Life released

Liturgy is not as much production, as participation. No wonder I am tired.

I am no longer responsible

For the variety of liturgies,

Coordination of all the players.

In liturgy of course

That includes everyone

Who walks through the door.

Everyone who walks

Out the door.

Why

Am I so exhausted

Easter Sunday afternoon,

Even when I only did

Bits and pieces

Of Lent and Holy Week?

Now the tomb

Is empty and life released

Into the world.

Now comes the greening

Who wouldn’t be tired?

Not so empty

Everyone gets his or her own experience:  parents, children.  This nest is not defined by its emptiness. It is not so empty.

How’s the empty nest?

They ask

Not so empty

I respond.

There are traces

And texts

And the occasional phone call.

These tell me

Which updrafts

My not-so-baby bird

Is catching;

Which trees

Provide shelter;

What the flock looks like;

Where she flies alone

But still

Not too alone.

Empty nest?

Maybe

But still

Not too empty

Contemplating Easter

Life does not always carry with it what we expect.  The trick is to recognize Easter here... wherever here is.   Oh yes, we say, oh yes, even here the sun shines through the window, makes a puddle of light on the floor.  Even here the tomb is empty.

The blue and sun enter

Even such sterile places.

We have been here before

And know the life;

It permeates even here,

Maybe especially here.

The tomb is empty.

We have been here before.

We may be here again.

We practice Easter

Four days in

Hear the laughter.

It rolls like so many stones

Large and small,

from the empty tomb,

Even here.