Easter morning we visited a church we'd never been to before. The pastor said something like, "We don't put our best foot forward on Easter, because we believe that every day is a day to celebrate our risen Lord, our Savior." They proceeded, then, to have a contemporary style service with songs no different from those you'd hear at any contemporary style church on any Sunday of the year. The message had an Easter theme, as he talked about the ladies going to the tomb, but that was about the only way one could tell that it was Easter Sunday.

I know what he was getting at, and I appreciate it on a certain level. I also don't want to criticize, seeing as I was their guest that day. But you know, call me a child of modernity, but I kind of life having Easter be a little special, set apart. I liked waking up and thinking that it was a day to remember and celebrate that Christ didn't stay in the tomb, that He was risen and is risen.

Maybe I was made for a more liturgical setting. One of my friends who met us there said the same thing. "Maybe I need to find a Presbyterian or Episcopal church," she said, "I mean, I just wanted to sing something like 'Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.'"

I said, "Me, too. We could sing it right now, you know." We were standing in front of the church doors, outside, in-between services. "It could welcome people coming for the 11:00 service!" She merely laughed. I started the song, then realized I didn't know a single line after the first one and its "Alleluia."

So, in honor of Easter, and to make up for the minimized Easter service we attended, I now give you the lyrics to "Christ the Lord Is Risen Today," with all the Alleluias, and all the words I couldn't remember when I started embarrassing my friends and family:

Christ The Lord Is Risen Today

Christ the Lord is risen today, Al - - le lu ia.
Sons of men and angels say: Al - - le lu ia.
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Al - - le lu ia.
Sng ye heav'ns, and earth reply, Al - - le lu ia.

Lives again our glorious king: Alleluia.
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia.
Dying once, He all doth save: Alleluia.
Where thy victory, O grave? Alleluia.

Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia.
Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia.
Death in vain forbids Him rise, Alleluia.
Christ has opened Paradise. Alleluia.

Soar we now, where Christ has led, Alleluia.
Foll'wing our exalted Head; Alleluia.
Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia.
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. Alleluia!

It's Saturday. It would have been the Sabbath for Jesus' disciples, the day set aside for rest. The day that God's people are supposed to rest, a gift to them, and a reminder that God is their salvation; that they can't work to make themselves right or to earn their way into God's favor.

Yet, Jesus' friends and followers and family were supposed to figure out how to rest and grieve at the same time. They were supposed to rest in God, and also deal with the feeling that all was lost. It was a horrible, senseless waste. They must have assumed it was over, kaput, fini. For them, it seemed to be an ending. It was finished.

We, however, have the advantage of knowing that Sunday was a' comin'. We can read the double-meaning into "finished." We know that Saturday was simply a pause, a waiting; not an ending but a completion and beginning.

We really can rest right now, knowing that the Sabbath is still a reminder to us today that we are supposed to rest in God and trust that He is our salvation. Jesus Himself fulfilled the Sabbath-rest in ways we can only barely grasp. If we embrace Him, even not fully comprehending it all, we have true rest.

In this pause, in the wait before Easter morning, I'm trying to remember all of that.

This is a test. This is only a test.

No, actually, this is where you'll find my blogs for a while. Until I get a little more technologically savvy.

I know, I've used it before. Then I gave up for a while. Now I'm back again. I guess I'm fickle.

I had a long post about Rwanda, but it never made it onto the main blog page. Here it is now:

March 15, 2005
I feel like I can talk about "Hotel Rwanda" now.

First of all, it was an excerpt from this Leadership Journal article that made me want to see it even more. I don't know that I agree with all that he wrote, but it did make me think about the movie in ways I might not have, analyzing it, running it through various filters.

I find that one response I want to have is to be better informed of what is going on in the world around me. It's a step. Not a very tangible step, but it's better than sitting blissfully ignorant in suburbia. A friend directed me to Oprah's website. If you have the stomach for it, this article has stories from Congo.

http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/200502/omag_200502_congo.jhtml

Someone told me she feels like there is really nothing at all that we can do about the pain and trouble of the world. And I tend to think, "It's true. What can we do about the complicated political and social issues of these countries that struggle so? We can't even seem to get aid to the people who need it, there is so much corruption."

I mentioned this to another friend, and she said she tended to agree with that first point of view, that the older she gets, the less she feels we can do. "I've fallen to the 'Nothing can be done' camp of social inaction," she wrote me in an e-mail, "Though I once saw a powerful cartoon. A vast crowd of people filled the frame, every one of them saying, ‘I can't do anything, I'm just one person.’"

I myself have never actually seen the cartoon she's describing, but the mere thought of it is haunting me. If all those people would do one thing, just one small thing...

One of my sisters-in-law pointed out that you just need to get critical mass to bring about change. She told stories of young girls who went around their town getting people to vote and those extra votes toppled the local administration and eventually, by some domino effect, changed the political history of a Central American country. I'll have to ask her for the details of that story, but she told it to illustrate that two young girls can be the catalyst for stirring up critical mass and suddenly you have significant change. She said there are many stories like this.

I don't want to be one more voice just shrugging, "I can't do anything, I'm just one person."