“Now the green blade rises…”

I’m still here. Sometimes, when it’s been weeks between posts, the longer it goes, the harder it is to start again. I think this has been the longest void. I decided this morning just to write – let my fingers go on the keyboard and share something of my life as I would if a friend came for tea. Much has happened and I think the sharing of my life is almost as important as the sharing of my faith.

I got a job. I got an incredible job. I got a job that is ministry. I started two months ago and most of my energy, creativity and time have been poured into this new work. I have been writing like crazy but in a different context – as Communications Director for the Episcopal Diocese of Western MA. This ministry feels like a perfect fit. I am so happy to be using my gifts in service to the mission of the Church again!

I think I’ve had trouble writing, too, because there has been some liturgical disconnect in my life. Lent came and it felt like Easter because of this new ministry. My Lent had been the previous six months of soul-crushing job search. Being out of work, looking every day, cranking out resumes and waiting for something – anything; it was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Now, in the car on the way to work, when the guy on NPR talks about the jobless figures for the month, I get it. I pray for all those people who just want a good day’s work and a just wage. I pray for those people who just want to provide for their families and who are on the verge of losing hope. Work is holy – a clear participation in God’s creative energies in the world. Work is also a vital component in a healthy, balanced life. Our dignity comes from being image and likeness of God – not from what we do in the world. [This one I learned the hard way!] But, doing – working – is part of who God is – this God who is for us from the beginning.

Well, I guess this enough to start the conversation again. I don’t know if you’re all still out there. I did get a note from a friend who encouraged me to keep writing and that helped me to get started. Now that I’ve settled in to meaningful, challenging, soul-stretching work, I’m ready to “talk” again. May the God of the risen Christ bless your life with every good, with Easter joy and peace!

Love to you all,

Vicki

We are all Lazarus…

Illumination and text: Donald Jackson

The story of the raising of Lazarus is one of the most powerful in the gospels.  It gets us in the gut, I think.  It’s so easy to feel the grief of Mary and Martha.  Most of us have experienced the loss of a loved one.  Been there!  It moves me, too, to hear that Jesus wept for his friend.  In that expression of private pain, the Son of God has hallowed every tear!

It would seem this whole narrative is a precursor to the final chapters of Jesus’ life on earth.  He did not “pass” on the very human experience of death.  In fact his dying was violent, terrifying and excruciatingly painful.  But here’s where we get hung up – the raising of Lazarus was NOT resurrection.  Because we know the end of Jesus’ story, we conjoin the two events.  No, the miracle here seems more a resuscitation.  Lazarus was dead several days.  When Jesus raised him, he returned to the familiar, beloved parameters of human life.  When God raised Jesus, it was a new moment in human history.  Jesus passed through death and opened a new door for us.  His glorified body was whole and no longer bound to the rules of time and space.  It was completely infused with the very life of God and brought to wholeness.  That joy – that wholeness – awaits us all!  It won’t be the old body rebooted but the unity of body and soul restored to the original blessing of life in its fullness.

I get caught up in the wonder of it all – the power of God, the witness Jesus gave us in this great miracle and in his own Paschal Mystery. The image I see now in my mind’s eye is from The Saint John’s Bible.[1]  I presented the story of this new hand-written, illuminated Bible to the people of my parish a few weeks ago.  The rendering of the raising of Lazarus is unique.  Often we are given the image of Jesus standing at the mouth of the open tomb where he commands, “Lazarus, come out!”  In the Saint John’s Bible illumination, we get to see this miracle from Lazarus’ point of view.  We see him from behind looking out into the light of life.  Getting his perspective on the miracle changes things for me.  I can place myself in his shoes and imagine the joy and wonder of seeing the final Light!

Still, there is something else in this story that has been tugging at me since yesterday morning.  It’s not just a story about death and grief and God’s power to turn all of that around.  For me it is the story of the spiritual life.  Jesus speaks in every human heart and when we finally hear his voice, it is a game-changer!  Our real life begins there.  The rest of the journey becomes a continuous effort to stay tuned in to that voice of Love.  Every person of faith is Lazarus.  We were dead and now we live because he called our name.

