"WHAT A WEEK!"

 “WHAT A WEEK!”

This week of May 12-19 has always been an important one in my life, even before I knew it.  On May 18, 1896, the Supreme Court ruled 8-1 in Plessy v. Ferguson that “separate but equal” was the law of the land.  This ruling firmly and legally established “neo-slavery” that would be king of the USA for almost 60 years. It filled the atmosphere of my boyhood with the authority of white supremacy and racism that so captured my perceptual apparatus.  

    Catherine Meeks and I went to talk with the children of Morgan Oliver School last week about Ida B. Wells and about the racism that pervaded both of our lives growing up in rural and small town Arkansas.  I described myself as having grown up in the “belly of the beast.” Many of the kids were intrigued by that metaphor and wanted to know if I still lived in the belly of that beast.  I indicated that some courageous mentors and prophets had helped to pull me out, but that I still had residues of slime on me and in me from my time in the beast.  

    Yet, while I was not aware of it because I was only 7 years old, on May 17, 1954, in Brown v. Board of Education, SCOTUS reversed the Plessy decision and ruled unanimously that legal segregation was no longer lawful because it established inequality as the law of the land.  I don’t remember knowing about that decision until I was somewhere in my college years, but that decision had set off the beginning of a revolution in regard to the legality of white supremacy, declaring that it was no longer the law of the land.  This year will mark the 70th anniversary of that landmark decision.  Unfortunately, we have not decided as a nation which decision we want to affirm – the “neo-slavery” Plessy of 1896 or the “created equal” Brown decision of 1954.

    Most important to me, however, about this week is that it marks the 50th wedding anniversary for Caroline and me.  We were married in Ed Loring’s backyard on May 18, 1974,  with Ed and Sandy Winter officiating – Sandy had been a long-time mentor of Caroline’s.  Caroline was a campus minister at Georgia Tech at that time, having been ordained as a minister in 1973 (the 21st woman to be ordained in the former southern Presbyterian Church).  I was in my final year at Columbia Seminary, having transferred there from Vanderbilt Divinity School, with a two year hiatus in between while I performed as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War.  We had met at the wedding of Robin and Linda Williams in Nashville, Caroline having accompanied her friend Murphy Davis, who was Robin’s cousin.

    While our 50th anniversary is May 18, we are postponing any official celebration until June 22 because our granddaughter Zoe is graduating from high school in Michigan on May 25, so we will be up there for that great occasion.  If you haven’t received an invitation to our 50th on June 22 in Decatur, please let me know, and we’ll get one to you – the mail has been kind of crazy lately!  

    It has been quite an adventure, with many milestones along the way.  Even before I graduated from Columbia, we had received a call from St. Columba Presbyterian Church in Norfolk VA, to be the co-pastors at a small church there, which also served as the base for a developing community ministry in a 5000 resident low-income housing complex.  We cut our teeth on urban ministry there, and we were fortunate enough to receive the Women of the Church Birthday Offering in 1978.  That great gift established St. Columba Ministries, which does ministry with those who are poor and especially those who are homeless.  It is still doing ministry today.  

       After our son David was born in Norfolk in 1980, we wanted to get closer to our families in Chattanooga and Arkansas, so we moved to Nashville where I worked on the staff of the Southern Coalition on Jails and Prisons.  I also served as part-time supply pastor at Second Presbyterian while they looked for a fulltime pastor.  Our daughter Susan was born in Nashville on a Sunday morning in 1982.  My time at Second Church convinced me that I wanted to return to the pastorate full time, and in February, 1983, I gladly accepted the call to become the full-time pastor at Oakhurst Presbyterian in Decatur.  Since Susan was still an infant, Caroline stayed home for another year.  She came on staff at Oakhurst in September, 1984, and we shared ministry there until we both retired – Caroline in 2012, and me in 2017.  Whew!  Quite a journey – you’ll hear more one of these days.  We are just beginning work on a book about our pioneering and partnering ministry.  If you have any stories or insights, please share them with us.  In the meantime, raise a glass to us this Saturday!

"THE ROUGH AND RUTTED ROADS OF LIFE: LAYING DOWN THE BODY OF MURPHY DAVIS"

 “THE ROUGH AND RUTTED ROADS OF LIFE: LAYING DOWN THE BODY OF MURPHY DAVIS”

On Sunday, April 14, about 40 of us gathered at Jubilee Partners in the dining room of Jubilee Farms.  We arrived with a mixture of sadness and celebration in our hearts and minds.  We were there to lay to rest the remains of the body of Murphy Davis, whose ashes had resided in a special place at the Open Door in Baltimore, since her passing on October 22, 2020.

