A Rite of Spring
An
Eastertide Celebration in Three Acts
~ Rev. Erik Walker Wikstrom ~
“[God] has written the promise of the
resurrection not in books alone,
but in every leaf in springtime.”
~ Martin Luther
but in every leaf in springtime.”
~ Martin Luther
~ Prelude ~
Opening Words
The Unitarian Universalist minister Max Coots once wrote:
“We need a celebration that
speaks the spring-inspired word about life and death, about us as we live and
die, through all the cycling seasons, days, and years. We need the sense of
deity to crack our own hard, brown, December husks and push life out of inner
tombs and outer pain. Unless we move the seasons of the self, and spring can
come for us, the winter will go on and on. And Easter will remain a myth, and
life will never come again, despite the fact of spring.”[1]
On this morning when our
Christian brothers and sisters celebrate Easter, may we open our hearts and
minds to all of the “spring-inspired” truths our human kin have found and that
we, and our world, so desperately need to hear.
Ringing of the
Bell
Chalice Lighting
“You who have an eye for miracles, regard the bud
now appearing on the bare branch of the fragile young tree. It’s a mere dot, a nothing. But already it’s a flower, already a fruit,
already its own death and resurrection.” [2]
Congregational
response: We light our chalice in peace
and friendship.
Prelude
~ Act 1: winter and the tomb ~
Reader 1:
the Story of Winter
In a small galaxy in a
far corner of the Universe there is a tiny ball
of water and rock that is spinning around its own
axis once every day, and around its sun at approximately 66,000 miles per hour,
taking a full year to complete its course. This is where we live, the Earth, third
planet from the sun.
Roughly
four and a half billion years ago the Earth and her neighbors
came into existence from within the swirling
stellar stew caused by the supernova of the primal star Tiamat. It took nearly two billion years for the
landmasses to stabilize, and the first eukaryotic cell
— one with a membrane
and a nucleus and chromosomes with DNA—the ancestor of all forms of advanced
life, did not emerge for another five hundred million years. Over the next one and a half billion years there arose a great diversity of life, nearly
ninety percent of which were destroyed during the Cambrian extinctions of five
hundred and seventy million years ago.
It is around this time that the earth’s axis stabilizes at its current
23 ½ degrees. We
are part of a story that is older than we can imagine.
Because
the Earth spins on a slightly tilted axis, for part of the year the northern half of the globe is closer to
the sun, and for half of the year its the southern hemisphere that receives the
extra warmth of more direct sunshine.
Whatever part is farther away experiences winter. This shift from summer through fall to winter and from
winter through spring back to summer has been
going on for nearly half a billion years.
Leaves have changed color and dropped from
the trees. Warm days and cool
nights have given way to cold days and even colder nights. Plants die, or close in on themselves. The ground hardens; the air dries out. Snow falls and covers the grasses, the rocks . . .
everything. Streams and ponds freeze
solid, and even the larger rivers and lakes hide their movement in the depths, beneath
a layer of frozen stillness. It’s as if nothing grows; nothing moves.
In the
animal realm, many species of birds, some bats, and
animals like caribou, elk, and even whales have begun traveling to warmer
climes. Squirrels, mice, and beavers start
eating the extra food they gathered and stored in the fall, expending their
energy on staying warm rather than the now futile effort of foraging. Bears, skunks, chipmunk, some fish, frogs,
snakes, and turtles hibernate or go dormant, going within themselves,
essentially shutting down.
And that
is how humans experienced this time of year since our emergence on the earth some two
and a half million years ago until relatively recently when we mastered the
science of creating artificial environments in our climate controlled homes and
workplaces. Still, in our cells, we
remember. Short days and long nights encourage us to slow down. We, too, tend to fold inward, to mirror the
stillness of the world around us.
Hymn: Now
the Day Is Over (SLT #46, vs. 2, 4, 5)
Now the
leafless landscape settles in repose,
Waiting for the quiet of the winter snows.
Waiting for the quiet of the winter snows.
May the
season’s rhythms, slow and strong and deep
Soothe the mind and spirit, lulling us to sleep.
Soothe the mind and spirit, lulling us to sleep.
Sleep
until the rising of another spring
Keeps the ancient promise fall and winter bring.
Keeps the ancient promise fall and winter bring.
Reader 2:
the Story of Jesus
There once was
a little boy born to poor parents from an oppressed
people in a tiny backwater village from which no one thought any good could
come.[3] Not much is known about his early years except that
he was sharp of mind and large of heart and “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor
with God and man.”[4] It seems likely that he took seriously the
religion of his people—so seriously that it set him apart from his earliest
days.
As a young
man he began to
preach and teach and heal. He taught that all
people are God’s children and that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you
do—God loves you anyway and will embrace you with joy if you’ll only turn
toward that Love. It is said that this
boy—known in his day as Yeshua—was so filled with this Love that when he spoke
it was as if God were speaking and when you looked on him it was as
if you were looking at God face-to-face.
Crowds
began to gather around him, crowds mostly of the poor, the
disconsolate, the outcast—those whom others deemed unworthy. A community grew, a community with a welcome more wide and
more deep than any anyone had known before.
