The week after

This week is always like limbo land. Easter Day is nuts. It's exciting and nerve wracking and wild and over the top. The lead up to it is exhausting in other ways, but the final result of the whole kit and kaboodle is a pretty verticle trajectory. Which leaves me screaching into the heavens and slowly slowing down as the gravity of physical limits and emotional burn out assert their inexorable pull. Now I'm beginning to pick up speed again, down toward the thicker regions of the atmosphere of my life.

This year it seems I'm rather healthy, knock on wood. I usually am able to run myself into the ground and pick up some disease. This year I'm back at work and I just wobble now and then.

I wonder what the aftermath of the whole thing must have done to the bunch back then. Miracles are one thing, stress induced pooped-ness is another. And they had plenty of stress. Maybe I'm getting older and wiser. The older part is obvious. The wiser part is dubious. But I do feel more grateful for the entire experience. Gratitude does not preclude fatigue, but it does allow us to appreciate the moment. As a result that moment is a gift, a pleasure.

This is a week to feel a bit of low pressure between the ears, not quite a vacuum, but low pressure. And it's tinged with a glow. That's not limbo, that's a place of life, and life abundant.
I think I'll take a nap.

Broken Cross

It's Maunday Thursday. It's time to bring the big cross, the one made from 4 X 4's, up out of the boiler room and lug it over to the Sanctuary. Tonight it's inside. Tomorrow it goes out in front of the church. It's part of my discipline for these days.

I went to check on it, the cross I mean. It was broken. Sometime during the year it had fallen over and the top broke off. I said a prayer of thanksgiving that some one hadn't pitched it. Broken stuff is trash after all. Then I went to get the wood glue. Someone who knew better reminded me that I needed marine wood glue. Water disolves the other stuff. There are no guarantees about weather.

In some ways it makes sense to have a busted and repaired cross. The original wasn't pretty. Just another blood stained torture devise. And besides, we're busted, broken by the ups and downs, the ins and outs and 'round about's. We all carry scars. But that doesn't make us any less important. The nasty thing stands there are a brutal reminder of our broken-ness and the power of love to heal.

I like the cross. It matches me.

Broken Fence

Out my study window I can see the white board fence around my back yard. For years the bottom board has been broken. Right in the middle there's a gap of about eighteen inches. On my list of things to get done this summer is replacing that board and painting the fence. I guess the whole happily married thing is inspiring me.

But sitting here looking out my window, at my broken fence with daffodils and hyacinths blooming at its feet, I'm nostalgic and kind of attached to the whole scene. I'll fix it and get it painted. But I kind of like it the way it is now. Does that make it official? Am I certifiable? Or am I turning into someone for whom change is to be feared and avoided?

I choose to call myself a romantic. The scene is kind of pastoral, lovely and interesting in its own way. I don't like to change beauty. And neat has never been one of my favorite criteria for good looking. So I'll appreciate the spring flowers blooming around the broken fence and the rustic feel of the whole scene. And when it's fixed, I'll appreciate the face lift. By then the lillies will cover it anyway.

So much for bunnies

Easter has always been a problem for me. It doesn't lie in the emotional roller coaster of the passion and death, let alone the reality bending ressurection. That I go with. It's not only my job but it's where my gravity takes me. I guess this is the 'ground of being' that Tillich talked about. These rocks are the home soil of my home. I know them. Painful and paradoxically joyful all together they take me back to center.

Nope, that's not the problem. It's the cute factor. The kiddie fun and frolic thing. The family get together and sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner with a different menu moment. Now don't get me wrong, I think Easter egg hunts are great. And I really like fresh pork and lamb. The two poles, ressurection and family fun don't create a tension, they create a dissenence. They jangle my soul. It's like we're trying to go in two directions at the same time. Disconcerting at the least.

Analogy time. An earthquake just happened. Everything is shaken and some of the stuff we depended upon is broken. And we are joyous that we are alive and grieving at the suffering around us. Mint jelly and giggles just don't fit.

Now, admittedly, exhaustion may have something to do with the whole thing. But I'm exhausted at Christmas and I don't suffer the disconnect. So, call me a curmuddgeon, however you spell that. I've tried for years to participate and fit in and even organize these events. But I've always felt like I needed to leave after I hid the eggs and set the table. I guess that's not all bad and maybe I need to stop feeling guilty about not being more enthusiastic about this stuff. This is Easter. Easter. Whew.

So, a blessed Easter to you all. Have a nice dinner. I'll be out in the grave yard. He is risen.