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

[1] www.saintjohnsbible.org & http://blog.seeingtheword.org/?tag=raising-of-lazarus

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“Downton Abbey” and the sacrament of grief…

[SPOILER ALERT] I admit that this blog may not speak to all readers.  Our point of departure – the PBS phenomenon “Downton Abbey” – clearly excludes those who do not partake but the larger theme is universal.  “Lady Mary” may be a stranger but grief, for most of us, is an old friend or a recent acquaintance.

The two-hour season premiere was satisfying on several levels.  First, the length itself was a gift.  After months of waiting and wondering how the family would go on without “Matthew,” having a nice, long catch-up felt just right.  We find them all well – with the exception of “Lady Mary” whose sorrow is palpable.  Fair-skinned from the get-go, she now looks positively lifeless – what someone on my Twitter feed called, “’Downton Abbey’ meets ‘The Walking Dead’.”[1]  Dressed head-to-toe in obligatory black, Lady Mary embodies grief – gives sorrow a face and a name.  It is six months since the tragic death of her young husband and the birth of her firstborn child.  The proximity of those two events has impacted her ability to bond with the baby.  He is, at once, a reminder of her loss and her perceived helplessness.  We cannot say there is a failure to bond but, rather, a failure to trust her own capacity for good.  “Lady Mary” is a mess – inside and out – and we are relieved to see it.  Her loving family does what all families do.  They give her time and space to do the work of grieving.  She exists on an emotional island within the mandatory calm sea of British upper class life.  When her sorrow spills over into the staid and staged perfection of the dining room, no one blames “Mary” but their discomfort with any human emotion holds true here – especially if the servants are watching!

Here’s what I loved about this episode:

–       Most dramas show the shock and horror of death.  Few show the aftermath – the everyday battle to get up and get dressed in a world without the person we love.

–       The practice of wearing black actually made sense to me.  It warns the world that one has experienced a tear in the fabric of the heart. It gives the mourner a break from re-telling the story of loss over and over.  It gives the grieving person a vestment for the season of their sorrow.  When it is put aside there is a clear signal that the rock has been rolled away – that one is ready to live again.

–       “Lady Mary’s” grief is holy – a sacrament of the love she had for her husband.  The love honored at marriage must be honored again in separation.  If one is changed by the love of the other, one is most profoundly changed by the loss. It is the thing all married people fear – the day when “’til death do us part” becomes reality.

–       No one rushes “Lady Mary.”  They all seem to understand that grief has its own timetable.  This does not stop those closest to her from turning on the light in her darkness.  “Tom,” her brother-in-law who lost his wife in childbirth, understands her grief.  He, of all, seems to understand that someone needs to extend a hand – point to the light so she can find her way back to the land of the living.  Her grandmother, too, recognizes that the time has come to “choose life.”  This is, perhaps, the only scriptural reference in the story, but it is most powerful and effective.  Dear “Carson,” beloved butler, goes way out on a limb to encourage “Lady Mary” to take up her husbands dream and feels the branch crack beneath him.  It is risky to poke the sorrowful soul.  It takes courage and great love to walk into that sacred space.  Grief can quickly morph into a grease fire of anger and resentment. The people who really love us understand the risks and will meet us halfway no matter.

–       I love that “Carson,” the Head Butler of the household, gets his own storyline of love and loss.  His icy anger toward an old friend reveals a deep wound that time has not healed.  His loss, though ancient, requires attention.  His pain bubbles to the surface and subsides only as he is able to face it, embrace it and let it go.  His grief story teaches us that love and loss change us in equal measure and that both require ritual and reverence.

