Christ the Lord is Risen Today!!!!! *cricket cricket*

Last night, I attended and assisted in leading a community Easter Vigil service at the Chapel in the Hills.  I had never been to the chapel, which is a beautiful little chapel designed to be a traditional Norwegian church, tucked into a small neighborhood in Rapid City, in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  Parts of it were even constructed in Norway.

I was excited to participate in the Vigil, since Easter Vigil is my absolute FAVORITE worship service/liturgical event/holiday/thing ever.  I'm not kidding.  Ask me to describe Easter Vigil sometime and you'll see my face light up, likely becoming pink with excitement as I describe the movement from darkness into light, from Christ's death into resurrection, from the beginning of creation to Christ restoring creation.  It's beautiful.  All of it.

The love and adoration of this service grew out of my childhood experiences with the Vigil.  I was raised in a "high-church" and highly liturgical congregation, called Zion Lutheran Church in Indiana, PA.  For as long as I can remember, this service has meant the world to me.  I can smell the Easter Lillies that they hide behind the screens.  I feel the bits of hot wax drop onto my hands from the small candles we each held after lighting the New Fire and the Paschal Candle for the year.  I start to laugh when I hear the reading from Daniel about the "Satraps, the prefects, the governors, the advisers...," since my sister and I always started laughing at this long list.  As the anticipation builds, while we sit in the dark hearing the stories of our faith, the history of the Christ-followers, I feel excited for what is coming.

Then....BOOM!  The lights go on, the brass comes out, the organ is blasting out hymns like "Christ the Lord is Risen Today!" and "Christ is Risen, Alleluia!", the screens are pulled back to reveal rows and rows of Hyacinths and Easter Lillies.

It's big.  It's loud.  It's beautiful.

The beauty of this comes, for me, after being in the darkness.  After sitting through the stories of God saving God's people and caring for them for centuries.  It comes after we've listened and felt the sting of Christ's death in the Triduum of Holy Week.

This year's Easter Vigil was beautiful.  Tucked into this little Norwegian chapel, feeling almost like we were worshiping in a doll house, I heard the same stories of my faith and listened to my friend Cassandra preach an awesome sermon.  I led the prayers and gave communion, looking each stranger in the eyes and saying "Blood of Christ, shed for you."

And yet, I got into my car after the service and felt, well, low.  I didn't have the same high that Easter Vigil normally gives me.  We sang my favorite hymns--I helped design the service.  The lights came on and the organ played loudly.  But what was different?

I started to drive down the hill from the chapel and found myself with tears welling up in my eyes.  I think part of my low was missing my family, since it's been a rather lonely year at times.  I drove back to my apartment, crawled into bed and felt rather numb.

This morning, I needed to get up to start cooking the turkeys that we'll take to two of the three places where we'll have Easter worship today.  I desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but I chose the opportunity to go for a walk, when it would be quiet around town.

As I walked, along with my trusty sidekick, Steve, I realized that I have spent the last twenty-six years of my life (I probably didn't remember the really early Vigils in my lifetime) focusing on the celebration of Easter, the way that the women probably exclaimed to each other or the way that Christians in the 21st century are permitted to celebrate with one another.

This morning, I realized that before all the brass, the organ, the Lillies, the satraps, the prefects and the governors, there was a quiet stillness in the morning.  Christ didn't resurrect with a big boom and a professional brass ensemble--I think some people might have noticed.  Instead, it was quiet.  Jerusalem was fast asleep.

I wonder then, where else in my life am I jumping ahead to the celebration, to the party, to the loud scene, rather than savoring the moments of calm and quiet, the real moments of resurrection.

Sunset over Jerusalem in 2008