Rising up from the grave...again and again

It's Easter Monday- life returns to "normal".  But do we want to wait a whole year to be reminded that death is dead, that Christ rose from His grave and we are one with him? 

Yesterday we sang this Matt Maher Easter song -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mXeA0G_xKc

Christ is Risen

Let no one caught in sin remain

Inside the lie of inward shame

We fix our eyes upon the cross

And run to him who showed great love

And bled for us

Freely you bled, for us

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave!

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave!

Beneath the weight of all our sin

You bow to none but heaven''s will

No scheme of hell, no scoffer's crown

No burden great can hold you down

In strength you reign

Forever let your church proclaim

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Oh death! Where is your sting?

Oh hell! Where is your victory?

Oh Church! Come stand in the light!

The glory of God has defeated the night!

Oh death! Where is your sting?

Oh hell! Where is your victory?

Oh Church! Come stand in the light!

Our God is not dead, he's alive! he's alive!

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Rise up from the grave...

This is the Easter message—as we celebrate Jesus' resurrection and our salvation, we are also reminded we have been made one with him and we have the choice to rise up from our sepulcher as well.  

I have been a widow for almost ten years. My husband did not raise up from his death bed, his resurrection is unseen to our eyes.  But the grave isn't just for the body.  Worse, our spirit can be caught in the death pit of our own making. 

Most of us have seasons of death and despair. Our soul's grave may be suffering and sorrow, disappointment and disillusionment, unforgiveness and bitterness.  Our spiritual salvation comes but once; the completion, the perfection of our salvation is an ongoing process.

That process includes accepting the difficult seasons of our soul's journey, just as Christ accepted the death of his physical body. Our body will eventually die but Jesus came for the eternal, the life beyond the physical.  

So we wait in our mental holes for our three days or weeks or years to be completed, our lessons learned, but we must remember— there is always the possibility of  life at the end of all graves.

"We fix our eyes upon the cross

And run to him who showed great love...

 No scheme of hell, no scoffer's crown

No burden great can hold you down ...."

Come awake, come awake! Come and rise up from your soul's grave. There is Life on the other side.

The Risen Christ

AS YOU DID IT to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me. Just as Jesus appeared at his birth as a helpless child that the world was free to care for or destroy, so now he appears in his resurrection as the pauper, the prisoner, the stranger- appears in every form of human need that the world is free to serve or to ignore. The risen Christ is Christ risen in his glory and enthroned in all this glorious canvas, stained glass, mosaic as Redeemer and Judge. But he is also Christ risen in the shabby hearts of those who, although they have never touched the mark of the nails, have been themselves so touched by him that they believe anyway. However faded and threadbare, what they have seen of him is at least enough to get their bearings by. -Originally published in The Faces of Jesus  by Frederick Buechner

Through their eyes

The young woman strode vigorously around the gallery glancing at the art collection.  She paused and read the information on a large abstract painting I was studying. "Well, they have a Mark Rothko," she said loudly to her husband and hurried to the next room.

I had been enjoying his large blue and white Green on Blue (Earth-Green and White) 1956 but was also wondering why I or anyone did like his work. It's big blocks of color, deceptively simple. I thought it looked like the earth and when I read the title, a tiny wave of smug self-satisfaction rippled.  But the white was on the bottom- do you suppose they hung it upside down?  I suppressed a giggle. After all, at least I was appreciating the work.




I do love the layers of his colors you can see only when you get close up.


I was at the University of Arizona's art museum, mostly known for their stunning 16th century paintings of the retablo, or altarpiece from the cathedral of Rodrigo, Spain. I took a series of photos for a Easter blog post.  Then I went into a current exhibit and everything changed.



There on the walls were nice but rather simple works. I stopped and read the description of one. Here is what Debbie saw when she sat in front of Green on Blue.

"This is fantastic!... This is heaven."

"dark blue teal heaven with dark teal blue God who loves her and everybody else"

This is Brad's response to two very different pieces of art- the crucifixion scene from the retablo and a Georgia O'Keefe abstract. 

 I see a Romantic era portrait of upper class family life.

Vicki sees herself and her mother.

I spoke to Vicky. I told her I loved her picture. She peered at me through thick glasses, "I miss my mom."  

We both looked at the The Countess von Schonfeld with her Daughter. I saw a fine example of an 18th century oil.  Vicki was reminded of her mother's love and her good memories.  She was the one who was able to really see. 

I hesitate to publish this.  I saw the works in one morning this week and decided to return for the afternoon reception. I was distracted by my own response the the works and the people I met.   The gallery was crowded when I got the idea to share the images and I didn't take good pictures for publication.

I learned from these wonderful artists to put out what you have,  to share freely, and not to worry about what others think. I love art and I love people who love art. 

To the artists at Artworks, thank you for reminding me how to see.   

"...Rothko fought the notions that subject matter was absent in abstract art. His own themes were "basic human emotions....tragedy, ecstasy, doom."

...he abhorred the idea of explanations. 

Instead, Rothko believed the paintings constitute an intimate dialogue 

between the artist and the audience, 

and understanding comes from serious contemplation by the viewer."

Amen.

Words, words and more words

Wow- what a weekend this has been.

