by Rev. Talitha Arnold, Senior Pastor, United Church of Santa Fe
“What the heck is Lent?” a friend asked. “What’s with the ashes, the morose songs, the somber colors? I thought the United Church was for happy Christians. Why do we have to do Lent?”
Truth be known, we don’t. “Doing Lent” or giving up something for the next 40 days isn’t required at the United Church of Santa Fe. As part of the United Church of Christ, we’re in the reform Protestant tradition (Congregational, Disciples of Christ, Baptists, etc.) that historically didn’t “do” Lent. In fact, many “free church” Protestants looked with suspicion on Lent. Some still do. Lent was something those Catholics, Lutherans, or Episcopalians did. The ashes, giving up meat or candy, all that purple was a bit too Popish or liturgical for our tastes. As my friend said, we were supposed to be happy Christians.
Other Protestants didn’t mark Lent, because as one friend observed, in her church it was Lent all the time. With all the rules against dancing, drinking, and card playing, they didn’t have anything to give up!
So technically, we don’t have to do anything or give up anything for Lent at the United Church of Santa Fe. But many of us have found that Easter has deeper meaning, if we set aside Lent’s 40 days for something other than life or business as usual.
If we wanted to sing in a concert, we’d need to set aside time to rehearse. To compete in a basketball tournament, we’d take time to practice our free throws. The same is true for our experience of Easter. To know new life in any form—spiritually, physically, intellectually—we need to take time to practice. Setting aside the 40 days of Lent for study, prayer, silence, and other spiritual disciplines is a way to engage new ideas, new feelings, new possibilities.
Sometimes to let in new life, we also have to let go of some things. Before you start a new project, you might need to clear off your desk. Before you ran a marathon, you might want to shed some weight. The same is true of our souls. Sometimes we need to clean out and shed extra baggage to make room for something new.
Observing Lent is not required for admission to Easter at the United Church. Come Easter morning, you’ll be as welcome at United as you are any morning.
But perhaps if we take the 40 days of Lent to practice new life or if we set aside time to remember the sacredness of our lives and all life, then maybe, just maybe, Easter might have a new meaning for us this year. We don’t have to “do Lent,” but we might be surprised what’s possible if we do.
by Southwest Conference Minister, Rev. Dr. Bill Lyons, as preached at Scottsdale Congregational UCC on Easter Sunday, April 17, 2022
Easter presents real challenges. It has from the very beginning.
How exactly were the troops going to explain the disappeared body on their watch? Are they really going to tell their superiors: there was suddenly a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.
How were the women going to move the stone? And when they found the tomb opened already, imagine their shock and agony and fear!
Mary Magdalene didn’t wait for explanations. John tells us “she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Resurrection didn’t even enter Mary’s mind when she first visited the open tomb. The other women went inside and were perplexed. Messengers – one or two, no one quite remembered – on the stone or inside the vault, that got mixed up too – it’s tricky – but everyone agrees – messengers in dazzling clothes appeared out of nowhere and said, “Don’t be afraid. I know why you are here. The one you watched die three days ago is alive and He told you this would happen. Remember his words? By the way, he’s heading to Galilee and you can see him there.”
That last line in the angels’ message sounds like a set up. Go to Galilee?! Where Herod ruled and John the Baptizer lost his head?! Jesus’s followers had been in hiding for the last three days. They had plenty of examples of what Roman troops did to the friends of people who had been crucified. And now with the body missing, who do you think the troops identified as ‘people of interest’ in connection with all of this? That’s more than tricky!
Two disciples took the risk and ventured out – back to the cemetery. One went inside; one didn’t. No telling who was in there waiting for them. No angels this time, just a pile of grave wrappings and a shroud folded neatly on the niche where Jesus’s body should have been. Well, part of the women’s story was accurate, anyway. I wonder if they looked at Mary who stood outside the tomb and thought. “Did you women stage this? How did you manage it? Where did you put the body? Do you realize what will happen if the troops find out?!”
Nobody believed the women. The first resurrection sermon had no takers. Talk about a problem with Easter!
