He is Risen

He is risen indeed!

That familiar refrain began our sunrise service. How many times have I said that in the last fifty years?  And in how many churches?

I was raised in the United Protestant Church in Palmer, Alaska.  Maybe the only church in the history of Christianity that wasn't torn down or rebuild in a remodeling frenzy.  Probably not but I love that my childhood church that still looks like my childhood.

http://www.palmerlogchurch.org/index.html

Christ the Lord is ris'n today, Alleluia!

Sons of men and angels say, Alleluia!

Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!

Sing, ye heav'ns, and earth reply, Alleluia! 

We sat in rows of warm wood benches-  when we stood, I examined the back of the man or woman in front of me. If the person in front of me was elderly and sitting, I could catch more than glimpses of the choir singing in their traditional burgundy robes.  It was the Matanuska farming valley of Alaska in the 1950's. Easter could bring either a late snow or the messy spring thaw. We wore "break up" boots to slog through the slush and muck of our farms. But on Easter Sunday, I wore  brand new, patent leather Mary Janes. White, of course. The season of white shoes had arrived.  The ruffle on my pastel anklets were folded down and my white, winter shins were bared to the spring sun.  

He is Risen! 

Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia!

Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!

Death in vain forbids Him rise, Alleluia!

Christ has opened Paradise, Alleluia! 

After we married, Bill and I had a new church with each new home- 

Gunnison, Colorado

Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!

Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!

Dying once He all doth save, Alleluia!

Where thy victory, O grave? Alleluia!

 Community Baptist Church, Dumfries, Virginia. 

It was Easter Sunday, 1978 and I wore a wide brim straw hat from my wedding the previous year. This was not a church where women wore hats.  It made an unexpected impression and I learned a woman in a hat is considered to be ... well, not boring.  I have tried to live up to my reputation. 

Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!

Foll'wing our exalted Head, Alleluia!

Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia!

Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia! 

As we moved on, we found churches to celebrate Easter and Life. We worshipped in a wide spectrum of theologies and styles- wonderful fellowship in both formal, liturgical churches and institutional school facilities. We had Easter sunrise services on mountains, at beaches and in extinct volcanoes. 

And over and over we proclaimed, He is Risen!  He is Risen indeed! 

Down through the ages, the anthem rings. He is not dead. He has risen from the grave.  As I small child, I wiggled through sermons and dashed off to children's church. As a teenager, I rolled my eyes at the boring old songs and passed notes.  Old hymns made way to contemporary music and worship became alive in other ways.

But at Easter, I still hum "up from the grave He arose.... with a mighty triumph over his foes."


This year I celebrated Easter with family. Bill's brother, Ken, is the pastor of a small  church in southern Virginia. Terry is the much loved pastor's wife at their Stanleytown United Methodist Church. We've had a precious week together. And yesterday, the small geriatric congregation warbled through the traditional Easter hymns, gratefully following the lead of the hearty organ.  Then the choir sang their special music.  And it wasn't a traditional hymn.
Not yet.

In Christ Alone

by Keith Getty & Stuart Townend

In Christ alone my hope is found,

He is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.


What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All,

Here in the love of Christ I stand

In Christ alone! – who took on flesh,

Fullness of God in helpless babe!

This gift of love and righteousness,

Scorned by the ones He came to save:

Till on that cross as Jesus died,

The wrath of God was satisfied -

For every sin on Him was laid;

Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,

Light of the world by darkness slain:

Then bursting forth in glorious Day

Up from the grave He rose again!

And as He stands in victory

Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me,

For I am His and He is mine -

Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,

This is the power of Christ in me;

From life’s first cry to final breath,

Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man,

Can ever pluck me from His hand;

Till He returns or calls me home,

Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand!

This is the song that we sang at my son's wedding, weeks later at my father's memorial service and three short months later at my husband's memorial service. It's fraught with meaning and emotions and it was several years before I could even remain in the same room when the opening chords began. My son and I would be walking down the hall to the sanctuary and if that song began, we would look at one another, and without a word, turn and head out for breakfast. Once with thousands of women at a conference, the familiar music started.  From my exposed seat on the floor of a sport's arena I couldn't stumble my way up all those stairs fast enough to escape the pain, my eyes too full of tears to see clearly. 


But yesterday was Easter once again and Ken sang In Christ Alone with his little choir just as he had at his nephew's wedding and his brother's funeral. During his sermon, he spoke with tears in his eyes of the vision of healing he had been comforted with before cancer extinquished the light of his brother's life. I sat on the front row and felt our pain and sorrow anew. But then he drew a deep breath and said with all his might, "But I know I will see him again". 

