Christ is Risen.
It was nearly midnight and I was staring into a dimly lit sanctuary. My sense of anticipation had been building all day. No, more than just today, anticipation had been building all year, intensifying during the Lenten season. For forty days, all during Lent and into Holy Week, God had been nudging me.
Sometimes when I would read scripture, the Word would be alive and filled with hope for my life. Not that I would read a passage and say “That is exactly what God is saying to me right now!” It was more like, “This reveals the nature of God in his interaction with humanity I am part of that humanity so I can trust God to interact with me in a similar way.” At points along the way, I became more deeply aware of my need for repentance from sin in my life.
The last few years had been brutal. My wife, Lena, died in January of 1999. By October, 2002, my role on the pastoral staff in the church I had served for 12 years came to an end. Both these events shook my life to the core. I lost the ability to dream, and wondered if God had simply placed me on the shelf like a child’s forgotten toy. I wondered if others in my life had forgotten me too.
But, entering this Lenten season, something was stirring inside me. I felt alive! God was always on the move, but now I felt him in ways I had not experienced in many years. I examined different aspects of my life and felt him nudging me to look behind the piles of rubble I found. As I picked up old stones and broken bricks, I saw ways in which I had allowed my self doubt to become a loss of confidence in God. The resulting attitude was “whatever!” While I still believed and I still prayed and I still desperately desired to follow God in faithfulness, I just couldn’t shake the thought that I couldn’t make a difference. I have been set aside.
At the bottom of the rubble pile, I realized I needed to repent before God. It was simply wrong of me to hold on to a sense of failure, or fear, or just to say “I can’t.” I held my sin before God and the more I repented, the more I felt him bringing new life. I wondered if Samson felt this way as he realized his strength was returning. And though I had no plans to pull the whole temple down on my head, it felt so good to feel alive again!
That night, the candles gently illuminated the icons in the room. I could make out the altar at the front, where the celebration of the resurrection of our Lord would soon be held. I stared hard, drinking in every aspect of that dimly lit room. So inviting. So welcoming. In the silence, someone came up and spoke gently to me. I was comforted, but I wanted only to drink in what was before me.
Come unto me all you who are tired and burdened. I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, learn from me. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
On the previous two evenings, this room had been filled with people singing, praying, reading scriptures and prostrating themselves before God. I love the Holy Friday evening service. Such depth and beauty is indescribable and the hauntingly beautiful songs touched me at the core of my being. Like attending a funeral where you say goodbye to a loved one, I found myself bidding adieu to parts of my own soul. I said goodbye to hurt and woundedness. I said goodbye to despair. I said goodbye to the idea that God had set me aside and forgotten about me. That night, as we read the story of Ezekiel’s dry bones filling the valley, I was filled with hope that my dry bones could live again as the breath of God swept over me anew.
During those few quiet moments before the beginning of the paschal celebration, I stood in the dark and looked upon holiness.
God was there.
And, in the next hours, as we entered the awe and wonder of the resurrection, I realized that, I along with our Lord Jesus, had been resurrected.
Peace,
Leon
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