Another year wiser

I remember planning my first kid's birthday party as a new mother.  Everything had to be perfect.  As this was in the days before Pinterest, I spent months Googling themes, tearing out magazine ideas, and running around town to find the items that would create the ultimate event.  I felt such internal pressure to make the day a reflection of my love and pride.  Subconsciously, I'm sure that I was struggling against the unreal expectations of parenthood as viewed through the magazines and blogs I inhaled for comfort and advice, and the stress that this mothering thing was so much harder than I had imagined.  I felt a need to have everything together on the outside, or people might just see my internal cracks and I would be labeled a failure.  I remember little about his birthday (outside the memories held by our photos), but I can clearly recall bursting into tears the night before as I struggled with his birthday cake.  John came to the rescue, baffled, I'm sure, about how a party that Brady wouldn't even remember or understand could trigger such stress for me.

The adorable finished project, thanks to John (my miserable attempt was not captured on film, thank goodness.

On Brady's second birthday, I was hugely and miserably pregnant and just hoping I could make it through the party without going into labor.  We had it at a playground so that he could run around with his friends...and I could sit down at the picnic shelter with the food.  I was smart enough to hire a friend as photographer so that I could truly be present and just observe.  I was mortified when she captured the scene of our two-year-old tackling his friend to the ground, in a fight over bubbles.  We can laugh about it now, but at the time it was another reminder of how little control we really have (as desperately as I cling to my illusion of control).  

I can barely remember his third party, as I was busy planning a first birthday for his sister, Maryn, and breaking up their fights over the gifts.  In the pictures I can't believe how put together I look-- young, slim, and smiling--when I remember feeling like such a mess on the inside.

In year 4 and 2 for our two, I wised up and did a joint party.  It was exhausting, but they seem to be mostly happy in the pictures (and John and I look older and very very tired).

Last year, I made a deal with my kids that we would take a family trip to Great Wolf Lodge (an indoor water park resort in Williamsburg) if we could skip the whole (double) birthday party ordeal.  It was expensive, but the saving of my sanity was worth the price.

This year as they turned 7 and 5, I felt that they needed the fun of celebrating with friends, and I felt more prepared.  After all, now there was Pinterest to guide my planning (or set impossibly high standards).  Brady was happy with a small party at a frozen yogurt place where they supplied the decorations, food, entertainment, and clean-up.  It was a win, and gave us time to just enjoy talking and laughing with our friends as we watched our kids dance and attempt karaoke.  For her party, Maryn wanted a mermaid themed play date at our house, which happened this weekend.  That could be crazy-making, but at this stage of the game, I'm more at ease.  The kids are at that wonderful age where they can tell us what they want (and, oh boy, do they ever).  They can entertain themselves while I plan and set up, and they actually get all giggly and excited about all the preparation.  The best thing, though, is all the help I received.  My fabulous husband is not only a fantastic cake-fixer, but is also an artist, and was easily talked into doing the posters for the decorations, among many other tasks.  A talented student friend was hired to make whale cake pops, which was the only cake item that Maryn found acceptable (and yes, they had nothing to do with mermaids, but she would not be deterred.  She also stated that they must be chocolate and in the colors blue, pink, and purple.  Fortunately, I remembered that it was actually HER party, and we broadened the theme to "under the sea".  Problem solved.)  

A lovely friend brought her daughter, and stayed to be a part of the party.  She was a wonderful help as crafts and games with 4 and 5-year-olds are crazy, fast, messy, and always verging on disaster.  She also jumped in to take pictures, and I ended up with one of Maryn and me that I adore.

When I look at the photo, I see a mom who looks older and definitely not as put together as she'd like.  But more importantly, I see a more confident, less stressed mom, proud to hold a delighted little girl who loves her mommy, successful party or not.  I see a mom that realizes that Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, and this blog are not the measure of her worth nor are they the foundation of her legacy.  I see a mom that has realized the importance of asking for help and receiving it, and has learned to share, not in comparison or show, but to remember a smile, the joy, and that spunky pose of a 5-year-old that is growing so fast and yet will always be her baby.

