Easter Sunrise

Sunrise at the beach is a favorite time. The quiet splendor and rays of the new day fill me with hope. It never gets old. This is what Easter morning offers to us. This is the sunrise of new life. It is not an event but is eternal and everlasting. Nothing will ever be the same. What had been empty and dark is now filled with life and light. It is the sunrise that will never leave us. No matter where we go. No matter how difficult life may become. Easter morning is here.

I spent the night at the cathedral in Memphis with family at the Easter Vigil yesterday. My son, Steven, and several others became full participants in the mystery of their faith. Some were confirmed, some were baptized. All of us were given the gift of new beginnings. Our collective and individual journeys were enlightened. The Bishop repeated "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!" several times during his homily. Each day is just that. Each day is Easter. Each day is a gift. Each day is a celebration.

May the sunrise inspire and bless you. May you be filled with awe and wonder. May you have fair winds and following seas. This is the day!

The Candlelight Vigil

Our attention is easily drawn to a candlelight vigil. Media often cover such gatherings. The reason for this is, despite the fact that they are not uncommon, these vigils are deeply moving and inspirational. People join together and silently protest the darkness. They come to suffer together, to bring hope, to celebrate, to mourn and to comfort one another. The light against the dark of night can be striking. Most of us remember the Virginia Tech tragedy where innocent students were slain by a gunman. Thousands of people came to a candlelight ceremony on campus to, if nothing else, just be present. People gather to make a silent statement that transcends words. It always makes a difference. I was invited to one in Orlando recently that was held for Covenant House. The purpose was to bring attention to the suffering of children who are homeless and victims of the street. People of all kinds came to light candles for kids who are addicted to drugs and who sell their bodies to those who prey upon them. Significant funds were raised to assist their caregivers. More importantly, the community was made aware of the struggle. A step was made toward the light.

The Easter Vigil is held on the Saturday before Easter. Holy Saturday. Many say that it is the most important day of the Christian calendar. The symbolism is rich and plentiful. A fire is built outside of the darkened church where The Easter Candle is blessed and lit. Then candles held by the congregation receive light from it and from each other. The people come into the church carrying their candles. Light triumphs over darkness. The church is restored. Life is renewed. They go on to bring flowers and vestments to the stripped down alter. New members, adults and children, become full participants in the community. A service or mass is offered. Dinners are given. What was once dead is now alive.

Vigils are dramatic and signficant. There are no demands. There are no loud protests. There is no violence. There is only silence and light. But the little candles always overcome. Suffering is relieved. Compassion is freely given. We are together in solidarity. The promise of new life becomes a reality. Everything is going to be fine.

Congratuations to Steven. May your journey's path have many candles.

The Broken Heart on Good Friday

What becomes of the brokenhearted? The question is posed in Jimmy Ruffin’s song from the 1960’s. The anguish that is experienced in our lives often seems unbearable. We are alone in our grief. The abandonment and sense of being forsaken increase our desperation and we want to flee into the night. Good Friday brings this suffering to us without apology. It does not offer relief. Jesus stretches out his arms only to find them nailed to a cross. Simon carries his cross only to be mocked and rejected. The women weep without consolation. Still, there is an offering of hope. Jesus sees the grief and gives us a way through it. He says to his mother “Woman, behold your son” and to his friend John, “This is your mother”.

What becomes of the brokenhearted? Good Friday gives them to us. We are responsible for them even as uncomfortable as it may seem. We are asked to be present. I experienced this when my own mother died many years ago. Her death was tragic and I felt like I was to blame. There was nothing that brought me any relief. We gathered at her house after the funeral. I was busy going from person to person trying to be a host of some kind. There was a frantic need to keep busy. As I rushed past the love seat in the living room, our cousin Jane Sandusky caught my eye and patted the empty seat next to her. I hesitated and then plopped down. My attempt to talk was met with a gentle “Shhh”. She took my hand, put it in her lap, and held it. There were no assurances from her that “everything will be okay” or platitudes of “it is not your fault”. She just sat there quietly and allowed me to grieve in silence. It was the most powerful expression of consolation and compassion that I have ever received.

It is true that nothing lasts forever. We can move through the pain and suffering. We can offer and receive compassion.

