As parishioners both past and present are quite aware, I LOVE EASTER. I love Easter because of the fact that it is the day in which Jesus rose from the dead and because of that fact there is hope in life that is on the other side of this thing that we call death. Easter Day is the one day in the year, I do not even need coffee as a pick-me-up. I can literally bounce off the walls with excitement. I will admit there are times when life is a struggle, and sometimes there is strife and it can certainly feel like a battle. Then again, this are also my CLB roots showing (I was in the CLB in Upper Gullies Company No. 1004 from 1990-2002). Yet because of this, because I deal with death on a regular basis, and knowing how in the past that I have dealt with the processes of grief in my personal life, there is something just beautiful knowing that that bad has ended, and there is something good, hopefully, that is awaiting each and every single one of us.

There is much to celebrate in the life of the Church in the Easter Season. It is why Easter is celebrated for 50 days. 50 days to focus on the most excellent gift that God has given to creation and to people; the hope in that there is something more exciting, more wonderful, more hopeful in the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. In celebrating such an event in the history of our salvation, let us be exuberant, let us be joyful and let us celebrate it with every fibre of our being.

C.S. Lewis, in his book Miracles said it best: “A new Nature is being not merely made but made out of an old one. We live amid all the anomalies, inconveniences, hopes, and excitements of a house that is being rebuilt.” (Miracles, chapter 16, para. 21) The strife is indeed over, the battle is done and let us celebrate with joy the house that is being rebuilt, without human hands. The strife is over, the battle done: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen.

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I find when I get particularly busy and need my brain to relax, nostalgia is a powerful tool. Personally, I turn towards the music and TV shows of my teenage/undergrad years and just let it filter in my brain for a while. If you had to see my Spotify playlist from my post-teenage years, many of you may be shocked at the amount of classic rock and metal that I listened to.

But it brings me into a safe place mentally.

We all have our safety nets: seemingly mundane or odd activities that we do because they re-centre ourselves. Whether it is the twelfth time doing the same 500-piece puzzle, or the hundredth listen through of a favourite album, there is something to be said about having a safety net.

However, when we think to what we are called to as disciples of Christ, safety nets are what we are told to avoid.

Think to the first followers of Christ: leave home and don’t turn back. Leave it all behind.

And then when Jesus was arrested, they had nowhere left to turn. They’d abandoned their old safety nets years ago, and now their new one was in federal custody.

Talk about a free fall!

As a Church, we are challenged constantly to search for the way forward and forget about our safety nets. We are called into the new and the foreign, and not to turn back. It is easy to want to turn back though. We like comfort! The same worn-out pair of shoes that would be useless in the current winter weather feel just right for any activity. We love that favourite t-shirt or sweater that has worn so thin that it would scarcely function as a rag.

Of my several guitars, my safety net is a Yamaha F310 that I’ve had for over 30 years—it’s beat up and splintered in places, but brings me back to when I was still learning my first chords.

As a Church, our safety net may be an 11am Book of Common Prayer Eucharist that we have memorized by heart. It might be the same five hymns that mean so much to us. It’s what’s familiar and comfortable.

It’s long time we got rid of our safety nets, my friends. The Church for centuries has called the faithful into uncomfortable places and yet has survived it all! The first church in the post-resurrection era lived with the constant fear of arrest, persecution, and conviction; yet it continued to press forward without looking for a safety net.

As our hearts prepare to celebrate in the resurrection of Christ, let us be willing to shed our safety nets as a Church, continue to step bravely forward, and trust that the only safety we need is the Light of the World.

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Of course, to talk about these assumptions, I have to make some assumptions of my own. I am assuming she paid for the lunches of my colleagues because she knew or assumed they were all clergy. My rage was ignited because her generosity towards them meant she, for some reason, assumed that I was not a member of the clergy. I wondered: what about the situation spoke to this being the truth? Was it the fact that I wore leggings and a sweater (which are the only clothes in my closet that my pregnant body will currently accept)? Was it the fact that I was younger than my ministerial colleagues? Or was it because I am a woman? Maybe it was some combination of all three. Or maybe it was none of these things at all.

Regardless, the moment was a jolt to the system. It reminded me that, no matter how far we’ve come in the world of equality for women, women clergy members still have to climb invisible ladders—ladders that men will never have to climb. These assumptions, those first thoughts that people have, the ones that will either guide their actions or at least cloud their perception of the women clergy they meet—we will always be fighting against them. This playing field is not yet equal and, quite honestly, I’m not certain it ever will be.