Me...without a filter

Names I'm called on a daily basis:

Jenny
Rev. Jenny
Rev. Call
Rev. Frazier (the confusion of a maiden name as middle name)
Pastor Call
Pastor Jenny
Chaplain Call
Jen
Jennifer (ugh, doctors and telemarketers)
"uhh...it says 'Call Jenny'.  What's your last name?"  (and thus begins the comedy routine of my last name)
Mommy
Mom
Momma
MOOOOOMMMMM
Honey
Hey you (just kidding)

The roles I play:

wife
mother
Christian
minister
chaplain
counselor
writer
mentor
friend
daughter
sister
aunt
teacher
maid
organizer
playmate
driver
social media guru
photographer
encourager
complainer
realist
dreamer
INFJ

So many names, words, and roles, and yet if I had to condense it down into an identity, I'm not sure I could. It's hard to know who I am separate from my roles and what others look to me to find.  Perhaps that's as it should be, and I guess this is normal for most people to an extent.  I feel more settled into who I am now in my mid-thirties than I ever have, and yet, it's still hard to know what to do with myself.  I continue to struggle with the same issues, hang-ups, temptations, even though I see them coming, even though I counsel others and "know better".  I can rationally think through my situation, but that doesn't change my emotions, or often my behavior.

I was thinking about my five-year-old, Maryn, on the way home the other day.  As you've probably picked up from the blog or Facebook, she's a feisty one.  We've called her saucy, sassy, strong-willed, and sometimes difficult.  God knew it would be best for her not to be our first child.  We butt heads every single day, and yet this girl is the joy of my life.  She is so hilariously funny (intentionally and not).  She loves to make us laugh...and then gets mad because she doesn't want to be laughed at.  She adores her big brother.  She is full of imaginative stories and constant chatter and prefers to skip wherever she goes.  She is strong and opinionated and reacted with disgust to the clothes I picked out for her birthday saying, "What are these weird things?!"

As I told my husband, "She's me...without a filter."

I don't worry about her in the same way I worry about her sensitive older brother.  I try to instill a little more sensitivity and empathy in her, but know that her (ahem) brutal honesty may be a character trait we'll learn to live with over time.  There has been progress as she'll usually say, "Thank you for the gift, but I don't like it." (yes, this is an improvement).  I am proud that she will be able to stand up for herself and won't settle for less that what she wants.  I hope that she will come to see all she has as a gift instead of something she's entitled to.

But for me, her gift is her sense of self.  She is truly, honestly, completely Maryn.  She knows what she likes and isn't afraid to ask for it.  She has so many sides (silly, girly, tough, artsy) and she is comfortable in all of these roles.  She is confident and brave (except when around costumed characters).  With the many (often contradictory) pressures on women, I feel that she has the strength to stand her own ground.  In a culture that breeds insecurity and sends the constant message that we need to be doing more,  may she have the grace to see that she is enough, and may her parents have the patience to let her be just who God created her to be.

Maryn is 5!

One day old

One Week Old

One month old

One year old

Two years old

Three years old

Four years old

Five years old

Laboring

It's been said that nothing worth having comes easy, and the older I get, the more I see beauty in the struggle, the journey from darkness to light.  I see my college seniors, on the verge of their future, so terrified and uncertain, and I smile in recognition, and tell them that the journey may not be easy, but it will be meaningful.  We are all waiting to become who we were born to be.

"I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.  For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God... We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, be we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.  For in hope we were saved.  Now hope that is seen is not hope.  For who hopes for what is seen?  But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."  (Romans 8:18-25)

It's been almost five years since I've carried a baby inside me, and yet I still remember the foreignness and delight of feeling the tumbling movements and the jump of tiny hiccups.  We had struggled for years to conceive our first child, but she, our second, was surprisingly easy.  For days I thought my queasiness was the lingering effects of the stomach flu, but it never went away.  The pregnancy test was a welcome surprise to John and me, but not so much for her would-be brother, who collapsed on the floor in sobs when he was asked, "Are you ready to be a big brother?"  To be fair, he was 18-months old, and random sobbing was commonplace.