I am deeply satisfied with this story.  Do I wish there were a more substantial place for faith in the heart of this family?  Certainly.  The Church of England seems to appear only in case of death or baptism.  Still, there is something about this family that feels like “church.”  Like many families today who seem to have religion on the periphery of life, their love for each other is their experience of God.  Their joys and sorrows tell a Gospel story all their own.  Within their little, privileged British world, we find ourselves drawn into their experience of the Paschal Mystery where new life breaks through the sacrament of grief.  We are drawn there because we have all been there.  When a story tells the truth about what it means to be human, we cannot look away.

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

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[1] The Rev. Gay C. Jennings @gaycjen

“The End of the Innocence”…

I was born and baptized in November of 1963.  My life has always been tied to his death.  As I celebrate 50 years of life, the nation marks a sad “golden” anniversary of the death of President John F. Kennedy.  We watched the PBS “American Experience” special, several documentaries on the History Channel and look forward to additional coverage on MSNBC tomorrow evening.  All of the old footage, the new interviews and the continuing speculation still hold our attention.  We will never stop wondering “who” and “why.”  I suspect there will be no end to the books and made-for-television movies.   What interests me more, now, is not the event but the emotional and spiritual consequences of November 22, 1963.

Something in us died that day.  The soul of a nation experienced the Paschal Mystery together in this brutal, meaningless, all too public death.  A tsunami of grief washed over us from coast to coast.  Kennedy’s requiem became a national liturgy the likes of which we did not see again until “9/11.” Many scholars have suggested that we have never been the same and I would agree.  It was, for many, “the end of the innocence.”[1]  I can hear Don Henley singing:

“Remember when the days were long

And rolled beneath a deep blue sky

Didn’t have a care in the world

With mommy and daddy standin’ by

But “happily ever after” fails

And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales…”[2]

The death of John F. Kennedy forced us to confront some painful realities.  No one is ever really “safe.”  Yes, bad things happen all the time to good people.  We must all face death one day. We were forced to face together the fragility of our lives and turn to one another and to God for strength and comfort.  Like the women at the foot of the cross, we watched something horrific happen together.  Like the friends of Jesus, we clung to one another in grief and fear.  As in any personal encounter with the Paschal Mystery, it pierced the heart of America.

But the events of November 1963 were not definitive.  We did not stop living, loving, hoping, working or praying for a better world.  The death of JFK marks a new beginning.  The last 50 years have been studded with joy and suffering, war and peace, failure and discovery.  We are a people embracing a new millennium with hope.  President Kennedy would surely delight in the space shuttle, the iPad, the first African-American president and the effort being made to give all people access to quality health care.

Perhaps, the best way for us to mark this anniversary is to live with greater purpose.  It’s time for us, as a nation, to live in resurrection mode – to bring light and peace to every corner of the earth. May we come to view November 22^nd as a call to service of one another and to the world.  JFK’s legacy must be more than endless reels of 8mm film.  It must be a future of hope and a personal commitment to relieve the suffering of others.  It must be part of the larger movement of the American consciousness in which the whole world is embraced.  In the fall of 1963, we had a profound experience of suffering and death.  Fifty years later we can glimpse the resurrection in the best of what we have become.  Our lost innocence has been replaced with a collective wisdom.  We owe it to our world to live from that place of grace.  We owe it to one another to live with integrity and do justice – not because we are Americans, but because we share the human condition.  So, God bless America and God bless the whole world – no exceptions!

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

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[1] Bruce Hornsby, “The End of the Innocence”

[2] Lyrics taken from http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/don_henley/the_end_of_the_innocence.html

“Coming out”…of the tomb

“Coming out” is an interesting phenomenon.  For three decades I told myself that my sexual orientation was “personal” – that I could just tell one person at a time when I felt it was right.  I think being in full-time ministry in the Roman Catholic Church had a lot to do with that strategy.  As a high school teacher and as a nun, I kept this precious part of me a secret.  My baptismal identity always came first.  My life in Christ and at his service was my priority.  I could not have served in the classroom otherwise.  In the cloister it was a different story.  I shared my orientation with the sisters who were my friends.  That felt right and kept the focus on my monastic life – on the Benedictine identity emerging in my soul.  But I can say now – twelve months later – that speaking this truth to my sisters at my departure healed something in me.

