This is the night.
The darkest, most luminous, most mysterious night of the Triduum; the night we wait together in the dark.
We begin in silence.
In the hush of grief.
In the stillness.
In the great, holy mystery.
Christians throughout the centuries have recalled this sacred time of waiting in the dark. For some, there is desperation and despair. For others, there's perhaps a sense that God is up to something, but what that is, is yet to be revealed.
And so, we wait together as did the first disciples in the silence of this darkest night.
The Church dares to offer words that suggest movement.
In the Apostles’ Creed, we confess that Christ descended to the dead—into hell, into the furthest reaches of abandonment and sorrow.
The church also offers hope.
Our Prayer Book tells us that the Great Vigil of Easter gathers us to hear again “the record of God’s saving deeds in history,” and to ponder them with wonder (BCP, pp. 284–287).
So tonight we listen for hope.
In Genesis, God calls light out of darkness.
In Exodus, God opens a path through the sea.
In Ezekiel, God breathes life into dry bones.
In Isaiah, God promises shelter, presence, and peace.
And on this night, all of it—
the light,
the path,
the breath,
the promise—rises before us again.
As with the Marys, we meet an angel at the empty tomb.
As we meet the risen Lord with them on the road,
As we try to wrap our brains around the astonishing possibility of resurrection.
This is the night when we contemplate the ineffable mystery of God. A night we hear a different translation of the Gospel.
This is the night to go back.
And we might recall that this year, our Holy Week began with a donkey.
There is a sign on Route 1, somewhere near Beltsville, marking the route of the first successful telegraph transmission between Washington and Baltimore. The words inventor Samuel Morse chose (suggested by a female associate, I might add) were from scripture:
What hath God wrought?
That’s from the King James translation.
It is a passage from the book of Numbers—
from the strange, wonderful story of Balaam,
that unlikely prophet to whom and through whom God spoke in an unlikely way; that is, through a donkey.
Also, never underestimate the importance of different translations.
Recently, John Beakes shared an article about the 500th anniversary of the first English translation of the New Testament. William Tyndale, who spearheaded the covert operation, had to smuggle copies into England. It was a dangerous, illegal project in Catholic England at the time, where masses were only said in Latin. Tyndale was eventually executed for his efforts, but not before bringing the King James Bible to the English-speaking world, which eventually influenced our own American democracy.
What hath God wrought?
In newer translations, we read: See what God has done!
See what God has done!
The tomb is empty.
Christ is risen.
And the first people entrusted with that news are the women.
How’s that for Easter grace?
In a world that discounted the testimony of women,
God chose women to be the first witnesses to the resurrection.
See what God has done!
God works not always through the ones the world is necessarily prepared to receive—but through love, through fidelity, through those who stay with us, even in the darkest hours.
Yesterday, I came across some writing by my grandfather, who was badly wounded in France during the First World War. While recovering from his injuries in Boston, he took a writing class at Harvard. His professor, who also tutored Helen Keller as she wrote her autobiography, encouraged him to write about his harrowing experience. In the folder with his final manuscript is the original paper my grandfather submitted, with his instructor’s edits and notes in the margins. His original grade: a disappointing B-.
Easter does not tell the story of the easiest path.
It tells the story of God’s faithfulness breaking through when human hope has reached its limit.
See what God has done!
Last week, the former oncology nurse, Dame Sarah Mullally, began her first sermon as the first female Archbishop of Canterbury with the angel’s words to Mary, mother of Jesus: “For nothing will be impossible with God.”
Easter teaches us to get used to different, to expect the impossible from God.
I think about our building project…
Good gracious! See what God has done!
The poet Anne Hillman writes:
“We stand at a new doorway,
awaiting that which comes...
daring to be human creatures,
vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.”
Learning to love.
That is the heart of Easter after all.
What hath God wrought?
See what God has done.
Choose whichever translation you prefer.
What seemed impossible has happened.
Love has prevailed. And nothing will ever be the same.
Rejoice now, Mother Church, and be glad.
Alleluia. Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.
---
No comments:
Post a Comment