Minne-so-tan..

Part I

Getting There

I guess you could say that Child #3 is responsible for us now being Minnesotan, or, as they say in the Minneapolis area we have recently started to call home – "Minne-so-tan". It still sounds a little strange to my Long Island/New York ears, ears that have spent the past 32 years in the far north suburbs of Chicago. But here we are, retired, downsized and relocated to the city of Brooklyn Park, outside of Minneapolis. When so many of our fellow boomers head south at this stage of their lives, how did we end up here? My husband jokingly says it's because the Chicago winters just weren't cold enough for us, but the truth is a bit more complicated than that. It is a move 15 years in the making, though there are times it has felt a lot longer.

It began when our youngest daughter, in a desire to establish her own Big Ten identity, applied to the University of Minnesota her senior year of high school. She had looked at, then turned down, her older sister's alma mater, the University of Illinois, and then did the same with her older brother's University of Iowa. Child #3 loved the urban Minneapolis campus she had chosen and stayed in the area after graduating college. While Child #3 was still an undergraduate, Child #1, already graduated from and working for her small town university, was looking to move to a larger city. A graphic designer, Child #1 visited Child #3 with portfolio in hand and checked out potential employers. One hired her on the spot, and we found ourselves with two children in Minneapolis. Both met guys, got married and settled in the city.

We had been empty nesters for some time before my husband and I retired, so downsizing and moving somewhere else was always part of the plan. Neither of us are fond of the heat, so with two children in the cold climes of Minnesota, the Minneapolis area was as good a place as any for us to retire to. Just as we started the dejunking and repainting that precedes this kind of move, we were delayed by back-to-back medical detours. An unwanted diagnosis followed by surgery followed by another unwanted diagnosis, followed by treatment then surgery then a year long recovery put a full stop on our moving plans. Since both unwanted diagnoses were mine, it substantially slowed down my dejunking and repainting, and our move was put on hold for two years.

Recovered and back to climbing ladders with paint brush in hand, I painted and cleaned, gave away stuff and more stuff, called a realtor and started collecting boxes. By this time Child #2, tired of the long daily commute to his job in the Chicago area, took a job in Rochester, Minnesota, where he had a short walk to work and a short drive to anything else in town. He was also an easy 90 minute drive to his sisters in Minneapolis, so our plan to relocate there now brought us close to all three of our kids.

Then the pandemic struck. Yes, we could show our house in the midst of it, buy a new place in the midst of it, but did we really want to have that much social contact in what was then still a pre-vaccine world? I thought of the dozens of trips to Walmart and Home Depot that every move entails in the weeks after buying a new place. Did we want to add that to our daily exposure to whatever strain of covid might be out there? We decided to postpone our move until we were fully vaccinated.

And that did happen, eventually. What also happened about the same time as said vaccinations was that the sewer pipe from our house to the main village sewer line no longer sloped in the proper direction. The fix was far from simple, and about the time we had planned to have the house listed with the realtor we found ourselves with a twelve foot deep ditch in our front yard, extending from the porch, through the street and into the yard of our neighbors across the street. It was not pretty, and neither was the additional 50 feet of sewer pipe in the basement that was necessary to reconfigure the proper angle of the outgoing sewer line. And we got to pay for all of this ourselves since it was a problem with our sewer line and not the one belonging to the village.

Our realtor was unfazed by the six foot wide mound of dirt that now snaked across our front yard. It was a sellers' market, she said. The house was great, she said. They would figure out the lawn repair, she said. She recommended listing our house the morning we were leaving for Minneapolis to visit our daughters, our first trip since the beginning of the pandemic. Our selling realtor connected us to a buying realtor in the Minneapolis area, so our trip up north would become a townhome-hunting adventure as well. We headed out on the road at 9 am and by noon we had received notifications for 12 scheduled showings for our lovely house with the new sewer system and the not-so-lovely front lawn.

Well, God is good, and so was our realtor. Twenty four hours later we had five offers on our house, all above listing price and one high enough to cover most of the cost of the sewer repairs. This offer also had a flexible closing date, no contingencies and contained the magic words "as is" when it came to the front lawn. Needless to say, we were now highly motivated to find a new place in Minnesota since we would be homeless in two months time. The housing market was a sellers' market there as well, with scheduled showings cancelled before places came on the market as some people were making offers on homes without actually seeing them in person. We were not those people, so we did go inside over a dozen townhomes and found one that was almost perfect and didn't disappear off the market before we put an offer in on it. When our offer was accepted, we were officially on our way to being "Minne-so-tan".

