Gift list for this One

I have been, over the past few months, digging into the Enneagram (click HERE to learn more), which is a tool for personal and spiritual reflection. I have really enjoyed this deep dive into some of my patterns and the motivations behind them, and learning how I can use prayer and contemplation to overcome some of the less healthy things I do. 

I recently listened to an episode on Typology, an enneagram podcast hosted by Ian Morgan Cron, that suggested good holiday gifts for different enneagram types. They cold-called a bunch of people of different types to ask for ideas, funny and serious, then told them afterward they were live on the podcast. It was pretty hilarious, honestly, if you have a basic understanding of the different types. Of course I started wondering how I would answer the question, and found it a pretty fun exercise! So I thought I'd share it here.

Note: although I do have a birthday coming up, I am not posting this in order to get gifts from anyone! I'm actually not that big on gifts (due to wanting less stuff, not more!). But hey, if you want to get me something on this list, I won't stop you. :) 

First, a bit about me: I am an enneagram One. This is sometimes called the Perfectionist, but I hate this because I don't consider myself a perfectionist. I want things good, but know perfection is not possible. Sometimes called a Reformer - slightly better. But my favorite name is "Improver," because this hits it. Ones are often trying to make things better, a practice that unfortunately often results in others feeling criticized. But trust me: the standards to which Ones hold themselves are likely far higher than those to which they hold anyone else. They are known for having an "inner critic" that is almost constantly telling them how to do or be better. They long for order, and to get done All The Things, which in turn makes it hard to relax. As long as there is something that needs doing, a One wants to get it done. Ones are also driven by a sense of morality, always wanting to do the Right thing. In health, a One can relax and have fun, and accept the world as it is,...so, that's the goal!

Ok, now the list.

Check out this happy One!
(This is like, one month before Covid!)

1) Gifts that obligate me to relax and/or spend time with loved ones. I'm thinking of tickets to a concert or museum, or a massage, or a spa day, or an already-planned family fun day (for which I don't have to make any of the decisions, but only have to show up). Ones are really big on duty and fulfilling obligations, so even if it doesn't sound like fun to me, I will use it because well, someone already paid for it. And then, I probably will have fun and relax.
Example: One year my parents gave us tickets to Orff's Carmina Burana at the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra and it was such fun! Another time, my brother got us tickets to see his good friend star in Jersey Boys, which ended up doubly fun because said friend invited us to a cast party afterward! A gift that forces me to relax and get away from work or home where all I will see is everything that needs to be done is a gift on so many levels.

2) Practical items that are more luxurious, fancy or expensive than I would buy myself. Ones are very practical people, who may long for something really nice, but quickly dismiss it, saying, "That's too expensive. I just can't justify it. I can just get the cheaper one."
Example: For Christmas this past year, I ask my mother-in-law for a set of towels. Whenever we visit her, I love her towels, so soft and luxurious. So I said, "For Christmas, I would love some towels like the ones you have, whatever they are!" And sure enough, she sent some Egyptian cotton towels and I kid you not, I'm so excited to get out of the shower and wrap myself up in one. I feel like I'm at a spa in my own bathroom. It's one of my favorite gifts ever. Even knowing that now, I likely wouldn't buy them for myself, but someone else treating me so I can treat myself is perfect. Another example: My husband often buys me new dresses (he has great taste), saying, "You don't treat yourself, and you like looking pretty, and you look gorgeous in dresses. So I got one for you."
And to be clear, I'm like, really cheap, so even a trip to Starbucks feels luxurious to me. My self talk often goes like, "Hm, I could go for a chai. Ugh, but it's $4 for a small one, and I can make some tea in my office for free. Not worth it." Help me treat myself! I apparently don't think I'm worth a $4 chai, so please, save me from myself!

3) A gift card for someplace or something that is aligned with my values, e.g. for personal care items, my hobbies, or food. This has a little from both #1 and #2 above, in that I am seldom willing to treat myself to something nice, but if someone has already gotten the gift card, I will use it! I will be even more excited to use it if it also takes into account my values. For example, a gift card for a small business (even better, a local one) that sells sustainable bath or kitchen products, or that gives some portion of the proceeds toward supporting kids with cancer and their families, or a restaurant committed to using local, seasonal food provided by local farmers.
Example: My mother-in-law once got me a gift card to a nearby fabric store, a locally owned business. It was generous enough that I didn't have to be stingy in what fabric I chose - I just chose what I loved, and ended up making an adorable backpack for my daughter. I got to support a local business and learn some new skills to enhance one of my hobbies. 