Although I have been engaged in the work of integrating my sexual orientation for nearly 30 years, I really “came out” a year ago at the age of 49.  The emotional context of that action was messy with grief, fear and the joy of having found a love that would be my way to God for the rest of my life.  Now, I can look back at that one sentence and see it as a moment of resurrection – a genuine in breaking of God’s mercy in my life.  “Coming out” to 40 people was the first step in accepting the gift of my life – of really being grateful to God for forming me in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13).  It was the missing piece in my spiritual journey thus far and has given me a taste of the wholeness won for me by Christ in the Paschal Mystery.  I have added my “coming out” to the list of miracles in my life – the glimpses of the Kingdom I have been granted here.  I count this moment as blessing and pray for those who have not been able to say the words out loud.

More frightening than losing a job, LGBT people risk losing relationships when they “come out.”  The fear of losing love keeps many women and men “in the closet.”

Although many teens and young adults have embraced sexual diversity in God’s creative plan, others suffer ridicule, rejection and physical violence.  For some who love “Modern family” and “Ellen,” it’s just a non-issue.  For others it is still a matter of life and death.  Christianity has been co-opted in this sinfulness.  The Word of God has been misused.  It has been used as a hammer instead of a light.  Because of “Christian” values, many LGBT teens are still kicked out of the house to live on city streets.  Some reach the ultimate point of despair.  “Coming out” puts them at risk for suicide. The Huffington Post reported today that, “On the national level, the suicide risk for gay and lesbian youth is far higher than for straight young people, according to a 2011 study by the Massachusetts-based Suicide Prevention Resource Center. The study also found that gays and lesbians between the ages of 15 and 24 are up to three times more likely to report suicidal thoughts and up to seven times more likely to report having attempted suicide than their straight counterparts.”[1]  Father Richard Rohr tweeted this the other day: “Before the truth ‘sets you free,’ it tends to make you miserable.”[2]  It feels especially true for these young people.

We have come a long way since I was a teenager in the 80’s.  The “It Gets Better” Project is reaching out nationally to at-risk youth.  The repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell” in the armed forces has been a major step for us as a nation.  Then, as state after state has begun to legalize marriage for all citizens – regardless of gender – the magnitude of the social shift has given great hope to many who live quiet lives together in the shadows.

Theologically, the shift is still in process.  Many denominations now bless or marry same-gender couples.  Many priests, ministers and rabbis walk proudly in “pride” marches all over the country.  Many clerics are evolving on this issue – listening and praying over a morality grounded in relationship – not body parts.  Some are leading the way.  People like Bishop Gene Robinson, the Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson, the Very Rev. Gary Hall, Dean of Washington National Cathedral, Bishop Desmond Tutu and, surprisingly, Pope Francis, come to mind now as the conversation around sexual orientation and God’s original blessing continues.  The Spirit is swirling…and she delights in creating order in our chaos.

Many have asked if we still need “National Coming Out Day.”  After all, marriage equality is law in 13 states.  50 – 13 = 37.  There are still many who long for the freedom I enjoy in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.  More importantly, there are still women and men who are afraid to lose our love.  If someone “comes out” to you today, you can reflect God’s love back to him or her in your response.  You can make up for years of fear and silence, for ridicule and even violence.  We, as people of faith, understand that perfect love casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). Take it from someone who knows.