"...every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..."

- from Closing Time, Semisonic, borrowed from Seneca

Next:

Minne-so-tan

Part II

Being There

 

The Right to Bear Arm(y Knive)s

One of my earliest memories of my grandfather involves a knife. We were on one of our many forays into nature when he stopped to cut a piece of willow branch with the multi-blade pocket knife he always carried with him. He cut a small piece of branch, then sitting down against a tree, he skillfully used his knife to cut away and shape enough of the branch for it to produce a distinct whistling sound. Grandpa was never without his knife, always carrying it sharpened and ready for whatever need may arise. Sometimes he would wittle, but mostly he used it for cutting string and rope, and an occasional hunk of salami or an apple that would need slicing. I never saw or heard of him needing it to defend himself, but if the necessity arose, the knife was sharpened and ready.

My brother and I eagerly awaited the age where we would be deemed responsible enough to ask for our own pocket knives to carry around. We each eventually acquired our knives, though it has somewhat complicated our lives as we have faced an increasing number of security check points that have appeared in recent years. Airports and court houses have caused rushes back to the car to stash our precious knives in some hidden corner to await our return.

It was no accident, then, that I married a man who also carried a pocket knife. Our children grew up watching Dad open boxes and packages with his knife. Our five year old son, seeing an adult friend struggle with opening a box at his home, inquired as to why he just didn't use his pocket knife. The friend said he didn't have one. Our son pondered this incredulously, finally saying, "Oh, you should really get one. My dad has one! It's really useful." Like my brother and I, the kids also looked to the day when they would be old enough to have pocket knives of their own. In turn they each got one, usually by the time they were in high school. We became a family of knife bearers.

Perhaps it is my love of knives that has led me in part to be anti-gun. As a child, I knew several people who were accidently killed by guns. As an adult, I've seen the national escalation of mass shooting incidents and the increasing number of gang-related shootings in cities across the country. Having lived outside of Chicago for over thirty years, I had a front row seat to the nightly shooting/killing tally on the local news, the staggeringly high numbers in the Chicago shootings rarely making national news. When 23 people were killed in a Walmart in El Paso in 2019, I watched the national news coverage in sadness, of course, but I found myself thinking "Hey, that's just the death toll of a long holiday weekend in Chicago."

Much has been talked about our gun violence problem both on the local and national level. More social programs, more jobs, better economic opportunities, more police presence, better parenting programs, more community involvement, stricter gun control and more enforcement of existing gun laws – so many suggested remedies to the gun problem but many fear to mention the elephant in the room – the guns themselves. Why? Because we as a nation worship the Second Amendment. This relatively simply stated piece of our constitution says:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.

No mention of guns here. Intrigued, I sought the dictionaries for the definition of arms. Again, no mention of guns. Words like "weapons," "ammunition," "armaments," "any implement or device that can be used with the intent to inflict damage or harm" appear in most definitions, but rarely the word gun. Yet we assume, for good reason, that our right to bear arms necessitates our right to have guns. Guns are powerful, efficient weapons of defense as well as offense. And, hence, the problem with guns. They make it too easy to kill.

Because I am both so fond of knives and so dislike guns, I've imagined an interpretation of the Second Amendment that our founding fathers may or may not agree with. They wanted us secure in our right to defend ourselves, but I can't imagine that they imagined the use of the automatic rifles and assault weapons we see today. I suspect they would be appalled at the random mass shootings facilitated by so many insisting on little or no restrictions to their Second Amendment rights. So in my perfect Second Amendment world, there would be no guns. None. Instead, like my brother, my husband and myself and my children, everyone gets a knife at an appropriate age. Granted, the knives would probably be a bit more substantial than my family's go-to classic Victorinox Swiss army knife. But we would learn to take care of it, keep it sharp and clean, learn how to cut rope and open boxes and slice apples with it. We'd learn to appreciate it as a tool as well as a weapon. We'd learn how to defend ourselves with it, learn to slash to discourage, stab to kill. If we find ourselves in a position that requires us to take another life, we'd do it at arm's length. Imagine a culture where killing of all forms requires killer and victim to see each others' faces, look each other in the eye. It's doubtful that the 2017 Las Vegas mass shooter knew the gender, much less the hair or eye color of most of his 867 shooting victims.