Holy Thursday

Holy Thursday, or Maundy Thursday, is one of the most sacred days of the year. It is filled with mystery, symbolism and confusion. The most compelling image to me is that of Jesus washing the feet of his friends. He expresses the fullness of his love by pouring water into a basin and assuming the role of a servant. Only days before he had experienced Mary washing his own feet with water and her tears. This self giving is not only offered as a gesture of compassion but is accompanied by the direction to follow his example. He asks us to live our lives in service to others.

I will never forget the profound and personal affect that a Holy Thursday washing of feet had for me. I was about 30 years old when my life-long best friend, Steve Magin, went with me to a service at St. Elizabeth Hospital Chapel in our home town. The mass was going to be offered by Father C. B. Motsett. Father Motsett had been a significant person in Steve’s life and important in mine as well. He was the parish priest at St. Paul's Church and principal at Schlarman High School in Danville, Illinois when we were youngsters. His kindness, encouragement, civic leadership and love of sports had provided important guidance. Father Motsett was in his late seventies, and semi-retired, when we attended the Holy Thursday Mass that year. We were both pleased to see him. He was very popular in our home town and the church was filled. The old man saw Steve and I sitting among the flock and came over to greet us prior to the service. What an honor! His words, however, were almost shattering. “Will you boys kindly allow me to wash your feet?” We nodded in numb acceptance of his invitation. The time came for the ceremony and 12 men walked up to the alter where chairs had been arranged. We each removed our shoes and socks. Father Motsett slowly and gently bathed each of us. I felt unworthy and was overcome by so many emotions. There was a deep sense of how Jesus’ disciples must have felt. Here was a great man kneeling in front of me, washing my feet. I wanted to raise him up and wash his feet just like Peter had implored in the gospel story. Then I felt a great sense of calm and peace. Father Motsett was teaching us again, just as he had when we were kids. He was demonstrating the importance of serving others with kindness and humility. None of us is greater than the other.

I have tried to live out the call of servant leadership. It is never easy. So many occasions seem to demand elevating myself to higher positions, to command others to react to my directions, and to take charge. It is much more difficult to just be a good example and allow others to join my efforts. Jesus asks us to follow him. He sends us people like Father Motsett to remind us. He wants us to kneel and provide relief to each others wounds.

Grief and Celebration

"I have always been alone, and I have never been alone.
What I used to call the self is a winnowing of light
in the flood plain of the boundless."
~ Margaret Gibson

Grief and Celebration are never far apart. We are guests at a wedding party and are swept over by a sudden sadness. An aspect of our life-long friendship with the groom is irreversibly changed now that he has given himself to his bride. We attend a funeral and there is a gathering at a restaurant afterwards where funny stories of the departed are traded among friends with drinks and toasts.

Palm Sunday is the beginning of Holy Week and, in a way, the end of Lent. It has always been interesting to me that all four gospels give us the image of God coming to us on a donkey. Here is celebration and grief in obvious coexistence. Christ is usually depicted as detached while the crowds of people are spreading palms in his path and shouting their greetings. He seems to be aware of both happiness and sadness. There is a peaceful acceptance here.

Our lives are often driven. We expect celebration and avoid grief. This is really impossible. The two are inseparable and we are called to the dance. Everything becomes more genuine, and our journey is enriched when we accept and embrace this reality.

The Expectation of Easter

Renewal and new beginnings are among the promises offered by Easter. The most compelling mystery of the season for many of us is the truth of unconditional love. This is a difficult proposition for us to understand because of our continual criticism of self and of others. Even thornier is the challenge that Jesus proposes to "be compassionate as your Father is compassionate". We are forgiven for our transgressions and we are called to forgive in the same measure. Our experience of love from other people has often been conditional and transitory. God's love is neither of these. It is a gift freely given for one and for all. No questions asked.

Henri Nouwen writes: "I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it as difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who is looking for me while I am doing the hiding. When I look through God's eyes at my lost self and discover God's joy at my coming home, then my life may become less anguished and more trusting." (From The Return of The Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming)

The spiritual path leads us to a place in which we find ourselves worthy of God's love. It allows us to begin to see ourselves as His beloved child, unblemished as the day we were born. Easter is a time of anticipation and expectation. Not just our anticipation and expectation. We are being anticipated and expected by the Father. He longs to see us coming to Him.