Dear sisters and brothers in Christ,

I trust that this note finds you well as we approach the end of Lent and are embraced by the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ this Friday. May each of us find a renewed sense of the presence of God this Easter Sunday morning.

You are in my thoughts and prayers through this week.

There is nothing that captures the joy of Easter apart from the hymns and the joy we share together in worship than John Updike’s magnificent poem.

Seven Stanzas at Easter

Make no mistake: if he rose at all It was as His body; If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit, The amino acids rekindle, The Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers, Each soft spring recurrent; It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the Eleven apostles; It was as His flesh; ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes The same valved heart That—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered Out of enduring Might New strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor, Analogy, sidestepping, transcendence, Making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded Credulity of earlier ages: Let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache, Not a stone in a story, But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of Time will eclipse for each of us The wide light of day.

And if we have an angel at the tomb, Make it a real angel, Weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in The dawn light, robed in real linen Spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous, For our own convenience, our own sense of beauty, Lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed By the miracle, And crushed by remonstrance.


In the midst of so much dread, sadness, war and suffering, there is a recognition of the work we need to be about in the power of the Spirit!

He is risen.

He is risen.

He is risen indeed!




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