I lament this truth. I lament it and I accept it. I will keep showing up. I will keep claiming the space and the call that God has given me. I will be gracious and courageous. I will not allow the people in my communities to keep holding onto assumptions that harm women, regardless of how harmless they seem. And I will do all this in the name of making it at least a little easier for the next woman who hears God calling her to this vocation, in the hope that one day she can be with a group of male colleagues and be seen as an equally important part of the ministry of God.

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In the Gospel of Matthew, the women approach the tomb carrying grief and uncertainty. They were not expecting resurrection. They were simply showing up in love. Then the earth trembled, the stone was moved, and the angel spoke words that echo through history: “He is not here; for he has been raised.” (Matthew 28:6).

The stone was rolled away not so Jesus can get out, but so the disciples can see in. God makes space for them, for us, to witness new life. Easter asks us gentle but searching questions: what stones feel heavy in our lives and in our Church right now? Where do we feel sealed in by fear, fatigue, or doubt? Where does the future seem unclear? Resurrection does not pretend that those stones have never existed. Good Friday was real. The cross was real. The grief was real.

We are living in a season that calls for patience, humility, courage and deep trust in God. Across many parts of the Church, communities are discerning what faithfulness looks like in changing times. It can be tempting to hold tightly to what once felt strong and secure, or to become anxious about what the future may bring. In places where numbers have declined and familiar patterns have faded, hope can feel fragile.

Yet the empty tomb speaks directly into that space. The risen Christ remains faithful when we feel uncertain. He is present when energy feels low. He goes ahead of us into a future we cannot yet see clearly. Resurrection does not deny loss but proclaims that none of those realities are ultimate. God is still able to move what we cannot.

The stone rolled away is a sign of divine initiative. Before the disciples organized themselves, before they understood what had happening, God had already acted. Resurrection is not our achievement. It is God’s gift. That means we do not have to solve every problem or map out every step before God begins to move. The first Easter did not wait for clarity, consensus, or confidence. It unfolded while hearts were still confused and plans were still undone. God intervened in the middle of their uncertainty.

This Easter, we are invited simply to look into the open tomb and listen again. To hear the promise that life is stronger than death. To trust that even where we see obstacles, God sees possibility. To step forward, as the women did, with fear and great joy intertwined.

May we have the grace to see what God is opening before us. May we walk into that future together, trusting that the One who was raised from the dead is still living and leading amongst us.

The stone has been rolled away. Alleluia! Christ is risen indeed!

Mickton+

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(N.T. Wright – Lent for Everyone: Matthew, Year A, 2011)

“Easter is a day to put everything upside down and inside out,” writes Bishop N.T. Wright.

This is Good News! In a time in our history when it seems that those in positions of power are too often misusing authority at the expense of the vulnerable, this gives us hope! But, as Christians, we know that this hope comes at a cost.

The cost is the Cross. Jesus, the very wisdom and power of God, embraced what the world despises: weakness, suffering, and apparent defeat. He stood with the poor and the oppressed. He allowed the powers of this age to do their worst. On Good Friday, it looked as though the strong had triumphed and the upside-down kingdom had been crushed.

Yet on the third day, God overturned everything. The tomb was empty. The crucified one was raised in glory. What the world called foolishness proved wiser than human wisdom. What the world called weakness was stronger than human strength. The last became first, and death itself was put to death.

This is the heart of Easter: resurrection is not the denial of suffering but its transformation. The same God who raised Jesus from the dead is at work even now. Mourning is turned into dancing, despair into hope, and this broken world into the new Creation.

My friends, we are Easter people. We are called to live this upside-down reality in our own time and place. That means following the example of Jesus, who chose service over status, generosity over greed, and love even for those who oppose us. It means standing with the vulnerable, not because we are strong, but because we have met the one whose strength is made perfect in weakness.

In the days and weeks ahead, may you know the presence of the Risen Christ who meets us in the ordinary and the unexpected. May the joy of his resurrection fill you with new life and send you out as witnesses to the new thing God is doing.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

In the days and weeks ahead, may you know the presence of the Risen Christ who meets us in the ordinary and the unexpected. May the joy of his resurrection fill you with new life and send you out as witnesses to the new thing God is doing.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

+ Samuel, Eastern Newfoundland & Labrador

The post Inside Out and Upside Down: The Radical Logic of Easter appeared first on Anglican Life.