4) A gift for someone else.  I am always delighted when someone gives a gift to someone who really needs it, in my honor. Knowing someone was thinking of me when they did something to help someone in need fills my heart with joy.
Example: For our wedding, we registered for ELCA Good Gifts, giving people a chance to buy a pig or a goat for a family in need (like Heifer International, if you are familiar). Seriously, every card I opened that included a note that they had done this made me cry. My brother and I have started doing this for Christmas each year, choosing different charities every year that had been meaningful to us that year and we think will be meaningful to each other. 

5) Time together and/or a chance to relax. Every birthday and Mother's Day, I tell Michael that all I want is to not be responsible for dinner for a night. I don't want to plan it, or shop for it, or cook it, or clean it. I just want to be waited on, while I read stories to the kids, or even just read my own book. Even better, I want the living room to be in order and clean, so I'm not looking and thinking about what needs doing. My best celebration is an evening of peace and nothing I have to do. If someone gifted me a house-cleaning, I would be over the moon. Add to that dinner (and of course a correct loading of the dishwasher - Ones are really big on how a dishwasher ought to be loaded!), and I'm in heaven!

So there it is: a list of gifts I would be delighted to receive, that would bring me great joy. 

Sermon: Embodied Faith (April 18, 2021)

Full service HERE. Sermon begins around 28:30. 

Easter 3B
April 18, 2021
Luke 24:36b-48

 

INTRODUCTION

         There are some patterns of the lectionary, the texts chosen for each Sunday, that are consistent each year. On Easter Sunday, we obviously hear the resurrection story, from a different Gospel each year. On the 2^nd Sunday of Easter, we always hear the story of Thomas, and about Jesus breathing his peace upon the disciples. On the 4^th Sunday, next week (spoiler alert), we always hear about Jesus as the Good Shepherd. And on this 3^rd Sunday of Easter, we always hear a story about Jesus sharing a meal with his disciples, and about how in that sharing of a meal, he is made known to them. Today’s Gospel reading is about what happens right after the wonderful story about the Road to Emmaus. You remember that one? It happens Easter evening, when Jesus walks alongside a couple of disciples, but they don’t recognize him, even as he opens the scriptures to them. When they get to Emmaus, he shares a meal with them, and as he breaks bread, they suddenly realize who he is. No sooner have they figured it out, then Jesus disappears. They rush off to tell the others, and that is what we hear about today. Luke will use many different words to describe their feelings about this stunning turn of events – notice them, and as you picture this strange scene, try to imagine what of those you might have felt, too!

         A phrase you will hear in two of our texts today is, “You are witnesses.” A witness, of course, is someone who sees something, and tells others about it. The telling part is important, but you can’t tell something you don’t see. So as you listen, also watch – watch for ways you see Christ, see restoration and transformation, and think about where you are still seeing Christ restore and redeem in your life today. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

         In the big family news category: my parents are moving next week from California to Rochester! You can imagine I’m very excited about this. But as with most things, there is also a flip side: them moving here also means they are moving away from my hometown, and the house I grew up in, and all of the people who have known me since I took my first steps. Last week I was able to fly out to California to say goodbye to that special place and the people there, and as beautiful and important as that was, it was and is also bittersweet, to let go of that place that has played such a role in forming me into the person I am today.

         So… it was an incredibly emotional week, with all the extremes of emotion present. I laughed and relished and breathed in that fresh mountain air, and I cried, and embraced dear friends, and helped my parents get rid of things, many of which were associated with specific memories. In many ways, it was reminiscent of a grief process – the joy of remembering a loved one, even as the pain and sadness of loss are pressing in.

         All of this to say, I am grateful this week for stories like the one we hear today from Luke. Just look at everything the disciples feel all at once: startled, terrified, frightened, doubtful, joyful, disbelieving, wondering. Man! But it’s no wonder their hearts are all over the place – wouldn’t yours be? They have just three days before watched their friend and teacher suffer and die. He was buried, for goodness’ sake, laid in a grave with a stone closing him in. But now, at the point of this story, Easter night, they have begun to hear some rumors about what the women saw that morning, but how could they believe it? In fact, Luke tells us that they thought the women’s story was “rubbish,” an “idle tale.” But then, Jesus appeared to a couple guys while they walked to Emmaus – and they finally recognized him in the breaking of bread. So now these guys, too, have come running to tell the 11 and their companions, shouting, “The Lord has risen indeed!” No sooner have they shared their incredible story about their walk to Emmaus, than Jesus suddenly shows up. They have not even had time to process what might be going on here when Jesus says, “Peace be with you.”

