fig branch, budding “Behold! I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth; do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” (Isaiah 43 I have a fig tree in my front yard, and for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been watching the bare branches, checking every day for the first signs of life. This morning when I left my house, still nothing. But this evening as I trudged home from work, I glanced over to see each spindly finger tipped with green. As I felt my breath rise in my chest, something broke within me, a river coursing through parched paths singing, “What fresh glory! What deep, holy wonder!” This miracle got me thinking about new life and how we come to perceive it in the world. By the time the daffodils poke their heads above the soil and the buds form on the trees, it’s obvious. Spring has arrived (at least seasonally, if not officially on the calendar). But what about the months and weeks and even days before, when the bulbs are sending down the roots and unfurling from their casings? The plants are growing, preparing, and even changing on a cellular level, but most of us can’t tell the difference. There is life coursing through those xylem and phloem, but when I look out my window I can’t see it. As the prophet Isaiah speaks to the people of God in exile – a people who have been watching and waiting and wondering “how long, O Lord?” – he speaks of God’s love, protection, and care. And in the midst of the promises he proposes this question: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth; do you not perceive it?” I suspect the answer to that question was “no” or at least “not yet.” If they could see this new thing, they wouldn’t need a prophet to point the way. But God is faithful in this way too, with poets and prophets, preachers and teachers, babies and blossoms ready to help us look beyond the barren framework of this life and into something more, just beyond our ability to see it. I’m also aware that I’m musing on new life as my grandmother nears death. She’s always been someone with an artist’s vision, able to see beauty and potential, holy happenings in the most unlikely places. For most of her 97 years she’s been a paragon of prayer, speaking in words only she and God could understand. But now her language is only breath. Soon, that too will end. I wonder what is becoming inside of her? What new life is pulsing within her spiritual veins? Will her last breath here herald a budding in her eternal home? We can’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening – and what a river she will be! Her prayer and praise rarely ceased in this life, and it will flow without bounds in the next, where she knows fully and is fully known. What we see as an end may in fact be a bursting through, a springing forth, into God’s glory. So, as those left to peer through the mirror dimly, may our hearts always be full of awe and wonder. Let us approach the world with an attitude of curiosity and a deep sense of hope. Because God is always doing a new thing. Update: My grandmother died on the very day I wrote this piece, perhaps even the very minute the fig tree budded. May heaven be filled with her song, and the earth with her sweet fruit.
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I was hosting a webinar recently and mentioned a Holy Week Fair we offered for our children and families last year. Our church traditionally hosts the Easter Egg Hunt on Palm Sunday, and I wanted to offer a little more faith formation around it. This fair is best for kids 3- 12 years old. It's written with multiple stations that are best set up in different rooms, but can be adapted for a single space or even outdoors. It really depends on your space. Be creative! All page numbers refer to Growing in God’s Love: A Story Bible Click Here for a PDF of the Directions. Pre-Event, Opening Set Up In largest room, gym, fellowship hall, etc.
First Station - Palm Sunday Obstacle Course this works best in a hallway leading to a room or gathering area at the end Set up
Second Station - Maundy Thursday could be kitchen or classroom near the palm Sunday obstacle course hallway Set -up
Third Station – Gethsemane and Good Friday Classroom, garden, tent, sanctuary Set up
Fourth Station – Easter classroom (can be the same classroom as good Friday), tent outside, garden Set-up
Closing, Egg Hunt
If you feel like adapting even more, I patterned this off of an event I did with my amazing colleague Katie Kinnison in Columbus, Ohio. We offered a three hour VBS-style event on Good Friday for kids and families that was a lot of fun. We called it "Thank God It's Good Friday." It could be great to add more of the stories from Jesus' last week, like the anointing at Bethany (John 12: 1-8), Jesus cursing the fig tree and/or cleansing the temple (Mark 11:12-25). Ash Wednesday Family Image by RubyDW - used with creative common lisence You are dust, and to dust you shall return. The hand moves with careful deliberation - down, then across - a coal black cross marks each head turning back toward the pews. I move forward in line, my body swaying with the rhythm of the murmured promise, my infant daughter babbling quietly against my shoulder. Finally, I stand before my dear friend and she marks my face with the ashes - last year’s hosannas returned as this year’s dust - the cycle life and death contained their oily grit. Before I turn back to my seat, she looks down at my little girl and I remember I brought her here for a reason. As I shift her tiny face toward this glorious woman, a cry of glee bursts from her baby lips. My friend with the ashy fingers is her friend too, and their faces shine like the sun as they meet in the Wednesday evening darkness. In an instant, this solemn moment when we honor the good and holy truth of death becomes one of life and joy. As it should be. The sign of the cross, the symbolism of the ashes, it all points to life as well as death - but it took a child to show me the truth: God holds our beginnings and our endings. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It is powerful to affirm my own mortality, but it is something altogether different to tell my lively daughter that she will die someday. How can we explain the power of these words to children? How do we help them understand the goodness of death without being too macabre? Even now, five years later, as I gaze upon this girl whose being is so full life and joy and glitter and rainbows, who skips and twirls and sings through her days, I cannot imagine a world without her. And yet, that will be. Thank God I have no idea when, or where, or how, but she will die. She - who was created out of star-dust - will return to earth-dust. Her precious body will blow upon the wind and nourish the new life out of the loamy soil, as will we all. In life and in death, you belong to God. This truth breaks my heart, and also makes me whole. Because - more than a truth - these words are a promise. In life and in death, in sunshine and in rain, in baby’s cry and in old age’s sigh, in joy and in tears, my daughter belongs to God. I cannot protect her from death any more than can protect her from life, but I can entrust her to God. You are God’s beloved child, now and forever. These are words of death, but also words of life. They are words of belonging and identity that my daughter needs to hear. Because she will die someday. More than that - she will live through pain and shame and world-shattering disappointment and sole-rending grief. She needs to know that there is never a moment when she is without God’s care. No matter what. Even in the fire, even after the fire when only ashes remain, these too are God’s. And so I entrust her to God, just as I entrust myself to God. And as I speak these words on Wednesday, I will mark the cross in ashes and entrust each precious body I touch to our Creator. God created you from dust, and to dust and to God you shall return. |
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