Grace, love and peace…

Vicki

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[1] Aaron Sankin, “LGBTQ Youth Suicide Prevention Program Will Continue At San Francisco Schools Amid Staggering Statistics” Posted: 06/06/2013 4:57 pm EDT The Huffington Post

[2] Richard Rohr, Twitter@RichardRohrOFM, October 8, 2013

September 14th…

It happens every summer.  For a couple of months I receive the beauty and warmth with gratitude.  Then, one day in June I see them – tiger lilies.  The first orange blossom is like a punch to the gut.  Suddenly, no matter where I’m going or what I’m doing, I am twenty-six again and fighting with a florist over tiger lilies for my Mother’s casket.  He says, “It’s too late in July to find enough of them for a casket cover.” I say, “They are my Mother’s favorite and my little sister is crying so you better find them somewhere.”  [It was an unusual moment of attitude for me.  Grief pushes all kinds of buttons!]  So, every summer for twenty-three years now, I see a tiger lily and it hurts.  After the memory of the florist comes what went before – the discovery of the tumor, the brain surgery, the coma that lasted six months before God called her home.

Then, a few days go by and the sight of them triggers something new.  My memories fade and turn to the present reality of her life in Christ.  The tiger lilies become a symbol of the promise.  I start to look for them and when I see great patches of orange, I begin to pray.  They remind me that she still is.  And, somehow, the vision of these wild flowers summons her.  I feel her close again and smile.  It happens every summer.

I wonder if it was like that for the disciples?  In the ancient world the cross was a painful and humiliating death.  It wasn’t just invented for the Son of God.  It existed for anyone who defied Rome.  In fact it took centuries before the Christian accepted the cross as the symbol of the faith.  The words of Paul must have helped the followers of the Way to see its place in the mystery of our salvation.  “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord, Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world (Galatians 6:14).”   What was a symbol of a brutal defeat became an icon of God’s power over death.  For those who believe the cross now embodies the presence of the Risen One.  It is no longer just a reminder of death and defeat.  It is the symbol of the Love that is stronger than our worst human fear.  It is also a reminder that we, too, will enter into the mystery of suffering and death.  As frightening as that can be, the cross has power in our lives – here and now – to dispel the darkness and bathe us in the Light.  As we embrace our crosses, we come to know the One who endured his for our blessing.  What was a sign of pain and sorrow has now become our symbol of self-giving love and unending life.  Today is a good day to venerate the Holy Cross of Christ.  If you have one in your home – on the wall or tucked in a bedroom drawer – touch it, kiss it, or just hold it in your hands and say, “thank you.”

Love to you all…

Vicki

A Collect for the Martyrs of 9/11…

GOD of justice,

We remember the innocent men and women who went to work that morning and never came home.

We remember the emergency responders – firemen and women, police and EMT’s – all those who went in as thousands ran out.

We remember the military and civilian workers at their desks in the Pentagon.

We remember the self-less passengers of flight #93 who were able to think about the rest of us – even as they faced certain death.

We know they are all in your care – abiding in the light and peace of your presence.

We ask you to hold their families close this day as the wounds of grief are tugged open by our memorials and newsreels.

GOD of mercy,

We know that remembering is not enough.

Open our hearts to the innocent victims of war throughout the world.

Give us the courage to seek peace – even in the face of evil.

Strengthen us with your Spirit as we struggle to “choose life” – to live beyond our fear.

Make of us a people who can no longer deprive one innocent human being of their life on earth.

We ask this through Christ, our Lord, who knew suffering and death so that we could know unending life.

AMEN.

“Up ahead in the distance…”

I ride my new bike three to fours times per week – 5-6 miles per ride.  I vary my route to see the world here but always come home on the bike path – a paved trail that winds through the woods of Florence, Northampton, South Hadley and Amherst.  Saturday is the BIG bike day.  Lots of families bike together – one parent with babies in tow.  There are little ones just learning with big training wheels on the back.  I met two little boys with rubber snakes a few days ago.  Feigning fear they reassured me that they were just pretend. There are walkers – some for exercise and some who cannot afford a bike to get from here to there.  There are smokers on the path – an incongruous sight for those of us trying to get healthier.  There are lunchtime walkers with cell phones attached to their heads and sneakers on their feet.  People with different abilities are on wheels of their own – motorized or pushed along by a loving friend.  Sulky teens in packs make sure to drop the “f” bomb as bike pass.  The bike path is a marvelous microcosm of the world.  I love it!  I love them – anonymous brothers and sisters!

