On Saturday I headed to the Cathedral of St. Paul for the annual St. Patrick’s Day mass. It has become a tradition for me and I now have encouraged several close to me to come along. It is a worship experience of the highest pageantry. Processions of clergy in their full vestments, bagpipers in kilts, the Ancient Order of Hibernians in their black capes and feathery hats armed with swords, incense, a brass plated Bible held high. For this Protestant, it is a pure delight of things I rarely experience. This year, as in many others, former Archbishop Harry Flynn presided and he is always gracious and welcoming to all. The music is big and full of the heart-string-pulling tunes of the Irish and there is always a light heartedness to all those dressed in various shades of green, those descendants of Ireland and those who claim to be for the day.
I have many fond memories of the service and the sheer warmth and beauty of the day. But one particular line of the prayers of the people has stuck with me. As the prayer leader offered prayers of intercession for our world leaders, for the church, for families, for Ireland, I got hung up on one phrase:”Bless those who have fallen asleep in hope of resurrection.” When these words were spoken, my bowed head lifted up to take in the fullness of what the reader had spoken. Suspended in the prayer,I numbly prayed along with others: “we pray to the Lord.”
What was prayed after that I have no idea. I was back at those who had fallen asleep. Countless questions were streaming through my brain. Who were these people? Was I one of them? I fumbled in my purse to write down the petition before it escaped my memory, caught up in the next Irish tune that would be sung. I promised myself to return to this prayer. “Bless those who have fallen asleep in hope of the resurrection.”
Of course, I recognize that is one of those sentences that has countless interpretations. It is a matter of who is speaking and who is listening. The very word ‘resurrection’ has so much baggage that some people would tune out at hearing this prayer. Truth be told, I also have wrestled with this word, have seen how it can create an ‘us and them’ even among those in the household who call themselves Christian.
But as I look outside my window right now, I am seeing resurrection all around. The earth which is dead is showing signs of new life….resurrection. In my comings and goings around the Twin Cities, I have seen lakes that just a few days ago were covered with ice, now move with the lapping of waves. What had been stalled in a frozen state is alive with movement. On Sunday, as we read a very familiar passage of scripture, so familiar it could have been chiseled in stone, only heard as a monument of words, I watched people’s faces come alive with new understanding of old words. Resurrection.
How often I have fallen asleep to the hope of resurrection! When I allow my mind and my heart to be held captive by “can’ts and ‘won’ts’ or even ‘shoulds’, I have fallen asleep to the hope of resurrection. When I am not open to the freedom of my imagination and that of others, I have fallen asleep to the hope of new life. In the midst of doing things the same way over and over again and wondering why I get the same results, results that are no longer helpful or bring light and life, I have fallen asleep to the hope of new birth.
Where have you fallen asleep to what is waiting to be in you? Where has the hope of change gone dead and is waiting to be resurrected? What in your life needs a blessing of creativity, of aliveness, of hope?
May you, may we all, be like the life outside in soil and water and plant, warming and slowly pushing its way toward what is yet to be. As we open ourselves to these days that lead us toward Easter, may we be awake to the hope and promise of New Life that is moving and becoming. May we not find ourselves asleep to the ever present hope of resurrection.
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