Practice
"Be joyful though you have considered all the facts," writes Wendell Berry in his 1973 poem "Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Act." Though life grafts its lines on your hands and face, be joyful. Though twenty-six minutes of the day's headlines make your head spin and the advertisements in between your stomach lurch, be joyful. "Be joyful though you have considered all the facts." The facts are staggering. The daily grind of life, your own easy and simple life, is staggering.
What do we do after Easter? What do we do with the resurrection?
On Easter, our pastor tells us this story:
Jesus appears to three people after his three days in the tomb: Mary, Thomas, and Peter. Mary who is laden with grief because her friend and her Lord is dead, Thomas who is plagued by doubt because he followed a God who is now dead and buried. Peter who is ridden with fear because though he promised not to, he did--he did deny his Lord not once, not twice, but three times. And now that Lord is dead and buried.
Grief. Doubt. Fear. Jesus approaches each of these. To each he gives a task. To Grief he says Go and tell, tell my brothers that I was dead but am now alive. To Doubt he says Touch, put your hand on my scars and see that I am I. Then tell the world what you have seen. Fear speaks first, begs, What do you want me to do, Lord? To Fear, Jesus says, Feed my children, feed my children, feed my children. The injunction repeated covering each denial, replacing it with a task, a call, a vocation.
What do we do after Easter? What do we do with the resurrection?
God comes to us in weakness and doubt, fear and anger, grief and suffering. And he gives us a task. Since you have seen me here, even here in this dusty place, go and tell. Tell the world that you, even you are made whole. How can we be silent once we have tasted and seen?
On a Sunday I look around and note: We sit and stand and listen and pray. We recite and sing. We do it all by heart, maybe without much thought. How can our hands rest in our laps, our legs cross, our voices rattle like bones when we have been given this? We are full, filled up and new. We are round with Truth.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it....
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed....
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
We do not perfect resurrection; we practice it. I will practice resurrection. I will try it, this resurrection life. I will tell my children the story, I will try to make its truth mean something in the tone of my voice, in the gentleness of my hands, in an embrace, in a meal shared, in a calm reaction to an irritating moment, in my response to a trying day, an exhausting week, a difficult month, a very long year. I will practice.
And like a five year old girl who works hard to balance on two wheels, I will have to get up over and over. Like a three year old sprite who battles an anxious spirit in the face of learning new things, I will need encouragement. Like a son who tirelessly trains his muscles to do the work most of us accomplish with little effort, I will need resilience.
And what fruits will come? What goodness will emerge from the dusty path we all of us trod? The path will still be the same, but perhaps I, even I, will be made new. Feet washed clean by the hands of a God who stoops low enough for me to taste and see that the Lord is good.
"Be joyful though you have considered the facts," writes Berry. "Practice resurrection."
Practice does not make perfect. I bought that myth for too long. Practice makes whole.
What do we do after Easter? What do we do with the resurrection?
On Easter, our pastor tells us this story:
Jesus appears to three people after his three days in the tomb: Mary, Thomas, and Peter. Mary who is laden with grief because her friend and her Lord is dead, Thomas who is plagued by doubt because he followed a God who is now dead and buried. Peter who is ridden with fear because though he promised not to, he did--he did deny his Lord not once, not twice, but three times. And now that Lord is dead and buried.
Grief. Doubt. Fear. Jesus approaches each of these. To each he gives a task. To Grief he says Go and tell, tell my brothers that I was dead but am now alive. To Doubt he says Touch, put your hand on my scars and see that I am I. Then tell the world what you have seen. Fear speaks first, begs, What do you want me to do, Lord? To Fear, Jesus says, Feed my children, feed my children, feed my children. The injunction repeated covering each denial, replacing it with a task, a call, a vocation.
What do we do after Easter? What do we do with the resurrection?
God comes to us in weakness and doubt, fear and anger, grief and suffering. And he gives us a task. Since you have seen me here, even here in this dusty place, go and tell. Tell the world that you, even you are made whole. How can we be silent once we have tasted and seen?
On a Sunday I look around and note: We sit and stand and listen and pray. We recite and sing. We do it all by heart, maybe without much thought. How can our hands rest in our laps, our legs cross, our voices rattle like bones when we have been given this? We are full, filled up and new. We are round with Truth.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it....
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed....
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
We do not perfect resurrection; we practice it. I will practice resurrection. I will try it, this resurrection life. I will tell my children the story, I will try to make its truth mean something in the tone of my voice, in the gentleness of my hands, in an embrace, in a meal shared, in a calm reaction to an irritating moment, in my response to a trying day, an exhausting week, a difficult month, a very long year. I will practice.
And like a five year old girl who works hard to balance on two wheels, I will have to get up over and over. Like a three year old sprite who battles an anxious spirit in the face of learning new things, I will need encouragement. Like a son who tirelessly trains his muscles to do the work most of us accomplish with little effort, I will need resilience.
And what fruits will come? What goodness will emerge from the dusty path we all of us trod? The path will still be the same, but perhaps I, even I, will be made new. Feet washed clean by the hands of a God who stoops low enough for me to taste and see that the Lord is good.
"Be joyful though you have considered the facts," writes Berry. "Practice resurrection."
Practice does not make perfect. I bought that myth for too long. Practice makes whole.
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