i need the symbols of this season to reset my heart: easter reflections

Christ is risen - he is risen indeed! We are home in the quiet solitude of the rolling Berkshire hills. Spring is truly making her appearance known as I uncover more and more tiny blue flowers called "glory of the snow." After a full and joy-filled Holy Week in the city, caring and being cared for by loved ones in Brooklyn including feasting with our family and the intensity of worship within the cycle of the Triduum, it is time for reflection.

The season of Easter is all about searching for and celebrating life in all its wonder. In my small part of creation, the daffodils are aching for a little more sun before they share their glory. Soon their vibrant shades of yellow will bless us, banishing the grays of winter for a season followed by tulips, lilies, and lilacs. The Easter proclamation of my tradition, "Christ is risen," is not triumphal, but rather an invitation to honor all the places where life is breaking through the tombs of cynicism and despair. Easter asks us: where do we see love and creativity bringing hope to birth? In this culture? In our body? In each moment?  Fr. Richard Rohr recently put it like this:

Easter isn’t celebrating a one-time miracle as if it only happened in the body of Jesus and we’re all here to cheer for Jesus... but it is the message most Western Christians have been told. When Christianity split into East and West in 1054, both sides lost a piece of the puzzle... (with Western Christianity celebrating) Jesus walking alone out of the tomb carrying a white flag, as if to say, “Look at me! I made it!” (Our) theology) declared “Jesus rose from the dead” as an individual... The Eastern Church saw the resurrection in at least three ways: the trampling of hell, the corporate leading out of hell, and the corporate uplifting of humanity with Christ... (In the mystical Orthodox tradition) Jesus pulls Adam and Eve, symbols of all humanity, out of hell... (which is) a hopeful message that is not only about Jesus but about society, humanity, and history itself. Brothers and sisters, if we don’t believe that every crucifixion - war, poverty, torture, hunger - can somehow be redeemed, who of us would not be angry, cynical, hopeless? No wonder Western culture seems so skeptical today. It all doesn't mean anything, it’s not going anywhere, because we (don't have a) wider and cosmic vision of Jesus’ resurrection. Easter is not just the final chapter of Jesus’ life, but the final chapter of history. Death does not have the last word. For Christ is not just pulling Adam and Eve out of hell. He’s pulling creation out of hell. (https://cac.org/the-death-of-death-2019-04-21/)

In many cases, new life appears in fragility. It is small and vulnerable. Like the crocuses in my garden, the new life of Easter needs time and nourishment to mature. That is why the liturgical season of Eastertide is fifty days. We need time to practice and enter the mystery. It is far easier to notice only the gray, mottled leaves of winter still covering parts of the garden. For years I was too distracted by chores, tasks, and my various obsessions and addictions to pay attention to what lies just below the surface. Without the time, space, and desire necessary for real contemplation, I missed the subtle presence of the new life all around me. I suspect I am not unique in this: feeling overwhelmed, responsible, cynical, and exhausted blinds us to the cosmic renewal inaugurated at Easter. That is why I find the worship cycle of the Triduum restorative: it brings silence, critical reflection, confession, absolution, and grace into my heart. And as Henri Nouwen has written: "Purity of heart allows us to see more clearly, not only our own needy, distorted, and anxious self but also the caring face of our compassionate God." 

In our milieu the word heart has become a soft word. It refers to the seat of a sentimental life. Expressions such as “heartbroken” and “heartfelt” show that we often think of the heart as the warm place where the emotions are located in contrast to the cool intellect where our thoughts find their home. But the word heart in the Jewish and Christian tradition refers to the source of all physical, emotional, intellectual, volitional, and moral energies. From the heart arise unknowable impulses as well as conscious feelings, moods, and wishes. The heart, too, has its reasons and is the center of perception and understanding. Finally, the heart is the seat of the will: it makes plans and comes to good decisions. Thus the heart is the central and unifying organ of our personal life. Our heart determines our personality, and is, therefore, not only the place where God dwells but also the place to which Satan directs his fiercest attacks. It is this heart that is the place of prayer. The prayer of the heart is a prayer that directs itself to God from the center of the person and thus affects the whole of our humanness. The prayer of the heart... gives us eyes to see the reality of our existence. This purity of heart allows us to see more clearly, not only our own needy, distorted, and anxious self but also the caring face of our compassionate God. When that vision remains clear and sharp, it will be possible to move into the midst of a tumultuous world with a heart at rest. It is this restful heart that will attract those who are groping to find their way through life. When we have found our rest in God we can do nothing other than minister. God’s rest will be visible wherever we go and to whomever we meet. And before we speak any words, the Spirit of God, praying in us, will make his presence known and gather people into a new body, the body of Christ himself.

Nouwen's words, "it is a restful heart that will attract those who are groping to find their way through life" rings true for me. Not only have I been attracted to those who are grounded in grace, especially when I have been at loose ends, but I have found that when I, too am grounded, people find me. Not because they want to be proselytized or converted, but rather because they seek a moment of shelter from the storm. A chance to explore with another person new options without judgment. A living being with whom to share some of their story in safety. To be listened to and heard is a great blessing at any time, but it is especially sacred when our hearts are unsettled and we feel beaten down by our hyper-productive, noisy, intrusive and judgmental culture. 

