It dawned on me on Saturday that the suspensefulness of Easter is a blessing experienced only by believers this side of the resurrection. Think about it. The close disciples of the Lord all scattered; they completely forgot or misunderstood Jesus' prophecy. The Jewish and Roman authorities at least remembered the prophecy and had some sense of suspense: they thought the disciples might attempt to steal away the body after three days, hence their appointment of soldiers to guard the tomb. The only sense of suspense felt by believers was in the women, but they were anxious to finish his burial preparations after the Sabbath. Thus, Christ's resurrection was anticipated by no one but Christ. He shocked the world.
Now we can anticipate Easter as it approaches, not to diminish it's shocking once-for-all happening in history, but to set a liturgical focus and special celebration of it. The suspense of the coming of Easter was heightened for me through passion week observances. This past week our church celebrated with the Lord's Supper (Maundy Thursday) followed by Tenebrae (Good Friday). As many of you may know, a Tenebrae service sings through hymns and reflects on passion narratives, extinguishing candles to represent the growing darkness that fell upon Christ during the crucifixion, until the last candle is extinguished with "It is finished...". Everyone departs in silence without a closing benediction.
Easter Sunday, then, is the resolution to the suspense of leaving in darkness. On that day, God's new creation light dawned, shattering darkness forever. Hallelujah!
Our mailman knocked on our door today since he had a package for me. I answered the door to receive the package and the mailman paid a compliment to our new mailbox:
"I like your new mailbox. It is much nicer looking than that old one."
"Yeah, it's a little smaller than the other one. I hope that works."
"Well, you don't receive a lot of mail. But there are heavy mail days and the smaller boxes just can't handle it."
"I went for the cheapest box." Pointing to the old box on the ground next to some bird droppings and a broken egg, I continued, "The birds were making a nest out of that one. I just wanted to get one that could close its lid." (Not to mention had the same bolt configuration. I didn't want to drill new holes in the wall to accomodate a different shaped box.)
"I suppose you get what you pay for. Next time when this one wears out, you should consider getting the longer box, instead of the deeper box model."
So, that's how it ended. He began with a compliment and ended with a critique of our new mailbox! He must have a lot to say about mailboxes. I bet that mailman walks around the neighborhood evaluating homes by their mailboxes: "Egads. Get a new mailbox, bud." or "Now this is a man who knows his mailbox." or "Hey, Fred, on the Bradford route, what did you think of the Johnsons' mailbox? Don't ya just wanna stand on their porch all day, taking mail out and putting mail in. Smooth, huh?"
Finding a wife is like a man who stays home from work to find his lost house keys. First, he turns his house upside down: throwing up every sofa cushion, emptying the pockets of every piece of dirty laundry, rummaging waste baskets, tracing his steps, wracking his brain. The state of the house became worse than it was to begin with. So the man sets his house back in order: every counter wiped, every room swept, every book shelved, every paper filed. Finally, all grungy, he gives up in exhaustion and crashes on his couch into a deep sleep. The next morning, the man awakes on his side with the sun peering through the living room window. There across the room are his keys glistening from the precise angle of the morning light. Reflecting upon all these things, the man concluded that while all that searching seemed fruitless, he could not remember the last time he had actually slept in his living room in his normal routine of things.
The dreadful sign language of silence is deafening.
My ears look for justice;
they grope in darkness for truth spoken through love.
I whispered in her ear. At first, a wishing well.
Then with time, a room crowded with "Hello?"
A deep, rocky chasm that only answers in Echo,
returning my whisper as desparate shouts. vomit.
Its darkness swells as does the womb of Sheol with the dead.
forever they kick against its uterus.
Teach me, St. Job, your wisdom, your patience.
Or should I not let silence take so long to say "so long"?
O my soul, His silence is but a breath between His words.
He is patient with your banter, courteous not to interrupt.
Father, forgive the foolish words I've multiplied, so full of me.
Yes, my words return to haunt me, because they seek me and my glory.
I shut my mouth now; I listen for You with silence.