Mary stayed at the tomb after everyone else left. It’s the last place she’d see her Lord. She was looking for answers. She was looking for Jesus, albeit a dead Jesus. When she found him she couldn’t see him even when the living Jesus, a man she’d spent years following and living in community with, stood right in front of her talking. Her faith wasn’t ready for that. But she’d come back. And when Jesus said her name, she believed!
It took Mary two visits to accept the living Christ. It’s not how many visits it took that mattered. What’s important is that she came back, kept looking, kept listening.
It’s not always in church that we find ourselves re-visiting his tomb or that we hear Jesus say our name.
Ambulance attendants wheeled him into room 14 – the resuscitation suite. He had been found in a doorway of a downtown building unresponsive. The clinical signs told us he had been dead for quite some time. Still, the ER team did everything possible. Then the moment came to stop the effort, and a time of death was pronounced by the attending physician.
An hour or so later the deceased man’s family members and friends began arriving at the hospital and I was called to meet them. They cried and held each other and began to pray and to sing. Their pastor arrived and anointed the body. Then she turned to me and said in broken English, “You tell doctor shock him and he will live now.”
In the break room the attending physician looked at me with wide eyes. “WOW! Chaplain, if they can bring him back with prayer, I’ll start going to church.”
“Doc, I go to church because I know one man God brought back after three days. But right now, I need you to come in and explain to his family that this man has already been shocked and is gone. I’ll take it from there.”
The doctor shook his head. He was well aware that only doctors were permitted to share medical information with families. So, he explained the reality of the team’s resuscitation efforts and the certainty of biological death compassionately and succinctly. The pastor looked right at him and said, “We prayed. You shock him and he will live now.”
Usually when docs finished that kind of conversation, they left the room and let the support team facilitate a grieving process. But this time the doc stepped back, leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and was as attentive as every family member there. I offered my sincere respect and appreciation for the family and the pastor’s faith in a God who could raise the dead. I too believed in that God. I knew in the end everyone who died trusting Jesus will live again. And I also knew that sometimes, as possible as a resurrection is, God takes a person to live where God is. Silence. Startlingly the pastor responded with jubílense, “¡Alabado sea Dios, se ha ido a casa!” “Praise God, he’s gone home!” and she began to pray.
I heard his pager go off during the prayer, and when I looked up the doc was gone. He found me later and said he didn’t mean to be rude and walk out in the middle of a prayer. I said to him, “What I noticed was this time you stayed for the spiritual explanation of your patient dying.” He looked at me and smiled. “You noticed that, did you.” And then one of our pagers went off…
I wonder, how many trips to Jesus’s tomb we make over time? How have your expectations or questions about what you’ll find there changed since your last visit? Maybe you decided to visit Jesus’s empty tomb this morning wondering. “How?!” Or maybe you’re at the empty tomb again not having thought much about what you’d find – an obstacle or an opening, the expected or a surprise.
Maybe the resurrection seems “like an idle tale” – dazzling extraterrestrials, a three-days-dead corpse walking and talking – the same way the testimony of the women fell on the ears of the disciples.
Maybe you’ve been trying to “remember what he told you,” a faith from childhood, lessons from catechism, or a loved one’s witness.
Perhaps the angelic questions resonate with you. “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” “Who are you looking for?” [pause] “Who are you looking for?”
Maybe you’re waiting for an invitation to “come and see,” to take a closer look at this place where Jesus is supposed to be found.
Perchance, like Peter,– you’ve seen and still aren’t ready to step in. Or maybe like John – you believe but just aren’t sure how to explain it all.
Or like Mary, you’ve been here before. You’re back because wondering why Jesus isn’t where you thought he’d be, asking questions, making bargains.
It’s even possible all of this leaves you at a loss for words and afraid.
It’s equally possible you heard Jesus say your name once, and you just want to hear it again.
Maybe Easter, is, for you, a day to say, “Alleluia! I’ve seen the Lord!!
Whatever brings you to the empty tomb this time, wherever you find yourself in the story, what matters is you are here! That’s good enough!! Surely there’s room for all of us to grow in our faith. Easter is for celebrating that whatever faith we have in the living Jesus, that’s good enough. Because whatever else we aren’t sure of in our faith, we can be certain of this: Jesus is alive enough to have brought you back. How much more alive does he need to be? Easter faith is good enough when it keeps us coming back. Christ is risen!