    We gathered at Jubilee because of its long history of serving humanity and because of its offering burial to all sorts of people – some have no other place to be buried; some, like Murphy, chose to be buried there.  The path from the dining hall to the cemetery is about half a mile, winding over rough and rutted trails and roads, and that terrain serves as metaphor for the ministry of Murphy Davis.  She chose the roads less traveled by.

Jubilee Partners was founded as a Christian service community in 1979 in rural Georgia, near Comer in Madison County.  Their primary work is to offer hospitality to immigrants who have experienced violence or persecution.  Jubilee has also served as a burial place for people executed on Georgia’s death row.  Almost all of the graves are dug by hand, using shovels, mattocks, and pickaxes. The ground in the cemetery— mostly packed clay and mud rock—is not easy to dig in, but there is meaning in the labor. 

On this day, we gathered to remember the astonishing life and witness of Murphy Davis, and we worshipped God together in order to find comfort and strength in the loss of Murphy.  We also worshipped together to find the fire of renewal, so that we too could continue to go out and proclaim the gospel of justice and mercy and peace in the rough and rutted roads of life, wherever we live.  The Reverend Nelia Kimbrough led us in the worship service, and we were blessed to have several outstanding speakers.  Elise Witt once again led us in singing in worship, and it was a powerful sound, echoing out into the world of woods, workers, and wanderers.  

    Joyce Hollyday had helped Murphy finally complete her first book “Surely Goodness and Mercy.”  Joyce spoke of Murphy’s being a powerful light, using Jesus’ metaphor from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5: “You are the light of the world….so let your light shine before all people.”  She deemed Murphy’s ministry to be an “incandescent incarnation,” and she gave thanks that Murphy did not hide her light under a bushel or in the maze of middle class life.  Murphy chose a different way to let her light shine – in solidarity with the poor, those on the streets and those in prison, especially those on death row. 

    Joyce also lifted up Murphy’s belief in the power of the Resurrection, not only for its meaning for life after death, but also for its meaning while we are living.  Murphy’s life and witness reminded us that we should not look at the Resurrection as a thing belonging to the past.  It is also an event that calls us into the future, as we too are resurrected from our many captivities to the principalities and powers of the fallen world.  Joyce read a paragraph from one of Murphy’s 1996 Hospitality columns that is featured in “Bag of Snakes:”

“A bittersweet truth about Resurrection is this: we are rarely given the privilege, or the luxury, of sitting in front of the empty tomb to bask in the glorious light of the Risen One.  “Run.” says the angel.  “Run and tell it!  Run with all your might, powered by the glorious truth of the vision!  Run with the exuberance and joy of your grief suddenly and unexpectedly healed!  Run, carrying this unbelievable news!  Run, knowing that nothing else in the world matters anymore!  The truth is the Truth that will overshadow everything else and set the course for all of life.  Run!!!”

Then it was time to take the cremains of Murphy Davis up to their resting place at the cemetery of Jubilee Partners.  Many of us who were able walked the half mile up to the cemetery, traversing the rough and rutted roads, while others were transported in a van.  It was a sunny day, and Elise Witt led us in singing as we walked, forming sort of a “second line” New Orleans style processional, with Ed leading the way.  We arrived and found the hole dug for Murphy, right next to Ralph Dukes’ grave.  Nelia led us once again in these closing moments, blessing Murphy’s life and ministry.

     Ed placed the urn with Murphy’s ashes in the burial spot.  His moans and groans resonated in all our hearts, as he laid her ashes to rest in the burial grounds, and as we sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”  For a long moment, there was  silence, with only the melody of the birds to accompany our sorrow and our gratitude for a life well lived, a life that taught all of us how to be a servant of the Lord by serving humanity.  We all lingered a long while, not wanting to leave this spot, knowing that leaving this spot would bring a finality that we did not want to have, and yet that we must have.