         So yeah, I can see why they felt startled and terrified. A man they believed to be dead, whom they watched die a horrible death, was now standing in front of them. That is terrifying, no matter who that person is! And Jesus is all, “What’s the big deal?” about it, asking, “Why are you frightened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” – uh, yeah Jesus! We do think we are seeing a ghost – you’re supposed to be dead!  

         I do kind of wonder if Jesus was trying to be funny here. Wouldn’t the Son of the All-Knowing God know that this might be a little hard for them to take in? That mere words of peace would not be enough to prepare them for this world-turning reality, nor to calm their shocked hearts?

         I don’t know that I’ve ever felt quite what the disciples felt in that moment, but I do know what it is like to be overwhelmed with feelings and thoughts. I think we all do. To a much smaller extent, I felt that in California – extreme highs and lows all at once. I felt it when my children were born, simultaneously flooded with immeasurable joy and fear and exhaustion. We feel it anytime we are on the precipice of a big change – when we are about to lose something that may or may not have been good, but was familiar, and enter into something exciting and new but also fearful in its uncertainty.

         When we get in that space, it can indeed overwhelm us, and it can be difficult to get our feet back on the ground. And this is what I truly love about this story. Did you notice that everything we hear about the disciples is about their hearts and minds – joy, wondering, fear, doubt, disbelief. And to all of this swirl of intangibility, everything Jesus offers them is concrete, grounded, earthy, engaging their five senses. “Look at me… touch me and see. I have flesh and bones,” and then my favorite part of all: “Y’all got anything to eat around here?” And he chows down on some broiled tilapia. I can assure you that ghosts cannot eat, so this seals the deal: Jesus really is risen, body and all.

         You see, from the very beginning, our God has been incarnational. That is, God is not just this intangible thing that is sort of out there, that we experience in our thoughts and feelings; no, God is interested in bodies, interested enough to become one. God entered this world through a birth canal and nursed at his mother’s breast. He ran around being a kid, and worried his parents by getting lost in Jerusalem. He traveled, and ate, and took people by the hand, and cried with them and laid hands on them to heal them. In the Garden of Gethsemane, he sweat blood, and then suffered pain and wounds, and was nailed to a cross. He died, and he was buried. And on the third day he rose again – his body rose again. Not a ghost, not a mere spirit or soul, not a metaphor. His body, flesh and bones, rose again.

         Especially as prone as I am to get lost in my thinking, emotional self, I really need a Savior who cares like this about bodies, about a body like mine, that laughs and cries and worships and weeps, a body that fails and falls, aches, breaks and dies. A body that is broken and scarred, and vulnerable to injury, sickness, injustice and cruelty. I need a Savior that cares about all bodies, even those that are too fat or too skinny, too dark or too fair, bodies that are shot dead at routine traffic stops or in FedEx warehouses, bodies that are beaten or abused, bodies that don’t feel like they match what is on the inside.

I need a Savior who cares about bodies enough to resurrect bodies, who honors physicality and even revels in it, who looks at the damage so often done to human flesh and cares enough that he would declare that those endings we dread are not the end of the story. Indeed, everything that has been wronged, forgotten, and broken will be restored – maybe not in the way we hoped or imagined, maybe not even in this lifetime, but restored in the way that God has hoped and imagined, whether in this earthly life or in eternity.

That is why Jesus’ bodily resurrection matters, still matters to us today. I think sometimes we do get stuck in all those thoughts and emotions, that even our faith gets stuck there and we cannot conceive of a God who cares about these vessels that house our brains and hearts. But when Jesus comes to those overwhelmed disciples, he points them back to the physical, back to his resurrected body. Two things happen when he does this. One is that intangible faith becomes more real to us, something we can touch, something to hold onto. We are given this gift also in the sacraments – water, bread, wine, even the gathered community – physical items to connect us to God. That’s one of the most painful things about this pandemic, is not having had easy access to those physical things that connect us to God, but I assure you – they still bring life, and we will have them soon!

