What was it like to watch the sunset on the first Easter Sunday?

What did those men and women feel seeing the day slip away that first time after death was de-fanged?

Night came, not as a promise of each one’s mortality as before, but as an interlude in the journey of life. No longer was night a sinister harbinger of the death feared by every soul; now night could bring in its silky darkness a respite, a rest that healed now while reveling in the deathless life now proven and provided.

I’m doing something new here. The few times I’ve written something for this blog I’ve sat down with an idea, typed, backspaced, typed, saved, etc. Eventually I had something formed enough that I felt OK posting it and I would log in, paste it into the New Post window, and poke the Publish button.

Today is different.

Today I am opening the New Post window and just typing. Clocking out of work, leaving all the other projects aside, and just typing.

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I was asked by a friend today about a time I took a week off of work, and sought solitude. In recounting what I did and what I got from it I was reminded that there were a couple of years where I took a large chunk of time and sought God alone. I’ve not done that for a couple years now.

Sure, I try to commune with God each day, but the way I’m wired it seems there’s always a handful of things encroaching on our time together. Buzzing coming from right outside the prayer closet. Big pests, noisily clamoring right outside the door.

Even something like writing; I like writing and wish to do more of it. But when time comes that I’m not working on project X, project Y is there on the task list, waiting (and usually overdue). So I sit down to write, and instead start working on finishing up the minute from the last meeting, or realizing that I have to update the church website, or I really need to get back to brother so-and-so about his question, and, by the way I never did give whatshisname a call to see how he’s doing…

And eventually, I just sit down, and realize my mind is just slowly grinding to a halt. Yesterday I struggled over and over to call to mind words that are in my regular vocabulary. At work today I looked at a simple question and needed to write a SQL query and couldn’t logically process the basic logic required.

In the prayer time we always have before the messages at our Sunday morning church services I always get anxious when it’s my turn to preach. I feel the weight of the job I’m about to do. I second guess the topic. I internally debate whether I let God lead my thoughts and direction or barged ahead in my own direction. It’s always a time of anxiety, stress, and doubt, that I face fervently with prayer. This Sunday was different. Yes, the pangs of stress and concern were there, but deeper cutting was the emotional exhaustion and fighting of tears.

And today, as I think about those refreshing times of being alone with God in years past I start to realize, God’s been getting just one more time slot on my calendar.

It’s time to get alone with God.

Exactly a year ago I posted how the Coronavirus pandemic had hit me as real. I had just read about the first NYC MTA worker who had died from COVID-19 and it had hit me harder than any of the news up to that point.

A year later, I’ve experienced COVID. I would say I got a taste of it, but I don’t taste much anymore. I’ve had plenty of debates and discussions with people about data, statistics, health and medical questions, authority and obedience, worship, “doing church,” masks, fear, and dystopia.

A lot fit in the past year. Some things were net positive, like being forced to be more of an essentialist, and some things were hard negatives, like the division and discord that have grown in the great philosophical petri dish of 2020.

As I think of the past 365 days, the word that comes to mind to best capture what has happened is “catalyst.” A lot of things lit off this year. Some things that smoldered for ages became infernos in the last year. Some things we didn’t know were hanging around in our lives/mindsets/practices came to light. People stirred pots. Some people being stirred yelled about how they disapproved of the stirring while being unable to hide that they were reveling in the ride.

Overall I think of negatives in the last year. Part of that is my tendency toward cynicism, but part of that is simply because the evidence points to a lot more negatives than positives being present in this span of time. From the big things like the huge deaths over expectation and limited gatherings for fellowship, to the smaller annoyances like wearing a facemask to go into the gas station.

I know that that I need to find the catalysts for good. Find the positives and stoke them and not fan the flames on the negatives I so easily fixate on. The story of Christianity is redemption. Of taking the broken things and making beauty from them. I want to do that with this.

Last night I read about the first NYC MTA worker to die of COVID-19. He was 49 years old and a longtime conductor in the NYC subway. This started to make the dire situation of the residents of New York City, one of my favorite places, more real to me. I type this while sitting […]