Easter 2022

It either happened, or it didn’t. It’s as simple as that.

As tempting as it may be to look at Easter and dilute its significance with metaphor, or speak generally about how God turns bad things into good, this year I feel called to look squarely at the reality of what happened years ago. I need to get up early and approach the place where his disciples laid him. In the early morning light, I need to rub my hands on the stone rolled off to the side. I need to take my seat at the threshold and peer into the dark tomb. I’m not ready, or not brave enough, to go inside. For now, sitting close must be enough. 

Everything that happened before was easier to understand than this empty tomb. The shepherds and wise men, the fishermen and nets, the lessons and the healings, the conversations and the sermons, the storm on the lake and the lilies of the field . . . all of it is easier to hold. 

Even the events in Jerusalem make more sense than an empty tomb. The triumphant entrance, the crowd’s cheers, the crowd’s jeers, the Passover table, the tables turned upside down, the love and the fear, the hate and the forgiveness. Even the cross itself, with all its brutality, fits into a world I know well. 

But an empty tomb? It’s surpasses all my understanding. No wonder I keep it at a distance. It’s easier to focus on family gatherings, Easter egg hunts and pretty outfits than look at that morning long ago.

Sitting there, I can see the tomb is more than wishful thinking, more than a nice made-up story to bring things to a happy ending. There’s dried blood on the cloths on the floor. There’s an undeniable stench in the darkness. Rubbing my hands in the dirt beside me, taking a pebble between my fingers, I think about how the disciples handled this empty tomb. Like me, they found it hard to believe. They needed to see it, and him, for themselves. 

In whatever way that happened, they were transformed by what they saw. They stood up regardless of the consequences, spoke in ways they never had before, and even died because of what they saw. Never would they have done so unless the knew something, unless they had seen things with their own eyes. From that moment on, they pointed to the empty tomb and lived the rest of their lives in its good news.

Perhaps, we should do the same.

Palm Sunday 2022

I awakened knowing what day it was. Palm Sunday. I was outside a beloved city, and I decided to go to one of my favorite churches to celebrate the first day of Holy Week. Like the travelers long ago, I approached the city with a celebratory spirit. I had no palms, but I was full of hopes and expectations for the service ahead. The cathedral beckoned me from a hill above the city, and it was all I could do to keep my shoes on as I walked upon such holy ground.

Unfortunately, the planners of the service were equally excited by the day and included every liturgical trick in the book. Not only did the service cram the events of Holy Week in an hour and fifteen minutes, a Dixieland band played Just a closer walk with thee as the shivering participants stood outside waiting for the service to begin. Palms were blessed, incense lit, and someone instructed us on the “proper way” to wave our palms in the air. If we missed the day’s significance, the sound of the organ make it perfectly clear. 

Their intentions were good, I know, but something stood between me and the day’s focus. It was the service itself. Like an author who writes in such a way as to distract the reader from her message, all I could see was the service. The opulent liturgics shrouded the events of that Sunday long ago. It was impossible for me to see over the long procession of participants to the man on the donkey. 

It wasn’t until I was back in the taxi, thinking about the service, that I was able to hear the sermon intended for me. As one who has always had a flair for the dramatic, the service reminded me how often I, too, have pushed things over the top. Whether in the sermons I delivered, or the services I designed, too often my work stood in the way of the message I was trying to convey. The finger pointing, if you will, became more important than the one to which it is pointing. 

I reached over and took the palm in my hand. I didn’t worry about waving it in the proper way. I just held it. I let it take me back to the road outside Jerusalem where I could stand beside others. Closing my eyes, I added my imperfect welcome to theirs. I knew then, as if for the first time, that the day was not about me, nor was it about fancy buildings, ministers draped in robes, or impressive worship. 

Palm Sunday is about God coming into the city, facing the worst the world has to give, and offering a love the world cannot comprehend. 

Hosanna in the highest.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSmI9PKiajg

Spring

In the early morning light, the dogwoods in bloom outside my window look like trees covered in snow. In time, it will be clear what time of year it is, but, for now, I’m enjoying the twist of appearance. I don’t wish for it to be winter, by any means, but thinking this way reminds me how deceiving things can be in the wrong light. It reminds me how much I prefer spring to winter.

It’s not a great leap for me to see how often I look out and think it’s winter when, in fact, it’s spring, how often I mistake a blossom for a storm. I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but in dim light, or from a distance, looks can be deceiving, in faith as well as in life.

When I gave up drinking, I was certain I’d never be happy or have a good time again. I was wrong. I have found a new happiness.

When I left a job, I thought my usefulness was over. In that lighting, I couldn’t see that I would begin using my talents in different ways.

In a particularly dark time, I couldn’t see the light that was on its way. All I saw was winter. Then the blossoms arrived.

Faith is all about believing in spring. Winter comes to us all, but the good news is that winter is how seasons change. Spring would not be possible if leaves didn’t change color and fall to the ground, blossoms would not be possible without the water provided by winter’s storms. 

It doesn’t change the winter, or the storms, but it does give us an opportunity to trust God knows what he’s doing. As we approach Easter, this is important to keep in mind. As we head toward Jerusalem, there are dark clouds on the horizon. Tables will be turned, friends will run away, an arrest will be made, and death will happen. In the dim light of Holy Week, it’s sometimes confusing. We can think it’s winter, but there’s more to the story than all that. In fact, there’s a glorious spring ahead, on the other side of winter.