Spring Story

We will sing a new song

'Cause death is dead and gone with the winter

We will sing a new song

Let "hallelujahs" flow like a river

We're coming back to life

Reaching towards the light

Your love is like springtime*

I’ve always resonated with the church calendar. Maybe it stems from my childhood. I grew up going to a Lutheran Church in the very small rural town of Hartland, Minnesota. I loved being there. I liked singing hymns and memorizing the liturgy. I enjoyed celebrating the holy days, especially the seasons of Advent and Lent. I’m sure we must have acknowledged an extended season of Easter, I just don’t remember. 

But this year, on Easter Sunday, our pastor concluded his sermon with the best possible invitation:

Following the tradition of the early church we won’t just hold Easter on one weekend, trying to cram it into one gathering, and then moving on. But we’ll join the ancients in celebrating Eastertide—“the Great Fifty Days”—allowing ourselves to live into the story long enough for it to get into our bones. 

Are you kidding me? What could be better?!

The forty days leading to Easter—the season we call Lent—felt especially l-o-n-g for me this year. Dreary. Heavy with waiting. And fasting. Acknowledging death. From ashes to ashes. Imagining ourselves with Jesus in his suffering journey to crucifixion and cross. How I struggled this year with the dying. Honestly, I limped into Easter, weary and beaten down. 

But then. I’m not sure what happened. Springtime and daylight and resurrection. Permission to spend the next fifty days with HALLELUJAH on repeat, and deep in my soul I can feel the change. Something wakes up. 

Pastor Dave has titled our Eastertide series SUPERBLOOM. It’s named for a rare occurrence taking place this year in California. Death Valley, normally a dry and barren desert, has burst to life. Seeds buried under hard-packed earth for several years have sprouted this year, and just in time for Easter.

Kyle and I didn’t expect to spend another spring watching resurrection here at the lake, and we're savoring the gift. Each day the sun lasts longer, the grass grows greener. I dig through mulch uncovering signs of life. The neighborhood bear makes its first appearance. And my sinuses wake up sneezing. 

This week we joined with lake friends to put out the docks. Ours on Tuesday. The Lokhorst’s yesterday. Hages by the weekend. Friday evening these same friends will gather for Bible study and I intend to invite them to join me in my big hallelujah, sharing the good news of Eastertide. 

We’ve been reading the Old Testament together, and I’ve been studying the theology of a “looking glass cross.” Jesus revealing the fullness of God in his life, death, and resurrection—changing the way we read the story. Changing the way we experience HIS LIFE.  

The celebration of Eastertide is new to me, and I’m experimenting with the practice. Allowing my body to wake earlier than normal as daylight penetrates slumber. Taking time to look out   windows, noting changes in budding trees and sky-soaked water. Listening longer. Joining creation in heartfelt praise. 

For a while I’ll set aside the practice of fasting, focusing instead on intentional eating, more aware of the gift of food. And more aware of gifts in general. Husband and home. Friends and neighbors. Church and family. Peace and provision. 

I’ll read from a Gospel. Memorize a letter. Continue to ponder the looking glass cross. And I will allow myself to live long enough in Easter for it to get into my bones. 

I love that. 

* Springtime by Chris Renzema