I haven't been paying attention to the church year. That's a slight departure for me, because I spent a great part of my adult life as a member of two denominations which closely follow the liturgical seasons; first as a Lutheran, then for a longer period as a Methodist.
Today, though, I appear to have dropped even below the level of my Baptist upbringing, which at least recognized Christmas and Easter. If I thought you were interested, or if I were interested, I could give you a historical and personal perspective on the significance of closely following the church seasons. I'd give you a particularly wonderful paragraph on my observance of Lenten fasts.
This year, though, I think the ONLY Easter observance in my house came when my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA, bought a bag of peanut butter and chocolate eggs, for the adults to eat after the kids went to bed. No Easter bonnets, no Easter baskets, no preparation of any kind, material of spiritual.
And here's the point: on the first Easter morning, nobody was prepared, either. The Marys went to the tomb that morning, but weren't prepared for what they would find there. The men didn't even do that.
And then, a miracle happened. Catch me at a different time, and I'll tell you how this proves that God has a sense of humor.
Right now, though, I feel like one of the un-involved in the sticks outside the city. Barely knowing, maybe not knowing at all, that there was anything going on. Concerned about what the pain in my back means for the day's work. Wondering if the people I care about who are goofing up are going to start making better choices. Not anticipating any changes.
And while I spoon up my breakfast gruel in the sticks (actually, it's Cheerios, not gruel),,,I wonder if the miracles that God is doing are going to reach me? And will I recognize them if they do? And will I respond to them if I recognize them?
Christ is risen;
He is risen indeed!