FATHOMLESS Easter Sunday, and I am hurrying into church, late as usual. I hold my little son's hand and scan the side of the plain brown building, trying to determine the fastest route into the Sanctuary. I decide on the side office door, and also to save time by going "as the crow flies", across a stretch of grassy lawn. My wedge heels cut into the grass as I lead my little boy at a fast clip into the hallway and around the corner to rows of chairs set up behind the main glass door entrance to the Sanctuary. I had never seen so people at this church, so much need for overfill seating before.
A mild wind had been blowing outside, and the sky was heavy with grey clouds and the hint of rain, a typical spring day. As we sat and listened to the choir sing, I crossed my feet and noticed blades of grass, sticky with dew, clinging to my black heels, a conspicious sign of spring afoot.
Spring is a time of rebirth, and I think there is no time like Easter Sunday to experience spiritual growth. Contemplation of the sacrifice made for us by God and his Son evokes a strong sense of humility and awakens longings to be greater, to know deeper, to strive harder to be a good servant in me. Easter Sunday is a reminder of the powerful lesson it took me most of my lifetime to comprehend, that Jesus loves ME enough to have made that sacrifice to bring me closer to his Father.
On this day, the clouds began to darken during the service rapidly. Midway through, thunder was booming outside. I looked out the window to watch how hard the rain was falling, and was shocked that it appeared dark as night outside. Rain pelted the ground, and I thought how odd it seemed that just minutes ago I had been racing across the grass in heels, and how no one would be doing that after the service.
The sermon this day was focused on Mary Magdalene, which I think was a good choice. She was the only one who had front row access to the whole ordeal, from the beginning of her disciplehood (as I do consider Mary a true disciple), through the arrest and torture of Jesus, during his time on the cross and during transformation and ascension.
I tried to imagine what the disciples felt during the week of Passover and through the stages of Jesus's sacrifice. I think coming into Jerusalem that week must have been like my entrance into church that day. At that time, the political climate was starting to darken ever slightly, but the force of what was to come was still mild, the tugging of a wind and a movement of a cloud. The disciples must have been expectant with new beginning, like the earth beneath my shoes and the ripe grass on my shoes. They were waiting for something amazing to happen.
The arrest and sentencing of Jesus, his public torture, must have seemed like a powerful storm. The disciples probably felt tremors of excitement and fear, like that which fills us when the lightning lights up that sky outside the church. When those clouds darkened so intensely, I half expected to hear a curtain rip in the background, and I had a visual of the moment Jesus left his mortal body. They say the sky grew unusually dark in those final moments. I can see him there on the cross, in mortal agony, as a dark sky swept in around him and the wind picked up.
It seems like I have felt like that myself, metaphorically. When I think about the time of my spiritual awakening, I remember it as a time of unusual darkness in my soul. Winds of despair were turbulent inside me, but the only thing that kept me strong was the realization that God was there, holding me in the palm of his hand, and that He had never left me. I had left the church, and I had turned my back on God, and when I realized that at my darkest hour, He was right there with me, giving me the strength to rally on, I was overwhelmed.
Now, granted, God knows what He is doing. He knew that in order to reach me, I would have to have the message received in what I term "the Trifecta" - on a physical, mental, and emotional plane. That same week that I was afflicted physically, I also viewed The Passion of the Christ AND became absorbed in James Michener's "The Source", and in seven days, the message had been received and absorbed, and I re-committed my life to Christ.
The sermon this day was focused on what Mary found when she reached the tomb of Jesus. I can't imagine the many emotions she must have felt when confronted with angels instead of death.
Rebirth. Hope. It takes many forms. For Mary, this day, it took the form of angels and a gardener who called her by name. For her, and for us all, the sun did come out, and its radiance was astounding.