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Easter Sunday, 2006
The Rector ©
+Alleluia! Christ is risen. (The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!)
What a great day
after an incredible night of Vigil. Every Sunday is a celebration of
the Day of Resurrection, but this is the big Sunday when we pull out
all the stops. This is THE Day of Resurrection, as one of the Easter
hymns says.
Last night’s Great
Vigil of Easter was awesome. How wonderful to share our tradition of
the Vigil with our brothers and sisters on the Hill from the
Lutheran, Methodist and Presbyterian Churches along with the
director of the Capitol Hill Group Ministries. How appropriate for
a Lutheran pastor to preside at the table now that we are in full
communion by our “Call to Common Mission” agreement with the
Lutherans. Another Lutheran pastor blessed the new fire and our own
Paschal candle, another symbol of our concordat. The Presbyterian
minister preached (Presbyterians are great preachers), and the
Methodist seminarian read one of the lessons of salvation history.
The director of the CHGM sang the exsultet. The Vigil is my
favorite service of the Church year. I love the exsultet, that
ancient prayer of light that gives thanks even for the bees who made
the beeswax for the candle.
I think the reason
the Vigil is my favorite is because it includes remembering the
stories of salvation history in the Judeo-Christian tradition. It
reminds us of coming through Holy Week in solemn prayer and
remembrance, of keeping vigil, of sharing the cup of blessing on
Maundy Thursday at the Passover meal, of laying a flower at the base
of our well-loved and worn Good Friday cross of two trees tied
together with an aging rope.
And the word vigil
itself is what matters as well. Vigil is an English word that comes
from Old French and Latin, “vigilia,” wakefulness or watch, from
vigil, awake. So it’s a watch kept
during normal sleeping hours as well as the eve of a religious
festival observed by staying awake as a devotional exercise.
All of us are familiar with vigils, even
though we may not all have been here last night keeping vigil, but
each of us keeps vigil sometime—maybe not in church or in liturgy,
but at home waiting up for a teenager to come home before dawn,
waiting while a loved one has complicated surgery, waiting for
someone to come out of a coma, waiting while death comes to someone
we love. Oh, there’s less holy waiting, like the waiting I did on
Friday while a rain shower occurred and my car wipers didn’t work,
or waiting in the long line at Costco Friday morning to pay for
sandwiches for the Cemetery annual meeting and the vigil reception
last night. Then there are, of course the Holy Week vigils in the
quiet darkness of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.
My own Good Friday vigil was different
this year, but not unlike other vigils I’ve kept. After the early
service on Good Friday, I drove to North Carolina to be with my Dad
who is dying from pneumonia. I’ll have to admit that most of my
vigil-keeping was sitting in my car going 10-15mph all the way to
Richmond. I forget that people go away for Easter on Good Friday,
because I’m always in Church. What normally takes 4 hours to drive
took 7 on Friday and 6 yesterday on return.
While I’ll have to admit I didn’t pray
the whole time I was waiting, I enjoyed listening to a new audio
book, The Last Week, I had gotten. The book was on 7 CDs and
I finished it going and coming. The book, just published, is
written by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, two biblical
scholars and professors who have published several recent books.
We’ve been using Crossan’s book In Search of Paul in our Monday
night class, and we enjoyed both Borg and Crossan on DVD for our
Monday night class on Living the Questions and on Paul.
The audio book, like some of the material
we have studied the last three months in our classes, immersed me
yet again in the socio-political world of the first century in the
world of the Roman Empire and all its imperialism and following the
way of Jesus in light of all that. Borg and Crossan take us through
each day of Jesus’ last week, from the parade into Jerusalem of
Pilate, who rode in great triumphalism from the West, contrasted
with Jesus’ counter-cultural entrance on a small colt with peasants
following along with him, spreading their own cloaks and leafy
branches along his path from Bethany.
Back to my own journey. I arrived at my
father’s assisted living place and found him lying in great
weakness. I’ve hardly ever seen my father sick in bed and how he’s
almost 93. Some of my dysfunctional family members were there too
to help create tension (families are great for this at important
times in one’s life). Finally everyone left but me and I spent the
night in Daddy’s room. The only sounds that night were the regular
pumping of the oxygen tank system, Daddy’s coughing, and my talking
with Dad some. I could hear the small dorm-sized refrigerator and
the Air conditioner, too. And so I sat with Daddy, holding his hand,
and I read a little as well.