    We returned to the Jubilee dining hall, where we broke bread together with a meal prepared by Mary Catherine Johnson and Jubilee Partners.  As Murphy would have wanted it, we told stories of Murphy’s life and witness, many laced with the humor that was another hallmark characteristic of her life.  As we all listened and shared, we had the stuff of recognition – our eyes and our hearts were opened, and we could all hear Murphy telling us: “Run and tell it!  Run, carrying this unbelievable news! Run!!!!

"A SPECIAL KIND OF EXILE"

 “A SPECIAL KIND OF EXILE”

Earlier this month, Caroline and I went to hear Dr. Alice Rothchild speak at North Decatur Presbyterian Church on the struggles in Israel and Gaza, struggles resulting from the injustices which Palestinians have endured since 1948, the year that Dr. Rothchild was born in Massachusetts.  She indicated that she once heard a speaker refer to Jews who engage in critical activism on Israel/Palestine as entering a “special kind of exile.”  She indicated that she now knows that exile, because she is a central voice asking and working for justice for Palestinian people.  

Dr. Rothchild graduated from Bryn Mawr College in 1970 with a BA in psychology and subsequently attended Boston University School of Medicine, class of 1974, followed by a medical internship at Lincoln Hospital in the south Bronx and an obstetrics and gynecology residency at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston, now Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. In 1988 she joined the staff of Harvard Community Health Plan, which subsequently became Harvard Vanguard Medical Associates. She served as an Assistant Professor of Obstetrics, Gynecology, and Reproductive Biology at Harvard Medical School until November 2013 and is currently retired from clinical medicine, serving as a Corresponding Member of the Faculty of the medical school.

At the gathering at North Decatur, she talked about growing up as a solid member of the “ Jewish tribe” and being a strong adherent of the nation of Israel and very anti-Arab.  During her college years, she began to think more independently, and she recognized a moment when she had her epiphany on the Israel/Palestine relationship.  One of her college friends had a grandfather who had been Ambassador to Saudi Arabia, and Dr. Rothchild remembers having indignant arguments with her friend, who indicated that people of Arab descent might be people after all.  During one of these arguments, she realized that she had never actually met an Arab person.  She recognized that she had grown up distrusting and hating an entire group of people that she really knew nothing about.

She decided to change that, and as she read and discussed and discerned, she began to imagine a new way for her to think and act and work.  She discovered that the Palestinian people had suffered a grave injustice in 1948 and that nothing had really been done to ameliorate that.  Because she values Palestinian life as much as Jewish life, she is often seen as a “self-hating Jew,” and she has often been censored or accosted in her many public addresses and speeches.

She is now a public speaker, a novelist, poet, documentarian, and writer of children’s books, the latest being “Finding Melody Sullivan,” about a girl who works through grief over the death of her mother by engaging Palestinian and Israeli cultures.  

She is concerned about the increasing right wing policies of the State of Israel, and she urged us all to speak out and act out for justice for both Israel and the Palestinians, with a special emphasis on developing a ceasefire in Gaza and the movement towards a two state solution.  As we are seeing this week in our country, college campuses are erupting in demonstrations, seeking justice for both the Palestinians and Israel.  There may be movement soon, but as I have indicated earlier this year, this election year of 2024 reminds me so much of the election year of 1968, when campuses were erupting over the prosecution of the Vietnam War.  The seeds of discord sown then led to the election of Richard Nixon as president. We may have the same result this year, though I am loathe to think of Donald Trump as president again. But, these demonstrations must go on – it is time for peace with justice for both Palestinians and Israelis.   President Biden’s leadership on this issue will be crucial not only for Israel and Palestine but for the future of our country as well.

"EARTH DAY, 2024"

 “EARTH DAY, 2024”

This year marks the 54th anniversary of the official beginning of Earth Day.  I remember when Earth Day was officially recognized in 1970.  It had been semi-officially started in 1969 by Iowa native and later Californian John McConnell.  Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin got it going nationally by calling for a country-wide teach-in on the environment on April, 22, 1970, using the model of the teach-ins against the Vietnam war.  It caught on, and I remember that Caroline and I started observing it in worship in our church in Norfolk in 1976.  As we all know now, we are at a crucial point in the earth’s life, and many think  that it is already too late.  I prefer to think that we still have a chance, and in that mindset, I’m sharing a poem by Wendell Berry that will help us shift our way of thinking about the earth and its creatures, including ourselves.  

The Heron

By Wendell Berry

While the summer’s growth kept me

anxious in planted rows, I forgot the river

where it flowed, faithful to its way,

beneath the slope where my household

has taken its laborious stand.