While conception was easy, the pregnancy was not without struggle.  I felt awful for much of it, so much so that I was convinced I was dying and was afraid to tell John about how seriously ill I was.  I finally relented and called the on-call OB-GYN who listened to my symptoms, and said, with sympathy, "Oh honey, you're just pregnant with your second child.  That's the way it feels."  The only thing that kept me going through the near constant nausea and pain was thinking about the end result.  The hope at the end was a healthy baby, a new life; our love, multiplied again.

Finally, we reached the end.  My contractions (light and irregular) started on a Saturday, and my father-in-law was called to come and be with Brady.  We went to the church we had been visiting on Sunday, and I hoped and prayed that I would not give birth there on those neat pews.  Although everything seemed fine, I didn't know what to expect. I had never experienced true and full labor with Brady due to his preterm complications and emergency c-section.  This time, though, things would be different.  I had a plan (and boy, am I good with plans).  I had discussed my hopes to avoid a c-section with my doctor and she concurred.  We had avoided the growth restriction problems that had led to Brady's early birth, and after careful monitoring were set for a "normal" and healthy delivery.  I called the hospital to see if I should come in, and they were surprisingly non-committal and left it up to me.  I asked the name of the doctor on call, found out it was my least favorite, and decided to sleep on it.

The next morning, we woke up giddy with the thought of meeting our sweet girl.  I remember readying the music playlist, breathing through the easy contractions, and watching the "Today Show" from the rocking chair in the delivery room while the nurse (who had been Brady's nurse two years prior) checked me in.  It was slow going with multiple checks and not much progress.  And then suddenly, things went from boring to dramatic.  After breaking my water and administering pitocin to make my contractions more productive, I noticed that the doctor and nurse were paying much more attention to my monitors.  I was instructed to roll over on my side and was fitted with an oxygen mask.  The baby's heart rate was decelerating quickly and there was concern that my placenta could be rupturing, putting both our lives in danger.  After waiting and watching for a few minutes, things only got worse.  The doctor started rapidly yanking cords out of the wall and pulling my bed out of the room.  My husband was left behind as we flew down the hallway, me still in the bed, and the doctor pushing it as she ran me down to the operating room.  In her haste, she slammed the bed into the wall, causing a doctor passing by to laugh and say, "Watch out!"  She responded, to my horror, "There's no time!"  In shock until that moment, I burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably, thinking that I had lost my baby girl.  The OR was packed with people, ready to move, and yet no one was talking to me.  The doctor snapped at someone to "Turn off that music!" and a mask was placed over my nose and mouth.  I don't know how much time passed between then and the time I opened my eyes to find myself being moved (more slowly this time) to the recovery room.  I asked the nurse about my baby, and she replied in confusion that she didn't know, but thought she was okay.  In the interminable minutes that followed, I could only pray that God could be with her as I couldn't.

"Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose." (Romans 8: 26-30)

Fortunately, John had been freed from the prison of the waiting room and was with our daughter, Maryn, who was doing just fine in the nursery.  In fact, our pediatrician, who had spent a week working on Brady so that he could get a clean bill of health and be released from the hospital after his birth, took one look at Maryn screaming and said, "Now that's a healthy baby" and left to check on the other babies in greater need of care.  John was able to send our camera to me in the recovery room so that I could see videos of our new one and finally breathe easily for the first time in hours.

