April 23, 2011

Clay Nelson

The Great Vigil of Easter

It might strike you as a little odd that someone whose theology is as non-traditional as mine would love the Great Vigil. Progressive is not an adjective that comes to mind when people think of this most ancient of Christian liturgies. Yet for me it is like Christmas morning for a five-year old. I await it eagerly all year.

I’ve tried to discern why it appeals to me so. Sure setting fires is fun. The dramatic entry into the darkened church chanting “The light of Christ” still sends chills up my spine. The beauty of the Exultet, the first Christian hymn, enchants me even if the theology no longer resonates for me. The waiting while listening to a repeated rhythm of prayer, story, and choral response in the glow of warm candlelight is comforting, even as it builds to the climax of proclaiming the Easter greeting: “Christ is Risen. The Lord is Risen Indeed!” But it is not any one of those things or even the combination. It is the mystery of this night that draws me in. While it has all been scripted and laid out in your pew sheet we don’t really know what is going to happen tonight or even what happened so long ago.

Mark, who wrote the first of the Gospel narratives of Jesus’ last week, faithfully records what happened to Jesus each day of the week. By Friday he records what happened in three-hour segments until his death. This is the end of the story of the historical Jesus. When Mark continues it is the beginning of a new story, the story of the church’s understanding of that remarkable life. He sets it at an empty tomb the day after the Sabbath. Tonight we live in the empty space between those two stories. Of course it was a longer gap than from 3pm Friday to sunrise on Easter.

We don’t know how long it took for the new story to unfold. First his followers would have had to get over their shock and then their grief over hope lost. It would have been at least months but probably years before the first resurrection stories began to be told. There was no creed to guide them. No letters of Paul to reflect on. The first of the canonical Gospels would not be written for nearly 40 years. Their struggle to understand led them to search the scriptures. As Jews those scriptures are what we call the Old Testament. They found hope there that the story had not ended with his death. They saw in him Isaiah’s suffering servant. They listen to Ezekiel’s story of dry bones and considered the possibility that God’s love could not be defeated by death. Lastly, those who had walked with him knew they were different somehow because they had known him. Their hearts had been transformed mysteriously by walking in his way. Then they remembered his words that before their generation passed away he would return. Those words inspired the first vigil.

They began to believe that he would literally return which meant he couldn’t have stayed dead. Their worldview could accept such a notion. Their hearts longed for it to be true. It was nurtured by the hope that the just kingdom on earth he spoke of still needed to happen. At some point after the story of his resurrection began to be told they believed he would return on Easter. So before there were churches, paschal candles, clergy, a New Testament, and creeds those, who could not let go of the promise Jesus had offered, waited for his return. To pass the time they prayed and listened to scripture on Easter Eve and hoped that this time he would return. It wasn’t our abbreviated service. It was from sundown to sunrise. Luke tells a story in Acts about a young man who dozed off during one of Paul’s long-winded talks during a vigil and fell through a window to his death. Over the centuries the vigil became more formalized and ritualized and thankfully, shorter.

This service and everything we associate with the Christian faith was born during the gap between his death and the first flickers of new hope, which we now celebrate in a single night. It is fitting to me that what happened that night is not mentioned in the Gospels. The mystery of this night cannot be adequately put in words. Yes, the Apostles’ Creed, but not the Nicene Creed, says Jesus spent the day in hell. I’m sure that was simply projection on the part of early Christians. Waiting in despair for what comes next must have felt like hell. Mystery can feel that way. But it also calls out the divine spark within us that resists defeat. It is the fertile ground of creativity and new life. That is the nature of the gaps between stories.

My life with an artist gives me a front row seat to that creativity. As she finishes one painting I see the creative gap as she begins to imagine what could possibly come next. But those of us who do not see ourselves as creative have similar gaps. As parents we encounter it when our children have flown the nest to begin their lives. Our story, our identity has been so wrapped up in rearing them the empty nest can be a source of terror not unlike Holy Saturday. The completion of schooling, the approach of retirement, the loss of a spouse or the end of a relationship can bring similar night terrors.

Most have heard the following Zen koan or story:

A Japanese master received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. The master served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," the master said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Holy Saturday empties our cup full of fear and death and prepares it for new life. But how long will this darkest of nights last? Another koan you probably have not heard of may help lead us to an answer:

Suiwo was a good teacher. During one summer a pupil came to him from a southern island of Japan. Suiwo gave him the problem: "Hear the sound of one hand."

The pupil remained three years but could not pass this test. One night the pupil came in tears to Suiwo. "I must return south in shame and embarrassment," he said, "for I cannot solve my problem."

"Wait one week more and meditate constantly," advised Suiwo. Still no enlightenment came to the pupil. "Try for another week," said Suiwo. The pupil obeyed, but in vain.

"Still another week." Yet this was of no avail. In despair the student begged to be released, but Suiwo requested another meditation of five days. They were without result. Then he said: "Meditate for three days longer, then if you fail to attain enlightenment, you had better kill yourself."

On the second day the pupil was enlightened.

Holy Saturday acknowledges our fear of death. It is the second day that leads to enlightenment. It begins with new fire and the lighting of a single candle in the darkness. May you discover that much to your surprise that in your heart Jesus has returned.