Even some of the scholars, and the priests, and the well-to-do found
a home with the itinerant band that followed this wandering preacher and
healer.
“When[ever]
the crowds learned [where he was], they followed him; and he welcomed them and
spoke to them of the kingdom
of God, and cured those
who had need of healing.”[5] He taught that God’s kingdom was not some
far off dream to be yearned for but something real within and around each of
us, that it was something to be worked for.
He taught that each of us, with faith, could “move mountains”[6] and that “if you bring
forth what is within you, what is within you will save you.”[7] He taught that love of God and love of neighbor
are inextricably intertwined and that pious words alone are worth nothing.
None of these teachings
were well received by the authorities, of course — neither
the religious authorities nor the authorities of the state who heard in his
description of the “kingdom of God” a decidedly negative comparison with the
kingdom of Caesar. Such radical
egalitarianism was a threat to the status quo, and the growing crowds were
worrisome, too. And so Jesus was
arrested, tried, and sentenced to die.
On Friday evening he was taken out, publicly
humiliated and brutally flogged, and brought outside the city walls to be
nailed to a cross. The crowds who had so
recently invoked hymns now hurled invectives.
His closest companions abandoned him and hid in fear. Yet even in the face of all this he refused to return evil for
evil—offering only love, as he had all his life—praying to God from the cross
for forgiveness on behalf of those who did these things.
In time, and in agony,
Jesus died. His disciples removed his
body from the cross and placed it in a stone tomb, but as the Sabbath was beginning they could not properly
prepare the body for burial. A stone was rolled in front
of the entrance, and this man in whom so many had seen God was gone. The “light of the world” was snuffed out, and those who knew him
were bereft.
Hymn:
Now in the Tomb is Laid (SLT #
264, adapted)
Now in the tomb
is laid, who welcomed everyone
and lived the Love of God. Now in the tomb is laid.
and lived the Love of God. Now in the tomb is laid.
Now in the tomb
is laid, who told the sparrow’s worth,
the lily’s
praises said. Now in the tomb is laid.
Now in the tomb
is laid, promise left unfulfilled.
Light of the
world grown cold. Now in the tomb is
laid.
Reader 3:
the Story of Our Lives
The story has
been told in so many ways, the story of the seasonal cycle from springtime
through autumn to winter: it’s the story
of Persephone’s descent into the underworld; it’s the story of Osiris’ death at
the hands of his brother Set; it’s the Phoenix dying in a blaze of fire; and it’s
Jesus on the cross and in the tomb.
Of course,
these mythological stories exist not just to explain how the world works out there, but how it works in here.
So these are also the stories of you and me. You and me when our relationships falter, or
fail. You and me when worries about
making ends meet keep us up at night.
You and me when depression clouds our souls. You and me when concern for the world leaves
us immobilized. You and me when one we
love dies. You and me as we face our own
mortality.
These
stories of the coming of winter—these stories of death and despair—are not just
stories from some far away people in some far away time. They are our stories. And while we may want to rush from cross to
resurrection, from the first flurry to the first crocus, it is important that
we spend some time here, for each of us has what Sarah Moores Campbell calls a
“tomb of the soul” in which, “we carry secret yearnings, pains, frustrations,
loneliness, fears, regrets, [and] worries.”
To gloss over them, to ignore this place and this season, is not to rid
ourselves of it but rather to ensure that we come back here again and again and
again, like an injury left untreated that flares up each time worse than the
last.
Douglas
John Hall has written, “It is the propensity of religion to avoid, precisely,
suffering: to have light without
darkness, vision without trust and risk, hope without an ongoing dialog with
despair—in short, Easter without Good Friday.”
Perhaps the poet Wendell Berry put it most succinctly: “To go in the dark with a light is to know
the light. To know the dark, go dark.”
And if we are to honor life—not just the wonder of it but the whole of
it, not just it’s triumph but its truth—then we must learn to honor, even
embrace, both winter and the tomb.
Innana
goes down to the underworld; Baldur is killed by Loki’s deadly mistletoe; and
you and me—the story is told again and again.
Hymn:
In the Bleak Midwinter (adapted)
In the bleak
midwinter frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood
hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen
snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak
midwinter long ago.
You and I know
winter, you and I know pain,
Times we feel
the sun will never shine again.
Darkness all
around us, with no end in sight
You and I know
winter, when there is no light.
In the bleak
midwinter earth and we are one.
Both in frozen
darkness, hidden from the sun.
Yet we hope
despite ourselves--what else can we do?
Hope that in
the springtime we'll be born anew.
~ Interlude ~
Offering & Offertory Music
Anne Sexton
wrote: “Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.” [Let us, then] give thanks for those moments
when we can feel that we live in a world that is not indifferent to our need.
We all
have so many needs—a thousand prayers—a thousand needs—that really only need
one answer: let the world not be
indifferent. And may we live and be with
each other in the way that shows this truth whatever the day brings: that neither are we indifferent to each
other.[8]
[So] let
there [now] be an offering to sustain and strengthen this place which is sacred
to so many of us, a community of memory and of hope, for we are now the keepers
of the dream.[9]
And as our
ushers collect your financial offerings, our choir will make an offering of its
own.