Of course, there are many pitfalls in my vision of a knife-based Second Amendment world. There will always be better and weaker knife fighters. There will always be those of us who become proficient at throwing knives and therefore maybe won't have to look our victims in the eye. There are those of us who will come up with our own version of a multiple knife thrower automatic weapon. But in this knife world, we would not see the massive carnage we see in our assault rifle world. And the carnage we do see would be close up and personal, and hopefully, a deterrent to future carnage.

Yesterday, a Danish citizen in Norway killed five people with a bow and arrow, injuring two others. At present, he is believed to have been a radicalized Muslim convert out to make a statement. Five people lost their lives and that cannot be minimized, but I couldn't help but think how many more would have died in the same situation had the "shooter" had a gun, and how many fewer had he had a knife. And I know that even in my imaginary Second Amendment knife culture, we would still be living in a fallen world. Sadly, that means there will always be the mental breakdown mass knifer, the radicalized terrorist knifer, the disgruntled employee knifer, and the racially motivated mass knifer, but I sincerely hope the number of their victims would be a fraction of the victims we see today.

Guns don't kill people.  They just make it easier - Anonymous

 

Incoming!

I love dictionaries. As a person who takes pride in the breadth of my vocabulary, I find dictionaries keep me humble. Yes, they hone my understanding of the meaning of a word and see to it I spell it correctly. But they also can show me that a word may not mean what I think it means or they surprise me with an alternate meaning or synonym I was unaware of. When I started writing this Advent series, I dutifully went online to merriam-webster.com to see what it had to say about the word "Advent":

Definition of Advent

1: the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas and observed by some Christians as a season of prayer and fasting

2a: the coming of Christ at the Incarnation

As I expected, no surprises here. But the list of synonyms following the definition contained the words:

appearance, arrival, coming, incoming

"Incoming"...

I shouldn't have been surprised that "incoming", similar in meaning and spelling to the word "coming" would be a synonym for Advent, but the appearance of that word triggered a surprising and un-Christmasy childhood memory.

I was a child of the post-World War II era. My brother and I watched the television shows Gallant Men and Combat. We, as well as every kid on the block, had toy machine guns, army helmets and various other battle paraphernalia. My mother worked for the U.S Army, so we also had an assortment of genuine U.S. Army patches. We could be authentic staff sergeants or corporals. My brother even had a real hand grenade (minus the detonator and explosive, of course). We and our friends would spend hours on maneuvers, dodging bullets and playing "Bombs Away", which usually meant someone yelling "Incoming!" and the rest of us diving to the ground or into nearby bushes.

"Incoming!"

Somehow that word, the image it conveys of something surprising, even unexpected, appearing and, like a bomb, forcefully entering into the realm of our existence, seems like a good synonym for Advent. At this point, I wanted to write "minus the destructive part, of course," but in reality, Christ's coming into this world did do quite a bit of destroying. The Baby who came into the world in Bethlehem would grow up to die on a cross and destroy the power of death. He would destroy the power of sin in our lives. At the moment of Christ's death, the veil in the temple representing the barrier between man and God's presence was ripped in two, destroying the seemingly unbridgeable distance that had existed between a holy God and sinful man. Advent anticipates the incoming of a Child, born to an obscure couple, in an obscure village. This Child would live a life and die a death that would be as explosive as any bomb, as any hand grenade with its detonator intact. As with the shepherds on the night of His birth, we too may be taken off guard at His incoming and, like them, be "sore afraid", as Linus and the KJV express it. We may fall to the ground, dive into nearby bushes or drop to our knees. But whatever our reaction, He is here. He has arrived. And our world has been changed forever because He has invaded it.

"Incoming!..."

Something to Ponder:

Read Luke 2:8-20.

8 And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. 10 And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

15 When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” 16 And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. 17 And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. 18 And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Put your shepherd hat on and look at verse 9. What would it have been like to have the glory of the Lord shine around you and to be filled with great fear in the midst of that? Look at verse 15. What would it take for you to step out of your comfort zone and explore an unknown spiritual frontier?

Something to Pray:

Look at verse 9 again. Ask God to show you any ways that you are wrongfully afraid of Him, or the things of Him. If there are any ways you fear His glory/presence/power, confess that to God and ask Him to give you the relationship He wants you to have with Him. Ask for the grace to accept that as His gift to you this Christmas.

