Burial

"We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life." Romans 6:4

   Today is not the exact day, but two years ago, on Holy Saturday I woke up and thought my best friend had died.  She had been lost on Mount Hood since Sunday and I didn’t know until Thursday that anything was wrong.  To experience the raw emotion of the possible death of an intimate friend only to find out in three days that she was found alive is probably the closest I’ll get to a replica of the Easter story. 

   This week we celebrate the death, burial and resurrection of Christ.  I love how each year it grows more meaningful, like Christmas in reverse.  Getting older means greater joy.  The past few days I’ve been meditating on the burial of Christ.  I’ve always thought about His death and His resurrection, but I easily forget that He was laid in a tomb for three days.  My life this week, in a myriad of ways, has reflected the significance of burial.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally I’ve been brought to the Jesus who lay in a tomb. 

   On this side of the story, the emotions and meaning are radically different than what the disciples must have felt.  They didn’t know ‘He is risen!’ and were burdened with fear, doubt, denial, and despair.  But for us, burial is an invitation to rest and waiting.  And, as CS Lewis puts it so well, “Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead,” it becomes a place of hope, the expectation that all things will be made new. 

   Before burial one is anointed, prepared for a new name and another land.  Dry bones anticipate breath as they lay in the dark or the dust.  Community is gained when we live to die and learn to rest like the saints before and around us.  If we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake that His life may be manifest in our mortal bodies, then Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Resurrection Sunday should become the rhythm of our lives.  Always willing to die, always ready to rest, and always waiting for resurrection.

   Those outside the tomb must grieve and walk away, but if we place our broken hearts in shadow of Christ’s hand we will be the first to see the sunrise.  I will wait in darkness for my Savior to call me out to tread the dawn.

"For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." Romans 6:5

Cypress

"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,"   Romans 5:3

   I know nothing about plants.  Having procrastinated for months after a warning from our gardener, I finally called the arborist.  Something about beetles and trees, apparently we needed to act quickly. 

   He showed up the next morning and I learned more than I did in the entire high school botany course that I wanted to sleep through.  The news was fascinating and tragic.

   We have probably ten cypress trees on our property.  They grow quickly, creating instantaneous, natural privacy.  But then you stop watering them.  A cypress will work with the nutrients it has, thereby offering you control of it’s maturation.  Ideal really, feed and water the heck out of it and then keep it the size you want.  Had we been the original owners, I’m sure we would have done the same.  The trees are our favorite part of the property.  We’ve got postage stamp lawns and close neighbors, so the lush shade keeps the environment quiet and serene.

   The arborist presented a two-edged sword.  You can only starve a tree for so long.  Stunted growth leads to a weakened defense, making it susceptible to bugs and disease.  However, if we nourish the soil and give it what it wants, we’ll have healthy trees and a problem that’s outgrown our purpose.

   The worst of them is oozing sickly yellow sap everywhere.  It’s called weeping.  Later that day, I wept too.  This cypress was manipulated and used.  Planted in a place for the convenience of another, but not for the life and beauty it’s meant to display.  An evergreen only accepted as long as it doesn’t take too much and offers everything in return.  Fulfilling obligations instead of thriving.  Parched with thirst it has waited on others to allow it to grow. 

   A metaphor for a life managed by rejection and fear.  

   The grief before me calls my imagination to a path of confident healing.  Like a tree, the Psalmist says.

   What if the Cypress started drinking living water on it’s own, recovering, mending, growing into a magnificent trophy of a Creator’s rescue?  Severing its dependence on the plans and desires of man?  Those who used its weakness for their own comfort would be threatened.  The foundations of their carefully constructed home disturbed, while dignity and strength bloomed in the front yard, and they watched their efforts to deadened, stunt, weaken, and discourage become thwarted at every turn.  Boundaries of disdain overgrown by boughs of fragrant, living wonder.  They didn’t know that a Cypress is a symbol for endurance.  And if they bring their axe, her fallen boards will become holy ground for the temple, dressed in pure gold, a place of safe haven for those in a flood, a canopy over trysting lovers, sharpened spears for the defense of God’s chosen people, or instruments played in worship.  The Cypress is showing me that when definition and purpose comes from the Lord, whether in life or death, you will always be fashioned for His splendor in glory to the shame of your enemies.

   It was an ancient Jewish custom in Bethel to plant a cedar for the birth of a boy, or a cypress for a girl.  I want to heal the broken tree in my front yard, as an Ebenezer of hope that God heals our broken hearts.   I want it to thrive and grow as long as I possibly can before it ruins a water line.  Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

“Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall make a name for the Lord, an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” Isaiah 55:13

Wine

"Truly, I say to you, I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” Mark 14:25

Before everything, there was water
     the Spirit hovered
Before the foundation of the world
     the Lamb was slain
Then God spoke and the Word became flesh
Earth-Maker entered the world as Miracle-Worker

The Son dreamed of that day
Perfection in sovereignty aligning the bridegroom’s invitation,
     an impatient mother, and a wedding planner’s oversight
Complexity of circumstance, simple materials
A dilemma with empty vessels
     and water
The Master-Planner must have laughed
This was just like the beginning

Obedient servants produced His result
The finest wine made from the oldest substance
     from the ancient, all things new
The moment was savored, the work begun
     at a wedding

Sadness followed celebration
Three years of walking, teaching, working
     brought Him to an upper room
Water and wine again present.
     with them He serves and saves
The cup, His new covenant and chosen symbol
     of Holy blood poured out
He drank once and said He waits

A few more hours found Him in a garden
The man of sorrows wept alone
Sweating blood He accepts another cup,
     for which He must be slain
Vengeful wrath for all our sins and filthy rags of righteousness
Through beatings, trial, floggings, nails, and bitter gall
He finished it
The Father turns away
They knew this from the beginning
He died once, and now He waits

In the meantime we walk this earth
Laughing, weeping, talking, waiting
     We wonder
Faithful servants, broken, now made whole
What is He doing with our souls?
Joy-filled, the Father smiles
This is just like the beginning

Cleansing, pouring, pruning, bearing fruit
We engage the Father-Spirit-Son
     submitting to the work He has begun
Pain and joy flow like the weather
     refining, sweet, complex arrays of flavor
Await a bridegroom’s touch for all to savor

He drank once as we remember in communion
     But He waits to drink again of sacrifice. 
It’s our life Spirit-filled that we give
     to one Beloved
Who transforms that cup to wine that is all His
The consummation of His work He will remember
     as He drinks deeply of our love and death in life
The moment savored, eternity begun
     This is our wedding

Before everything, there was water
     the Spirit hovered
At the end of all things, you will see
It is just like the beginning
     in the substance of your soul
He is making wine

“Behold, the days are coming,” declares the Lord,
    “when the plowman shall overtake the reaper
    and the treader of grapes him who sows the seed;
the mountains shall drip sweet wine,
    and all the hills shall flow with it.
 I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel,
    and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them;
they shall plant vineyards and drink their wine,
    and they shall make gardens and eat their fruit.
 I will plant them on their land,
    and they shall never again be uprooted
    out of the land that I have given them,”
says the Lord your God."   Amos 9:13-15