March 31, 2013
A bit late on rising this morning, I carried my coffee and my
little brain sack of troubles out back so I could meditate properly. I looked
through the tall oaks -- over the chicken coop, past the garden and beyond the
creek-running – and waited for the sun to rise and flood my soul with the light
of hope, the hope of a new day. The birds were already singing their morning
songs. One of them sings “cappuccino, cappuccino, cappuccino…” every morning. It’s
a pretty song, even if you just drink regular black coffee.
After a couple of sips, I started to wonder if the sun was ever
going to rise over the cloud line. I had thought about letting the chickens out
of their coop so they could enjoy the Easter sunrise with me, but it really
wasn’t light enough outside to make it worth the trouble for any of us. Then I realized the lights were on in the
parking lot at the new elementary school just on the other side of the creek. (They
built that school on pasture land behind our house so now I have to pretend it
isn’t there when I look to the east for inspiration.) The parking lot was lit
up much brighter than the surrounding meadow and playground area. There is a
church that meets at that school on Sundays, so I figured they must be having
an early service this morning, given that it is Easter. It’s actually kind of nice for empty-nesters.
Monday through Friday you can hear kids laughing and screaming on the
playground and then on Sundays you can hear the sound of folding chairs being
set up and the church joining together in worship through song. I believe that
church is made up of good God-fearing and loving folks, so I don’t mind a
little extra holy racket over there on Sunday mornings. Besides, it’s not my
land, now is it?
An old SUV suddenly took off from the outdoor basketball
court area, driving too fast in a parking lot, making too much noise in my view.
Then, I heard the sound system come on and the calm voice that lay on top of
the usual open-mic static. I couldn’t make out the words being spoken even
though there was plenty of volume. The
cadence was what you would expect for a typical Easter sunrise service.
Probably a quick hello and introduction, a “quiet” prayer -- that could be
heard throughout the neighborhood, a couple of verses of scripture – hopefully something
from the Gospels, and something else that sounded like it might have been a spiritual
song or hymn when it first entered the sound system. I wondered how many of my
neighbors were sitting on their back porch looking through their trees, waiting
for the sun to rise and wondering how long the amplifiers and lights were going
to be on.
And it struck me that many of us were sitting or standing
around looking to the east this morning, waiting for Christ to rise … again. We
wanted to see that beautiful sunrise and watch in awe as Christ walks out of
the tomb. We were all hoping for the special guest to appear at our little
outdoor concert, for the Bard to come out and share Couplets on the Mount with
us. We had good intentions. We just
wanted to remember.
But the sky wasn't getting brighter, it was getting
darker. The wind picked up – the forty-foot
oaks started swaying back and forth, leaf remnants shuffled around, tassels
fell, wild something seeds started flying around – looked like we were indeed
going to get the storm that had been forecast on the local news. The birds stopped singing; their song replaced
by the unearthly croaking of confused frogs. It sounded like I had just walked
through a door at the zoo that separated the aviary from the amphibian section.
I saw that the lights were off at the church-school and it had grown quiet over
there. Either they finished their devotional
service or fear of coming storms drove them inside. It didn't look like there
was going to be a glorious sun-rising this morning.
Christ missed his cue this morning. He missed his mark on
our parking lot-stage. Strangely, it felt like he was probably still there –
somewhere. The trees seemed to be saying something with their body language –
like the guests at a wedding just before the groom and groomsmen walk in. If
you are new to wedding protocol you can usually tell what’s going to happen
next by watching how the folks in the front rows turn around in their seats, sit
up straight, or stand up. The trees in the front row seemed to be saying, “This
thing is about to start.” But I don’t
want to read too much into this. Honestly, I don’t know exactly where Christ
was this morning, but I know he didn't come up over the hill at the prescribed
time. Christ didn't come back for an encore today even though we were all
standing there applauding, applauding like we knew a good performance when we
saw it. Maybe he is tired of doing repeat performances of the Passion. Maybe he
just slept late. I doubt it. He strikes me as an early-riser.
While I was writing this, the storm blew over and the sun
came out. Then it went back in. It’s
drifting back and forth through the clouds, apparently oblivious to our
expectations of what Easter morning should be like. Instead, it looks like today
is going to be a mostly cloudy, partly sunny, maybe stormy, kind of scary, day.
Well, I need to wrap this up and get ready for church. I hope the Holy Spirit is going to be there
today – it’s Easter.
