So what is Easter about? I ask my kids on the car ride up to Rochester.
"Bunnies! Chicks! Candy!" my six year old responds. "It's about Spring, and all the new life that gets born this time of year."
"It's a reminder that no matter what happens, it is good to have hope. Things will get better," my eight year old adds.
We talk about our cat that died last year, and the new kittens we have come to love. We talk about the people we know who are going through a difficult time.
They get the idea, repeating back to me the story of hope and new life we've celebrated each year. But I remember my daughter's question a few weeks ago- "Why do they call it Good Friday?" Plus we're going to my mom's church on Sunday this year, so I feel like I better prepare them.
I tell them the Christian story- Well, this is what Christians believe... Actually I preface it- This is what many Christians believe. Because I don't limit Christians to a belief in bodily resurrection; there are plenty I know for whom the call to follow Jesus with the heart is the compelling story, not the belief in the supernatural. I don't go into the historical development of the story, or the difference between mythos and logos; though Karen Armstrong's A Case for God lies in my backpack, we'll save the history of religion for another time.
I wonder what my kids think of my religion. They know I am a Unitarian, but am I also a Christian? They know- Mom likes God stuff; Dad does not. But we are all UU's, and that part they get. I actually don't really know myself if I am Christian; nor do I think it matters. I love Jesus, and I love the tradition. The songs and prayers of my Catholic youth sing in my blood- and on my ipod; I relish the cup of salvation on a street corner with homeless men and women many a Sunday after my Unitarian service has ended; and I have even taken on occasion to attending the local Presbyterian church. The Christian threads in me are not ones of belief, but of legacy and heart. I find meaning in the rituals, and besides- as my eight year old daughter says when I have finished telling her about Easter-
Christians have really cool stories.
~~
The night before Easter and I am visiting the Unitarian church in Rochester. I come here now about once a year; it's strange to find my name tag with the "ask me about soul matters" logo still sitting on the rack. Feeling a bit shy and striving for some anonymity, I tuck it into my purse. Tonight I think how different this church is from my own small fellowship back home. A rock band opens with U2- When Love Comes to Town; there are no dark blue hymnals and we do not sing Spirit of Life. Words and pictures flash across a large screen. I enjoy it all, but only when we enter into the spirit of prayer and meditation do I feel a familiar sense of holiness and home.
The sermon is wonderful- as expected. Rev. Kaaren's imagery and humor is fantastic- and I find myself following her to some dim lit East Village lounge, chatting up the gospel writers over Turkish coffee. This is certainly a clever way to welcome Easter with inquiring, skeptical minds. Her personal story and message move me- and her- to tears. The message resonates: unconditional love goes on, and must be shared with others beyond death.
There is also this idea of recognition- or lack of it- that strikes me. How over and over in the gospels the risen Lord is never recognized by those who loved and knew him most. She reads Tess Gallagher's poem- The Hug- and some of the recent events of my own life link up. I think of my dream of Mary Magdalene leading me into "the garden", and of my recent encounter at Grand Central Station with a couple homeless spiritual teachers. And I think of this call I keep having to come back to the streets, that in this place with the broken, the cup of salvation make sense, and in this place how my heart is waking, recognizing, whispering,"Rabboni".
And so too, this message: Resurrection is everywhere; it is simply that we do not recognize it. And God walks among us, not just in the spring flowers, but in the broken, the lonely, the lost people of this world, the ones we walk on by.
On the way out the door, I too am embraced by what feels to me a 'masterpiece of connection'. Just a moment that means much to be recognized and seen. And I remember the wholeness I have felt so many times within those Unitarian doors, these moments of connection that remind me of who I am, and compel me with joy to then rush forth from an empty tomb of myself into the world- proclaiming this message of love and celebration of life.
And so too, Easter is about the student awakening to her own call; of Mary Magdalene running forth from that tomb, to share the Good News with those still locked in fear. I do believe there is a close link between that which saves us, and that which calls us. And we are called each of us to go forth into this world, awake and alive.