Year after year on Easter Sunday we joyously proclaim, “We are an Easter people!” But, Easter Sunday 2020 came and went. We find ourselves still wandering through a Lenten desert – not knowing when or how the nightmarish suffering and everyday losses wrought by the Covid-19 pandemic will end.
Passover prayers echo from our lips as losses mount in every state and nation. We collectively grieve illness and death, economic woes, lack of resources and healthcare, and not being able to live, learn, work, play, or worship as we normally do. Every aspect of culture is full of change that brings loss, and loss that brings grief.
There is a profound gospel message to be found in our grief this Easter season that requires some real daring to receive. It is this: Our beloved resurrection story does not change the fact that our grief will always be with us. Grief is as much a part of our human story and experience as is the Love of God.
The healing potency of Easter Sunday that often gets buried in the reverie of joyous celebration is that this holiest of days is set at the intersection of the Lenten and Easter seasons. It is that place in the Christian calendar where sorrow and joy, despair and hope, life and death meet to remind us that God’s love is present with us through it all. The same is true for grief. Although grief is often misunderstood to be synonymous with sorrow, like Easter Sunday, grief is found at the intersection of celebration and suffering. So, as we make our way through the Easter season, we have no choice but to take our grief with us.
We humans grieve when we lose what we cherish. But despite the fact that grief is born out of all good things in life, we often regard grief as an enemy to be eradicated. I beg you to consider (and invite your loved ones to consider) that grief is not the enemy. In fact, grief is that part of us that serves as a motivator and catalyst for healing – if only we will give grief a chance to work its wonders.
This wisdom story from India, retold in my forthcoming book, Doing Grief in Real Life: A Soulful Guide to Navigate, Loss, Death & Change, serves as an allegory for the intense challenge grievers face in responding to grief:
A youth wanted to befuddle the elder of the village. The old one was said to be exceedingly wise. But the young challenger imagined that youthful wit could outdo the wisdom of the rickety old sage. So, the youth caught a little bird, carried it to the elder, and hiding it between young hands not yet worn or weary, the youth announced:
“I have a riddle for you, old one. Here in my hands is a bird. Tell me – is the bird alive, or is it dead?”
The youth delighted in the game. There was no way for the elder to win. If the old one ventured to guess “dead,” an open hand would release the little creature and the bird would fly free. If the elder guessed “alive,” the youth would set a fist and crush the bird at once.
But the old one looked into the eyes of the young seeker and replied with care, “The answer, my child, is in your hands.”
Such is the puzzle of grieving. Grieving is a life-and-death challenge to which our spirits inquire, however silently or soulfully: “How will we hold our grief?” Will we crush it with silence, denial, a forced sense of victory, or will we open ourselves to grief as a teacher that reminds us how to live fully and freely?”
In our culture, we mistakenly view grief as something that happens to us, like a Covid-19 virus from which we desire to quickly recover. But grief is as common to the human condition as hope or love. Proposing that we “recover from grief,” is like proposing that we recover from being human. There is no such thing as a cure for grief. There is only this: learning to grow our capacities for grieving in ways that inspire healing. Grieving and healing, in fact, are one and the same.
Most of us have only a vague understanding of what grief is and how it affects us. So, let me give you a crash course: There is no universal grieving path. Researchers have proven many times over that stages and phases of grief are a myth from the past. Even so, our foremost grief experts continue to argue among themselves about how grief and grieving ought to be defined. Each one of us (grief experts included) come to grief and grieving from our own unique vantage point.
Through three decades of studying grief and grieving, a question pounded at the door of my psyche: Given our endlessly divergent paths of grieving and healing, is there some sort of navigational tool that might prove to be universally relevant and useful to grievers and healers? For years, I doubted that any bona fide answers existed. But, the grief-related suffering I witnessed in my ministry and personal life prompted years of exploration and pondering.
Suddenly, without warning or effort, I caught the thing – my theoretical Model of Adaptive Grieving Dynamics (MAGD). It flashed into my consciousness: a picture of the human grieving process that expands in all directions. It’s a view of grieving in which all of a griever’s physical, psychological, social, and spiritual responses to grief are relevant. Not a paint-by-numbers grieving model, but a picture of the grieving process that provides a sense of relational direction – whatever a griever’s unique responses to grief might be.
