This Week at Trinity, Beamsville
Thursday, April 14, 2022
This week I’m writing to you at a far different hour than usual. Even for me, this is early, but there we are, here I am, tucked away with some words and some tea, welcoming a new day with your gracious reading in mind.
You might know that I typically draft up this page-ish of wonderings sometime on a Thursday, for Friday sharing. Today, however, my laptop tells me the keys are clicking at the very, very early moments of this day-before-Friday. This Maundy Thursday, this day-before-Good-Friday, this very early morning, I am writing with only the neighbourhood frogs for company. While I marvel at how dark it can be in the wee hours, out here in this place without streetlights and urban interruption, I marvel more at the purity of their sound. Lifting up and out, from the wooded wetlands all around us, they are singing for survival, you might say. These tiny creatures, simply emerging from hibernation, are managing to encapsulate everything my heart feels in these moments: about the mystery of life and hope, of new life and new hope. They place the grander movement of God’s beautiful creation into both perspective and relief. They remind me of intricacy and interdependence; of resilience and resolve, and the power of presence, lifting notes of accompaniment at the most unexpected times.
This is not the first draft of these pre-Easter musings. I thought I knew what to say yesterday, mid-afternoon. I was sitting in the unglamourous confines of a parking lot, on the west end of Toronto, putting in time before a train was due from Ottawa. I was waiting for our youngest, on an unexpected trip home to visit her Grandpa O. Days and nights are so very hard for him right now, and we don’t want to take time for granted. She has a small window before a big push of exams, and we’re taking all the minutes it affords. We’re praying for time, too, for our eldest to get home as well, but we’re so mindful, so grateful for technology that knits us all together anyway. While we pray for release from suffering, we play recorded rhythms from Montreal – offered from grandson to grandfather, bound by mutual adoration. One is aching to get back to this woodland space; the other encouraging focus and offering freedom. The culminating recital for an undergraduate musician is the grandfather’s dream come true… and so all of us press on, with trust and gratitude, for grace amid grief. Is there really any other way?
For someone who doesn’t play any musical instrument with confidence, these feel like strange words somehow. Reflecting on melody is not my strong suit, and I’ve no doubt mixed metaphors all along the way. I do know for certain, though, that this is a time of year, a time of life, for me, when all words and ways point to the Beautiful Mystery. Like the ancient chants of Jesus-followers, who longed to lift Love Unknown for all to know its healing, we are on the edge of hallelujahs that cannot be restrained. Pouring forth from darkness, greeting the dawn with songs of life eternal, we are witnesses to a way of being that defies all language. More than a day, an extended weekend, or even an intricately ever-moving liturgical feast, Easter is living proclamation of Creator reconciled, in love, to all of Creation. Easter is my heart’s deepest song of truth that in life, in death, in life beyond death, we are not alone. We are surrounded by Mystery and Hope, and we are not alone.
My Lord, what a morning. What a glorious, complicated morning, where we can lift our joy-filled voices, too. Thanks be to God, we can and will sing. Thanks be to God, again and again and again.
Blessed Easter my friends. Blessed journey to this sacred ground, all over again. And blessed love, to and for you all,
In this moment of mystery,
in this moment of hope,
in this moment of life, loving God –
open our hearts to the wonder!
Open our senses to the possibilities!
Open the tombs that we’ve created,
and show us that they are empty
of what we’ve come to expect,
but full of the new possibilities.
Alleluia! Let it be!
(The Right Rev. Dr.) Richard Bott