The Triduum - the worship cycle during the three days before Easter - helps me reset my heart. In the poetry, music, silence, activity, and metaphors of these gatherings, I find a way to clear away the inner clutter. These gatherings facilitate spiritual spring cleaning for my soul. And what fascinates me is how the images, symbols, metaphors, music, and prayers of these ancient liturgies take on new and more satisfying meanings the longer I open myself to them. They are not stagnant. They, too experience new life on the journey from Lent into Easter, Pentecost and the Ascension.

+ Maundy Thursday: Can there be a better embodied example of what the upside down kingdom of God means in real life than foot washing? Bourgeois believers resist the humility and vulnerability of this liturgy, but I know of no better way of opening the heart to the essence of Jesus' love than trusting another to wash my feet. Chanting "Ubi Caritas," the ancient affirmation that when love and charity are present, God is surely among us, clarifies the whole tradition. Candle light, Eucharist and the stripping of the altar/communion table sets the stage for a time of solemn stillness. Maundy Thursday clears away all the clutter and asks me to get honest with myself and God.  

+ Good Friday: the only worship gathering where Eucharist is not celebrated. Nor is the Resurrection present. But this is not a "funeral service for Jesus," but rather a sober meditation upon the Cross and all of its various meanings. My grandson, Louie, asked me what does the Cross symbolize? So we talked about the pain many people experience, poverty, war, hatred: that is part of what the Cross means. It also is the place where Jesus died and prayed to God that all people be forgiven. And, given Easter, we know that the empty Cross reminds us that God's love was stronger than death. So the Cross means a lot of complicated things all at once. "Oh," he paused, "like a combination." Exactly like a combination - and then he said, "So there is bad and good happening on the Cross and God makes goodness out of what is bad." Hearing the Passion of St. John's gospel chanted this year - and moving to kneel and touch the cross in my own time of prayer - helped me let go of the sins that clings so closely and trust that God will make good what has been bad. Leaving in emptiness gave me time to let the whole encounter sink deeper.

+ Easter Vigil and Sunday morning: the Easter Vigil starts in darkness, moves into the light of a new flame, passes this light to all who gather with candles and then sings its way to the proclamation that God's love is greater than death. Eucharist returns. Baptisms take place. Light and instrumental music return to the community. And celebration is the rule of the day. Flowers adorn the Cross as the community confesses: "Christ is risen. He has risen indeed. Alleluia!" All the imagery, music and symbols point us in the direction of new life: where is God bringing new life from within the tombs of our world? 

There is precious little fundamentalism in the gospel stories of the resurrection: all we can say for certain is that Jesus was raised in a spiritual body and no longer resided in the tomb. Now he is strengthening his friends to live in the world as he did. Jean Vanier of L'Arche notes in his commentary on St. John's gospel that after Christ's death on the Cross, Jesus' encounters with his friends are not dramatic. First he comes to Mary Magdalene in the morning and simply calls her by name. "Go back and tell the brothers I will meet them." In this, she becomes the first evangelist. Two truths arise: First, Jesus doesn't speak of the disciples as "those who betrayed and deserted me;" he simply calls them the brothers. And second, the brothers do not take Mary seriously. Once again, the one who is faithful and small has been given the evangel, but it is ignored by those who think of themselves as strong, wise and in control. Small wonder that when Jesus reconnects with the brothers later in the day, they are terrified. Their brokenness is all too real to them.

Notice what the Easter gospel takes pain to clarify: when Jesus appears to the disciples - including Thomas - he does so to show them that even one who is wounded can be resurrected. Weakness, pain, suffering and confusion will not keep God's love away from those whom God loves. There are NO barriers to this love: not gender, race, class, ethnicity, walls, tombs, broken hearts, confused minds, sinful souls. God's love in the Easter story moves through all barriers to strengthen love and compassion. And when the story is over, we are invited to go out into our lives and share some of the love we have received.

Over the years I have needed to update how I understand these symbols. I have incrementally let go of literalism and let the metaphors mature and ripen in my heart. And somewhere in this journey I always find myself weeping - for myself, for my family, for my sins, for the state of the world and for the amazing tenderness of God who still shares Jesus with me. This year I wept as my grandson, Louie, sang about God's love that raises Jesus beyond the tomb. As is often the case, Richard Rohr's words bring it all back home:

I’ve often said that great love and great suffering (both healing and woundedness) are the universal, always available paths of transformation because they are the only things strong enough to take away the ego’s protections and pretensions. Great love and great suffering bring us back to God, and I believe this is how Jesus himself walked humanity back to God. It is not just a path of resurrection rewards but a path that now includes death and woundedness. Or as I teach our Living School students, the sequence goes order —> disorder —> reorder!

Jesus the Christ, in his crucifixion and resurrection, “summed up all things in himself, everything in heaven and everything on earth” (Ephesians 1:10). Jesus agreed to carry the mystery of universal suffering. He allowed it to change him (“resurrection”) and, it is to be hoped, us, so that we would be freed from the endless cycle of projecting our pain elsewhere or remaining trapped inside of it. This is the fully resurrected life, the only way to be happy, free, loving, and therefore “saved.” In effect, Jesus was saying, “If I can trust it, you can too.” We are indeed saved by the cross—more than we realize. The people who hold the contradictions and resolve them in themselves are the saviors of the world. They are the only real agents of transformation, reconciliation, and newness.