And the other thing that happens when Jesus comes to the disciples is that we see that the stories of our bodies – precious, divine image-bearing, and suffering – do not end here, on this earth. Because we know that our hope is an eternal one. There is hope that these bodies that are broken may still rejoice. But until we reach that eternal hope, while we still walk as yet by faith in these broken and imperfect bodies, in a swirl of intangible emotions, we can rejoice that our Savior knows all about that, and cares about it, enough to come to us in our mess of thoughts and emotions when we cannot always find a foot to stand on, and say, “Touch me and see.” He grounds us, and brings us back to what is concrete, offering us a physical hand to hold – water to wash, bread and fish to eat, a community of faith. Ours is an embodied faith, lived in a community of bodies, centered around the hearing of the life-giving Word.

I am so excited in a couple of weeks to begin worshiping with you physically again, in small groups at first, but hopefully increasing numbers as weeks go by. I can’t wait to share with you the sacrament once again, to share that physical gift of grace, to take Christ’s body into ours. Until then, we continue to pray. Beginning this week, we will be including a prayer each week about our longing for this gift of Christ’s body, in preparation for us to receive it soon. Until then, we can continue to revel in find God’s grace in the nourishing Word, in the community however it can gather, in water reminding us of baptism, and in the assurance of God’s love and care for us, swirling emotions, broken bodies, and all.

Let us pray… Incarnate God, when we are a swirl of thoughts and emotions, give us something to hold onto. We thank you for being bodily present with us, and for caring about both our spiritual and physical brokenness, and we thank you especially for your promise to restore us. In the name of Risen Christ. Amen. 

Goodbyes and newness of life

 I just returned from a vacation that was as draining as it was life-giving. My parents are in the process of moving from my childhood home in Northern California to New York to be near me! This is good and exciting for so many reasons, but the purpose of my trip was the less good and exciting: the holy task of saying goodbye. In literature, the location of the story can be as much a character as the people, and that is definitely the case for Grass Valley, CA, and for my parents' house, in the story of my life and who I am. As my brother and I have talked about this big change, we have agreed that it feels in many ways like a death in the family, and we are experiencing the real grief that goes along with it. 

Saying goodbye to my dear friend Sarah,
with parents' pond in the background.

Three of my grandparents died while I was living across the country, attending college or grad school. And every time I returned for their funerals, I remember the sense of walking into the midst of the process of grief. I had my own feelings going in, of course, but had not been in on any of the arrangements. By the time I got home, funeral arrangements had been made, old pictures had been pulled out, and many memories had already been shared. I brought my own grief into the mix and we walked a part of the way together, and then I left again, leaving my parents to continue dealing with all the many end-of-life arrangements. 

My trip to California had a similar feeling. My parents have been processing this decision to move for at least two or three years already. Since they made the final decision in fall of 2020, they've been packing, setting up movers, getting rid of things - they have been totally immersed. Then I show up and suddenly something of which I have only been cognitively aware became Very Real: empty shelves, nothing on the walls, familiar things already packed. I stepped into a grief process that was already well on its way.

This was most obvious during my first three days, when we did a yard sale. Due to circumstances out of
our control, the yard sale was held during Holy Week, on Good Friday and Holy Saturday, an unthinkable prospect for a two-pastor family. Yet because of Covid, and all my church's services being pre-recorded, this was feasible (we also attended church seven times in three days - all of their church's service and all of mine! - which is such a Johnson thing to do). 

One small part of the yard sale

When the timing was first suggested, it felt so wrong, to spend the somber day we recall Jesus' suffering and death selling a bunch of old stuff to strangers. Yet as it turned out, I found this juxtaposition of events incredibly moving. Because it wasn't just selling junk to strangers. As we priced items on Maundy Thursday, I was filled with some of the love for which that day is named ("maundy" comes from the Latin for "mandate," referring to Jesus' new commandment to love one another). Nearly every item carried with it a memory of a beautiful childhood, in which I felt immensely loved, cared for, and surrounded with faith. The table linens and decor for so many family meals and holidays, art from world travels, well loved dolls, blankets and games, a whole stash of stuffed animals I was given when I was going through cancer treatments, books that opened new worlds to us, toys that had been lovingly made for my brother and me, tins that had held so many different batches of homemade cookies, the picture frames that held each year's school pictures, the outdoor kiddie toys acquired to entertain the grandchildren, potted plants that had helped make this a haven to return to during summers between school years and on vacation. I marveled at the emotional labor my parents had gone through in deciding to sell these things (I told them later how proud I was of them). Because there was truly so much love here. Love, and memories, of a pretty incredible life that has not been without struggle, but which fed and nourished us, and equipped us to raise the next generation in love. 