Four years ago I met a woman at a writer's retreat near Tucson. We're in touch off and on and she generously offered me her very cool casita or guest cottage for this week.  God's blessings on you, Pam.

I'm within an easy walk of the University of Tucson and the fourth largest book festival in America was this weekend!  I'm in heaven... http://tucsonfestivalofbooks.org/?sid=23   And I've put the 2017 dates on my calendar.

I was too busy to blog so this is my catch-up retrospective- or the highlights. This would be a long blog if I shared all the amazing chats, books, authors, insights... I may be writing about this for awhile.  And I completely forgot to take even one picture of the tent city and the 100,000 people who shared the event with me. Plenty of pics online for the visually curious.

 I

So....some memorable times.

I wandered into a conversation with Cynthia Bond, author of Ruby, an Oprah Winfrey Book Club selection. I don't watch much tv so I missed all the hype but the book is doing very well. I was just drawn by the title of the event- A Conversation. Seemed liked a good thing for Sunday morning and it was a blessing. Yes, Cynthia screamed when Oprah called her cell. "I don't like your book. I love your book."— who doesn't want to hear that from Oprah? Then Cynthia couldn't tell anyone but her mother for two months.   I love hearing these stories- real people, in this case a single working mom writing for years and years. Just a lovely woman. With a great book.  http://cynthiabond.com/about-the-author/


I stood at a mic in the middle of a packed room and asked one of my favorite authors, William Kent Krueger about the sequel to his wonderful Ordinary Grace. We had met  at the SD book festival and he had said he was finishing it this year. That question turned out not to be my best idea but thankfully he had already broken the news to a previous workshop. He was dissatisfied with the finished project and had shelved the book.  Oops- but he was kind AND candid and it led to an interesting discussion about pulling the plug on a book, a book with a "very nice" advance.  I'll try not to make that faux pas again, felt akin to asking a woman when she's due.  He was so gracious as we walked to his signing and I apologized- such a lovely man. Whew.  I may need to dive into his mystery series.     http://www.williamkentkrueger.com/


I squeezed into every writing craft and publishing workshop possible. Thousands of people showed up and some wanted into my chosen seminar.  I was drinking from the firehose of the writing world and continually rubbing shoulders with fellow word lovers.  Today I'm sorting business cards, checking out websites and making a giant wish list of new books.

And finally, I bought a book of poetry, Washing the Dust from our Hearts, from the Afghan Women's Writing Project.  Facilitators lead online workshops all over Afghan to allow women to express themselves and begin "a quiet revolution powered by the pens..." Inspiring and universal.  http://awwproject.org/discover-awwp/history-mission/

"If I fail to tell my stories of my struggle,

I will lose myself." Hila

Needing to unwind my brain last night, I found a Taize service. Grace St.Paul's Lutheran church is about a mile from my casita and worship was a wonderful way to end a weekend full of words and people and stimulation and more words.

A labyrinth beckons. Another place for seeking deep and learning much, but here, we move into the silence where words are no longer needed.  What an amazing and rich storehouse—the human mind and soul.

Happy Birthday to my mountain man

Dearest Bill,

This year will mark the tenth year since you left this time and place.  

You are there, wherever there is and I am here, whatever that means. 

 All I know is we are not together. But I am not alone, at least not lonely. 

Does that comfort you? Are you watching from "above" or does all this just vanish when the real life begins? I confess I am curious but not quite ready to be there. It's amazing what some deep soul work and a few grandchildren can do to increase your appreciation of life here in this sphere!

I just wrote a long and somewhat morose letter about the day you died. Because, of course, I mixed up the dates of your birthday and your death.  They've both become Root Beer days. It's wonderful to have something fun that is so completely you, linking your joyful beginning and our sorrowful end.  I have pictures of both- your mother beaming as she holds you, their precious firstborn, and your family gathering together to honor you fifty-three years later.

Now we share pictures of our root beer floats.

I'm grateful for this little ceremony. I'm sorry I didn't realize the value of ritual and family customs before this. I thought I was being flexible and adaptable when I was just too insecure to establish a firm footing. On anything.

But now I'm different—so today, I celebrated us by going for a long hike.

I finally hiked in Sabino Canyon here in Tucson. It's spring here in the desert- and I'm remembering that glorious spring of cherry blossoms scattering beauty as we drove back and forth to doctors.  Your cancer journey began in the spring.

But today, I'm more remembering our hikes- up Mt. Princeton in Colorado, then bringing our children back years later to play in the hot springs at the mountain's base.  I remember Old Rag in Virginia and the lake hike in the Swiss Alps.  The countryside around Naples and picking chestnuts off the ground.  I never climbed Harney Peak with you but I have a picture of you and the big boys at the peak.  This year, I promise, I'll climb that mountain, the closest one to my house!

Our hikes never looked like this but it has its own beauty. 

Some of my favorite memories of Virginia were our family's hikes up White Oak Canyon. I know you liked it best because you loved water, you fish.  We would say you had gills you stayed under so long. 

So today, on your birthday I hiked, 

grateful for the confidence that I can walk this path alone but 

I still missed you. We shared so many trails, rough and smooth. 

So as I wander, I'll remember and one day, see you on the other side; 

look for my hiking boots.