21-22, 25, 27
After Easter, things settle down. Liturgy planners collapse.
The church is finally clean. Itís back to normal. The intensity
of Holy Week fades: night after night in Church, the rituals, lips touching
the wood, songs joyous and yearning. The brunch savored. The
eggs found. Chocolates and greetings spread round. Children
finally return to school. Another Easterís gone by.
Colors return but the world seems flatter. Greens push back
against browns on blades and branches. Flowers spring up overnight.
The birds beat the alarm clock. Itís finally here. Will the
magnolias survive the high winds? Summer plans take shape.
The mystery of our being is overtaken by seeds and playoff games.
Itís hard to ignore Lent. Itís longer than distractions.
If you blank out for a week or two, there it is again, purple and penitential.
The call to church for reconciliation. The extra visit to the soup
kitchen. Remembering to be grateful. Sinking to my knees.
God, you are near. Come closer.
After Easter, whatís to stop the drift? The quick prayer,
the nod at God, the repartitioning of my time? I try to find a cubicle
The story seemed to end. Until that day the strangers showed
up at synagogue. Their words troubled us. They spoke of Godís
faithfulness. Through exile and wars, God sent judges, kings, and
prophets to show us the way. Now there is Jesus to follow.
Every promise is kept, but not always as we expect. It wasnít
supposed to be like that.
Messengers keep coming. They irritate us. They pull
us past the daily planner and turn our eyes to God. We listen.
We try to put all we know to be true into practice. We try to stay
It is our turn now. We are the messenger. God, send