Second Sunday of Easter, Year A
I’ve been going outside a lot lately, finding my kin and connection with the creation that I can embrace with no worry of shared infection. I’ve been watching birds, many now migrating to their Summer homes from far south to far north. I’ve been learning to identify butterflies and exploring their fascinating interconnections with plants. And I have been paying attention to trees, watching a wide variety of oaks sprout in my yard from the places they were planted by squirrels and jays.
One of the beautiful things I’ve come to recognize about trees are their scars. Look closely at any of them and you will see some evidence of the life they’ve lived–a branch shorn off by a browsing deer, a crown pierced by lightning, the enclosure of bark around an insect attack. So much of the experience of a tree is there, evident on its body, available as a witness that life keeps going.
The witness of trees has been helpful to me in this time when COVID19 has kept me away from so many I love. What a strange Holy Week, to worship in an empty church and preach into a webcam! I usually come to Easter Monday worn out, but this year I felt more depressed than tired. I missed the many bells and alleluias ringing out on Easter vigil and it just wasn’t the same lighting the Paschal fire, when its flame could not be passed, candle to candle, throughout the church. This time is like a cut on a tree trunk, a damaging pain with sap oozing to the surface. Read more