“It’s basically like sitting down at the table next to us when we’d go to breakfast.”
Sunday did not feel like Easter; except for this: what may have been our saddest Easter may also have been our most Easter-like Easter.
“This year has actually added a poignancy and intensity to Holy Week from all that I’m observing in my own heart and in my congregation.”
While Jesus is indeed alive, the reality of God’s Kingdom is far from being fully realized in our world. Ultimately, rushing to the goodness of Easter is part of an escapist mentality only afforded to the most privileged among us.
David declared that even though he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, goodness and mercy would follow him always and that God would be with him forever. This year, this Holy Week, we have to find a way to believe that.
Though life now feels like a wild, roller coaster ride of emotions, we are part of something much bigger than the unfolding devastation of the coronavirus pandemic. Our lives, even now, are woven into a great sacred story.
The story of Lot and Sodom is relevant and timely, if we see it as a story of radical hospitality.
As Good Friday moves toward Easter, churches across the world reassert their calling as the Body of the living Christ, not arcane museums.
A Christianity that brings newness to deadness, even if the newness was something we would never have chosen for ourselves, is the sort of thing that just might blow the doors off the universe if we’ll let it. At the least, I know this kind of Christianity manages to empty my tomb year after year after year.