When we are waiting at the edge of the unknown, there is little hope that something new and beautiful is waiting to be birthed.  Unmet plans have a way of making us realize how little control we have, and traumatic events take place every day.  Some are deeply close and personal, and some (like the explosions at today's Boston marathon or the recent violent acts on college campuses) are removed, and yet still pierce our hearts.  We are confronted with the brokenness of the world and our own vulnerability.  And yet, I've learned, if we stay tuned and go through the trauma (instead of just trying to get over it), we often find beauty on the other side that we never expected.  My beauty in this case was tangible--I was able to snuggle with Maryn and realize the miracle of God's creation and care once again.  Sometimes we see it as grace and acts of unselfish love.  In trying to selectively view coverage of today's violent events, I've grown hopeful watching the outpouring of help and care from those who witnessed the tragedy firsthand.  Normal people became first responders, and so many people went to donate blood that the hospitals began turning people away.  Strangers became united for the common good, and realized they weren't so separate after all.

There is just so much loveliness, even in the dark valleys we all journey through.  If we can just hold on, we'll see the light shining on the other side, reminding us that God is continually birthing new life and is always inviting us into the ongoing process of creation.

 

What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us?" (Romans 8:31)

Portrait of a girl, about to turn 5

She's been feisty since the beginning.  From her terrifying entry into the world, to her cries that I could hear from the hospital nursery to my room down the hall, we learned early on that she would not be easy going.  In fact, in our first day with her, John and I were set on the fact that she would be our forever baby and last child (barring any surprises from God).

She's been a mystery to me, crying often as a baby and only being sated by being held in my arms.  She has loved like no other, offering tight hugs, sweet love notes, and nightly invitations to come snuggle with her in bed.  All is right in her world, still, when she is held in my arms.

She was an early talker, but developed her own inventive language: "Bo Bo, and Mawmaw, and Bickle."  She made it clear what they meant, and used them even when she could say actual words.  She was once shy, but is also a chatterbox when she is in her element.

She's been decisive and unmoving, refusing to relent in her strong opinions and positions, treating my instructions as suggestions instead of commands to be followed.

She has been an individual, developing a preference for bright and sparkly fashion, lots of bling, and glitter; a girly girl that baffles this plain mom.  She has asked for only clothes, shoes, and jewelry for her 5th birthday.

We've battled over party plans, cake designs, games, and friends to invite.  So I was a little surprised at her easy and giggly pleasure at her invitation.  She has carried it around to show complete strangers, made sure everyone in our household has a copy, and hung hers proudly in her room.  When I told her I was surprised that she was so thrilled given how she had dismissed all my other choices, she replied, "It's because you let me choose.  I don't like the same things as you."

It's simple, but profound.  As much as I envision her as a little me, she is totally, wonderfully herself.  She is smart and silly and cuddly.  She is strong and spirited and stubborn.   She is Maryn, and she grasps her own individualism in a way that inspires me.  She does not apologize for her tastes or choices, even when they conflict with others' desires (sometimes to my chagrin).  She takes what she needs, clinging when I retreat, and refuses to read when she can be read to.  She delights in what strikes her fancy and dismisses what doesn't.

I really hope I can be more like her when I grow up.

A sermon: Living in the in-between times

"Living in the in-between times"
April 7, 2013
Metropolitan Community Church of the Blue Ridge

John 20:19-30

The church exists to share and continue a story, one that is meant to evoke emotion, connection, and action.  As many times as we hear the story, we hear new challenges in the text, and feel the highs and lows as we cycle from conflict to resolution and back again.  Last week we may have come with weary hearts, like the women arriving at the tomb, bowed down by the weight of a Holy Week and Lent marked with emotion and great loss.  We carried our defeats--our loss of hope, the painful separation of death--on backs badly bruised with the sting of humiliation. Feeling crushed by the despair of failure...ours, and the alleged failure of our seemingly absent God, the cross was a shadow looming over us.

But we got to be witnesses of the story’s surprising twist: when the women reached the tomb, something looked different.  They realized that the stone had been moved, and the cave was open, almost inviting.  They, like us, were drawn in, expecting the stink of death, and yet found...nothing.  The tomb was empty.  They were filled with confusion, fear, anger, and hope...what had happened?  Who had taken him?  There was a memory tickling their minds...something about resurrection, about leaving and returning, but what could it mean?  

