Easter Feet

“Look at your feet.” Frederick Buechner

This Easter, it’s time to look at our feet. That’s right, our feet. They’re the key to any spiritual journey, particularly one set out to discover the risen Lord.

On the first Easter morning, Mary and others needed to do something. They could no longer sit around in the darkness of their fear and sadness. They walked to the tomb and found it empty. More than that, they found Christ.

Two followers decided to leave town. Emmaus was not all that far away, and the walk would help them make sense of all the events that had happened recently. As they walked, they were joined by another and soon found that Christ was beside them. They didn’t recognize him at first, but eventually their eyes were opened.

Heading home made all the sense in the world for the disciples. Their souls were troubled, and the idea of fishing again made them walk more quickly. They spent the night fishing and smelled smoke from a nearby campfire when they pulled their boats ashore. “Come have breakfast,” the stranger said, and soon the realized he was no stranger. He was Christ.

The disciples didn’t find Easter in a church, or in some elaborate religious theory. They allowed their feet to carry them into the world and, in doing so, found Christ. Fred Buechner once wrote that to know who we really are, we need to look at our feet. Forget all our clever words and elaborate disguises we use and look at our feet. They tell us who we are. I think the same can be said of our life of faith. Where we let our feet take us determines what, or who, we’ll find. 

Are we sitting around or walking this Easter? 

If we are walking, in what direction are we headed? Toward Christ or away?
Are we walking by faith or our own cleverness? 

Do we have the courage to head toward the darkness of a tomb, the strength to walk to another town, or longing to head home? 

I believe if we walk in faith, our feet will carry us to Christ. He may appear in ways and places we couldn’t have imagined, but that part’s not up to us. We’re only responsible for our feet. This Easter, the question is, in what direction are our feet headed?

Donkeys

“I always hoped for a burning bush,” said the disillusioned priest reflecting on his longing for God.

“But you got a burning Church,” his mentor pointed out referring to the parish that went up in flames on Christmas morning.

“Not sure that’s the same thing,” the minister replied.

As I sit here on Palm Sunday morning, thinking about the juxtaposition of Jesus on a donkey, I can’t help but see a profound truth that has traveled from the Sunday way back when to this Sunday and all the Sundays in between: God comes to us in unpredictable ways. Like the minister who wanted a burning bush, we think God will come in the spectacular, the bright lights and heavenly choruses, but the gospels tell us otherwise. Whether its an unmarried young girl, a stable in the back, a well at midday, a campfire by a lake, a garden at night, a broken piece of bread, a cross, or a road to a random town called Emmaus, God comes to us in unpredictable ways. The donkey of Palm Sunday was only one on a long list of surprising incarnations. It seems to be God’s way of making himself known.

A volunteer at a soup kitchen is only too happy to help if it gets her out of her house and her abusive marriage. She’d never felt more alone. When serving one of the guests, she caught his bloodshot eyes and he smiled and said, “God’s with you.” With me? What about with you? But for the rest of the day she felt a strange peace, as if God was sitting beside her, and it didn’t take away her troubles but transformed them.

It was a routine pregnancy check up, but they found something. The baby was fine, but she had cancer. Fortunately, the gifted doctors saved the baby and saved the woman. It was nothing like the experience she thought she would have bringing a life into the world, but, looking back, two lives were saved through that unexpected journey, something for which she remains profoundly grateful.

“We need to talk,” his boss said ushering his intoxicated employee into his office. He remembers little of what was said, but he soon found himself at a local rehab center. He lost his job, but he found his life. He surrendered his power and discovered the power of faith. Sober now for many years, he realized God was in that office, saying the difficult words.

Donkeys come in all shapes and sizes, but the still, small voice of God can be heard in the most unlikely places – a soup kitchen, a hospital, a boss’ office, to name only a few. It’s enough to get me to lay down a garment or cut a palm branch in gratitude.

By Charlotte bristol

(age 7, i think)

The Heart of the Matter/The Matters of the Heart

“You keep carrying that anger, it’ll eat you up inside.” Don Henley

Each Lent, I remember a story I once read about two monks who went on a day-long silent retreat. The rules for such retreats were strict – no contact with anyone and absolute silence. They set off from the monastery and were not an hour away when they came across an old man trying to cross a swollen river. “Here, climb on my back,” said one monk without hesitation, and soon he was carrying the old man while his companion was fuming behind. Once on the other side, they continued on their way. When they finally returned to the monastery and could break their silence, the other monk let him have it. “I can’t believe what you did!” he said. “You not only spoke to the man, you also carried him across the river.” After a brief pause, the other monk looked at his friend and said, “That’s funny. I carried him across the river, but you’ve been carrying him all day long.”

The old men beside the river come in all shapes and sizes, and one of the healthiest things we can do spiritually is recognize the people, places, and things we’ve carried all day long:

·      A divorce (or any other kind of break up).

·      A friend in eight grade who deliberately did not invite you to a sleep-over.

·      A friend or relative who said something that hurt you deeply.

·      A person you look up to messed up.

·      A colleague who went behind your back. 

·      A boss who gave you a particularly critical review. 

·      A friend who took advantage of you.

·      A company that laid you off or fired you.

·      A parent (or child) who didn’t love you enough.

·      A God who could allow a loved one to suffer or die.

The list is endless and particular to the one doing the carrying. What’s universal is the damage such resentments do - not to the other person, but to one doing the carrying. In 12-step recovery circles, they have a saying that captures the danger of carrying resentments: “I’ll show you . . . I’ll kill me.”

This is the season to recognize who or what we’ve been carrying and putting them down so we can walk on free of such lethal burdens.