory of God. At the end of time, body and soul will be reunited, but the result will be far more than a resuscitated corpse. No, we shall be made new. As St. John says, “Beloved, we are God’s children now. What we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (1 Jn 3:2).