Before the understanding and hope of the resurrection, there was fear and uncertainty, an in-between time where they stood in the great emptiness, with the echoing of silent questions, and awaited an answer that would make sense of all of the nonsense.  Perhaps you’ve been in that place…or maybe you’re there now.

We still wait, in a world that has known a Savior, and in that same world that seems to have abandoned him.  If the message was love, why is there so much hatred?  If he came to bring peace, why are we so divided?  We are caught in the now, but not yet...the time between Christ's resurrection and second coming, when we hope things will finally be set right.

We wait, hoping for advances in equality as we anticipate the Supreme Court’s decision on proposition 8.  We wait, fearing the volatile situation in North Korea.  We wait, with our own personal and communal struggles, seeking healing and restoration.  We wait, wondering when love will win, and God’s peaceable kingdom will reign.

We woke up on Easter Monday to a world that likely looked much the same.  Our Easter finery was put away (more laundry to do and another trip to the gym to work off the big meals and all the candy).  The plastic eggs were put into storage for the next year, another completed cycle of re-enacting the drama that for many of us has lost its feeling.  The Passion story devoid of all passion.

What is the meaning of Easter and what did it change?  Do we really believe the story, and if we do, why doesn't it change us?

I think for me, sometimes, the story has become too familiar, to the point of making me numb.  There's something wrong when an event as fantastic as a resurrection isn't enough to shake me out of my stupor. 

So I ask you to join me today in putting yourself in the story.  Imagine what it was like for the disciples in those tenuous days between Good Friday and Easter Sunday and beyond. Picture having seen the friend that you’ve followed to for the past three years get arrested, brutally beaten, and killed.  You have run, fearing for your own life, and faced the guilt of betraying the one that you promised to follow…even unto death.  You have experienced a different kind of death as the faith you once held so strongly was challenged, the hope that drove you was disparaged, and you were confronted with others’ fear transformed to evil.  And now you wait, locked behind closed doors in terror, trying to make sense of it all. 

Hear the story from the Gospel of John, chapter 20, verses 19-30: 

¹⁹When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” ²⁴But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”²⁶A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” ²⁸Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” ²⁹Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” ³⁰Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.

Into this chaos of emotion enters Jesus, with the words, “Peace be with you!” (repeat).  What would his words, his very presence, mean to you? 

Jesus knew of his disciples’ fear and incredulous disbelief, and invited them to see his hands and side, the very evidence that what they had witnessed was real, and was yet beyond what they could actually see and comprehend.  He was no ghost, no hallucination of overwhelmed people, but the real and physical Christ, raised from the dead by God.  He again bids them “Peace” and as their recognition turns to joy, he says, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.”  Jesus breathes into them the Holy Spirit.  Just as God the Father breathed life into his creation, Jesus is now breathing new life into his disciples, calling and empowering them to carry on his work, forgiving in his name. 

We soon discover that not all of the disciples were present for this reunion.  Thomas, called the Twin, was told of Jesus’ reappearance and he responded in a way that has forever branded him as “Doubting Thomas”.  He says that he must see it for himself in order to believe.  Now Thomas has gotten a bad rap, and yet how many of us would respond accordingly?  We live in a world where proof must be given, mysteries solved, and theories put to the test.  Rationalism trumps mystery, and logic and science reign over matters of the spirit.  In our time, “belief” means intellectual acceptance of something that can be proven.  And so we have History Channel specials on the search for Noah’s Ark right beside faked documentaries (mockumentaries) on mermaids. 

Although he’s labeled as the doubter, let’s not forget that earlier in John’s gospel it was Thomas who understood the gravity of Jesus’ impending return to Jerusalem and said to the other disciples, “Let us also go so that we may die with him.”  Thomas was on a journey of faith and discipleship much like ours.  Some days he seemed to “get” it and, and some days he tried, but didn’t quite make the connections.  But I think it’s interesting to note that when the other disciples were cowering in fear in the room where Jesus appeared, Thomas was not there.  Why was that?  Had he given up?  

