We had homeless people sleep in our church the night before Easter. (For the sake of this post, I'm not fighting the Easter is fifty days fight.) Part of me wants to say, "Meh, that's not that big a deal." But I know that's not true.
The day we remember the resurrection is actually a big freakin' deal. The resurrection of Christ is the thing we point to the rest of the year. We could have lots of debates but at the end of the day, without an empty tomb, Christianity wouldn't exist. At my church, we have an extra worship service that morning. We eat breakfast together. We welcome new members, dedicate babies and young children, and baptize new believers. It's both exhausting and exhilarating.
All of those reasons also mean that, well, we can end up being uptight about what happens. It's the corporate, church version of holding a giant holiday meal for your family at your house. Everything should be perfect. You plan well. You recruit lots of help. You clean things you usually don't think need cleaning. You hope everyone shows up. Details. Scrutiny. Anxiety. Yeah. Those things come, too.
But there was no question that, on that first Sunday of the month that coincided with both Easter and our regular night to host homeless neighbors, we would welcome our neighbors. That meant dinner on Saturday night for everyone staying there. It meant no setting up the sanctuary for Sunday breakfast the day before and instead, having twenty more breakfast guests. It meant that the smell that lingers each time our homeless neighbors visit would be there on Easter morning, too. More than most Sundays, we realized people might want to be in worship, so a few people were asked to provide rides if needed so guests could say longer.
It shouldn't be that big a deal, actually, for a church to be the Church. But I know it is. Being the church means practicing resurrection, life over death, yes over no. God knows, that's not easy.
In the first weeks of the Fifty Days of Easter (yeah, still got there!), we read stories of Jesus' appearance after the resurrection. Stories when the disciples are hiding out behind locked doors, returning to their pre-Jesus work--all the actions that confess Jesus' death was true, but not hope in resurrection. Left to ourselves, we turn inward, preserving our own lives and interests. At best, faith turns us away from ourselves and toward people and places we've never dared before.
The morning wasn't perfect. I wanted to invite the people who had spent the night to eat first, but didn't want to say, "Hey, all the homeless people go ahead and eat!" Next time, guests will be invited to eat first. There were other hiccups, for sure. But mostly, everything was as it should have been.
Christ is risen, and we are rising, indeed.
Terrific!
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