On Sunday morning while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb
and saw that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance.
–John 20:1 (CEV)
The first sign of Christ’s resurrection came early.
I recognized it when I walked into my mom’s apartment
to take her to church Good Friday.
The long-awaited gerbera was in full bloom,
and Mom greeted me the way she used to
before chemotherapy hijacked her brain.
“It’s my first Easter without Dad,” she said.
She wanted to piece together what she couldn’t remember.
She wanted to see the cherry blossoms in Oyama,
to enjoy a cappuccino,
and share it all with her children,
and she did
on a gloriously sunny afternoon.
And I got to be there,
savouring each moment
of a day that would not last.
Meanwhile, my gynecologist called
and left a message:
My pathology reports came back negative.
Holy Saturday, I awoke with the poem that was missing.
I wrote it, posted it, and then went off
to the last gathering of the drum circle for the season.
We drummed, sang and danced
Fill your cup
Drink it up …
The fish in the water’s not thirsty.
I thought of the cup Jesus drank:
the cup of his life,
the cup of suffering,
the cup of loved ones waking up and falling asleep,
the cup of trusting
there is more going on than what we see,
the piercing sadness,
the fearful joy…
the cup of what is–
life coming to us,
Love coming to us,
moment by moment.
Early Sunday morning,
I awoke knowing
how to make peace with
what I planned to post on my blog for Easter.
I revised it
then rushed off to church
to hear afresh that
the stone had been rolled away,
to know afresh that
no stone can block the movement of God–
not the weather or cancer,
not stubborn unforgiveness,
or unshakable fears,
or our inability to stay awake.
Nothing can restrain
resurrection.
Love will abide forever; for
You have established Yourself
in secret places
seeking our receptive hearts,
already making Your
dwelling place within.
–Psalm 9:9-10 (adapted),
Nan Merrill, Psalms for Praying
An Everyday Pilgrim 