Engaging in all four of the MAGD’s grieving dynamics in ways that are meaningful and effective for you –is the essence of adaptive grieving. Together these responses provide needed release, relief, and reprieve from suffering, and help to recreate life and relationships as you adjust to personal, social, and environmental changes brought about by a grief-striking loss. Specific grieving responses (emotions, thinking patterns, behaviors, physiological changes, spiritual perceptions, etc.) fall into one or more of the following categories:
Lamenting: Experiencing and expressing grief-related pain, distress, or disheartenment.
Heartening: Experiencing and expressing what is gratifying, uplifting, or (even, surprisingly) pleasurable within the grieving process.
Integrating: Perceiving the life-shifting changes brought on by a grief-striking loss and incorporating these changes into everyday life.
Tempering: “Taking a break” from grief – that is, suppressing grief-related suffering, or avoiding grief-related changes and realities that distress or overwhelm a griever physically, emotionally, mentally, and/or spiritually.
As you become more familiar with these four universally relevant grieving dynamics, take note of your strengths and needs for balance in the grieving process. Learn from the strengths and growing edges of others. Be careful not to set up camp in only one type of grieving response, because just as each type of response can be a path to healing, each has its limitations. As the good book says, “There is a time to weep and a time to laugh…a time to mourn and a time to dance…a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing…a time to search and a time to give up…a time to be silent and a time to speak” (excerpts from Ecclesiastes 3:4-7). And so it is with seeking a balance of lamenting, heartening, tempering, and integrating as we grieve the losses of a lifetime.
During this Covid-19-Easter season, we write our own grieving biographies as we choose. Our grieving choices will determine whether our grief-related suffering and healing serves to diminish or enhance our relationships with one another, and with everyone and everything the world over.
Right now, as we tune into the palpable pulse of suffering at this extraordinary time in our world history, may we bravely and humbly open our hands to grief. May we allow this God-given gift of our humanity to work its healing powers. Because, we are an Easter people and we are a Lenten people, too.
In the days before Easter, I was bombarded with Church—not my own church, but advertisements from the many churches hoping I’d show up there on Easter morning. They wasted advertising dollars on me, for sure, but it was also a reminder of all the anxiety of holidays in the church. Will there be enough food? Will people show up? What if we’re not packed for Easter? Like it or not, Christmas and Easter become the days we wonder if our churches measure up. Those are the days all our anxiety about our future can easily come to rest.
So here’s an Easter story that has absolutely no flash and is full of resurrection and is one of the best Easter miracles I’ve ever witnessed.
On Easter Sunday this year, our lone thirteen year old handed me a handwritten announcement. It was a carefully written invitation to her school’s production of Music Man. This is the first time she’s offered an invitation in this way, even though I know there have been several other plays and musicals. The adults sitting in front of her in worship have told me we should make sure she knows she can sing in the choir.
One of the performance dates is on my calendar. I have no doubt the production will be terrible in all the ways that middle school musicals are and wonderful in all the ways that middle school musicals are. I typed the announcement in this week’s email knowing full well this invitation is wonderful and terrible. I typed the announcement trusting that there will be another adult or two who show up just because this kid from church invited.
Most people don’t know this kid is in foster care. Hesitantly, we hear bits and pieces in prayer requests about other siblings and biological parents. Some people connect the dots while others don’t. Mostly, it doesn’t matter either way. I know more of her story because I’m her pastor, but I can’t share most of it. It’s not mine to share and, well, foster care.
Here is what I do know though: we are doing something right if any thirteen year old can hand an announcement to her pastor and trust it will be well received. That’s not just about the pastor, but a church that loves her and welcomes her and is interested in her life. We are especially doing something right if that kid has all of the baggage that comes with being in foster care and still can learn to trust her church.
The announcement is now tucked away in a special folder I keep full of notes and cards and letters to go back and look at on the hard days. They are little stories of resurrection, one and all.