So that was Thursday. I wasn't sure how Friday would feel, once we started to see this stuff actually sell, once I started watching my childhood memories go home in the arms of strangers for less than $5 a pop. Would I feel each item like a stinging death of what once was? How could I not? Yet I was amazed that the feeling I felt was not sadness, but joy and hopefulness. We call this day Jesus died "Good Friday" because ultimately, it was good - this death was an essential part of God's life-giving rescue plan. That death was necessary because it led to resurrection on Easter. It showed us that nothing is more powerful than God, not even death and all our devastating endings; God will always bring life out of death. 

And in some small way, that was what I felt as I watched these items that had delivered such love in my life leaving with happy strangers: our time with them had come to an end, and it was sad and heart-wrenching. But now, they were going to new homes, where they would find new life and bring love to new families and bring joy to different people, in different ways. Similarly, my parents are leaving behind this beautiful place and its many wonderful people to begin a new phase of life. Like a snake shedding its skin, they are leaving behind some of the stuff and going into this new phase with all the memories but less of the weight. 

My beloved doll, Lisy

I believe with all my heart that while death is inevitable and often necessary, God always brings forth new life from death. Endings become beginnings. Sadness becomes hope. Loss becomes opportunity. Seldom does this happen without pain, and often it takes work. The labor of letting go is hard. At the other end, when my parents get to Rochester, we will all need to adjust and figure out how to live in the same town again while keeping our boundaries and expectations healthy, and this will undoubtedly have its rocky moments. That's to be expected, because well, new life is hard. Giving birth is painful. New life can be terrifying and amazing, just as it was on the Easter morning. But what excitement to see what comes next!

And don't worry: I did not let my parents sell my beloved doll, Lisy (LEE-see). My earliest memory is about this doll. Some old items, you've just gotta keep.

Here's to the next phase of life! 

Easter Sermon 2021: Living like resurrection is real

Full service can be viewed HERE. Gospel/sermon begins at 20:45.

 Resurrection of our Lord
April 4, 2021
Mark 16:1-8

By Natalie Cincotta, age 17, St Paul's member

 

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from our Risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

            Like many people, my husband and I have some favorite television shows, many of which we like to return to again and again. One of these is called, My Name is Earl – a delightful story about a man who is a real scumbag, but when he wins the lottery, and discovers karma, he resolves to use his winnings to right every wrong he has ever committed. But when we rewatch it, my husband refuses to watch the last episode. Why? Because it ends on a cliff-hanger, with those telltale words, “to be continued…” across the screen, but the show was not picked up for another season, so we never get to see what happens next. “It’s just too painful,” my husband says. “I can’t go through that again.” (It’s a little dramatic, I know, but, he really loves this show!)

            I sometimes feel that way when I read this cliffhanger ending of Mark. We’ve just gone through the agony of Jesus’ suffering and death: his betrayal by Judas, his denial by Peter, his desertion by his friends. We cried with the women, we gasped at the dramatic moment of death when the temple curtain was torn in two and Jesus was finally recognized for who he really is. We wiped grateful tears as Joseph of Arimathea and the women saw to it that Jesus got laid in a decent grave. And now we come back, with popcorn popped, cuddled under a blanket ready to watch the series finale. With bated breath we watch the women show up at the tomb. We wonder how they will move that big stone, and are as shocked as they are to see it has already been moved! Angels?! Didn’t see that coming! What could be next?? The angel charges them to meet him once again in Galilee. Oh this is exciting… and the women were filled with terror and amazement (so are we!), and…. They never told anyone anything. To be continued…. Or not. Sorry.

            Uhhhh… For the fast-paced, edge-of-your-seat kind of gospel account that Mark provides us, this ending kind of stinks, right?

Turns out, others thought so, too. If you look up this passage in your Bible, you will find two other options for endings, cleverly labeled “shorter ending of Mark” and “longer ending of Mark.” No one thinks they were written by Mark, but rather, they were added 2-3 centuries later by monks who didn’t like the unsettling ending Mark provided, so they filled it in with themes from other Gospel accounts. But like a bad sequel for a classic Disney movie, the animation is all wrong and the voices have all changed. These endings don’t match Mark’s style or voice at all.

Even worse, these attempts take away from what Mark was trying to do with his strange but ultimately compelling ending. Well that’s no good! So let’s take a closer look.