 Crown Him the Lord of life, 
 who triumphed o'er the grave, 
 and rose victorious in the strife 
 for those he came to save.

 
 His glories now we sing, 
 who died, and rose on high, 
 who died, eternal life to bring, 
 and lives that death may die. 

It's Easter.  Christ has conquered death and we can say- Hallelujiah! He is Risen! He is risen indeed; 
and He conquered the grave. The graves we have laid our loved ones in are temporary and we do not live in the land of the hopeless.  Life continues and it is good. And the day will come when this life will pass into the next and we will see face to Face the One who made the goodness possible.


Crown Him the Lord of Life, crown Him the Lord of Love. For....
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me,

For I am His and He is mine -

Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

He is Risen!

Last Suppers

I love Vanita Hampton Wright- she's a great write and editor and she's a gifted teacher. I was honored to attend a one day workshop with her when I first began to write and had no idea what a source of wisdom and experience she was! And she still is - now I follow her lovely, contemplative blog.

http://deepeningfriendship.loyolapress.com/2012/04/02/the-passion-and-holy-week/

In a recent blog, Vanita suggests some personal questions to center yourself in the Passion Week.

 She says, "There’s only so much one heart can hold and feel and comprehend. 

So listen to your own heart and allow it to land in a specific place this week—an event or one aspect of an event that takes place in Jesus’ life during Holy Week. St. Ignatius encourages us to have conversational prayer with Jesus, walking alongside Jesus as a friend while he goes through his great Passion.

Imagine watching something horrific happening to a person you know and love. Some of us don’t have to imagine—we have experienced this. Allow Jesus’ experience of the Passion to be as close and human as the suffering you have witnessed in your life or another’s. Take the time to consider details such as:

• Sharing with friends what you know will be a last meal."

I stopped right there. I had a last meal, a last supper.  It was breakfast.

Cherry blossoms drifted through the air blessing a gentle spring. The airy blanket of pale cherry blossoms always means a new season has come to Washington, DC.  
A new season, it's spring again. Life.

That particular spring day, we were in the middle of suburban life as usual. A son and daughter were off at college, another one needed a ride to the airport. The youngest was in high school. Normal family life.  We took the son to the airport and had time to kill  before the doctor appointment.  Time for breakfast together. 


I love breakfast. I love poached eggs and veggie omelets; rich pastries and chewy bagels. He loved Eggs Benedict. I teased him for always ordering the same thing but he said it was his favorite and he didn't enjoy it nearly often enough. Quiche Lorraine was the closest thing on the menu that day. It was breakfast at cozy Le Madeline's French Cafe with its dark wood, sturdy bricks and beams. Our heavy wooden chairs slide on shiny floors. Food came warm on heavy white earthenware.  We lingered over a second cup. We had time. Time to spend. 

It was our last breakfast, our last innocent meal. It was the last time we ate together without cancer as the unwanted guest at our table. The topic of unspoken conversation. The cause of ruined taste buds. The reason for the feeding tube and blended meals, the meals that refused to stay down.  The bitter pill to swallow.  It was our last supper. 

Did Jesus know exactly what was ahead of Him? 

Was He able to enjoy the bread and wine they shared or

 did He choke it down with the foreknowledge of the bitter pill to come?  

Did he gently joke with his friends? 

We think of Judas leaving to betray his Teacher, 

Peter swearing his faithfulness, John's earnestness to be close to his loved Master.  

It all feels so solemn and tragic, a portend to the great agony ahead. 

That spring day we didn't know the agony ahead of us. But we also didn't know we would have moments of pure joy. Moments of bliss and tender closeness. Standing hand and hand to soak in the beauty of a tree in golden afternoon light or walking hand in hand the halls of hospitals, our marriage became as good as marriage gets.  We expressed our love in the best ways we knew and received enough from each other. He was secure, I was needed. We loved well. We laughed.  We lived. 

In Luke Jesus says.“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer". What did he know? Did he see past the agony to the joy of the victory?   His obedience was price He was willing to pay to bring God's kingdom into our lives. Did He really love us that much? 

I think about how Jesus lived on earth. Did He remember without regret and anticipate without anxiety, unlike the rest of us? We know he suffered later that very night in the garden.  But  could He truly live in the present?  Experience each moment as it presented itself. Enjoy one last supper with his friends.  That must be a true mark of His divinity, to be truly present as each hour comes. 