So here’s the weird thought I had the other day.  I was heading toward home and saw quite a pack of people way ahead.  There was movement – some on wheels, some on foot – but I couldn’t make out faces or genders.  There were so many of them, but they were too far ahead to see clearly.  As I got closer and they got closer, I had the sense that this is how it works in the kingdom.  The saints – ancient and new – are with us on the path but they are too far ahead to see clearly.  Our grandparents, parents, siblings and children – they have run their race and have seen the face of God.  They live in God but with us.  We get glimpses of them – a memory, a smell, a thought too good to be our own.  We keep peddling forward but they are always there with us – encouraging, greeting us with peace, shoring up our hope.  We are all on the path.  What a comfort.  What a grace!

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

The reign of GOD has begun…

[The following is the sermon that was given today at the 8 AM Eucharist @ St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA.]

The scriptures for the 5^th Sunday of EASTER, challenge us to consider the consequences of the resurrection for the church and for the world.  The very first followers of the risen Christ were deeply comforted by his post-resurrection appearances but as time went on, they wondered what would happen next.  They took Jesus at his word that he would return and that all creation would know the fullness of God’s life through faith in him.  But by the time our Epistle from the Book of Revelation was written – approximately 95 AD – Christians were dealing with a world that didn’t seem all that redeemed.

The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed.  The early Christians lived in fear for their lives and those who held to the faith in the face of persecution were brutally executed.  This back-story can help us make sense of the Book of Revelation – a rich and fantastic text that has been greatly misunderstood.

There are good 3 good reasons why we tend to misunderstand Revelation.

1.    It doesn’t get a lot of “play” in the lectionary.

2.    It is part of a genre of literature known as apocalyptic.  Our understanding of this ancient type of writing is limited but it was a very familiar type of literature in the ancient world. 

a. Written in the midst of persecution, this type of literature was meant to give hope to God’s people – to remind them that good is always going to overcome evil.

b.  Apocalyptic literature is a fiction that tells a great truth.  God’s reign is begun.  Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, all who believe will be gathered into the glory of God’s eternal presence.  Yes, there is suffering yet in this world, but it will pass away in the fullness of time.  John’s inspired visions point to the fullness of God’s reign NOT to some literal timeline of end of the world.  It is not, as some would have us think, the blueprint for Armageddon.

3. Popular culture shapes perception.  In a former life I taught high school Theology.  My students told me about a   book – a real page-turner- called, Left Behind.  The story was fictional but   relied on very literal interpretation of the Book of Revelation.  The scary, pre-apocalypse events included people just disappearing  and others being, “left behind.”  I told them that fiction has its place, but not to absorb the message of fear.  We are the ones that have nothing to fear in Christ’s return.  Christians wait with joy and hope for that great day.

The “new heaven” and the “new earth” described in Revelation 21 is real.  It is the ultimate consequence of the resurrection.  All creation has been redeemed.  In God’s time, when this earthly project reaches its completion, everything will somehow reach existential wholeness in the cosmic Christ.

What exactly will that look like? We don’t know.  We wish we didn’t have to wait.  We wish we could see it now.  We wish God would walk with us again as God did in the first garden.  We wish death and mourning were truly a thing of the past.

The limitations of the redeemed creation are glaringly obvious to us:

1. the disproportionate distribution of food and goods around the globe
2. war in Afghanistan
3. the Newtown shooting
4. the Boston bombing

But some things are true and real even though they exist beyond our vision and beyond our senses.

God’s reign has begun.  This is what we celebrate here each Sunday –  Christ’s reign over sin and death and the victory over fear itself.  We pray as if all these things are true and real because they are – even though God’s reign is partially hidden from our sight.