 I think, perhaps, he continued to live in faith, seeking what was to come.    Like his friends, he didn’t understand all of what had happened, but unlike them, he wasn’t letting fear rule his life.  Perhaps he was even searching for Jesus so that he could receive the same gift his friends had been given…that he be allowed to witness it for himself, to see the wounds and to physically touch them, to once again see his friend Jesus.  Jesus showed his wounds to the disciples, understanding their disbelief.  And when he appeared to Thomas, he was not angry at his doubt, but invited him to touch and see, reach and feel, stop doubting and believe!  Thomas discovers that he doesn’t need the proof he demanded.  Just the sight of his friend and teacher is enough to lead him to make the proclamation of Jesus as the Messiah, “My Lord and My God!”  Notice that the other disciples only recognized him as their Lord, not God.  Somehow Thomas’ doubt had taken him further in his faith and understanding.  Thomas seems to learn that belief transcends what can be seen.

I don’t think that doubt and belief are mutually exclusive, that you either have doubt or faith, but that instead they coexist.  We can move between the two, using our doubts to motivate us to seek God and grow in our faith.  Faith is not the absence of doubt, but the willingness to look beyond it and embrace something greater than we can understand.  As many have said, “The opposite of faith is not doubt, it’s certainty”.  I have read that over the years the meaning behind the word “belief” has changed.  Before the 17^th century, “belief” was used to mean “commitment” and correlated with the Greek “pistis” for “faith” and the Latin “credo” for “creed” which literally translates, “I turn my heart to”.  Belief was not intellectual acceptance of a doctrine, as it came to be known, but a deep feeling of the heart, and a commitment to action. 

One of my favorite scriptural passages is the story where a man is imploring Jesus to heal his sick child.  The boy has never been able to speak, but is plagued by a sickness that causes him to have seizures.  The father asks Jesus, “If you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”  Jesus retorts, “If you can?  Everything is possible for him who believes.”  The man, wanting desperately for his son to be whole and well, cries out, “I believe!  Help my unbelief!”  We are all caught in a similar tension of belief and unbelief as we live in the time in between Jesus’ resurrection and return. 

 Most of life is lived in the in-between times.  In fact, if we think of it, these common moments are the very essence of life.  We may have a special day where we celebrate a new job, but then for the years to follow, we get the mundane task of working it.  There are birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations, but these isolated days mark the passing of years of normal living.  Our church calendar marks special days like Epiphany and Christmas, and seasons like Lent, Advent, and Pentecost.  Easter itself is a season of 50 days.  But you know what takes up the majority of the church year?  A thing called “Ordinary Time”, which takes up 33-34 weeks of the year.  It is the time between the holy days.  And just like the best part, arguably, of an Oreo cookie is the cream filling, some of the best and most important times in our lives and in our church are the times between the special days.  These are the times when we wait expectantly, but also continue the work of living as Christ has called us to do.

Jesus appeared to his disciples to renew their hope and to bestow his spirit, giving them a calling.  As the Father had sent Jesus into the world, Jesus was now sending the disciples to continue his work of love, forgiveness, and redemption with all of creation.

We are witnesses, and we too have been sent to continue the message.  We are the ones who are blessed because we have not seen, and yet believed.  We are in the middle of our story, caught in the tension between conflict and resolution.  Our story is just a paragraph in God’s unfolding saga, and yet, we play important roles, offering forgiveness to others in Jesus’ name.  We are the ones who must reach out to the broken and touch those hurts with the healing message of Christ.  We must have a faith that is big enough for questions, searching, doubt, and pain; we must be open to embrace others and walk with them even when we don’t feel like we have it all together ourselves.  Like Thomas, though, we must not let doubt or fear keep us locked up, but find the freedom to keep living, keep seeking, and keep doing God’s work.

The Easter story of resurrection and Jesus’ return is beyond good news...this is real hope for a world that is filled with death and darkness.  New life!  Rebirth!  Another chance when it all seems lost!  That’s what resurrection is all about!

A liberal bishop was asked if he actually believed in the resurrection.  "Believe it?" he said, "I've seen it too many times not to!"

