It’s been a few weeks since I’ve joined in with the Five Minute Friday. I don’t know about you all, but I’m over spending all this time in my house. The weekly Five Minute Friday word prompt for this week is “another.” 

Another day

No physical touch

Another day

Of distance learning

Another day

6 feet apart

Social distancing

Another day

Waiting

Wondering

Watching

Another day

Asking God

To calm anxious hearts

Another day

Of loss

Of grief

Of disappointment

Another day

Yearning

To be with family

And friends

Another day

Searching for laughter

And joy

Another day

Stuck between the despair

Of Good Friday

And the joy of

Easter morning

Another day

The stone has been rolled away

The tomb is empty

Christ has gone ahead of us

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed!

Alleluia!

I woke up this morning and looked out my window. it was snowing. If it weren’t for the calendar on the wall, I would have thought I had entered some strange dimension and it was Christmas not Easter! Yet we are in a world that has been flipped upside. In a lot of ways, we are living in a new dimension.

New York City’s Times Square is not bustling with people. Broadway’s lights have been turned off. Our grocery stores are filled with people buying groceries with masks on. Our sanctuaries are empty. The Olympics will not happen this summer but instead they will happen next summer. Our essential workers are all putting themselves on the line for the safety of all of us.

Yet today is still Easter. We are filled with all the same emotions that come with loss and grief and were the same emotions Mary Magdalene & Mary felt that very first Easter morning. We are frightened and afraid. We are full of anxiety. We are lonely. And we are sad!

That’s the thing about death. When someone we love dies, we grieve. We want them to still be here on this side of heaven with us. Yet the dead don’t come back to life. Only God has the power to overcome death. God sent God’s Son into the world for us. Jesus was murdered for love but then three days later, he was raised.

The tomb is empty! Jesus has been raised. He has gone ahead of us. There are days to come that it will still feel like we are stuck in an eternal Holy Saturday; stuck between despair and hope. The hope however comes in knowing that the tomb is still empty. Jesus is here.

Yes, there are days that we will not want today to come. However when we are lonely from being separated from the rest of the world, the tomb is empty. When we are frustrated with our children, the tomb is empty. When there are overwhelming amounts of death, the tomb is empty. When we feel like all hope is lost, the tomb is empty. When this pandemic eventually ends, the tomb is still empty. Christ has overcome death. “Easter says you can put death in the grave, but it won’t stay there (Clarence W Hall)!”

In a broken world, filled with all those same emotions the women felt that first Easter morning, we cry out, Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. As we too, like the disciples, are locked away from the rest of the world, we cry out, “Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Together, as the body of Christ and for such a time as this, we cry out confidently “Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!”

Tomorrow we might come to the tomb and still think we see the stone is still in front of it. But the stone has been rolled away. Death has been defeated. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia! That’s a promise I can trust in. And when I can’t say the words, I know that the rest of the body will say them for me until I can say them again. So if you can’t say them today, know that I’m saying them for and with you.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Usually I have no problem letting the tears come out. But this year, the tears have been sitting on the edge, welling up inside of me. I wanted so desperately for them to come out. Little did I know how much I needed the holiness of the triduum (the three days leading up to Easter).

I have needed to sit at the foot of the cross. I have needed to cry holy tears at that cross. I have needed to sit in the liminal space of Holy Saturday. I don’t know about you friends, but the world feels like Holy Saturday every day right now. We are stuck between the reality of despair and hope. We are continually crying out “How long, oh Lord?!” Yet the answer is unanswered. We do not know how long this night will last.

After leading worship on Maundy Thursday, I came home and sat down on my couch. I pulled up YouTube and began watching the beauty of the Triduum Project unfold. There was vulnerability shared in storytelling. There was bread baking. There were people who invited us in to sit with them at their family table. There was prayer. There was laughter and tears. There was music of all shapes and sizes. There was simply so much holiness.

As I have broke bread and wine and held vigil with all of these holy people, the tears have finally let loss. I am crying for the reality and pain of our world. I am crying that we murdered love as our Lord was crucified and hung on a tree. I am crying as we sit in the midst of an eternal Lent and Holy Saturday. I am crying and marked by the cross of Christ. I am crying tears that will not stop. Tears that remind me that the sun is going down but tomorrow the sun will rise again.

This Easter vigil has been one of the holiest things I’ve ever experienced. Gathered from all ends of the earth, I have been reminded that the church is still very much alive. I have seen the beauty of the body of Christ coming together as we walk to the empty tomb. I know more and more that I am not a lone and we are in this together.

