Reflections for

Resurrection of the Lord, Apr 20, 2014

Acts 10:34-43 or Jeremiah 31:1-6; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3:1-4 or Acts 10:34-43; John 20:1-18 or Matthew 28:1-10

Century Blogs

Early Easter morning

Apr 02, 2013 by Lee Hull Moses

It’s just after 6 a.m. when I pull into the church parking lot. It’s still dark, and the steady rain makes me glad we decided to hold the sunrise service inside. I’m balancing a vase of daffodils for the communion table between my knees, and I’m hoping my good brown shoes are under the desk in my office, because they weren’t under my bed at home. 

In the World

Two songs for three days

Mar 28, 2013 by Steve Thorngate

My Songs for the Church Year project is a season-by-season thing, without additional music for Holy Week. This week I did, however, also post this older song of mine about the New Commandment.

Blogging Toward Sunday

The risen gardener

John 20:1–18

Mar 25, 2013 by Benjamin M. Stewart

Each of the four Gospels’ depictions of the first encounter with the resurrected Christ suggests a different lens for perceiving the risen one. In Matthew, Christ’s resurrection looks like a theophany—earthquake and blazing light—and Christ appears suddenly and vividly to disciples on the run and on the mountain. In Luke, the risen Christ is first encountered as a peripatetic teacher and finally recognized in the breaking of bread. Mark apparently included no straightforward account of the risen Christ at all.

And in the Gospel of John, Christ rises from the ground in a springtime garden.

Living by the Word

Sunday, March 31, 2013

John 20:1–18

Mar 19, 2013 by Benjamin M. Stewart

Over the past 18 years my image of Easter has undergone a night-and-day change. I don’t mean metaphorically; I mean that in my mind’s eye Easter unfolds not in the daytime or at sunrise, but at night.

Poetry

Her cry,

Mar 15, 2013 by Jeanne Murray Walker

the morning when she finds the tomb empty
leaps from her the way the first spry geyser
sprang from the Titanic. She bangs her knee
and ducks to look again. Her adviser,
John, warned her it was dangerous to come.
Holed up behind locked doors, the gang of guys
who claimed to love him. She runs her thumb
across the ledge where his dead body lies.

Or rather doesn’t. Her heart’s a cypress
forming a final growth ring, final grief:
his body gone, his lithe hand, the small scar
from the sharp chisel. To what can she say yes?
Who is she now? Where to put belief?
Her cry gashes the fragile morning air.

Tags:

 

Revised Common Lectionary © 1992 the Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission.