Lift your voice rejoicing, Mary

"Lift your voice rejoicing, Mary, Christ has risen from the tomb; on the cross a suffering victim, now as victor he is come. Whom your tears in death were mourning, welcome with your smiles returning. Let your alleluias rise!" ~ Episcopal Hymnal 1982, tr. Elizabeth Rundle Charles

Easter hymns have a certain bitter sweetness. They all talk about death and life in the same breath. "Raise your weary eyelids, Mary... see the wounds for you he bore." Christ rising from the dead wouldn't have meant much if he'd died of pneumonia, after all, and his death on the cross wouldn't be particularly note-worthy if he hadn't been raised from the dead. The Romans, after all, were quite good at crucifying people, mostly because they practiced so much.

But it did happen that way, and so we sing. We sing because God has conquered death--not that he couldn't before but that he hadn't shown us. More than that, God has conquered death for us. And for Mary, who had started down this road because an angel essentially talked her into it, this really is the light at the end of the tunnel. I imagine that she'd been worried sick for three straight years. Never mind the strange beginning, he'd been doing things and saying things that were obviously dangerous for a long time. Her worst fears were realized and then relieved. But what if the hymn is talking about Mary Magdalene? The man who'd delivered her from a living death (legend has it she had been the victim of possession) had been murdered and he was alive. Raise your weary eyelids, Mary, indeed. I suppose if I wanted to I could find out who the hymn is about--but why spoil it? It's really about us. Look up, dear. Stop crying dear. Breathe dear.

Did you notice in Church today that it was a woman who found the empty tomb? It was a woman who stayed around long enough to be the first to see the risen Christ. The ones who stuck around during the crucifixion were women. The men scattered. The women stayed. The men were around when it was all about power and glory. The women tended to Christ through and after his death---even if only through their presence.

"Life is yours forever, Mary, for your light is come once more and the strength of death is broken; now your songs of joy out pour. End now the night of sorrow, love has brought the blessed morrow. Let your alleluias rise!"

Have a blessed Easter everybody... try not to over indulge on the chocolate and eat the ears first.

The wrong side of the bed?

Today has not been the most exciting day of my life. It hasn't been the most invigorating or the most thrilling. I was running late to work, stepped in stray cat poop taking the trash out in the rain, and came home to the smell of dirt permeating my home. My cat had finally murdered the houseplant I keep in the kitchen window. There was and is potting soil in the kitchen rug, the kitchen sink, and it's just generally a giant mess.

I didn't even sell anything at work today---which is depressing and worse---boring. It was so slow I'm actually caught up. I can't even think of anything I could do if I went in for overtime Saturday night now. I also got un-friended without explanation by someone. It's not particularly devastating but it is annoying and a little rude. I get home and there it is. Right there on facebook. I knew it was coming but I didn't foresee the source.

It was the annual "Easter is Pagan!" article. Only four days left till Palm Sunday: I thought it might keep until Holy Week. I don't mean to pick on my friend. Someone had to do it. Someone always does. I suppose it might as well be him. One thing that struck me in the comments (I'll admit I didn't read the article. I read it the first time it appeared in my life and every one since has been a repeat so I've stopped.) was the remark about ritual rather than closeness to God.

Sunday's gospel reading features Mary's bizarre display of affection just prior to Jesus' final journey into Jerusalem. She takes a jar of nard, an expensive perfume, and anoints his feet with it. Then she dries it with her hair. Judas, flabbergasted and a little frustrated she didn't let him sell that to "feed the poor" (the aside in the gospel suggests he was likely to pocket it) stupidly rebukes her for it. Jesus' response is telling, "You will always have the poor with you. You will not always have me."

It's okay to be extravagant about our worship of God. We want to do it. More than that, we need to do it. Sometimes, even in this world of electric lights and smells emanating from "plug ins", we need to light a candle. We need to have extraordinary beauty in our worship spaces. If it's a choice between feeding the poor and putting in a stained glass window--by all means, feed the poor-- but if you can afford to do both--let yourselves love God lavishly.

I'm sure Judas was embarrassed by Mary's display. I'm also sure he wasn't the only one. The story has always struck me as a bizarre one. I'm not sure what to make of it. I only know this weird ritual was an act of love and submission. I know that Jesus did not ask for it. I also know that he accepted it for what it was and rebuked the people who would have scolded her for it.

Sometimes I feel like people are still scolding her for it. When I see the comparisons, when people tell me that I can have rituals or a personal relationship with God, I balk. I stop. I feel like a little kid telling her mother "but but but but I didn't mean it that way!" It's not either/or. It's and/or. You don't have to do this---but if it helps---go ahead. Use the good china! Wear your new dress! Eat the chocolate bunny---ears first of course. My mother buys me that not as some bizarre pagan symbol of fertility (new life, resurrection? Did anyone else make that non-idolatrous connection besides me?) but because she loves me. I have a few Easter rituals of my own. Every year I go to Wal-Mart (for shame!) and buy a cheap bouquet of flowers. Then I go to church and I give them all away to the other folks whose yards aren't blooming yet either. I love this... and I keep the big flower for myself.

Because it wasn't always certain he was going to come back from that. We didn't always have him. He had to surrender to us before he could save us. He had to do something bizarre and extravagant.

Quid pro quo?

I know I'm not going to succeed, but I can try, can't I?