 

Light Advent Musings

Week 3

Waiting for Something to Begin

This Christmas we will be celebrating our fourth annual "Last Christmas in This House"...

When my husband and I retired four years ago, it seemed like a good idea to downsize and move from our corner of northern Illinois to some place outside Minneapolis to be closer to our kids. I painted the hallways and started getting rid of things. Then some disappointing medical tests followed by surgery postponed our move. Recovery well in hand, I started boxing books and painting over 20-year-old stenciling...until more disappointing medical tests, unrelated to the earlier issues, followed by more surgery, more recovery. Our move postponed again, we had high hopes for this year. We painted bedrooms and boxed more books and met with a realtor...two weeks before the Covid-19 stay-at-home order was issued for Illinois. Once again, the beginning of our new life in the wilds of Minnesota is on hold.

Waiting for something to begin has a forward looking tension to it, different than the tension of waiting for something to end. Unlike waiting for something to end, we are not necessarily getting away from something but actively anticipating going toward something. We see a hope, a goal, a promise we know we want or we need or we are pretty sure will happen. We just haven't arrived at the place where that something has yet been fulfilled, been made real. And so we wait.

Advent, this season of the year, has that forward looking tension. Most years, we would be waiting to celebrate Christmas, waiting to gather with loved ones to eat, to exchange gifts. We would be waiting for the eve or the morning of Christmas to go to church and sing carols with those who also look forward to the celebration of Christ's birth. Despite the strangeness of this particular time, this particular Advent, we still wait for however we will uniquely celebrate Christmas this year to begin - family gatherings masked, social-distanced, or zoomed, Christmas services masked, social-distanced in-person or streamed. We still wait for something we know will begin, no matter how different it may look this year.

Advent, the big one, the centuries-long one, had that same forward-looking tension. A Messiah had been promised to God's people. He would come and change everything. Something new would begin. When and how, well, that was open to some speculation, but He, the Messiah, would come and God's people would hope for Him, look for Him, wait for Him to begin the fulfillment of the promise made in the Garden.

As often happens with those things we wait for, we get in our minds how we think things are going to work out, how the beginning will look, but God, in His funny little, and big, ways, manages to surprise us. His people were imagining the sudden appearance of a mighty political or military leader as savior. God instead began the fulfillment of the salvation story with the birth of a baby to an obscure couple in a small town. This beginning could easily have been missed by many, and for the most part, it was. But those who were looking for something to begin saw it. Mary and Joseph saw it. Mary's cousin Elizabeth saw it. Poor local shepherds saw it and wealthy royal foreigners traveled a great distance to see it. Not a bad beginning...

Something to Ponder:

Read Luke 1:5-7, 24-25. Elizabeth and Zechariah waited a long time for parenthood to begin. Read Luke 1:39-45, paying special attention to verse 45. (If you have the time, read Luke 1:5-80 for the whole story.) Think about all the waiting that was happening in these verses.

Something to Pray:

Think about the waiting of both Elizabeth and Mary. With Luke 1:45 in mind, bring before the Lord anything in your life you are waiting to see fulfilled, that you are waiting to begin. Ask God for the faith, the believing He wants you to have, to see you through the waiting time. Ask God for the grace to accept what His vision for your future is, that your expectations would align with His.

 

Light Advent Musings

Week 2

Waiting for Something to End

I've been told I walk with my toes "up", a physiological quirk which makes me hard on socks and shoes alike. Both pairs of my athletic shoes have holes in the toes. In normal times, I would have started my multi-store search for new shoes when Pair #2 showed early fraying of the toe stitches. But these are not normal times, so I think I'll wait for the pandemic to end...

My short bob of a haircut has now grown into some semblance of my 1970s college-era tresses. I've had to trim my bangs four times since my early pandemic haircut to avoid a shaggy dog look. I really, really want a professional haircut, but maybe I'll wait for the pandemic to end...

Last year I met a group of friends at a coffee shop for a few hours on Monday mornings. We brought our knitting, crocheting and other crafting projects with us, an excuse to drink coffee and talk, talk, talk. We now text pics of our projects to one another. It's something, but definitely not the same. I can't wait for the pandemic to end...

