A Fresh And Unexpected Resurrection

 Long, long, long ago; / Way before this winter’s snow
First fell upon these weathered fields; / I used to sit and watch and feel
And dream of how the spring would be, / When through the winter’s stormy sea
She’d raise her green and growing head, / Her warmth would resurrect the dead.
Long before this winter’s snow / I dreamt of this day’s sunny glow
And thought somehow my pain would pass / With winter’s pain, and peace like grass
Would simply grow.  (But) The pain’s not gone. / It’s still as cold and hard and long
As lonely pain has ever been, / It cuts so deep and fear within.
Long before this winter’s snow / I ran from pain, looked high and low
For some fast way to get around / Its hurt and cold.  I’d have found,
If I had looked at what was there, / That things don’t follow fast or fair.
That life goes on, and times do change, / And grass does grow despite life’s pains.
Long before this winter’s snow / I thought that this day’s sunny glow,
The smiling children and growing things / And flowers bright were brought by spring.
Now, I know the sun does shine, / That children smile, and from the dark, cold, grime
A flower comes.  It groans, yet sings, / And through its pain, its peace begins.
    — “Resurrection” by Mary Ann Bernard 

 

What a blessing it was to celebrate Easter with all of you—some on zoom—and many in person! It was a delight to be in your company! And it made me realize—once again and for the first time—just how amazing all the changes we’ve experienced over the past two years have been. We have changed as individuals, as a church, as communities, as a creation, and as a world. Truly, our very world-views have been challenged, tested, tried, and forever altered. The ways we relate to one another have transformed. The ways we “do” church will never be the same. And certainly, much of this change has been painful and difficult to accept. But there have also been hallowed signs of grace during this time. We have discovered new solutions, new possibilities, new technologies. Perhaps, the pain has allowed this new growth.  Perhaps, the difficulty and messiness of the past two years have made possible this fresh and unexpected resurrection—this new life that points us in creative directions, toward a new normal we might never have imagined otherwise.  
    
I know that I am hopeful. For too long, I felt stuck in the grief and stress of making it through these days. I was simply slogging through—trying (unsuccessfully) to grieve an ongoing, and seemingly never-ending, trauma. But now—like the poet says—“from the dark, cold grime / a flower comes. It groans, yet sings, / And through its pain, its peace begins.”  I am starting to feel this peace of possibility. I am starting to increase my capacity for self-compassion. I am starting to believe that sometimes it is really okay not to be okay. And I invite you try to do the same. We are not alone, after all. We are connected to a beautiful community of faith and an abundantly loving God who offers us new life at every turn. God is all around us. Resurrected. And incarnate. And offering us the blessings of a new (resurrected and incarnate) normal . . . right now, in this moment.


See you in church,
Christy