Sunday, March 23, 2008

Easter Sunrise

I woke up early this morning to make bread. I had promised my friends I would bring the rolls for their Easter lunch and due to all the shopping and live theater and travel, the only time available was pre-dawn. I always seem to cut things a bit close, but then again fresh rolls will be yummier.

As I awoke I found myself solitary and I wondered where my husband could have gone. I found him curled up on a thermarest on the kitchen floor wearing a winter parka and wrapped in an old blue quilt my grandma had made, with his new little love beside him. As he scrambled groggily off the floor he did make some amends for deserting our bed by telling me that the floor would have been more bearable if I had been next to him. Sweet. But still think I might have been replaced! She is a cute little thing though and if you haven't yet suggested a name please take the time to. It is difficult to not call her something.

Usually I prepare somewhat for Easter. I ponder the mysteries of Jesus, I fast, I meditate, I hike solitary over these hills and gullies. This year I shopped. Somehow I feel I've missed the mark. Gone astray. Lost my way. So as I kneaded in the pre -dawn stillness I thought of last year's Easter and the friends we had visiting and our conversation and laughter and joy and sorrow. Also, I remembered our songs and expectant hearts as we joined together and waited for sunrise. You all know who you are and I wanted to tell you that you are missed and I look forward to eternity when we will all be together. Forever.

Easter morning, 2007

The following is from "Visions of a World Hungry", by Thomas G. Pettepiece

Today is Resurrection Sunday. My first Easter in prison. Surely the regime can't continue to keep almost 10,000 political prisoners in its gaols! In here, it is much easier to understand how the men in the Bible felt, stripping themselves of everything that was superfluous. Many of the prisoners have already heard that they have lost their homes, their furniture, and everything they owned. Our families are broken up. Many of our children are wandering the streets, their father in one prison, their mother in another.

There is not a single cup. But a score of Christian prisoners experienced the joy of celebrating communion- without bread or wine. The communion of empty hands. The non-Christians said: "We will help you; we will talk quietly so that you can meet." Too dense a silence would have drawn the guards' attention as surely as the lone voice of the preacher. "We have no bread, nor water to use instead of wine," I told them, "but we will act as though we had."

"This meal in which we take part," I said, "reminds us of the prison, the torture, the death and final victory of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The bread is the body which he gave for humanity. The fact that we have none represents very well the lack of bread in the hunger of so many millions of human beings. The wine, which we don't have today, is his blood and represents our dream of a united humanity, of a just society, without difference of race of class."

I held out my empty hand to the first person on my right, and placed it over his open hand, and the same with the others: "Take, eat, this is the body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of me." Afterward, all of us raised our hands to our mouths, receiving the body of Christ in silence. "Take, drink, this is the blood of Christ which was shed to seal the new covenant of God with men. Let us give thanks, sure that Christ is here with us, strengthening us."

We gave thanks to God, and finally stood up and embraced each other. A while later, another non-Christian prisoner said to me: "You people have something special, which I would like to have." The father of the dead girl came up to me and said: "Pastor, this was a real experience! I believe that today I discovered what faith is. Now I believe that I am on the road."

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We do have something special. Not really a something, more of a someone. And, just like the first people to see Him after the resurrection, He meets us on the road. Wherever we are. On our road. He died for us, and even now is willing to live in us.

2 comments:

  1. Well, you did it again. You made my "HE has RISEN" comment look like chump change!! Excellent!

    Does your little cutie have a name yet?

    Happy Easter

    ReplyDelete
  2. I need a puppy update! Stop torturing me and start posting! :) love ya

    ReplyDelete

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