Easter

Whatever the historical reasons for the crucifixion, the Christian tradition has always insisted that one of the reasons Jesus died is me. 

How can we proclaim any sort of hope right now? We aren’t the first Christians to wrestle with this question.

I understand why Mark’s editors added to his ending. Still, I wish they hadn’t.

The bewilderment of the women at the tomb gives way to a hope that overturns power, shame, and death itself.

Living in the liturgical present makes salvation a story about us, not just the past.

Jesus conquers death so he can come back and enjoy another meal, lingering with his friends for as long as he can.

Some things are too big for a single narrative.

Years ago, at a barbecue in Argentina, I realized I was the only person present who wasn’t a survivor of torture.

What ritual remedies exist to sharpen our spiritual attention, focus, and clarity?

“There’s a group of people outside,” I said through the intercom, “and they’ve raised money for your bail.”

Salvation is not a place but a way of life.

Usually it takes courage to preach Good Friday. This year, it will take courage to proclaim “He is risen!” on Easter morning.

It may be Easter, but lament comes more readily than alleluia.

After the resurrection, the disciples’ words failed too.

At the border, survivors of violence present their scarred bodies as testimony.

Accept the resurrection or don’t. Either way, you’re the boss.

Some of us church insiders have more in common with the undecided folks than we often say.

Resurrection isn’t something we explain. It’s something we live and breathe.