You know that Easter is not just a day, but a season, right? In the church calendar, Easter season lasts for fifty days, all the way to the Pentecost. After the flowers have faded and the eggs and candy are gone (right?), this season of Easter remains. 

In the same way that at this time of year we need the season of spring—we need it, don’t we?—I’m here to tell you that we need more than one day of Easter. Who among us isn’t ready for spring? After the winter, after the decreasing daylight of fall; after the pains and losses and heartache that come with being human; we need the sound of peepers, and birdsong, the feel of warmer air coming through the open window and the sun on our faces.

On Easter Sunday 20 years ago I woke up on a couch at the First Parish in Lincoln, Mass.; it was the church where I did my internship. They do an Easter sunrise service there, which I’d offered to lead—because when was I ever going to get that chance again? That chilly morning maybe 20 of us, and a number of dogs, gathered at the top of a gentle hill just around the corner from the church. 

It had been a cold winter and a reluctant spring, so there were still traces of snow in the shadowy places. There we were, standing on the frosty ground, hearing the old story of the empty tomb. As as the sun rose over the tree line, it illuminated and warmed our faces. 

It’s always lovely to sing “Blue Boat Home”—the tune, the words, all of us joining our voices together. A line I particularly love describes “…our ship’s companions, all we kindred, pilgrim souls, making our way by the lights of the heavens, in our beautiful blue boat home.” 

Ever since astronauts went up into space, we’ve had this image of our earth, and its place in the cosmos; this awareness that we are a tiny blue dot in the darkness of space. And this changes things, does’t it? Or it should.

At their heart, religion and spiritual practice are meant to free us. Any faith worthy of the name is here to open us up to a clearer and more expansive view—of our lives, and the lives of others, and of our world. To help us be in touch with both the light and the shadow of life, its joys and its sorrows. The nun Elaine Prevalent, in an essay on minding one’s call, wrote,

“For most, the call has a particular container—a marriage, a church community, a mission site. At the deepest level, the call frees us. It enables us to see what really matters, to focus our love, to dedicate ourselves to something/Someone larger than ourselves, and so to enter consciously into that continual stream of losing and finding ourselves that is the mystery of life.”

Do you feel worthy of being loved?

 Is there some part of you that you feel is hard to love, or even unlovable? 

While I can’t speak for everyone, I don’t think it’s all that uncommon to have, at times, believed that about ourselves. 

Our theme for this month has been generosity, which means, broadly, going beyond what is expected of us. Sometimes, what we have been told, or have come to believe is that some part of us - something we have said, or done, or experienced - makes us dirty, or broken, or unremarkable, or somehow unworthy of love. And all too often, even after those voices have gone, we continue to tell that lie to ourselves. 

Dear spiritual companions, how are you doing? How are you holding up? How is it with your soul? 

We’re living in difficult times, to say the least. The leaders of our government are blowing up and tearing apart the institutions and practices that have made us a good nation and a good neighbor, and at this moment we don’t know where it will lead and how and when this nightmare will come to an end. It’s clear, isn’t it, that we need to prepare for a long haul. To make alliances and build community so we can help and heal and try to protect those who are at risk. So we can resist the forces that betray our values and our Constitution. So we can stay grounded and alert and awake in these days.

Do you know the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator? It’s a personality type test designed to help you to get in touch with your preferences, behavioral tendencies, and work styles. It’s a helpful tool in learning more about yourself. Well, early on in my time here, at a staff retreat, we all took a simplified version of that test. It turned out that everyone on our little staff belonged to the type called “dreamers.” Sally Liebermann, our beloved Religious Education director back then, looked around at us, smiled her peaceful smile, and said, “With all of us dreamer types, it’s a miracle we get anything done around here.”

My name is Erika Lundin.  I've been a member here for 22 years.  I joined the day my son was dedicated here.  I got to pick the words for the responsive reading during his ceremony, so I used lyrics from a song by the band Entrain).  The refrain sums up what I found here: "We are all connected, all one."

“Life calls us on,” the choir just sang, “Love calls us on.” I could preach almost every Sunday about calling, about vocation, because I truly believe that there are callings coming to us all the time, inviting and urging us to be more of our true selves, to turn toward what is good and live-giving, to not be seduced and led astray by all those voices promoting their own narrow and divisive interests. 

I can’t tell you how good it is to be back here in this sanctuary, under this roof together, after being online the past two weeks because of snow. This, right here, is one of the things I am going to miss most when I retire—an ordinary Sunday in this place, with you good people. Including those of you on Zoom; all of us gathered together.

If you pause and look for it, there are rituals to Sunday morning, and to all of church life. And there are rituals to daily life too; things you may take for granted, like morning coffee or tea, practices like prayer or meditation or filling the bird feeder, like kissing your spouse or children goodbye, like saying “I love you.” Aren’t these practices as holy as any ritual in any church faith community?