I could not reach it even in dreams.

But one morning at the summer’s end

I remember it again, as though its being

lifts into mind in undeniable flood,

and I carry my boat down through the fog,

over the rocks, and set out.

I go easy and silent, and the warblers

appear among the leaves of the willows,

their flight like gold thread

quick in the live tapestry of the leaves.

And I go on until I see crouched

on a dead branch sticking out of the water

a heron—so still that I believe

he is a bit of drift hung dead above the water.

And then I see the articulation of a feather

and living eye, a brilliance I receive

beyond my power to make, as he

receives in his great patience

the river’s providence. And then I see

that I am seen. Still, as I keep,

I might be a tree for all the fear he shows.

Suddenly I know I have passed across

to a shore where I do not live.

"THE LOST CAUSE IS NEVER LOST IN AMERICAN HISTORY."

 “THE LOST CAUSE IS NEVER LOST IN AMERICAN HISTORY”

Yesterday marked the 159th anniversary of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln by John Wilkes Booth.  Today marks the opening of the first criminal trial of a former President, Donald Trump.  These two events are part of many streams that flow into the river of the struggle between equality and white supremacy in American history.  In 1865, Holy Week began with the surrender of the Confederacy at Appomattox on Palm Sunday,  and it ended with the murder of Lincoln on Good Friday.  

The Civil War ended with the hope of the idea of equality gaining some traction in our history, but those who believed in white supremacy began almost immediately to work for a re-interpretation of the Civil War, naming it the “War Between the States.” Black Codes were instituted in the South, seeking to re-establish slavery by another name.  Radical Republicans established a time of Reconstruction, seeking to enshrine the idea of equality in the institutions of the South (and the North, which is where the problems escalated).  There were fierce battles, especially in the South, in the period of Reconstruction, and eventually in 1877, white supremacy won out.  

    By 1890 the idea of equality had been “buked and scorned,” with the rubric being the racist idea that people classified as “Black” were not able to handle power, that they were not yet ready for equality (would they ever be?).  For more info on this period, see Eric Foner’s “Reconstruction,” David Blight’s “Race and Reunion,”  the NYT “1619 Project,” and a booklet that I wrote in 1996 called “A Twice Told Tale: Race in America.”

By the end of the 19th century, white supremacy had been re-established as the spirit and law of the land, with SCOTUS putting the finishing touches on it in 1896 in Plessy v. Ferguson’s “separate but equal.”  Many call it the Jim Crow era, but I prefer Doug Blackmon’s idea of “neo-slavery,” because that’s what I lived and experienced growing up in the 1950’s and 1960’s in the segregated South of the Mississippi River Delta.  Through a long struggle and witness, through courageous actions of many people, especially those classified as “Black,”  a new revolution began, culminating in the Civil Rights Act in 1964 and the Voting Rights Act in 1965.  These two laws effectively ended neo-slavery in the South.

Yet, like the reaction to Reconstruction, the powerful idea of white supremacy did not yield to the end of neo-slavery, because the roots of white supremacy are deep and complex in American history.  Nikole-Hannah Jones wrote a fine article on this in NYT Magazine of March 17, and she called it the whitewashing of the civil rights movement.  Here is the link to that article. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/13/magazine/civil-rights-affirmative-action-colorblind.html.   While it is a fine article, she leaves out two important pieces:  Richard Nixon’s Southern Strategy of 1968 and 1972, and the rise of George Wallace as a viable presidential candidate in1972.  Both of these white men understood the power of the grievances of white people in regard to race, even though the system of race was designed to favor those of us who are classified as “white.”  Nixon pitched his campaign to the white Southernness that is in all of us classified as “white” in the USA.  Wallace was even less subtle than Nixon:  the USA belongs to white people.

Donald Trump understands this force also, and he has made it a centerpiece of his campaign – the grievance of white people, especially men, is a driving force for Trump and his base.  Part of its appeal is the coming change in demographics in USA:  the time is coming soon when there will be no majority racial group in the country.  This inevitable demographic tidal wave makes those of us who are classified as “white” exceedingly anxious.  Who will we be if our “whiteness” doesn’t grant automatic status.  Part of the appeal is that it flows out of the long and persistent strain of white racism in American history – it is deeply rooted and doubly difficult to eradicate.