And so, we step back into our ordinary lives, but perhaps our senses are more attuned to the signs of resurrection around us--the daffodil poking out of the still cold ground, the surprising reconciliation, the promise of something new.  I think of my friend's hope as she interviews for potential new jobs after years of unemployment.  I rejoice with another who had the courage to face bad news and realized it wasn't so bad after all.  I witness the painful struggles of faith and know that while certainty is not a given, strength and growth may lie on the other side.  I ponder the significance of forgiveness, of all the commands Jesus could have given, and realize it’s just what this broken world needs.  Grace to be accepted and loved, healing from our hurts, and restoration to the lives God intends for us.  I think of Eboo Patel, who is an American Muslim and founder of the Interfaith Youth Core, which works to unite different faiths through acts of service.  He says that he has learned that the solution to fighting hatred is to respond to ugliness with beauty.

Isn’t that exactly what Jesus did?  He took the ugliness of his death on the cross and turned it into the beautiful gift of forgiveness.

Every day holds the potential for Easter as we put our trust in a God who won't be bound by the ordinary.  Can you believe?

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doubting_Thomas

Living past Easter

We come heavy with heavy hearts and silence, bowed down by the weight of a Holy Week marked with emotion and great loss.  We carry our defeats--our loss of hope, the painful separation of death--on backs badly bruised with the sting of humiliation.  Our eyes behold the darkness that surrounds us, and squint at the light of the sun rising on the horizon.  We have seen and felt too much, and we feel crushed by the despair of failure...ours, and the alleged failure of our seemingly absent God.  The cross is a shadow looming over us wherever we go.

Women at the empty tomb, by Fra Angelico, 1437-1446. 

But as we arrive at the tomb, something looks different.  Although it's hard to place what has changed, we realize that the stone has been moved, and the cave is open, almost inviting.  We are drawn in, expecting the stink of death, and yet find...nothing.  The tomb is empty.  We are filled with confusion, fear, hope, and anger...what has happened?  Who has taken him?  There is a memory tickling our mind...something about resurrection, about leaving and returning, but what can it mean?

We stand in the great emptiness, with the echoing of our silent questions, incredulous, filled with wonder.  And we await an answer, a presence that will make sense of all of this nonsense.

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We still wait, in a world that has known a Savior,  and in that same world that seems to have abandoned him (Or, as some question, has Savior the abandoned our world?).  If the message was love, why is there so much hatred?  If he came to bring peace, why are we so divided, so at war?  We are caught in the now, but not yet...the in between time between Christ's resurrection and second coming, when we hope things will be set straight.  When the Kingdom of God will truly reign in righteousness, justice, and peace.  Shalom.

We woke up on Easter Monday to a world that likely looked much the same.  Our Easter finery was put away (more laundry to do and another trip to the gym to work off the big meals and all the candy).  The plastic eggs were put into storage for the next year, another completed cycle of re-enacting the drama that many of us have lost the feeling for.  The Passion story devoid of all passion.

What is the meaning of Easter?  What did it change?  Do we really believe the story, and if we do, why doesn't it change us?

I think for me, sometimes, the story has become too familiar, to the point of making me numb.  There's something wrong when something as fantastic as a resurrection isn't enough to shake me out of my stupor.  This is beyond good news...this is real hope for a world that is filled with death and darkness.  New life!  Rebirth!  Another chance when it all seems lost!

A liberal bishop was asked if he actually believed in the resurrection.  "Believe it?" he said, "I've seen it too many times not to!"

And so, we step back into our ordinary lives, but perhaps our senses are more attuned to the signs of resurrection around us--the daffodil poking out of the still cold ground, the surprising reconciliation, the promise of something new.  I think of my friend's hope as she interviews for potential new jobs after a season of uncertainty.  I rejoice with another who had the courage to face bad news and realized it wasn't so bad after all.  I witness the painful struggles of faith and know that while certainty is not a given, strength and passion may lie on the other side.

Every day holds the potential for Easter as we put our trust in a God who won't be bound by the ordinary.