I always write my Easter message with a sense of joy, expressing thanksgiving for our shared faith in the story of new life, resurrection, reconciliation, and our hope for peace throughout the world.

With faith unwavering, I write this to you with a heart joining our beloved siblings in deep pain. As you would know, in the early hours of February 28, at the dawn of Shabbat, a large-scale coordinated military attack by the United States and Israel on a number of cities and facilities within Iran began.

Those in Iran, and throughout Cyprus and the Gulf, across Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, are forced to face unprecedented threats of military violence.

As more and more innocents suffer, lose all hope, and die, I find my heart resting outside Jesus’ tomb, thinking of how Jesus himself longed for peace when he gazed upon Jerusalem, weeping from the Mount of Olives.

On Easter Day, in my own devotion, reflection, and prayer, I must intentionally enter a time of quiet, going about the day in prayer. On Palm Sunday, we cried “Hosanna”… Save us, Lord. Let us pray for a greater understanding of what it means to ask God to be faithful and rescue us all.

His answer is, and forever will be, the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Let’s look to the tomb, wait for the stone to be rolled away, and cry with hope and joy… “He is risen!”

I wish you, one and all, a blessed, happy Easter.

+John, Central Newfoundland

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I was very pleased to find this particular list of things to “give up” in Lent, and I think that they are as true for us today as they were when they were first published 65 years ago.

Many of the suggestions are about having a more positive attitude and a trust in God. That’s not an easy thing though. The news these days, whether from the Middle East, from Europe, or from America, is nothing short of horrifying. It makes the suggestion to “GIVE UP your worries—instead trust God with them,” a very difficult thing to ask. And while trust in God we must, we must also take action. Trusting does not mean a lack of action. We can give up looking at people’s worst points, speaking unkindly, our hatred and dislike of anyone, and the fear which prevents Christian witness. Pray for the world and for peace.

This Lent, take up your cross and follow Christ, for it is through him that we go forward to change the world with love, never with violence. Make your voice heard, and stand for the things that Jesus asks of us when he says, “Follow me.”

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That’s the entire game. And it takes a full 8 hours for the bus to reach its destination and for you to receive one point. Then you do it again. It is considered to be one of the most pointless wastes of time ever produced in the video game industry. Eight hours of your life spent keeping a fake bus on a fake road with no real entertainment and no real reward.

And people have played it.

It really makes one wonder about how humanity chooses to spend its precious time. We seem to surround ourselves with activities that don’t really serve much point, and yet they can demand huge amounts of energy and devotion.

Sometimes that’s how I feel when I listen to modern Christian music. I can’t say that Christian music is meaningless. It certainly isn’t. But it is a genre which seems excessively overrun by songs which are best categorized as “worship.” I tune in to Christian radio, or listen to Christian music mixes on YouTube or Spotify, or attend church services, and all I seem to hear is some variation on “God/Jesus is great and wonderful, and I will worship and serve him” (often repeated ad nauseam).

Now, please don’t get me wrong: worship songs are often beautiful, heart-warming, and very much have an important place in our faith lives. It is good and proper to worship God and proclaim God’s greatness by making a joyful noise. Quite a few I consider to be among my favourite songs of all time, particularly among the old-fashioned, traditional songs I have heard for years and years. But when worship songs are all I hear I often find myself wondering: where is the call to justice, to mercy, to lead lives of compassion and care?

Jesus said for us to love God and to love our neighbour. But so much of the music we offer focuses on the first command, but not the second.

There are exceptions, and I treasure them deeply. “God of the Movement and Martyrs” by David LaMotte is profoundly inspiring. I am always searching for songs which not only give praise to God but also challenge the listeners to live lives of service and love for the people of our world. Our music should be willing to have teeth. It should make the rich, the proud, and the powerful uncomfortable. It should call each listener to have a heart which does more than just look up. It should draw us into meeting the needs of the outcast, the hungry, the lonely, and those in any kind of trial.

There should be worship: and there should be transformation.

That pointless, boring video game: a group of people called “Desert Bus for Hope” started using it as a fundraiser in support of sick children, and have raised more than 12 million dollars since 2007.

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, giving praise and thanks, but then make another joyful noise as we answer the call to serve.

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But the truth is that the Church has never been able to handle strong women. Throughout the centuries, it has done what it can to deny them full participation in its life and ministry. At times, its response has been outright hostility, at times indifference, and at times subjugation. In some instances, the response has been more nuanced. In the case of Mary Magdalene, for example, she was discredited for centuries, in order to downplay her revolutionary role in the early Church. As for Mary the Virgin, she was domesticated in such a way as to hide the strong disciple that she was. The result is that, often, her prophetic message is lost to the eyes-downcast, submissive image we see in religious paintings, icons and stained glass windows.