~~
Easter morning. Church again. The Catholic mass in a borrowed historic building. Halleluah chorus. The place my oldest daughter was baptized. Same faces of my childhood greet and welcome, preach a sermon of God's love and our own inherent worth. We sing "Jesus Christ is Risen Today", and my six-year old raises her voice beautifully following along. My eight-year old seems bored, coloring through most of the service. They are both amused by the renewal of Baptismal vows (sprinkling of waters), and perplexed by the Holy Communion (why do you eat that paper?).
Later I ask the girls what they thought of the service; it was long, and I am always curious what they make of all the God language.
"I thought it had a good message. It was about being kind to people," my eight year old says.
"Which part?" I ask.
She reminds me of one of the stories the priest told in his homily about a woman who had left her clothes on the clothesline. During the night a man had come by and begun to steal her clothes. The neighbors grabbed him and asked the woman if she wanted to call the police; but instead she noticed he was shivering and had some developmental disabilities, and so she went into her house for a coat, and put it around him. She then told him- he was free to go.
The priest used this is an example of God's forgiveness and love. It was stories like this that used to captivate me too as a kid. My daughters never hear sermons in our UU church because they are always at RE by that time, and there is this idea in our Unitarian services that kids can't sit still (which to be honest, when it comes to my own church- they can't. They do much better in churches that are less familiar.)
But I realize then that the message in the Catholic church and the message in the Unitarian church are the same. And my kids get it. There isn't some grand myth that I need to recreate, or something else other than what we already have in all its scattered parts which makes the holiday meaningful. Yes, it's about Spring- and things will get better. And it's about being kind. And we can see the resurrected God in the homeless man or the disabled thief or the woman sitting next to us on the train. If we can forgive and love ourselves, and reach out our arms to the person we once disliked or despised or felt envy or resentment towards, then we are an extension of that all encompassing unconditional love. We are the resurrected life.
This is mythos and meaning enough- to celebrate the resurrected life that is all around us, and to recognize divinity rising in the most humble of corners. And this seems reason enough to sing Hallelluah today and every day.
"Bunnies! Chicks! Candy!" my six year old responds. "It's about Spring, and all the new life that gets born this time of year."
"It's a reminder that no matter what happens, it is good to have hope. Things will get better," my eight year old adds.
We talk about our cat that died last year, and the new kittens we have come to love. We talk about the people we know who are going through a difficult time.
They get the idea, repeating back to me the story of hope and new life we've celebrated each year. But I remember my daughter's question a few weeks ago- "Why do they call it Good Friday?" Plus we're going to my mom's church on Sunday this year, so I feel like I better prepare them.
I tell them the Christian story- Well, this is what Christians believe... Actually I preface it- This is what many Christians believe. Because I don't limit Christians to a belief in bodily resurrection; there are plenty I know for whom the call to follow Jesus with the heart is the compelling story, not the belief in the supernatural. I don't go into the historical development of the story, or the difference between mythos and logos; though Karen Armstrong's A Case for God lies in my backpack, we'll save the history of religion for another time.
I wonder what my kids think of my religion. They know I am a Unitarian, but am I also a Christian? They know- Mom likes God stuff; Dad does not. But we are all UU's, and that part they get. I actually don't really know myself if I am Christian; nor do I think it matters. I love Jesus, and I love the tradition. The songs and prayers of my Catholic youth sing in my blood- and on my ipod; I relish the cup of salvation on a street corner with homeless men and women many a Sunday after my Unitarian service has ended; and I have even taken on occasion to attending the local Presbyterian church. The Christian threads in me are not ones of belief, but of legacy and heart. I find meaning in the rituals, and besides- as my eight year old daughter says when I have finished telling her about Easter-
Christians have really cool stories.
~~
The night before Easter and I am visiting the Unitarian church in Rochester. I come here now about once a year; it's strange to find my name tag with the "ask me about soul matters" logo still sitting on the rack. Feeling a bit shy and striving for some anonymity, I tuck it into my purse. Tonight I think how different this church is from my own small fellowship back home. A rock band opens with U2- When Love Comes to Town; there are no dark blue hymnals and we do not sing Spirit of Life. Words and pictures flash across a large screen. I enjoy it all, but only when we enter into the spirit of prayer and meditation do I feel a familiar sense of holiness and home.