So here’s to churches with one thirteen year old or one seven year old or none of those who celebrate any way. Here’s to churches with not quite enough bulletins or way too many and will make do either way. Here’s to the beauty that comes with community—as lovely as the woman headed back to the tomb, as lovely as a potluck breakfast with too many carbs. Here’s to all of us who live in the promise of resurrection, for Christ is risen, and we are rising, indeed.
I don’t know about you, but if I were writing the story of Easter… I would make it Extra. Extra miracles, extra teaching, extra healings, maybe a Big Finish.
I wouldn’t write the stories that we have. Someone told me this past week that the Easter stories just don’t seem that impressive. I concur. Well there are angels and fainting guards and earthquake (Matthew 28!). But walking anonymously down the road, breathing weirdly on people, cooking breakfast… I’ll take a pass.
The other day I made a super-nerdy Easter story matrix. Here’s what I learned:
As the gospel tradition moves forward through history (from Mark written about 70 CE to John written just after 100 CE), the Easter appearance stories get bigger: more complex and more weird. Mark’s Gospel originally has only the empty tomb tradition, with some risen vision stories tacked on later like a Holy Post-It note. John’s gospel has six different stories.
They’re all different from one another across the 4 Gospels, unlike other Jesus stories of our tradition such as the feeding miracles.
In each story, Jesus is somehow different and somehow the same. He’s not easily recognized even by friends, but he retains his Crucifixion wounds. Embodied, but transformed, maybe.
All 3 synoptic Gospels have angels at the tomb. This is interesting, since we associate angels with Christmas so much more than with Easter.
Jesus doesn’t do any last minute teaching in the Risen Vision stories. There are no “Remember the Beatitudes!” reminders or one last parable to share. For me, this speaks to trust. The disciples will be on their own soon. Easter is graduation day, or maybe confirmation, for them.
Jesus doesn’t spend his post-Resurrection time on miracles. The time for loaves and fishes and healing on the Sabbath seems to have passed. John does recount an extra large catch of fish and an extra strong net, but as miracles go, it’s pretty low key.
So if, as time passes, Resurrection stories and experiences expand, becoming more complex and more weird, what are our Easter stories? Maybe – just maybe – the most impressive and exciting Easter stories are yet to come. In Luke 24, the disciples have their hearts burning and their minds opened by their encounters with Jesus. What is our tale of Easter? How will we share our burning hearts and opened minds with the world?
One more Easter observation… Jesus seems to really like fish.
I spent Easter with some dear friends this year. We did the whole usual Easter things like sharing a meal together, going to a chapel for ceremony, gave one another reminders that this life is all about love, and, of course, jousting. Wait… What?
The meal we shared together was with about 25 people. We knew six of them. The ceremony we attended was to see two amazing people get married. The reminders of love came through the voiced vows, tears and generosity of heart.
As far as the jousting, the wedding was held at the Renaissance festival so no one was harmed in the making of this article.
The wedding was kinda spur of the moment to learn it was happening. The invite came just a few days before the ceremony. Being invited to someone’s wedding is an incredible honor. I am of the mind that if someone invites you to a sacred moment like a wedding, it’s a great idea to say yes. So we did and our hearts were made full as a result.
The only pause in attending was that it was on Easter.
Easter is not one of my fave holidays. It hasn’t been for years. It generally reminds me of a more literal version of Christianity that I was shunned from. Easter was always a huge deal in the churches I was a part of from the age of 13 until the age of 21. I had a head and heart connection to Easter and the mood was vibrant and celebratory. When the welcome ended for me in these places, I locked down quite a bit. I was so angry, sad, bitter, and rather destroyed. The churches I knew, in my mind, owned God and if they said I was out, that was as good as from the mouth of God. Ministers have such power. When the rejection comes from their lips, oh how deep it cuts. My heart is still healing from this loss in a lot of ways. It just adds a difficulty to Easter.
Sit with this next part a bit if you can tolerate it. What was a moment for you that you did not see coming? What was a moment for you that felt out of your control? What was a moment for you when you found out what loss feels like?