Okay, maybe I'm a bit excessive with my pandemic cautiousness, but wanting and waiting for the pandemic to end is a real desire in all of us. Waiting can have a somewhat backward-looking element to it. It can be as much about waiting for something to end, to finally be behind us, as it is about waiting for something to happen in front of us. The Israelites, as slaves in Egypt, waited for 400 plus years for their bondage to end. The same Israelites waited 70 years for their captivity in Babylon to end. Our date for the celebration of Christmas was chosen to occur near the time of the pagan celebration of the winter solstice. The festivities around the winter solstice were both backward- and forward-looking. In the Northern Hemisphere, the winter solstice marks the beginning of winter, with the deepest cold months of winter ahead, not much to celebrate. But the winter solstice also marks the longest night of the year, so really celebrates the end of increasing darkness.

We think of Advent as a time of looking toward Christmas, but the big Advent, the centuries of waiting for the promise of a Savior, was also as much about waiting for something to end as it was about waiting for something to happen. Waiting for salvation allowed mankind to come face to face with all the reasons of why a Savior was needed - waiting for bondage of all kind to come to an end, for sickness of all kind to be healed, for sin of all flavors to be atoned for, for the brokeness between God and man that occurred in the Garden to finally come to an end. Waiting for something to end increases our eagerness for what comes next.

The toes of my shoes look tattered, but the soles still have some miles in them. My curling iron and a hair clips allow my hair to look presentable. I continue to knit and crochet, drinking coffee alone in my house, sharing photos of finished projects, waiting for the time when the pandemic days are finally over. All these things, however, make me appreciate what I took for granted pre-pandemic – the interminable search for shoes that won't come through at the toe, leisurely sitting in a hair salon, knitting and coffee with friends in an enclosed public space. When I finally experience them again, they will be the sweeter for the time spent waiting for their absence to end.

Something to Ponder:

In your life now, what are you waiting for to end? The pandemic? A bad job situation? An unhealthy relationship? The lingering effects of some physical or emotional trauma? Take a look at the things that have been formed in you during this time of waiting for something to end. What have you learned about yourself? About God? What have you come to appreciate more? Dislike more?

Something to Pray:

Take a look at Revelation 21:3-5:

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

Spend some time praying about the above passage, then focus on the underlined part. Ask God to give you a deeper understanding of this promise of an ending to mourning, crying, ultimately, even death. Pray through your reflections from your ponderings above, allowing God to minister to you in the places where you are waiting for something to end.

 

Light Advent Musings

Week 1

Waiting for Something to Happen

The early 1980s Masterpiece Theatre classic The Jewel in the Crown is one of my favorite series and one I recommend to those I know also enjoy good British television.  Having recommended it to several people considerably younger than myself, I've gotten the same reaction from them – "It was hard to get into at first because the story moved so slowly.  But I stuck with it and it was really great!"  I was somewhat mystified at their critique, not having noticed the slowness of the plot.  Then I realized these younger viewers were of the Downton Abbey generation, used to their episodic dramas is short, quick scenes.  Take a stop watch to any contemporary Masterpiece (I've done it to both DA and Poldark.) and one will find the average scene length to be under 20 seconds, the "long" dramatic scenes clocking in at just under two minutes.  Taking a stop watch to The Jewel in the Crown, the short scenes average just under a minute, the long dramatic ones can clock in at close to five minutes.  Clearly, the pace of British drama has significantly changed in forty years.

Advent, that time of waiting for Christmas, also has a different time element to it, depending upon our age and experience.  As children, the weeks before Christmas slow to a snail's pace as we wait for Christmas morning.  As an adult, those same weeks fly by with not enough days to get everything done in a timely matter before the big day. Children eagerly anticipate the action of Christmas while adults are fine with a slower rhythm leading up to December 25th.  One can only imagine the time flow of the true Advent, the centuries of waiting from the biblical fall of man to the coming of a God-promised Savior.  

That Savior-promise comes on the heels of Adam and Eve's sin and, interestingly, the promise is addressed to the serpent, Adam and Eve being eavesdroppers as God voices His plan of salvation. 

I will put enmity between you and the woman,

    and between your offspring and her offspring;

he shall bruise your head,

    and you shall bruise his heel.*

Hmmm...a battle between the serpent's offspring and the offspring of a couple yet to have children.  The waiting game had begun.  And the Offspring of the couple will step on the serpent's head, a decided position of power, and yet one without complete invulnerability.  There will be a bruising of His heel.  We can only wonder at what Adam and Eve thought of this promise, of the nature of its fulfillment, of the timing of its completion.  Did they suspect it would happen soon, or did they hunker down for the long haul?  Did they hope for the non-stop action pace of Downton Abbey or resign themselves for the slow unfolding pace of The Jewel in the Crown? 

