So this morning, I read a section of Judges where Samson is born, given to God, doesn’t cut his hair, eventually falls in love with Delilah, in attempt to weaken and kill him she asks him three times about what makes him strong, and three times he lies, but he tells her on the fourth, she cuts his hair, he is taken out and his eyes are gouged out, and finally he decides to take down the pillars of a house, and killed about 3000 in a suicide mission.
But it’s Easter, and I’m visiting family, and that’s what I’m thinking about today.
We ended up at a Nigerian Episcopal church outside of Dallas, and it was spectacular. The music was clunky, the weather was windy, the bulletin was incomplete and the smiles were hidden behind masks. But it was a welcoming, loving time. After the service, we joined the women in the kitchen to spoon up fantastic rice, yams and spiced hen in to go containers. This was their variation on the regular after church feast with food, drums and dancing. Now, there are smiles, elbow bumps and to go boxes to remind these good folks of their homeland. My son’s girlfriend was born in West Africa, with ancestry from Sierra Leone and Nigeria. She said the food was spot on. Even the rice made me literally lick my lips; it was that good.
Our weekend was quick, arriving in Dallas on Friday and leaving shortly, Sunday afternoon. But it was just right. It gave us a break, a little time away. I was able to drop in on a few Oregon and Washington services from the big three days, AKA Triduum, (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday). That is one of the benefits of our pandemic worship; we can gather from distances that geography makes too difficult, but technology makes easy.
We arrived on Good Friday, and after listening to some deeply emotive Good Friday music, I was so grateful to see my son. How could a mother stand what Mary had to go through? A sword will pierce your own side. I may try to arrange a quick visit around Easter; seeing him was that good.
I also realized that I deeply miss having a regular altar, especially during Holy Week. I like my work with the Bishop’s office, and I will spend some time figuring out how I can remain serving as an active deacon; it is that good.
Now, I’m waiting for my flight back home, sitting next to my husband, a little tired, but extremely grateful for a good weekend. Renewed and restored. Happy Easter everyone.
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