To understand the end, we have to go back to the beginning. Do you remember what Mark’s very first line of his gospel is? “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Now, we may have heard this and thought, “Hmm, a bit abrupt, but I guess it’s descriptive.” We assumed that it would then end at, well, the end! But now we see more layers to what felt like just a lazy way to start a story. What if what Mark really meant was: this is just the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ? Like, what we have here in the Bible is just Part I of the story?

            Aha. Now suddenly Mark’s story is less like a TV show that didn’t get picked up for another season, which will never satisfy us. Now it becomes like the season finale of the penultimate season of The Good Place, or whatever your favorite show may be, where you immediately look online to see when the final season is due to come out. It becomes a story that makes you desperate to see how this incredible (and in Mark’s case, true!) story will end.

            Okay, so when will the next season of Mark drop on Netflix? Well, you could check out the two fake endings of Mark, if that does it for you. Or you could look to the other Gospels, which have much more developed endings. These may very well satisfy your itch, and hey, in that case, you could be like the women at the tomb and never have to say anything to anyone, because you can just direct people to read it for themselves in the Gospels according to Luke, Matthew, or John.

            But I don’t think that’s what Mark had in mind. Some scholars say that Mark was the most brilliant literary genius of all the Gospel-writers, and had this unmatched ability to draw people into the story… and this ending is his literary masterpiece. Because for Mark, we are the next season. We are Part II of the story. In Mark, the women never tell anyone about what they saw, but they weren’t the only ones who heard about the empty tomb – we did, too. We heard about it just a moment ago, when I read it! The women don’t tell… because that’s our job.

            But I think Part II of the story goes beyond simply telling other people about what happened that first Easter morning. Because a huge rock mysteriously rolled away, terrified women, an enthusiastic angel, and an empty tomb by themselves are not enough to change anyone’s life. I think Part II of “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” is less about saying what happened 2000 years ago, and more about living today as if resurrection is real.

            In other words, Part II is about recognizing the ways that resurrection is still happening in our lives, the ways that God is still taking our endings and transforming them into beginnings, the ways that God takes all of that death, and pain, and brokenness we experience, and brings forth from it opportunity and new life, turning it into a beginning we could not have previously imagined.

This possibility, this promise, this hope of new life coming from death, is at the forefront of our minds right now, as we just begin to emerge from this pandemic. It has been a time full of loss and deaths, both significant and mundane, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. As much as we long to “get back to normal,” we also know deep down that “back to normal” is not going to be entirely possible, nor is it necessarily in our best interest. What I hope follows will be a time of individual and communal reckoning with what just happened: how will we be changed as people, as communities, as a Church, and as the world as a result of what we just went through together? How will God use this to bring about necessary transformation of this world?

The pandemic is of course a big, shared thing on our minds, but we also all have individual situations, significant and mundane, in which we long to experience resurrection, and the joy and transformation that goes along with it. 

For example: A marriage is struggling… but the work to keep it together deepens your connection to one another, strengthening what you have.

A job is lost and you are left in fear… but the loss has finally freed you from something that wasn’t bringing you any joy, and gives you the chance to search for what you really want to do with your life.

An addiction grips you… but you finally realize there is nowhere left to go but up, and piece by piece your life starts to fall into a place of which you are proud instead of fearful.

            I don’t mean to present these as “silver linings.” They are more than that: these resurrections are opportunities, even transformations, and invitations to see what new thing God is doing, is bringing out of our death and loss. When we start noticing these things, these resurrections, in our own lives, something in our heart changes. We start noticing these glimpses of hope and life and newness, and it becomes natural not only to notice them in the world around us, but we are compelled to participate in them, to partner with God in transforming the despair of this world into hope, apathy into compassion, hate into love, and death into new life. In short, we see how God is using us to bring hope to a world in desperate need of good news.

            Today we celebrate how God is indeed so powerful that even death doesn’t stand a chance. Christ is the victor, even over the grave. Friends, this means that nothing is more powerful than our God! And this is news that can change lives, both ours and the lives of those we encounter, so let us live like “he is risen indeed,” like resurrection is indeed true, today and every day! Let us take Mark’s sudden ending to Part I of the Gospel, and keep writing the story – the story of how God takes what troubles us the most, and what would have meant despair, and turns even that into a victory, and into a chance to let hope shine into our lives, a chance to let the light of Christ cast away the shadows, a chance to let life have the final word.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! In the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.