Easter

Easter began, quite literally for me, with the sound of shattering.

I'd fallen asleep only minutes before midnight, praying against hope to be asleep before the clock turned and the day changed. Needing somehow to wake up in the morning light and simply have it be Easter.

At about 20 past midnight, I woke to the sound of shattering glass, and my roommate moving around.

When I asked about it this morning, she told me that she'd missed the light switch while fumbling in the dark, and hit a picture instead, knocking it from the wall and causing the glass to break.

Somehow, that shattering sound was symbolic. Symbolic of a year in which many things have been broken.

And yet, it reminded me, too, of Easter. Of the curtain in the temple being torn in two, irreparable. God present with all people.
~~~
It was a full day.

The church I grew up in put on a full length play and musical this morning. A series of monologues my dad wrote nearly 25 years ago. "Faces in the Crowd." And so, you stand at the back of Golgatha, and listen as Ciaphas, the thief on the cross, Mary, John, Peter, Nicodemus, Mary Magdalene, a Centurion, and a bystander discuss the happenings of the crucifixion. You are given a window into their hearts. They did a fantastic job with the production - an accomplishment on a grand scale for such a small church.

There were moments that were deeply moving. That hit my heart deeply. The lines of Mary Magdalene, discussing the demons within her, and the way Jesus had freed her from them. The wandering, longing insanity from which she'd been delivered. My brother J. played the role of Nicodemus. A role that fits him somehow - this one with much knowledge, encountering the Christ and finding the fulfillment of that. And yet, there were lines in that monologue too, that were unexpected. A moment where he lifted his hands to heaven and begged for mercy, for Jesus to die quickly in the midst of his pain. And that prayer, too, I understood.

I'm thankful that He is risen. That easter has come. And I find myself praying still for resurrection to come fully within me, within my broken heart, within the hearts and lives of so many I love.

And so, as I pray, for the first time since Friday, since commemorating the death and burial of the Savior, I light the Christ candle that rests on my dresser, and say to the world "He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!"

To those who wait...

The following passage, from one of my Lenten reading books, caught at me tonight, in it's description of this Holy Saturday, this day that I've passed, that is now drawing to a close...

It read:

"This is a day for expecting the kingdom of God. To those who wait, the time between death and resurrection is very long. For God, it is but a moment." (Journeying Through Lent with Luke, by Nancy Koester)

I am waiting and expecting the kingdom of God. I am longing for resurrection to come.

Moving through the waiting

I pray better, I wait better, I survive better, when I'm moving.

When there are things that can be a distraction.

When there is motion that can be a focus.

And so, on this day that is so marked by the waiting for resurrection, I've moved.

I grocery shopped and visited the library.

I went to the post office, and stopped off at my parent's home.

I looked through cookbooks with L., planning some new meals to add to our regular fare.

I did laundry.

And cleaned my bedroom.

And swept the kitchen floor.

I vacuumed George.

And scrubbed his dashboard and other surfaces.

And fed him with gasoline.

I remembered to be thankful when malfunction with my seat in George stopped long enough for me to move the seat to the right spot, making it easier to drive.

I worked through several lists of things that needed to be done, cleaned, or accomplished.

And now, now I'm getting ready to settle down a little.

To read and pray and actively wait.

To prepare for the week ahead (though thankfully, I don't have to return to work until Tuesday).

To let quiet overcome the need for movement, and hopefully bring peace.

The Day Between

This is the day between.

The day the disciples hid in an upper room, their world falling apart. Angry, fearful, shocked, grieving the loss of the one to whom they'd devoted the last three years of their life. The one they'd lived with, eaten with, slept near. Their teacher, the one they'd thought would change the whole world order. Their friend.

His body was laying in a stranger's grave.

And it was sabbath. They weren't permitted to work, or to be near the grave, so they gathered and waited, wondering if the wave of hatred that had stolen him from them, would come for them next.

~~~

This is the day between.

The day that life and light and hope lies temporarily buried.

I know the end of the story.

And yet, today I reflect on the grief, and the emptiness.

And I wait.

I fill the waiting, the grieving, the emptiness, in my own ways.

Moving on with life in a simple way. Groceries. Cookbooks. Maybe a walk in the park.

~~~

This is the day between.

And I am waiting.

Via Dolorosa

As I listened to this song being performed this morning, it hit my heart deeply. Isaiah 53 has also been deeply on my heart today.