In the April 5, 2021 edition of The Presbyterian Outlook, Rebecca Messman, pastor at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Herndon, Virginia makes the observation: “The church is currently in a kind of winter that will define us for a long time.” Then she shares the good news: “There are fruits on the way from the wintering church, and how we weather the season has lasting effects on the fruit.
“In this “winter” of the Covid-19 pandemic, churches have for the most part shifted from in-person gatherings to Zoom Bible studies, committee meetings and session meetings, and on-line streaming of worship services. While in the months to come, some will begin to gather for worship outdoors and others will make plans to return to in-person worship in the sanctuary with safety protocols in place, the “new normal” will be different.
Messman speaks of the “arctic snap” as bringing about the “migration” of choirs and live music to the “flat screen” and the people we’ve lost as “giant trees that fell in the forest with few there to hear them.” She speaks of “December trees” that seem like “skeletons” to us in winter, yet are filled with life forces pressing bravely forward in anticipation of the coming spring. While churches have been closed and shuttered, and members encouraged to keep their distance and wear masks to protect each other, there has been a sense of purposeful “waiting” through it all.
“Easter life starts like this. The good news springs to life in dark wombs and empty tombs and shuttered upper rooms. It shoots up from the stump of Jesse, and that means there are fruits on the way from the wintering church … I imagine the fruit of love will be sweeter since it has learned how to navigate close quarters. I imagine the peace will be bolder since it has faced fragility. I imagine the joy will be like watermelons, a grand picnic of togetherness that we finally appreciate so much, that we spread the seeds of it everywhere!”
With gratitude and joy, may we look forward to sharing the fruits that will come from the “wintering” season of the church.
Elizabeth
“Flowering the Cross” is an Easter tradition at many churches. On Easter morning, a barren wooden cross is transformed into a symbol of new life by the adorning of flowers, tucked into the chicken wire covering the cross. The exact origins of the flowering of the cross cannot be pinpointed to any one denomination or any specific time in history, except that references to flowering crosses began appearing in art as early as the sixth century. Some say, too, that perhaps the flowering of the cross has its beginning in a legend where it is said that the tears Mary shed at the foot of Jesus’ cross miraculously turned into flowers.
At Jackson Springs Presbyterian, our tradition is to come forward during the singing of the first hymn and flower the cross. After worship, it is put outside for the entire community to enjoy. Last year, we did not gather for Easter worship because of the coronavirus that had begun sweeping the country as the 2020 Lenten season began. The decision was made to place the cross at the foot of the steps that Easter Sunday, and to invite folks to stop by during the day and add flowers. The cross was in place as a witness to our faithfulness in a difficult time.
Fast forward to Easter 2021. We are worshiping together again outdoors and together we flowered the cross as we gathered for worship. The candles of Easter Joy were no match for the cool morning breezes, and the cars whizzing by accompanied our singing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today. ” We were blessed by Jim Blue singing “The Holy City” and by the singing of birds and the beautiful butterflies fluttering around the flowered cross – all under a canopy of long leaf pine, and Carolina blue sky. Easter Hope bloomed in Jackson Springs!
A year has gone by, and we are now living into a new reality. As difficult and divided as our world might be, the living God is still alive, and this year, we flowered the cross with renewed faith and hope. One pastor stated: “I am hoping that this year, the promise of the resurrection will be our realization that we don’t have to be who we were, but that we can rise to that calling of being better – together … As the flowers on the Easter cross fade, there is always hope beyond hope. That is the Easter message.” (Presbyterians Today, “Easter Hope Blooms”, Mar-Apr)
Hope beyond hope! May it be so in your life and mine, in the life of faith we share, and in all of life.
Elizabeth
I joined the church the Palm Sunday of the year I was in the sixth grade, at First Presbyterian in Harlan, KY. After weeks of study in what was then “Communicant’s Class,” the time had come!
I remember my white dress with the tiny blue flowers, the scratchy crinoline that made little girls’ dresses stand out so pretty and full in those days, and the new, shiny black patent leather shoes that Mama scuffed on the sidewalk before I wore them, so I wouldn’t slip and fall. I remember the procession of palms – how we laid them at the foot of the large, wooden cross, already banked with dogwood or redbud or whatever was blooming at that time in the mountains. I was in that same church long enough to see my own children celebrate in the same ways, and the choir always sang “The Palms” as the anthem on that special day.
I remember Palm Sunday at Ginter Park Presbyterian in Richmond, VA, during my seminary years. The entire congregation would gather on the church lawn, to process in together, behind a team of liturgical dancers, with the choir, waving palm branches and singing “Hosanna! Hosanna!” I remember the liturgical dancers taking one step forward and two steps backwards, bearing witness Jesus’ growing concern with what he was facing, as well as his commitment to God’s will for him.
I remember the community Palm Sunday processional in Rustburg, VA, making its way through the little village, following a donkey with a purple robe on its back. Choirs and ministers wore robes and stoles. Confirmation classes from the Methodist and Presbyterian churches walked together and carried banners. There were babies in strollers, folks in wheelchairs, and young children pulled in wagons. There was joyful singing as we walked along together, waving our palm branches. After breakfast at that year’s host church, we went our separate ways to Sunday School and to worship, blessed by our time together, and the congregation providing the donkey got it safely back to pasture!
We all have our personal memories of holy times and places that deepen and enrich our journeys of life and faith, and it’s important that we remember them. We have, as well, the journey we make together as a faith community each year.
We’ve come a long way since we began the journey on Ash Wednesday, with the solemn call to “remember that we are dust, and to dust we shall return”, as we received the smudge of ashes on our foreheads. Today, as we arrive at the threshold of Holy Week, our journey takes a dramatic turn. The pace quickens, conflicts become full-blown, fear, anger, uncertainty and struggle deepen, and there’s a sense of gathering darkness. Palm and passion Sunday is a strange mix of a day. There’s a joyful procession of praise and thanksgiving, but there’s also a dark shadow which hangs over the whole of the day, for the one who rides into Jerusalem is the one who will die on the cross one day soon to come.
While we stand with palm branches in hand, we stand before the mystery of the cross on this Palm and Passion Sunday. What happened to Jesus was all according to the definite plan and purpose of God. Jesus will be the lamb slain for the salvation of God’s people. His will be the blood of the true and final sacrifice, poured out for forgiveness of sins, to redeem and to restore the relationship between God and all people.
May God bless our journey through this Holy Week, to the cross, and on to the joys of Easter morning.
Elizabeth