Once and for All

The stone’s rolled away,

Sunlight lies beyond,

But there’s comfort inside the tomb.

Dark and small,

I’ve made it my home.

Mistakes I’ve made lie like a body wrapped in clothes of shame.

I retell stories that keep it dark,

Stories that keep me small.

Better to stay in the tomb, I cry, and point to the light.

Easier to dream of a resurrected life than live it,

And sing of grace I’ve only heard about.

And yet life beyond the tomb beckons.

It’s the life that belongs to God, not me,

Of God’s creating, not mine.

Its light blinds, and horizon overwhelms,

But, somehow, I must follow.

The risen life waits for me (and you) as it always has.

Like a gift, I must rise and walk out to receive it,

Out of the darkness and into the light,

Out from the known into the unknown,

Out from death into life,

Out from false into true,

Once and for all.

Stone Walls

I recently returned to New England, my soul’s home, for a conference and was reminded of the power of “place.” Whether it’s where you grew up, or where something important happened, returning to a place can stir one in deep, unpredictable ways.

Getting off the highway onto old roads, my mind twisted and turned through memories like the road itself, but it was the stone walls that let me know I had returned. New England is famous for its stone walls. They were the result of farmers trying to clear their land. The stones were used to line their properties - clear illustrations of taking something bad and turning it into something useful.

It was a long drive, so I started thinking about my stones. Four years in boarding school provided many. Moving here after my father died added more. To those early stones, many others from a variety of chapters of my life were added. Yes, I wish there weren’t so many stones, but the trick has been learning how to make something out of my pile.

There are people who have no interest in such back-breaking (soul-breaking) work. They prefer to throw their stones into the woods, hire someone to carry them away, or leave them buried, but there’s much to be gained by picking up a stone, looking at it, and placing it where it might do some good. In the end, the stones give your life shape, much like the stone walls around a property.

I needed the help of an expert builder to get started, and it took me a long time to learn how to work with the stones, but now I wish I’d begun the work sooner. At least I’ve begun . . . and I’ve got lots of stones left to keep me busy.

Easter after Easter

The choir took the day off, the minister yielded the pulpit to an associate, and the pews had space again. So it is with the Sunday after Easter. Like the Sunday after Christmas, the Sunday after Easter is called a “low Sunday” in clergy circles, and it bothered me more than usual this year. I accept that there are those who come to church twice a year, I understand the Holy Week grind can be exhausting, but Easter is a season, not a day, and it’s hard to remember that when everyone, including the church, seems to put the Easter bonnets back on the shelf for another year.

The challenge is to keep Easter alive not only on the Sunday after but throughout the season, and, I would add, throughout the year. To help me, I’ve turned to the gospel accounts. Yes, there are the remarkable accounts of what happened on Easter morning, but the stories that follow Easter morning are equally inspirational. Hidden in their fear, Jesus appears to the disciples despite the locked doors. Walking beside two bewildered and disappointed disciples who were getting away from the pain of what happened in Jerusalem, Jesus was present even though they didn’t recognize him until they broke bread. And then there was the moment when the disciples returned home and tried to get back to life as fisherman only to be invited to breakfast by no other than the risen Christ.  

Such testimonies help me see that Easter comes regardless of what I do or don’t do. When I’m locked in my fears, Easter still comes. When I am walking away from something painful, bewildered and disappointed, Easter still comes. And when I try to get back to my usual routine, Easter still comes.

Easter is not something I make happen.

It’s not a service I attend.

Easter is new life, bursting forth long ago and as recently as this morning. The trick is having the eyes to see, the ears to hear, and the hearts to receive.