If I had to describe what that was like for me I would use words
like this:
Unfair
Brokenness
Grief
Lost sense of safety
Self blame
Shame
Deep sadness
Fear-filled
Violation
Desperation
Struggle
Unreal
I know I am not alone with that list. You and I could probably throw in tons of other words that reflect rejection and pain in one form or another. Suffering is part of the relational human condition. We don’t simply desire to be loved and to give love, it actually is a necessity. What that means is, I hurt when you hurt and you hurt when I hurt. It’s risky. It’s vulnerable. Love can feel burdening. It can also feel like the greatest gift ever.
Some realities: Life is to be celebrated and enjoyed. Life will one day end. Life will go on in new forms. The winter to spring change whispers the cycle of life and death to us while Easter Day often proclaims it.
One of the kids I was with today is getting ready to turn 9 in a few days. This kid is amazing for tons of reasons. His brain and capacity for understanding is surreal and he delights in questions. Today he said, “Poor Jesus. He keeps getting killed.” Oh how I loved that sentiment.
This soon-to-be nine-year-old has empathy, he has care, and he has compassion. There’s a real sweetness to him making sense of the world around him.
Here’s the thing, though: when we are young and still attempting to understand the world through shared story and tradition, we often don’t realize that the story serves as the vehicle for our own development and understanding. When it hurts, it’s so hard to shake. It is as though whatever the painful moment(s) were, they are still happening to us now. That means Jesus keeps on getting killed. Poor guy. When’s he going to catch a break?
That list we went through together a bit ago is like the literal “it keeps happening over and over” experience we have in brokenness. We relive it in our minds. It’s not that Jesus was killed, it’s that Jesus keeps getting killed. It’s not that your marriage is over, it’s that your marriage keeps on ending. It’s not that your loved one died, it’s that your loved one keeps dying over and over. How painful. How halting. How human.
Easter is about newness of life and I can definitely use some renewal and life affirming experiences these days. It’s not that Easter is impossible for me to enjoy and feel celebratory in. It is that my heart keeps wanting what was and it simply doesn’t exist anymore. I changed which means I can interact with Easter in a new way. And what a lovely thing that is…
My Easter Day was spent with friends who love me. My communion was at the wedding reception where I broke bread with people I love. The message of love didn’t come from a pulpit. It came from authenticity and vulnerability being offered to those willing to make room to witness it. I saw Jesus today in all sorts of faces and I heard Jesus today in all different tones of voices.
The turning to God where I stand vs the running to find God where I once did is something I have to relearn almost daily. When I remember to do this, though, I receive bountiful gifts in connection with the God of my understanding and the great big world all around me. And instead of Jesus getting killed all the time, I get to delight in a sense of resurrection and new life, if I do desire to turn to it.
Easter Sunday is filled with joyful celebration of the resurrection. Yet what I read in Scripture and what I witness at Pathways of Grace is more complex than that. To be in the presence of a resurrection moment means the willingness to face fears, be vulnerable and courageous.
The first witnesses of the empty tomb were afraid. Later we read the disciples were huddled in a room afraid to go out. Those who walk through the door of Pathways of Grace for the first time are often nervous because they don’t know what to expect. It isn’t often advertised that facing spiritual growth can be frightening. Especially when it is new. Saying yes I want resurrection in my life is a courageous statement not a warm fuzzy teddy bear. In fact being willing to claim resurrection in one’s own life often means letting go of much of what was once comfortable. That is very scary.
I have witnessed many who stop on the journey because they run into fear. They are told of course you can do this it is a happy joyful thing and what they experience is vulnerability, change and challenge and feels like failure in the midst of a celebration only gospel. I want to let those of you who may have had this experienced and stopped because of fear and change that it is worth the risk to try again. Not for some mountain top high but because it is in the midst of that experience that one really gets to know God in one’s soul. (and it may even mean coming up with another word or understanding of God).
The good news in the Scriptures and in life is this journey, though individual, is not done alone. In the Gospels, the resurrection scenes have Jesus there to encourage and inspire. In our lives today Jesus appears in the form of a book or spiritual director or a new friend or a workshop or a vision or in some other way. As we get ready to celebrate Easter that is what we are truly celebrating, the fact that no matter how frightening, challenging, joyful or changing this life may be, if we are willing to go to places beyond our imagination we will find God there.
Please consider the offerings at Pathways of Grace the space of encouragement to allow you to enter this scary, powerful, amazing relationship with God.