Depending upon how much science and archaeology one factors into the biblical account of Adam and Eve's leaving the Garden of Eden, the waiting time for the coming Savior is somewhere between 4,000 and 200,000 years.  That's a long, long time, especially compared to the Church calendar's traditional four weeks of Advent.  It makes us wonder about the God who promised the Savior.  We know He is a God of infinite patience, with perfect timing, attributes we, His creation, have only in part, lacking in both infiniteness and perfection. We may struggle with the pacing of The Jewel in the Crown. He would not.  But, like The Jewel in the Crown, if we stick with God's timing and pacing of His salvation story, we come away knowing we have seen something really great...

Something to Ponder:

Take a look at 2 Peter 3:8,9:

But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.

Try to wrap your head around God's concept of time and how it is so different from ours.  Examine your own concept of time.  Do you like things to progress slowly, unfolding at a leisurely pace, or are you addicted to action, things always moving along?

Something to Pray: 

Pray through your reflections from above.  Ask God to align your sense of timing with His, to slow you down when you are going ahead of Him, to light a fire under you when you are lagging behind.  Ask Him to show you ways in which His timing has been perfect in past interactions in your life.  Ask Him to increase your trust in His timing and pacing for your present or future life.

 

*Genesis 3:15

Light Lenten Reflections

Week 7B

Back to the Garden: Reprise

Mary Magdalene has something in common with Joni Mitchell.

I started out these Lenten reflections* looking at Mitchell's iconic song Woodstock. She writes:

We are stardust

We are golden

And we've got to get ourselves

Back to the garden

I said Joni got it right, her song reflecting the longing in each of us to get back to the Garden and the Garden Life we were originally created for, that intimate walk with God. I pointed out Joni also got it wrong. We can never get ourselves back to the Garden - way above our paygrade, way outside our purview.

Easter celebrates the day, the event, that ultimately got us back to the Garden. It is fitting that what started in the great Garden back in the beginning is completed in another, smaller, sparser garden. Though the setting may be less than an Eden, the event rivals, if not surpasses, that other Garden experience.

After Jesus' death on the cross, a disciple of Jesus claimed his body and put it in a new tomb in a nearby garden. Two days later, Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb before sunrise and finds the stone covering the entrance to the tomb has been rolled away. She leaves and returns with two of the disciples. They see an empty tomb, Jesus burial cloths, but no Jesus. Puzzled, they return home, leaving Mary Magdalene weeping in the garden outside the tomb. She then sees two angels who ask her why she is weeping. She is telling them of her missing Lord when another figure also asks her why she is weeping. She mistakes the newcomer for the the gardener, who is, of course, Jesus. He then speaks her name and she joyfully recognizes the risen Lord she only moments before assumed was dead and stolen.**

Mary Magdalene had just had her Joni Mitchell moment. She had gotten it wrong. She thought the newcomer to the sad, mystifying scene was the gardener, the tender of plants, perhaps someone who could solve the mystery of the missing dead man. But Mary Magdalene had also gotten it wonderfully, gloriously right. The person wasn't the gardener, but The Gardener, the Son of the triune God, the same God who walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden, whose death, and now, resurrection restored to Mary, and to all of us, the walk lost when our first parents' disobedience exiled them from the Garden. It is why the tragic day of Jesus' death is Good Friday with a capital G. It's why we rejoice on Easter Sunday and call to one another "He is risen!" "He is risen indeed!", knowing our walk with God has risen, indeed, as well. True, we still have the fallen world to contend with, but The Gardener relationship is back in as much glory as this fallen world allows. He invites us to walk with Him in this present garden and all we have to do is say yes and move our spiritual feet.

Something to ponder: Grab a bible or biblegateway.com and read John 20:1-18. Ponder!

Something to pray: If the weather allows, find some time to take a walk with God. Celebrate the restored relationship this day represents. Ask God to give you a time of worship with Him, unique to your relationship with Him.

*Week 1, https://marynapier.blogspot.com/2020/02/thereturn-of-light-lenten-reflections.html

** Read the full account in John 20:1-18.

Jesus's resurrection is the beginning of God's new project not to snatch people away from earth to heaven but to colonize earth with the life of heaven... ― N.T. Wright, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church