One Early Easter Morning

We wouldn't let them change out of church clothes

until they posed for a picture

When I was maybe ten or twelve I was actively involved in an inner-city church on the south side of Chicago. Although I can’t carry a tune and never could, I sang in the choir. One Easter, we sang an anthem that began,

One early Easter morning/

I wakened with the birds/

And all around lay silence/

Too deep for earthly words

One of my best friends from those days has remained a constant in my life ever since, though we are separated by distance and have maybe seen each other ten times since we both left Chicago and New Mexico, where she moved and married, and I visited. But over the years we have agreed that on Easter morning, we awaken with that melody and those words on our brains.

This morning when I got up the first thing I did was to email Barbara and say I was thinking of her this early Easter morning with all its silence. Thought I was so smart, but when I read my email, she had already sent a similar message to me.

Among the many things I am thankful for this blessed day is a binding friendship that has celebrated many shared joys, including large families, and endured divorce and death. The tie that has bound us for nearly seventy years is strong—an unusual gift in this day and age.

We went to the nine o’clock service at Fort Worth’s University Christian Church. It was, as I expected, glorious and inspiring, with music that almost overwhelmed. This church has a tradition of following the Easter benediction with the Hallelujah Chorus, and it was as always spellbinding. Our church has gone through ministers at a fairly rapid rate in recent years, and now we have Dr Russ Peterman, who has been with us since December. He is a man of great enthusiasm and spirit, and when he says from the pulpit that he is so excited by the renewed energy he senses in the church, I want to stand up and shout, “It’s you! You brought your energy to us. You’ve recreated the church.” Someday I may get a chance to say it directly to him. Meantime, I’m silently grateful and filled with joy.

A brief lull and then we had brunch—twelve people, three of them pre-teens. Jordan needn’t have worried that we didn’t have enough food—a Spanish omelet (Christian made it but decided he just doesn’t like cooked spinach; the rest of us liked it a lot), my leek/ricotta/pesto pie (served cold though Christian tried hard to convince me to heat it), sausages, fruit, biscuits, and hot cross buns. The latter led to several renditions of the nursery rhyme which I remember vaguely but not well. Our company included three grandmothers (besides me—we were definitely in the preponderance), two middle-aged couples (shhh! They don’t recognize that term as applying to them), and one grandfather.

A lovely warm and wonderful day, though not so warm outside. The temperature has dropped slightly but steadily all day.

Easter has come, given us renewed hope, and now the long haul until summer. It’s too bad we live our lives in anticipation of the next “biggie.”

           

Hallelujah!

Easter morning, 2:00 a.m. - pouring rain, thunder in the distance; Easter morning, 5:30 a.m., alarm clock goes off, drawing me out of a funky dream about returning to the small Missouri town where I went to graduate school; still pouring rain. Sophie does NOT want to go outside but I insist. Easter morning, 6:40, just as friends come to pick me up for sunrise service, which will obviously not see a sunrise, it stops pouring and downgrades to a sprinkle.

Top picture 2015
bottom 2014

The morning service is inside the chapel, and it still has the small feeling of intimacy, of sharing with a few select others the joyous news of Jesus having risen. But I miss the garden setting and the sense of watching daylight arrive to announce the good news. The music is beautiful--they're singing "Jesus Christ is Risen today" as we arrive--a bit late--and I find my family, with seats saved for all of us. The sermon is inspiring, and the final hymn, "In the Garden," has special meaning for me--it always made my mom cry because she had a brother who died at 20 or 22 or something (long before my birth) and they sang it at his funeral. So the chorus is one I know by heart and love. Communion requires a trip to the altar, and because my balance is so shaky I don't go, but then I am shamed by a woman who arrived in a wheelchair and abandoned it to walk, with difficulty, from pew to pew to partake of the holy feast. Jordan brings me a bit of the bread, so I feel I have taken communion.
Following this joyful yet restrained service, joy reigns as Jacob and Eva, both eight and best of friends, search for eggs at my house. I am nursing my back, and Jordan and Christian do most of the cooking; Marj cuts up fruit. Christian has made a scrumptious potato casserole, and while I planned to scramble the eggs,  he took it on and did a fine job. I had gotten hot cross buns which I adore--Coleman ate one, Jacob had one on his plate though I'm not sure he ate it, and I had a half. They not only bring back Easter memories but they remind me of the Christmas cakes my mom made, I adored, and none of my children will eat.
By ten, dishes are soaking and everyone is gone; by eleven, I've loaded and started the dishwasher, though somewhere along there my persistent chronic back pain settled in one hip and made each step painful. I go to bed with the heating pad, then back up to answer emails, read Facebook and the Sunday paper, and begin this blog which is already too long.
From there, the day was one of sleep, which I guess does knit the raveled sleeve of care. Back to bed, but I rouse myself to make it to Jordan and Christian's by four-thirty, expecting to be just in time for Easter dinner. It was five-thirty before we ate--delicious fajitas (I eat the insides but not the tortilla) and I opt out of dessert. Home, a bit at my computer and back in bed by seven-thirty.
Easter night, almost ten: rouse myself to find a good, devoted dog sleeping by my side. Let her out and give her a treat, make my toilette, and head for bed again. Hip pain which was almost intolerable in the late morning is almost gone. I'm a big advocate of sleep. God works in mysterious ways, just like Mom always told me.
I am so blessed with family and love and church. It's a thankful, worshipful Easter. Hope the same for you each and every one.