He tenderly washed His disciples feet. He showed them how to serve. He was humility.

He prepared them for their greatest failings.  He was compassion.

He broke bread, passed wine and taught them to remember. He was wisdom. 

He knew what was ahead of Him and He chose to eat the traditional Passover meal and be with his disciples. Be in that moment. And He transformed that moment into a celebration- a celebration we continue at our Communion tables.   He knew his disciples would betray, deny and scatter in His moment of greatest need.  He walked willingly into the night to Gethsemane and into the arms of Judas. 

His Last Supper was the fortification for the agony ahead. 

His Last Supper was the final preparation for the joys that lay beyond the cross. 

 His Last Supper was the meal that ended in Resurrection and joyful restoration. 

There will continue to be last suppers in our lives. 

Quiet moments before our greatest trials 

May they be a step toward our resurrection, our transformation. 

Our joy.

http://star365photo.blogspot.com/2010/03/zena-rose-day-47-cherry-blossoms-in.html

On the road- in search of Beauty

Off I go- with Clye the Wonder Truck.
South on Virginia 28 to Stanleytown, Va.
Simple trip. 

I only got an hour into my trip when Beauty called.  

Our family loves climbing beautiful Old Rag Mtn. http://www.hikingupward.com/snp/oldrag/

I'd include a picture but they are still locked in PC Land.... another project rears it's ugly head. 

So I'm cruising along and there, just west of Culpepper,  is the familiar sign to Banco, Criglersville and Syria. It's a puzzle to figure out how to find mountains in Virginia- they don't have signs pointing to them.  But that's the road- it's worth finding. 

So I'm reminiscing about wonderful family hikes along the beautiful stream- oops, turns out I'm thinking of our other favorite hike - up White Oak Canyon... and there along my road is a sign "Tulips".  Wow- random. 

Now you know how I get post ideas. I'm a bit ADD. "See the squirrel!" ( or road sign or "Tulips") 

 Cool, let's write about it.

And this is what I find at the end of a winding road into random Virginia countryside.

 http://www.organictulipfestival.com/

 I expected a sign to ....Holland? Of course.  

 

Lots of tulips.

And it is beautiful.

Beautiful AND clever. 

What can I say-
 tulips say spring and these say spring with beauty and panache. 

"Organic Flower Bulb "Beauty Rose"
Amazing peony tulip - Beauty Rose is one of our Novelty varieties.
 This tulip doesn't need a fancy discription!"
http://www.ecotulips.com/

Beauty needs no reason. 

So stop along the way, especially when you see "Tulips". 

Hospitality- Generosity with Open Hands

I sat in my friend’s kitchen as they hustled around me- their plans for that day’s travel have just changed. She had already cancelled her airline ticket, he just found out their space air flight was rerouted.  Their daughter needs her mom to bring the sandals, not the shoes; the cat comes in, the cat is put out.  My hostess already went to MOPS that morning while her husband met with an accountant for their taxes.

The gentle chaos of common life swirled around me.

 Oh, and a family of six will stay at their house while they are away. So beds were set up, sheets were changed.  Towels checked. 

A few years ago, my son met a man who said, “Any time you’re in the area, you can stay with us.”  Drew and his housemates ended up crashing on the man’s floor. All ten of them. WIth little notice.  And there was another couple there already.  Later that night, this hospitable man was outside his home and met some touring bicyclists. Chagrined that his house was full that night, he arranged for them to sleep at his church. 

My son was so impressed by this man and the hospitality he and his wife showed.  But he was amazed to learn that the couple was flying to Israel the very next day. 

Drew recounted that his new and wise friends said they were trying to live with enough margin in their lives so that whenever a need arose, they could be open to others. Live simply, be orderly. Be ready. Today, my hosts found out their plans would be changed. 

I love being the fly on the wall when life hits another family. 

There was some anxiety with the sudden changes but their world wasn’t rocked. They've  made room in their busy lives to be open to others. To be open to me.  We worked together to do the final touches with the house. I wasn’t made to feel uncomfortable or in the way.  “Stay as long as you need,” they assured me.

I want to live in a way that invites others to join in. Be open so others feel like they aren't a burden in my too busy life, for my too important schedule.  I have a key to my friend's house. I used their car. I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted.

I did leave before the next guests arrived.  And I know we all left their home blessed by a giving family.  The house isn’t palatial. The car is old. But the house and the car are available to those in need. They belong to generous people who hold them with open hands. 

Hospitable people. Like I want to be. 

