The long Lenten fast is over, and I am slowly returning to electronic media and connectivity with the outside world. I must admit that it was somewhat soothing to be so undistracted, and I wonder if that kind of Zen-like calm can continue now that I am not under self-imposed restriction. We shall see. In case you weren't aware, I was active in one venue as the Yale Divinity School Travel Seminar blogger. You can read all about our two weeks in the Holy Land here, including additional posts by Dean Harry Attridge about the history of the land and Director of External Relations, John Lindner, on current geopolitical events in Israel and Palestine. When I have a moment to gather my thoughts, I will include some of my own reflections on the trip and our experience of the conflict there, but for now, suffice it to say that it was an amazing and transformative experience for all of us pilgrims.
And on to Easter. It is the highlight and culmination of all that Christians proclaim - the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the profound implications of that for those who believe. How can we continue to live complacent, self-focused, and self-indulgent lives when God has upended the world order and turned a symbol of tyranny - the cross - into one of liberation? If we confess Christ crucified and raised from the dead, the only appropriate response is to take on that life ourselves, the one in which the human person of Jesus proclaimed Good News to the poor, the imprisoned, the marginalized, and the suffering. We are all brought into the embrace of those arms stretched out on the cross (to paraphrase a good Episcopal prayer), so there is no 'you' and no 'me' but only one community in the body of the risen Christ. Let's think about that the next time we think our actions have no broader implications!
I have to say, also, that Easter is very hard for me. Since Seth died, it's been pretty much a white-knuckle experience, trying to keep myself from tumbling into the abyss of grief. When we sing "Were you there when they laid him in the tomb," I am immediately taken back to standing next to his grave on a cold February day as his casket was prepared to be lowered into the ground. I never understood Mary, the sorrowful mother, quite so well as I have since losing my own son. And when we sing our joyful alleluias on Easter morning, there is such a tinge of sorrow laced within the rejoicing because the one I love so much I still cannot see or hug or hear. So on this Easter Monday, while I can say with my lips that I will be reunited with Seth someday, this mother's heart still grieves.
The Lord is Risen! He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!