Like Jesus, the meek and mild persona of Mary lives along with a passionate advocate for justice in a world where injustice is endemic in our systems and our mind set. They were both  gentle and loving with those who were vulnerable, but unflinching when it came to naming the places in our world where those with power and influence lord it over others.

March 25th on our Church calendar is “The Annunciation of the Lord to the Blessed Virgin Mary.”  Whether it’s because I serve in a Church dedicated to Mary the Virgin or whether the subordination of her valiant nature goes against the grain, I find myself more and more drawn to her story and to rediscovering who she was. When Mary said to the angel, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word,” it was a courageous statement of faith and trust. This same Mary would articulate a profound vision for a just world in the Magnificat, the Song of Mary. Reminiscent of her ancestor, Hannah’s song, it is one of the most radical visions of a world turned upside down that we have in scripture, or anywhere for that matter. It’s no wonder that those in power would do what they could to tame her and her view of the world as God would have it.

Patriarchy still has a strong grip on the Church and society but maybe, that will be lessened ever so slightly in the ministry and witness of Sarah, Archbishop of Canterbury, and maybe instead, the Church can concentrate on living Mary’s vision.

The post Turning The World Upside Down: The Church And Stong Women appeared first on Anglican Life.

Over the years, I have seen many of my peers step away from their faith and church communities. Some left when they were let down by leadership. Others left when the values no longer aligned with their own growth. More left because the Church no longer felt like the “safe” space that it promised to be.

Many of these same folks have asked me how I seem to find resilience in my faith, knowing that I have almost followed their paths for those same reasons, and on many occasions. My answer will vary in a given moment, but generally follows two themes: an assurance that being a part of church is God’s plan for me, and that only vague threads of hope keep me present.

The truth is that I have had to stop and ask myself some very tough questions, many of which have pertained to what it means to be a part of a church community. This has meant times of deep introspection, coupled with examining old rhetoric and practices in an effort to see where I still fit.

But is there room for intellectual exploration in an institution that has thrived for so long on traditions?

I certainly hope so. And I believe that the Jesus I have come to know would agree.

The New Testament is peppered with stories of Jesus standing up to those in power, demanding that they reconsider how clinging to their messages was falling short of the humanity in front of them. He asked for more than blind acceptance from those who were guiding others. Jesus asked us to see the real life world of the Kingdom as it existed in the here and now, highlighting that authentic interactions are a staple in loving others.

The Church may feel safe to many of you reading this, and if so, I am happy for you. However, for those of us, like me, who have faced criticism for examining how the Church is actually living out the teachings of Jesus, I haven’t always felt that same security. My experiences have been different and unique to me.

So, how have I managed to stay in a community where I haven’t always felt free to be myself? It is because I have had to rework my understanding of the spaces I want to be a part of. What is “safe” for one person inherently cannot be “safe” for another person. Any given statement, regardless of intention, can have a negative impact based on past triggers, traumatic experiences, and the effects of systemic inequities.

Trying to maintain a traditionally “safe” space, one where no one feels offended or hurt, is categorically impossible. It also runs the risk of excessive caution, inaction, and silence. “Safe spaces” become spaces where comfort is placed on a pedestal instead of authenticity.

So, I challenge us in the Church to consider a new alternative: “brave spaces.”

“Brave spaces” are compelling because they encourage participants to engage with diverse perspectives to stretch our understanding of the world around us. People are asked to embrace the discomfort of opposing view points and difficult conversations in an effort to more deeply understand others. The goal is to foster more meaningful connections in which people can be seen for who they are. Individuals can feel free to discuss long-standing biases, systemic injustices, and more without fear of judgment or attack.

It is my hope that in revisiting what is possible when we truly live in communion with each other, the Church might expand its reach. In a world where negative public discourse and injustices have become a prominent part of the day-to-day, why not revisit what a genuinely supportive body of faith looks like?

Finding courage to change can feel intimidating. Yet we forget that being brave isn’t finding an absence of fear, but rather is found in being scared but doing it anyway. Bravery doesn’t demand perfection, it wants forward momentum. Just like a leap of faith.

I am willing to leap into uncertainty and discomfort in order to be brave. Are you?

Felicity Barons grew up in Labrador, and currently lives in Toronto

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