Three Little Birds

Easter Sunday. Egg hunt. Estes model rockets. Glow sticks. Popsicle makers. Chocolate bunnies. Jelly beans. Candy. Cake. Ice cream.

One sick little man.

Sitting on the bathroom floor at my sister's house, crying, he began whispering to me, "Don't worry about a thing. Every little thing is going to be alright."

Yes, it is.

Tenebrae

Last night, I went to a Tenebrae service which, until yesterday, I had never heard of.

This particular service was a succession of music, prayer and seven readings -- no traditional mass/no sermon. The church was fully lit with eight candles on the altar and after each reading a single candle was extinguished and the lights were dimmed. By the end of the service, we were in complete darkness with the exception of one candle, which was used to lead a silent procession, and a light shining on the crucifix above the alter. Faint light from the dusk outdoors was illuminating the stained glass windows throughout.

Just beautiful.

The music ranged from Mozart and Bach to Andrew Lloyd Webber; from simple and soulful to complex and discordant; from piano, violin and flute to tenors and sopranos.

You could almost palpably feel the pain and sorrow of the crucifixion -- especially the three hours of darkness that came over the land (Matthew 27:45). Unreal.
 

Higher Ground

In 1994, I spent "Holy Week" with my girlfriends Melinda (American) and Margaroo (Australian) visiting another friend, Anita (Irish), in London. I put it in quotes 'cause there was nothing particularly holy about that week for us. We spent the days shopping and the nights in restaurants and/or at shows.

Just being elsewhere is fun. Yet being anywhere with Melinda is fun. I could tour a rendering plant with her and get the giggles. Melinda is the epitome of the loud American; however, thankfully, she's also beautiful so she can get away with it. Big smile. Warm personality. Non-stop entertainment.

Anita's flat, at the time, was in Croydon which is a short train ride into the London city center. So every day Melinda would unintentionally have the entire train car laughing at her antics. Everyone loved her. Young men. Old women. Babies. Margaret and I thought it was hilarious. Anita, on the other hand, was absolutely mortified.

Having had enough of us toward the end of the week, Anita went out with other friends so we were left to fend for ourselves. Not knowing what to do, we walked into Croydon that evening looking for a pub. Being Holy Saturday, everything was closed. They're clearly more observant in Croydon than expected or desired. We were directed by a passerby to a disco but, upon arriving, weren't allowed in because we were in jeans. Oh no, where else can we go? The bouncer told us that there was only one other bar open that night: The Blue Anchor. Okey dokey. Sounds good to us!

So there we were: three fresh-faced girls in bright, preppy clothes, including Melinda in a short, vivid red raincoat, stepping over a large number of barely visible people who were splayed across the floor in a blackened hallway (doing God-only-knows-what) just to get into the only pub that would serve us. We entered a dark pub filled to the brim with leather coated, tattooed, grimacing, metal heads. Hi! It's us! (Can you spot the tourists?) As difficult as it was to get to the bar, we somehow managed -- where there's a will, there's a way. And then we never left. We spent the night fully immersed in dangerously high decibels of Green Day, Faith No More, Nirvana, STP, Hole, Radio Head and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. At some point we started dancing with the locals. We were finally kicked out at closing time.

Whew! Happy Easter!

We awoke on Easter Sunday with neck aches from a night of head banging. Literally. I could barely move my noggin from violently shaking it due to an abundance of overindulgent, "when in Rome" dance-like-the-natives moves. To recover, slowly, we went to the cold, gray beach in Brighton with Anita and her snobby, self-absorbed, not-fun-at-all friends who refused to partake in any of the arcade games.

Even 16 years later, this ranks as one of the best nights ever followed by a dreary day jam-packed with colossal buzz kill. And to this day, I would much rather be noticeably embarrassed with happy-go-lucky friends than invisibly carrying on a boring, politically correct conversation with elitist wannabes.

I just want to dance.

I'm so darn glad He let me try it again,
'Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin.
I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then.
Gonna keep on tryin' till I reach the highest ground.