But, like the early disciples, we ask ourselves, “What do we do now while we’re waiting for Christ to come again?”  The answer to that question is found in today’s gospel.   John takes us back to the Last Supper so we can make new connections between the words of Jesus and the reality of the risen Christ. “Where I am going, you cannot go.”   Jesus prepares them for the work ahead.  He gives them their marching orders.   “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

Love is the tangible sign of the reign of God.   Love is the key to advancing the mission of the Church in the world.   Love – not miracles or catchy slogans on a rubber bracelet – love. Just love.

Whom shall we love?  One another.  Everyone.  In the Acts of the Apostles we hear Peter explain to the Jews that salvation is for every human being – even for the Gentiles!  The vision Peter beholds transforms his own bias for the Chosen People.

God speaks through Peter the truth – the breadth and depth of Christ’s love for the whole world.  This mammoth leap of faith gives the disciples the courage to go beyond their comfort zone and to take the “Good News” east, west, north and south.  That is our charge – our work as adult members of this faith community.  We are all students in the school of God’s love and our adult lives are shaped by this solitary task – loving one anther as Jesus has loved us.  It may sound simple but it is a monumental work.

We are to love the nosy neighbor,  the petty, competitive co-worker,  even Yankee fans!

We are to love the faithful Muslims whose prayers rise up in our cities,  the homeless who beckon from out street corners,  and the violent criminals whose sins seem beyond redemption.

We try and fail all the time.  But we succeed more than we fail at loving.   And that love – given in purity and compassion – has a function in God’s plan.   Our love is the sign for the world that God’s reign has begun in Christ and that all our sufferings are nothing compared to the joy that awaits us in the presence of our Creator.  For now we can allow God to use us – in a good way.    We know it when it happens – when we put our love at God’s disposal. With our cooperation the reign of God breaks through the often harsh and painful realities of the human condition.   Christ uses us as his Body to heal, to reconcile and to bless.   We are all part of the plan. God needs us – needs our love – to gather all the lost ones so that no one is ever “left behind.”   There is no greater purpose.

EASTER joy and love to you all…

Vicki

Spring happens…

I live in New England now.  The world takes its time waking up from the luscious slumber of winter.  The southland has been budding for weeks, I imagine, but here the greening of earth has just begun.  It always feels like a personal miracle – like God has done it again just for me! “God speaks, the ice melts; God breathes, the streams flow (Psalm 147:18).”  Winter has its day – a long one in these parts! But spring happens when we’re not looking.  One day we look around and see that baby-green grass and the tiny bumps on the branches that will soon become blossoms.  The Forsythia is in full bloom – lemon yellow branches reach for the sun.  That’s about it, though.  There are Daffodils, too, but everything else is still just below the surface.  They will all come out in their own time – the tulips, the Hyacinths, the flowering trees.  We cannot rush their arrival any more than we can predict the Second Coming.  All in God’s time…all according to God’s purpose.

Not so far away the people of Boston are blooming again, too.  They have come out into the streets and into the pubs, I would imagine, to celebrate life.  It is a different kind of spring – a season of relief and gratitude.  There is a vibrancy in the air even as we commend the dead, the grieving and the wounded to God’s care.  It is a post-resurrection moment, to be sure – a bit of Easter again in the city streets.  There is also a sense that community is not an option.  It is how we survive the unthinkable – how we make love in the face of evil.  We need each other.  It’s as simple as that.  The people of Boston clearly understand this.

I’m going to write on the deck today – embracing the warmth of the sun on face like a long-lost friend. I want to breathe in all the things that make me sneeze and listen to the cool air in the budding branches.  It is all gift…every breath, every moment.  There is only now – this day – in which to spend our love.  May we all spend it well and give praise to the One from whom we have received this wondrous spring – a small reminder of the resurrection to come.

Blessings and Easter joy,

Vicki