The jury selection for the Trump trial has begun, and it is part of a fascinating and scary storyline in current American history.  Can the wannabe dictator survive the substantial criminal cases against him and move back to power?  It will be up to us to insist that Donald Trump never gets close to the Oval office again.  

"SURRENDER AT APPOMATTOX AND THE BEGINNING OF THE LOST CAUSE"

 “SURRENDER AT APPOMATTOX AND THE BEGINNING OF THE LOST CAUSE”

One hundred and fifty-nine years ago tomorrow was the surrender of Confederate forces to the Union army at Appomattox, to end the Civil War.  Joshua Chamberlain was a professor at Bowdoin College in Maine when he volunteered for the Union army in 1862.  He fought in many famous battles in the Civil War, including Gettysburg, where he led his Maine soldiers in a defense of the Union position at Little Round Top, forcing the Confederate army back and leading to the Union victory at Gettysburg.  He kept a diary during the War, and he has a very powerful account of the surrender of the at Appomattox, which took place on April 9, Palm Sunday. Here is an excerpt from that diary about the surrender at Appomattox;

     "Ah, but it was a most impressive sight, a most striking picture, to see that whole army in motion to lay down the symbols of war and strife, that army which had fought for four terrible years after a fashion but infrequently known in war.

At such a time and under such conditions I thought it eminently fitting to show some token of our feeling, and I therefore instructed my subordinate officers to come to the position of 'salute' in the manual of arms as each body of the Confederates passed before us.

      When General Gordon came opposite me I had the bugle blown and the entire line came to 'attention,' preparatory to executing this movement of the manual successively and by regiments as Gordon's columns should pass before our front, each in turn.  The General was riding in advance of his troops, his chin drooped to his breast, downhearted and dejected in appearance almost beyond description. 

     By word of mouth General Gordon sent back orders to the rear that his own troops take the same position of the manual in the march past as did our line. That was done, and a truly imposing sight was the mutual salutation and farewell.  At a distance of possibly twelve feet from our line, the Confederates halted and turned face towards us. Their lines were formed with the greatest care, with every officer in his appointed position, and thereupon began the formality of surrender.

    Gordon, at the head of the marching column, outdoes us in courtesy. He was riding with downcast eyes and more than pensive look; but at this clatter of arms he raises his eyes and instantly catching the significance, wheels his horse with that superb grace of which he is master, drops the point of his sword to his stirrup, gives a command, at which the great Confederate ensign following him is dipped and his decimated brigades, as they reach our right, respond to the 'carry.' All the while on our part not a sound of trumpet or drum, not a cheer, nor a word nor motion of man, but awful stillness as if it were the passing of the dead. 

      "Bayonets were affixed to muskets, arms stacked, and cartridge boxes unslung and hung upon the stacks. Then, slowly and with a reluctance that was appealingly pathetic, the torn and tattered battleflags were either leaned against the stacks or laid upon the ground. The emotion of the conquered soldiery was really sad to witness. Some of the men who had carried and followed those ragged standards through the four long years of strife, rushed, regardless of all discipline, from the ranks, bent about their old flags, and pressed them to their lips with burning tears.

     And it can well be imagined, too, that there was no lack of emotion on our side, but the Union men were held steady in their lines, without the least show of demonstration by word or by motion. There was, though, a twitching of the muscles of their faces, and, be it said, their battle-bronzed cheeks were not altogether dry. Our men felt the import of the occasion, and realized fully how they would have been affected if defeat and surrender had been their lot after such a fearful struggle.

     Nearly an entire day was necessary for that vast parade to pass. About 27,000 stands of arms were laid down, with something like a hundred battleflags; cartridges were destroyed, and the arms loaded on cars and sent off to Wilmington.  Every token of armed hostility was laid aside by the defeated men. No officer surrendered his side arms or horse, if private property, only Confederate property being required, according to the terms of surrender, dated April 9, 1865, and stating that all arms, artillery, and public property were to be packed and stacked and turned over to the officer duly appointed to receive them.”

Chamberlain’s moving account of honor to honor reminds us of the “brother against brother” of the Civil War.  But, it also begins to cloak the Civil War in romantic white myth, a myth that would morph into the beginning of the Lost Cause.  Five days later it would begin with the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln in Ford’s Theatre on Good Friday, April 14, 1865, by John Wilkes Booth in a conspiracy to win back the Confederacy.