~ Act 2: springtime
resurrection ~
Reader 1:
the Story of Spring
Some notice first
the skunkweed. For others it’s the crocus
flowering
amidst the melting snow, or just the fact of the snow’s retreat and the
re-appearance of browns and greens where there had been perpetual
white. We hear the peepers again, and
the subtle change in the song of the chickadee. The pussy willows bloom, and robins return as do their earthworm
dinners. Perhaps you perceive the sound
of water running in underground pipes, the “gurgling brook”
sound as you walk past a catch basin. Or you find
yourself unable to stop from stepping on the brittle shelf of ice that’s
“detached” itself and is standing an inch or two above the sandy pavement. There’s the bright, rich yellow of willow
branches, and
temperatures that, in October, would have had us bundling up now making
us want to shed our coats and celebrate warmth.
And bears
leave their winter caves and begin looking for the fish that are now breaking
the surface for the first time in months.
Iron-hard earth becomes oozy, and everywhere things seem
to be opening. Birds return, filling the
air with song. And animals that had
horded and hungered are now out seeking for food just as the needed nutriment
is sprouting forth anew. This is what we celebrate today: Spring has sprung again!
Hymn:
Lo the Earth Awakes Again (SLT # 61)
Lo the earth
awakes again — Alleluia! —
From the
winter’s bond and pain. Alleluia!
Bring we leaf
and flower and spray — Alleluia! —
To adorn this
happy day. Alleluia!
Once again the
word comes true — Alleluia! —
“All the earth
shall be made new.” Alleluia!
Now the dark,
cold days are o’er — Alleluia! —
Spring and
gladness are before. Alleluia!
Change, then,
mourning into praise — Alleluia! —
And, for dirges,
anthems raise. Alleluia!
How the Spirits
soar and sing — Alleluia! —
How our hearts
leap with the spring. Alleluia!
Reader 2:
the Story of Jesus
On the third
day the women of Jesus’
community went to the tomb to wash and care for the body. To their astonishment they found the stone
rolled away and the tomb empty. Beside
themselves, they asked everyone they met:
“Where have they taken him?” A man they
supposed to be a gardener said, “The one you are looking for is not here,” but
that was hardly helpful. And yet,
finding no answer from others they found one in themselves—Jesus’ death on the
cross was not the end of the Love-filled life they had known. Jesus of Nazareth, Yeshua ben Mirriam, was
still alive, and they ran to tell the others.
The
companions, still frightened and despondent, were locked together in an upper
room. They would not believe the women’s
story, would not believe that all was not lost.
Yet even though the doors were locked—and, perhaps, their hearts as
well — the spirit
of their teacher came, assuring them that death is not the end of life. And this is what we celebrate today: that life is stronger than death and that
love is stronger than anything!
Hymn:
Jesus Christ is Risen Today (SLT #
268)
Jesus Christ is
risen today — Alleluia!
Earth and
heaven in chorus say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys
and triumphs high — Alleluia!
Sing, ye
heavens, and earth reply, Alleluia!
Love’s
redeeming work is done — Alleluia!
Fought the
fight, the battle won. — Alleluia!
Death in vain
forbids him rise — Alleluia!
Christ has
opened paradise. — Alleluia!
Hearts are
strong, and voices sing — Alleluia!
Where, O Death,
is now thy sting? — Alleluia!
As he died his
truth to save — Alleluia!
Where thy
victory, O grave? — Alleluia!
Soar we now
where Christ has led — Alleluia!
Living out the
words he said. — Alleluia!
Made like him,
like him we rise — Alleluia!
Ours the cross,
the grave, the skies. — Alleluia!
Reader 3:
the Story of our Lives
There is a
promise here. And, as
Martin Luther noted, the promise is written not just in books but in every
springtime leaf. It’s even
closer than that. The
question is not whether we believe in
resurrection but whether we have known
it — known it
in our own lived experience, seen it in the lives of others, felt it in the
world around us.
Persephone returns to the world of light;
Osiris is resurrected by the power of the love of his wife Isis; the Phoenix is born anew from
its own ashes; Jesus leaves behind the tomb. Snow and ice melts, giving way to new life.
The promise of our Unitarian Universalist
faith is the promise of the seasons and these stories—winter is not perpetual,
the wheel will keep on turning, the tomb is not the end. We affirm the promise of rebirth, of
resurrection; of life’s ultimate victory over death; of hope’s triumph over
hopelessness—not just as some abstract concept but as the miraculous reality of
our lives. And this is what we celebrate
today!
~ Act 3: alleluiah! ~
Closing Words
So let us go out into the
world – this world of such darkness and such light, of such hard cold and
luxurious warmth; this world of death and this world of life – let us go out
into the world and share the good news that life is stronger than death, that hope
is stronger than hate, and that love is stronger than anything … that love is
the strongest thing there is.
Alleluia. Amen.
May it be so.
~ Postlude ~