The sermon is wonderful- as expected. Rev. Kaaren's imagery and humor is fantastic- and I find myself following her to some dim lit East Village lounge, chatting up the gospel writers over Turkish coffee. This is certainly a clever way to welcome Easter with inquiring, skeptical minds. Her personal story and message move me- and her- to tears. The message resonates: unconditional love goes on, and must be shared with others beyond death.
There is also this idea of recognition- or lack of it- that strikes me. How over and over in the gospels the risen Lord is never recognized by those who loved and knew him most. She reads Tess Gallagher's poem- The Hug- and some of the recent events of my own life link up. I think of my dream of Mary Magdalene leading me into "the garden", and of my recent encounter at Grand Central Station with a couple homeless spiritual teachers. And I think of this call I keep having to come back to the streets, that in this place with the broken, the cup of salvation make sense, and in this place how my heart is waking, recognizing, whispering,"Rabboni".
And so too, this message: Resurrection is everywhere; it is simply that we do not recognize it. And God walks among us, not just in the spring flowers, but in the broken, the lonely, the lost people of this world, the ones we walk on by.
On the way out the door, I too am embraced by what feels to me a 'masterpiece of connection'. Just a moment that means much to be recognized and seen. And I remember the wholeness I have felt so many times within those Unitarian doors, these moments of connection that remind me of who I am, and compel me with joy to then rush forth from an empty tomb of myself into the world- proclaiming this message of love and celebration of life.
And so too, Easter is about the student awakening to her own call; of Mary Magdalene running forth from that tomb, to share the Good News with those still locked in fear. I do believe there is a close link between that which saves us, and that which calls us. And we are called each of us to go forth into this world, awake and alive.
~~
Easter morning. Church again. The Catholic mass in a borrowed historic building. Halleluah chorus. The place my oldest daughter was baptized. Same faces of my childhood greet and welcome, preach a sermon of God's love and our own inherent worth. We sing "Jesus Christ is Risen Today", and my six-year old raises her voice beautifully following along. My eight-year old seems bored, coloring through most of the service. They are both amused by the renewal of Baptismal vows (sprinkling of waters), and perplexed by the Holy Communion (why do you eat that paper?).
Later I ask the girls what they thought of the service; it was long, and I am always curious what they make of all the God language.
"I thought it had a good message. It was about being kind to people," my eight year old says.
"Which part?" I ask.
She reminds me of one of the stories the priest told in his homily about a woman who had left her clothes on the clothesline. During the night a man had come by and begun to steal her clothes. The neighbors grabbed him and asked the woman if she wanted to call the police; but instead she noticed he was shivering and had some developmental disabilities, and so she went into her house for a coat, and put it around him. She then told him- he was free to go.
The priest used this is an example of God's forgiveness and love. It was stories like this that used to captivate me too as a kid. My daughters never hear sermons in our UU church because they are always at RE by that time, and there is this idea in our Unitarian services that kids can't sit still (which to be honest, when it comes to my own church- they can't. They do much better in churches that are less familiar.)
But I realize then that the message in the Catholic church and the message in the Unitarian church are the same. And my kids get it. There isn't some grand myth that I need to recreate, or something else other than what we already have in all its scattered parts which makes the holiday meaningful. Yes, it's about Spring- and things will get better. And it's about being kind. And we can see the resurrected God in the homeless man or the disabled thief or the woman sitting next to us on the train. If we can forgive and love ourselves, and reach out our arms to the person we once disliked or despised or felt envy or resentment towards, then we are an extension of that all encompassing unconditional love. We are the resurrected life.
This is mythos and meaning enough- to celebrate the resurrected life that is all around us, and to recognize divinity rising in the most humble of corners. And this seems reason enough to sing Hallelluah today and every day.
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