Easter Debrief

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     There are so many glories from this past Sunday to unpack. I’ll pick one.

     I’d been wringing my hands over the weather forecast for a solid week. Would the sky be clear for the sunrise service? Would it be unbearably cold? Would we have the “angel mist” hovering over the pond? I could only be sure of two things. First, day followed after day in the relentless approach of Sunday. Second, each day’s weather forecast proved to be off by a little – or a lot. Checking for the last time around 10:15pm on Saturday, I was relieved to see that the chance of rain had diminished to approximately the value of “meh.”

     My wakeup call was not the 04:30 alarm I programmed into the phone (operator error). Rather, it was a crash of thunder and a torrent of rain against the bedroom window. Sunday had turned inglorious while I slept.

     Time and tide, as they say, wait for no man. Same goes for rain. Wet or dry, Sunday was happening. The only thing left to do was carry out as much of the plan as we could. Frankly, I was bummed.

     Maybe you’ve noticed, dear Church, how blessings are harder to spot than obstacles. I read recently that journalists consider the term “good news” to be an oxymoron: they don’t report on the airplanes that arrive safely, only the ones that crash. I must be a natural-born journalist. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit lives in me, as he does in every Christian believer, and as the glories began to materialize, I had a spirit-level witness to their arrival.  

     Through a glorious glitch in scheduling (my fault), a handful of folks came thinking the service started at 6:30am. They were happy to join others in setting up chairs for the 7am start. One of the rented patio heaters refused to stay lit, but we had fifty-two degrees for a temperature instead of our “customary” thirty-something. There were no visible angels dancing over the pond, but the air was certainly loaded with the bounty of spring. In fifteen or so sunrise services, I don’t recall ever having a thunderstorm. It was fast becoming evident that 2024 would be the year. (Never say never, right?) And the particular glory to which I bear witness would have been nigh-onto impossible without that particular weather event.

     We were fairly deep into singing “In Christ Alone,” a plodding/soaring musical testimony to the power of the Resurrection. The third verse begins “There in the ground His body lay / light of the world by darkness slain. Then bursting forth in glorious Day…

     Boo-o-o-o-o-oom, rumble/rumble…

     I could hardly go on. What more could be said? What more could be sung, other than “…up from the grave he rose again! And as he stands in victory / sin’s curse has lost its grip on me…”

     The King of the Universe had made silliness of the weather forecasts. My expectations he made even sillier. Why had I wanted what I’d wanted? This was way better. From the storehouse of heaven, he sent thunderous proof of his faithfulness: resurrection power is for now, is for ever. I love how he works the punctuation.

     Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is (1John 3:2).

     How’s that for an expectation?

     In 2025, Easter will occur on April 20. A little late in the spring for snow, but I distinctly remember two inches of sloppy wet stuff on the twenty-fourth of April in 2005, a non-Easter Sunday. God does what he wants, and that’s OK. Indeed, he does immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us (Ephesians 3:20). Imagine that, if you can. If the snow lashes our faces on 4.20.25, we’ll manage. It may simply be the shortest sunrise service so far. But I do hope the second heater stays lit.  

Grace and Peace (and witness to the glory),

 

John