It seems that vigil-keeping with our
loved ones might be that great time of talking about all those
things we wish we had said over the years—how much we loved that
one, perhaps even our neglect of that one, but instead of focusing
on all the meaningful and deep thoughts, our conversation shifts
into questions like, “would you like some more chocolate milkshake,”
or “do you need more covers,” “are you warm enough,” and “I love
you.” Perhaps that is enough. We are reminded that Peter and James
and John fell asleep while keeping vigil with Jesus in Gethsemane
while he prayed. Perhaps that’s enough, for vigil-keeping, if
anything, means being present.
Last week I had the privilege of hearing
my favorite religious author, Frederick Buechner talk at the
Washington National Cathedral. He is winding down a prolific career
of being writer of faith and also sharing his own journeys with the
readers. I think what Buechner reminds me of is the importance of
hanging in there at vigil-keeping. Last night our service was almost
2.5hours, and much of that time was spent in listening to stories of
salvation history and responding to them and being silent.
Our world and culture are too noisy and
too busy and not quiet. Even though we fill our space with our iPods
or satellite radios or big-screen TVs, we yearn for that place
apart, that place of being still and listening to the still, small
voice of God. The world of the first century was not dissimilar
apparently, for Jesus was always drawing apart to pray and be still
and quiet.
We, too, are called to draw apart in
quiet to hear God’s voice in our lives, to discover if we believe in
the power of the Resurrection at Easter in our own lives, to
discover that still small voice.
So, yesterday, as I left to drive back
for the Vigil rehearsal, knowing I might possibly be late, I took
the exit where the old Flat Rock Methodist Church cemetery yard is,
the one where the remains of my mother and my sisters lie. It was a
glorious warm sunny day and I was yet to drive through the hail
storm. I walked around the graves in a moment of utter quiet. It’s
very quiet out there in the country and not many cars drive down
that road except the ones going to the Lake. I stood there in that
time and space and a small butterfly flew by. I knew what that
meant, because my sister often comes to me, it seems, as a
butterfly, when I slow down enough to see butterflies. One Good
Friday, as I stepped outside here during the meditation time, three
butterflies came to me. I figured two were my sisters and I couldn’t
figure out the third one. Then I got a call a day or two later that
my mother was dying. I figured then the butterfly was mom. So
today I figured the butterfly was dad. It was gray and masculine,
not like the little yellow ones that usually come to me. I was
thankful I’d taken those few precious moments to stop, to savor the
country air and quiet and to be still, even while we keep vigil with
Daddy.
So I think the Easter message I need to
hear this day is a simple one. The one Anne explained to a
three-and-a-half-year-old boy on Friday. Anne who is a priest and
has a PhD in theology, when asked by Jamie, what’s Easter, said,
simply, “It’s a special day once a year that we remember how much
God loves us.”
Do we remember this day how much God
loves us? For those of you who have experienced tragic loss since
last Easter, do you believe that the same God who raised Jesus
Christ from the dead intends the redemption of the world? Do you
believe that same God is present to us in the still, small spaces of
our lives, in the intimate dinner shared with friends and family, in
this meal of bread and wine, in the sharing of the Peace of Christ?
As we heard the exsultet chanted in the
still, quiet darkness lighted by the Christ candle last night and
heard the stories of salvation history of the incredible love God
has for humankind, I believe each of us came to this morning with a
renewed hope for our own lives. And I believe that meaning of hope
comes out of our shared experiences of loss and faith. The Vigil
and this Easter day reminds me how much God loves us. As I drove
north on I-95 yesterday and saw the white dogwoods darting out here
and there along the way, I gave thanks for spring, for the gift of
life, for these signs of Resurrection. The power of the
Resurrection says that death has no power over life—ever.
May we go out into our world this day, rejoicing in the power of the
spirit and may we bring the Easter joy and light and love of God to
someone who needs it most. Let us remember how much God loves us,
that God gave God’s only son for us, and God raised him from the
dead to live eternally preparing a place for us.
Let me close with some words of Frederick
Buechner about Easter, for they are words I believe. Buechner says,
“He
rose. A few saw him briefly and talked to him. If it is true, there
is nothing left to say. If it’s not true, there is nothing left to
say. For believers and unbelievers both, life has never been the
same again. For some, neither has death.” (Frederick Buechner,
Beyond Words: Daily Readings in the ABC’s of Faith, Harper San
Francisco, 2004, p. 92).
May our
lives never be the same again. May we remember always the power of
the Resurrection, the power of God’s love for us!
Easter Sunday, 2006
Judith A. Davis, Rector
Christ Church, Washington Parish |
