Easter 2009

If anyone has tried to keep up with me by only looking at this blog periodically, I feel for you... things have changed quickly over the last few years in the life of Mike, and I've not tended to write here, well, ever. I've Facebook-ed and Twitter-ed the sometimes pithy, sometimes intentionally mysterious, sometimes mundane short little burststo which we are all prone these days. But today, sitting in church, I had the urge to write here.


See, things have changed again. Not in an I-moved-somewhere-different kind of way (though I did), and not even in an I-have-a-new-job kind of way (though I do), but in a way that seems appropriate to Easter: Life has followed death. What was sown in tears is starting to be reaped in joy. And if I don't stop to remember that and cry out in thanks for that on Easter... well, then I'm not paying attention.

I woke up this morning not paying too much attention. I woke up with a list of things I knew were on the agenda: walk the dogs, feed them, take a shower, get to church, take my friend Daniel to the airport. Then there would be some free time to do whatever I felt like doing. A lot of days recently have felt like that: agenda, then maybe some free time, not a whole lot of larger picture thinking. Sitting in church, though, I started to wake up a bit. I was fighting through the fog I've often felt in church and in spiritual matters over the last year or so, the fog of being almost overly familiar with the ideas and the stories, but having them seem pretty unfamiliar to my recent experience.

And then I started thinking, "Listen to your life, Mike. Are you forgetting that Easter has been the best metaphor for what's happened over the last few months? Listen to your life." Because after my marriage died last spring, and after I went through the two days or 6 months of trying to deal with the new reality, of being lost and confused and wounded and stumbling trying to make sense of what I never thought would happen happening... this fall it came back to life. I won't really go through any of the details here, but last fall, Sarah reached out to me. She had, metaphorically, stumbled upon the empty grave and came to tell me about it. Most of me was like the disciples who resisted the news, not believing it possible. But there was just enough Peter in me to go and take a look. And it didn't make sense, but it was true - there was new life where death had been. I moved back to California a little while later, and we've been rebuilding a marriage ever since.

After the Resurrection, I have to imagine the disciples were like "Ok... now what? You did that, and that changes, um, literally everything, so now what should we expect?" In some ways, I'll bet it raised as many questions as it provided answers. And the last several months have been a bit like that... ok, God, you did that, and I never thought it was possible. So now what happens? Everything's not absolutely perfect now. Money is a bad topic, and I'm at a bit of a confusing place in my career path. Marriage is renewed and hopeful, but certainly not perfect. And the wounds... the spiritual and emotional and relational wounds...

Part of why I think I've not done enough big picture thinking lately is that, even with the new life that's coming on, there is an abundance of pain from the last few years that is going to take time to deal with. And it's scary. It's easier to keep head and heart a little bit separate. Honestly, I think that kept me going through parts of the last year. But it's meant not always paying attention, not always being ready to even ask "now what?" But here on Easter, the "now what?" has to be answered, at least in part, by what's already happened. Listen to your life, Mike - the dead has been raised. Where, o death, is your victory? Where, o death, is your sting? And if death is defeated, then surely the painful wounds will also be healed.

Surely it is God who saves me.
I will trust in him and not be afraid.
For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense,
and He will be my Savior.