Palm Sunday – seven short days, but they seem like a lifetime ago. Lifetimes of Holy Weeks have there been for Christians world-wide.  But what matters this day, this Easter morning,  is our lifetimes, our share in the Resurrection, our lives with the Risen Lord, not lives thousands of years ago, nor those to come, however holy they might be, but lives of this day, this hour.

Why so?  Because that is what Calvary was and is about, love freely given, freely accepted. Love, Jesus would remind us, offered in servitude is a tax upon the soul. Broken lives require healing, not added burdens. Even in the dictionary, healing precedes loving.

The Lord’s presence makes the broken pieces of our lives come together like the seamless robe tossed away on the roll of the dice.  Not in the sense that we can stand back and look at a perfect harmony, as colors of our years would  blend into a spectacular collage.  But Christ tells us not to worry about the colors that fight with one another, and patches here and there.

He likes our patches, testament to our comings and goings, the ebb and flow of our lives, with the bright hues of faith giving meaning to each hour of our days, while the grays reflect desert wanderings of a Paul looking for certainty in a cloudy mirror.

On Easter morning, Christ silently walks into our lives and tells us not to worry about our robes, won by his grace purchased on that pain-filled day.  Every mended seam represents our returning to him after having cut loose for some imagined toy that fell apart when we held it too close to our hearts.

The Trappist monk, Fr. Thomas Keating, in And the Word Was Made Flesh, says of Easter: “Anyone who responds to the sound of the ‘Alleluia’ with the sheer experience of oneness with Christ has understood the Resurrection.”

Kind of hard to take it in for this mobile society of ours.  We’ve become accustomed to being a people with fractured histories – let’s see: five years in Des Moines, four in Boston, seven in San Francisco, etc.

Eventually, disappearing things begin to create disappearing bits of life.  Little by little, modern nomads may forget where they’ve been, who they were.  They know only who they are today, where they are today; yesterday is lost, tomorrow is but the next unknown stop in a lifetime of stopping and starting over.

Instant friendships work well for a fourth at bridge or a trip to a mall, but they’re not much help when you’ve just received news that your best friend from IBM died yesterday afternoon, or that Aunt Maggie, who cared for your children every year, no matter how inconvenient, so you could enjoy a real vacation, is going to a rest home, or that a cherished classmate has decided to leave the active ministry after twenty years in the priesthood.

When too many bits of history become lost in transit, making new friendships becomes harder There’s too much emotional energy that’s been drained off in creating other friendships in Des Moines, Boston, or San Francisco. 

Not so with the Christ.  He knows about discarded dolls and rockers and friendships too long neglected to be resurrected.  He knows about loneliness and being an exile in the land of one’s birth.  And he remembers precious moments modern nomads have long forgotten –  Holy Thursday processions, with miles of scrubbed altar boys, and little girls in their First Communion dresses and veils,  followed by a contingency of priests, perhaps a monsignor or two, maybe even a bishop or archbishop – and incense spreading reverence and mystery, and “Alleluias” reaching to the Heavenly Jerusalem.

And He remembers Good Fridays, the love that inspired some of the best preaching of the entire year, as priests the world over searched their hearts and scripture to speak of love beyond words, of deeds too grand and too humble to be understood.  He remembers, and He loves us.

Easter is a day for lovers, for rose petals and broken perfume bottles, a time alone in a garden or a lowly hut, recalling Mary, the jubilant Mother and Mary Magdalene, the devoted friend.  It is a day of quiet victory, of peace over war, of mercy over justice, of love over indifference.

May this be so for you, dear friends, no matter where your garden may be.  Happy, Happy Easter to you and yours!

Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Amen.

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