Welcome
Each week one of our pastors or staff members writes a column observing what is going on in our congregation, the Church and the world, and offering reflections on the Christian life and faith. Through this series of columns, we hope to connect your and our story to the enduring story of Christ; to offer pastoral reflections on our ongoing congregational life and mission; to report on news of the Presbyterian Church and Church universal; and to invite further reflection and deeper discipleship. We welcome your comments and suggestions. In other words, our words here are an invitation to continue the conversation.
I have always loved Easter Sunday. I have happy childhood memories of my mother making new matching dresses for my older sister and me to wear, of Easter baskets filled with the usual paper grass and chocolate eggs and always an unexpected surprise, of the brass and joyful hymns in worship, and lunch after church with a table full of family and often a guest or two.
I’ve always found it funny when Easter falls on April Fools’ Day. After all, the Resurrection is the biggest joke God has ever pulled on us. Just when we think Christ is dead, and hope is lost, and life will only get worse, we all just go back to watching the television or eating dinner or scrolling through our social media feeds. Then someone comes and tells us that the tomb is empty. It’s so unbelievable that we almost choke on our lasagna from Carlino’s.
I’ve always struggled with the way Christians talk about “sin.” The faith tradition in which I grew up tended to talk a lot more about sin than we Presbyterians do. Not a Sunday went by without an invitation to acknowledge my depravity, confess my sins and cling to Jesus for refuge.
I knew my college friend was speaking English, and yet I was struggling to follow each sentence. Even the PowerPoint slides didn’t help because they were covered with formulas and numbers that in theory I should recognize, but as much as I could understand, they might have been written in cuneiform.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
- John 1:5
This passage from the gospel of John is one of the most beloved and hope-filled passages in all of scripture. God’s love reaches into the darkest places of human experience, into the shadows of our broken lives and into the caverns of a broken heart. Nothing and no one is beyond God’s redemptive power. Yet we, in pain and suffering, in pride or shame – we are the ones who hide. In a culture that celebrates success and shuns vulnerability, we withdraw to protect ourselves, our image, or our closest relationships.
Our first year living as Mission Co-Workers in Egypt, a friend and Lutheran mission-worker talked me into singing with her in the American University of Cairo’s Choral Society. They were planning to sing portions of Handel’s Messiah that December at a few different venues in Cairo.
With the memory of last night’s smudge of ashes upon our foreheads, we have begun our journey into Lent. As the days lengthen into spring we are invited to reflect upon our humanity: our frailty and fallibility, our need for repentance and forgiveness.