That Lost Cause is being revived again in the MAGA movement, a 21st century version of the continuing struggle in American history to deny the power of slavery and to maintain white supremacy.  This year’s elections in November will tell us whether we will return to 1877, when the Confederacy was reinvented, or to 1965, when the Voting Rights Act sought to diminish the power of the Confederacy.   More on this next week, but for now, let us remember this week of April 9-14, 1865, and let us think on its meaning for our time.

"HAVING EYES TO SEE"

 “HAVING EYES TO SEE”

Our kids David and Susan used to love having egg hunts at our house during the Easter season.  Sometimes they would last for two weeks or so, with all of us taking turns hiding the eggs –  we were not using real eggs at that point!  One of the fun parts of the game was seeking to hide the eggs in plain sight, just hidden enough not to be obvious, but visible if the seeker had eyes to see.  “Having eyes to see” became one of our mantras about the egg hunts, but also about life – our orientation towards a particular subject often determined what we were able to see.

In this week of Resurrection, I always think first of the Gospel of John, where the accounts of the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth begin in chapter 20.  Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb alone, coming to anoint the dead body of Jesus.  She is the only disciple named in all four Gospels who comes to the tomb of Jesus.  As she approaches the tomb, she sees that the stone has been rolled away, and her first thought is not: “Hallelujah!  Jesus has risen from the dead.” No, her first thought is that the body of Jesus has been stolen, and she is in great despair.  She runs to get some of the male disciples to help her, and Peter and “the disciple whom Jesus loved” (commonly known as John) race to the tomb to see what has happened.  They go into the tomb and see that the body is gone, but then they leave Mary alone by herself at the tomb.

Mary is weeping over the situation, but she steps into the tomb.  There she sees two men who ask her why she is crying.  She tells them that the body of Jesus has been stolen, and she does not know where it is. Then she turns to see another person in the tomb – it is the risen Jesus, but she does not recognize him.  She assumes that he is the caretaker of the cemetery, and they have a short conversation about the disappearance of Jesus’ body.  I’ve always been intrigued that Mary cannot recognize the risen Jesus standing right in front of her – she does not have eyes to see!

Why doesn’t she recognize him?  She has traveled with him and worked with him for months and months, but now she does not recognize him at such an important time.  It is not like he looks like a ghost – she sees that he is a human being, and indeed thinks that he is the caretaker.  There are many reasons given for this lack of recognition, but my thought is that she is so captured by the power of death, that she cannot even see the risen Jesus standing right in front of her.  Her perceptual apparatus tells her that Jesus is dead, and she sticks with that.  I know that process in my own journey.  Though I “saw” Black people every day when I was growing up, I was a young adult before I had my eyes opened and saw that they were human beings like me.  Prior to that, I did not have eyes to see.

When does Mary recognize the risen Jesus?  When he calls her name: “Mary.” Then her eyes are opened, and she hears from Jesus that she will be the first preacher:  “Go to my brothers and sisters and tell them what you have seen.”  Mary does this – she tells them: “I have seen the Lord!”  Mary has eyes to see, but her colleagues do not.  Luke’s account in chapter 24 lets us know that the male disciples think that her testimony is nonsense, and she is dismissed.  The dismissal continues a long history of the testimony of women being discounted by men, but Mary (and Jesus) prevail, and the men come around too.

    We should note that the two male disciples are at the tomb with Mary, but Jesus chooses not to appear to them.  They leave, and Mary is left alone at the tomb.  It is then that Jesus chooses to appear to Mary – he CHOOSES not to appear to the men, but he CHOOSES to appear to one at the margins, a disciple named Mary.  We must always keep this fundamental aspect of the Resurrection story in front of us – the Risen Jesus chooses to announce his Resurrection at the margins of life.  The gritty and uncomfortable work of his earthly ministry continues in his resurrection – at the margins of life. 

    As we think about the Resurrection of Jesus this week, let us remember that he appears to a woman, to a witness on the margins of life.  Indeed, in all four of the Gospel accounts of the Resurrection, it is the women who carry the water – it is the women who become the primary witnesses to the Resurrection.  If we want to see the risen Jesus, we must go the margins of life, because that is where Jesus did his ministry and then lived in his Resurrected life.  There we will have the opportunity to hear our names called, and we will be given the gift of sight for the kindom of God.