In a few hours, the vigil will end and we will gather to raise a glass for Jesus; for the one who died for each of us. And as we raise our glasses, the tears will come again. But this time, they will come knowing that morning will come again. We just don’t know how long this morning will be. The tears will be a sign of healing. The tears will be in thankfulness and hope. A hope that was embodied over three days in a holy online experience that the church has needed in this time and place.

Tonight, the tears are rolling freely down my face! And I am so grateful!

I am no stranger to loss and grief; no stranger to death. From October 2017-December 2018, there were nine losses in my life…friends, colleagues, and family. Death is a part of life. However, I would prefer not to stay there. Death can be so overwhelming. In fact, we are at a time in our world when the death seems so incredibly overwhelming. I need Holy Week more this year than ever!

Yet I honestly had low expectations. Palm Sunday didn’t include kids singing and shouting hosanna as they waved palm branches. I knew that I wasn’t going to get to wash my parishioners feet. I knew that there would be no first communion. I knew that there would be no stripping of the altar. I felt so lost walking into Holy Week. Yet a few weeks ago, I was asked to be a part of this really cool thing called The Triduum Project. Creative souls coming together to hold vigil over three days.

Little did I know what a gift holding vigil would be in the midst of this peculiar and strange Holy Week. I love what Jason said on Twitter about holding vigil. His words really spoke to me as I debated whether to go to bed or stay awake until my hour. After reading them, I knew that I needed to stay awake. Jason wrote, “There’s something sacred about being up when you’re used to sleeping. It’s like you’re delineating with your body that this time is different. It’s set apart. Consecrated time, a concept that isn’t the worst thing for your self–Sabbath-deprived tradition to consider.”

I was awake when I am never awake. I found myself sitting and holding watch as we entered into the day Jesus was murdered for our sins. I got to see the sun set and the sun rise. I thought of all those working in the hospitals in the midst of the Co-Vid19.

After preaching Maundy Thursday worship, I came home and listened to Tyra and so many other musicians usher us from Maundy Thursday into Good Friday. Their music balm to my soul. In the wee hours of the morning, Jason made the passion story come alive in a way I will never forget. Joe and David talked honestly and allowed me to be vulnerable and cry the tears I needed to shed. There was also beautiful storytelling. There was bread baking.

This is all holy! An idea that came together over a few weeks has totally been blessed by God’s Spirit. A vigil that embodies the beauty of the body of Christ. Together we are caring for the body as we walk to the cross and stand tears streaming down our face. We are not alone. We see each other standing at the foot of the cross.

The Triduum Project is an incredible gift to the church in a time when we need to be together. We need to grieve together. We need to see each other’s stories. We need to hold vigil until the stone is rolled away. This, my friends, has been and continues to be holy space! There will be no other vigil that compares to this one.

Children dressed in their best, march into the sanctuary, as the congregation sings “All glory, laud and honor to you, redeemer king.” Joyful celebration carries us as our king arrives into the city with a glorious parade. Yet it doesn’t take long for the parade to be dampened as bystanders begin to cry “Crucify him.”

Today, those shouts of Hosanna are especially muted. Yet as video clips came in, of children of all ages, with unbridled joy, shouting Hosanna, I couldn’t help but listen to them over and over. A holy celebration now in social distance style. The holiest of parades I’ve ever seen in my 42 years on this Earth. A parade fit for the one who God sent into the world for each and every one of us.

Jesus still arrived this morning. I saw that in all the worships and colleagues I watched. Jesus arrived as palms on our hands, tree branches, colored palm branches, and palms of all shapes and sizes waved, announcing our king’s arrival.

Jesus still arrived in the midst of isolation, anxiety, fear and even stupidity. Jesus still arrived as our medical professionals continue to work on the front lines of this pandemic. Jesus still arrived as we sat in our own homes shouting Hosanna to our king. Jesus still arrived and will walk us from the holy table, to the cross, to the tomb and ultimately to the empty tomb.

I don’t know about you, my friends, but I need to wave my palm branch today. I need to celebrate the joy of this one who rode into the city. And I need to sit at the table with Judas and Peter and to be reminded that even the ones who betrayed and denied him where welcomed there. I need to stand at the foot of the cross, grieving his crucifixion and death. But most of all, I need to come to the empty tomb next Sunday to hear my, to hear our shouts of “Hosanna” turned to joyful proclamation of “Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!”

So today, as you wave your palm branches and shout Hosanna, may you be wrapped in God’s love and peace. May you be reminded that this week begins the holiest of weeks where we journey from the triumphant entry into Jerusalem, to the Lords tables, to the cross and finally to the empty tomb; where death is ultimately defeated.