The Rocks and Stones Themselves Would Start to Sing

It's Holy Week. So what does that mean? Christ vs. the Easter bunny. Anguish vs. pastel baskets. Death vs. coloring eggs. Joy vs. hunting for eggs. It's such a tug-of-war between the extraordinary vs. ordinary. Pretty much just as it was back in the day, right? A carpenter? From Nazareth? A king riding into Jerusalem on a donkey? What the french, toast.

For me, I need to take the time, as I've been attempting to do throughout Lent this year, to reflect more deeply on the meaning of Easter.

That our God walked among men. What? Un-friggin-believable. (Truly unbelievable, to many!) He used to come in a cloud or a burning bush and scare the hell out of people. This time he joined us, taught us, fed us and loved us.

That, like Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac (and then some), God gave his only son to atone for our sins. And Jesus fully accepted his death on the cross for us. What? Is he crazy? (No, he's just a failed prophet, cite some.)

That, after the tomb was found empty, Jesus appeared not only to his disciples -- in a closed and locked room nonetheless -- but also to hundreds of people thereafter. But not like Casper the Friendly Ghost. He ate and drank with them. They felt his wounds. What? Is is a resurrection even possible? (It might happen, tsshyeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.)

If I were attempting to create a world religion, I don't think I would have my star character killed. I would have him dramatically rescued at the last minute. Perhaps a light-filled ascension right from the cross, like being lifted into an alien spaceship, with a bit of a "Ha! Told you so!" thrown in for good measure. Dude, that was really him? Man did we screw up.

Instead, darkness came over the land. The earth shook and the rocks split.

Also, I wouldn't write that he came back to earth -- especially since the first texts were written roughly 30 years after his death. Or, if I were making it up, I would have changed the dateline so that people couldn't refute my ridiculous claims. Yeah, it all happened 200 years ago. Too bad there isn't anyone around to chat about it.

But, much akin to idiots claiming that the Holocaust never occurred even when survivors are still living to this day, these texts were written when the people who actually saw the risen Lord were still alive and could back up the claims. That's way better than saying you were at Woodstock. And trust me, if someone published a book today making crap up about events at Woodstock that never took place (like the *fact* that Jimmy Hendrix actually performed in neon pink wig and floor length YSL ballgown), I guarantee people would not buy into it.

So what gives?

As Christ was entering Jerusalem and people were screaming "Hosanna in the highest," he said, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." Luke 19:40

Even without anyone shouting, all of creation testifies to his glory.

Easter Forgiveness

Years ago, I went to Charlotte beach on Lake Ontario with my girlfriend Anita -- a beautiful girl from Drogheda Ireland with whom I had traveled to Portugal one summer and who later came to live in Rochester for a brief moment in time.



We were sitting on the beach surrounded by girls with big hair wearing tiny, neon bikinis. And their boyfriends were wearing leather vests over their shirtless chests along with jeans (i.e., not shorts). Perfect for an 80 degree day.

Anita turned to me and quoted Jesus' words from the cross in Luke 23:34, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

I think of her every Easter and hope that she's doing well wherever she is!

Spring Fever

A couple of weeks ago, Stuff White People Like posted about how "white people believe that they can bring spring early by wearing a pair of shorts on any day that is above seasonal temperatures." That's how I felt this past weekend.

After spending a short (but fun) day poolside at a Courtyard by Marriott in Albany with some awesome friends and their kids, we drove back to the Roch to spend Easter at home. On Sunday, the kids woke up at 4:20 a.m., I coerced them back into bed for two more hours, and then they speed-hunted for eggs which lasted approximately one minute. Such buildup for this?

That left us with a day full of sunshine and, finally, a snow-free driveway on which to play street hockey, catch and basketball -- while retrieving the pucks/balls from the melting snowbanks. We then went around the block on scooters and further along through the neighborhood on bikes. Fresh air at last.

Today it's back to gray skies and snow. But, for a brief moment, it felt like spring.

What a great weekend.