For two years in a row, I have found myself at Keith and Sharon's for Bill's birthday.

We share root beer floats and love. 

And I am blessed by their hospitality. 

Community- it's messy and sweet

This trip hasn't exactly gone as I expected, as I had planned.


I envisioned myself parked in a campground for days at a time with long walks and bike rides  each day. I'd eat healthy and lose weight. I'd write hours a day and have great thoughts, talk to God, walk on water. A simple life on the road. 


I'd also be alone. Self sufficient. I'd figure out how the mechanics of the camper works and be a competent camper.  Maybe I'd meet interesting strangers and have those conversations that can come from - "I'll never see these people again". The ones that seem so significant but are ultimately superficial to me since I'd have no vested interest in their lives after our short time together.  Life on my terms.  Lovely.


But instead God has me in community. Messy community. 


I've slept at six or seven  different beds. No, just added it up and it's been ten! Ten strange beds in two months. 


 I had three weeks of baby preparation fun with my lovely daughter- can't complain there. I met new writing friends in  Tucson and enjoyed great but not enough time with my brother and family.  Then it got less fun, less about me. 


 I stayed with a dear friend who is going through a huge transition full of turmoil and angst. I went back to cancer land and sat in a hard chair in a hospital.  I walked with a new friend through family landmines and pain.  A weekend in Milwaukee brought me low as I saw it through the eyes of a new transplant having a painful transition.  Even more painful, the transplant was my son. 


I've had to accommodate other people's schedules to return a car. When I called my next landing pad, I found out my plans weren't good for them. Delay? Change? Submit to someone else's plans? blech...


So what's so sweet about community? 


Various friends have expressed so much appreciation for our time together. I have been well loved. It has been a reminder of the wonderful foundation of friendships established here and how community can survive separation. 


While I was helping the new friend in cancer land, I visited the hospital where Bill was treated. I saw cherry blossoms and didn't cry. It was closure; it was good.  


I did have a few significant conversations with some strangers... strangers I'd like to stay connected to. And I am grateful all over again for my wonderful sister and our sweet relationship.


The delay meant I had time to ran around and help friends with a house rehab project. And then, found out at the store that I had forgotten my purse but remembered a friend nearby- I dashed into their house just as they were leaving on vacation yelling, "I need money!"  Messy me, messy community.


And sweet... turns out they had one a sweet roll behind and I got it for my breakfast. 


That's what community is- messy, inconvenient, giving to others, not on my agenda....


and completely sweet.  Life giving nourishment. Even better than a sweet roll. 

Surrender

Empty atrium.

It's quiet in a research hospital on weekends.

Chairs sit empty.

A lone young man walks distractedly through the garden; his oxygen strapped to his back,
his bald head hidden by a white cap.

Even in a weekend hospital, there are the beeps and whir of elevators, muffled sounds of floor activity. Occasionally someone chats on a cell phone.  A family member wanders through on the way to the cafeteria.

I'm on my way to the library and step into the chapel.

But this is a sacred spot.
Here is quiet.
Here is peace.

NIH Chapel

Surrender- to give oneself up,  lay down arms.

  Synonym- 

Yield- to give forth or produce by a natural process or in return for cultivation: This farm yields enough fruit to meet all our needs.

- to give up, as to superior power or authority: They yielded the fort to the enemy.

I knelt and prayed for Leslie, for her family. For those they love, for those who love them. For all of us who suffer.

We surrender. 

Leslie wrote about surrender.  People responded with "Don't quit fighting the cancer." Surrender doesn't mean to quit.

Surrender means to lay down your arms. So lay them down. Lower the fist, thrust angry at heaven. Lay open the arms, grapped so tightly across your wounded heart. Unclench your fingers, the fingers full of fear. Release shoulders that carry the weight of worry . 

Let your arms relax, loose by your side. Feel the weight as they hang empty. Relax your tight fingers, release the palms. Stretch your hands open and experience the possibilities of open hands.  Extend  stiff fingers as tension drains out the tips. 

Now, cup those ready hands. Soft, gentle. Like a innocent child eager to hold a tiny fluffy chick or a soft bunny. Tender, open - with wonder we hold our hands cupped to receive. 

The cupping is our action.  The gift is His choice.  This is surrender. 

This chapel is small, warm, inviting.
He is waiting.
He is here.

Sometimes the gift is strength for the battle. Or grace for relationships. Maybe we need wisdom for the future or patience for the day. Love for the moment.  

Open hands ready for the gift.  Surrendered.