The Rev. Thomas M.
Murphy
The Church of St.
Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
April 20, 2019
The Great Vigil of
Easter
From Shadow to Light
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
We
began this evening’s service in shadow, straining to make out the words in the
bulletin and in the hymnal, straining to see the Good News that we knew – we
knew for sure – was going to be announced here tonight.
And,
now, as the light of the Paschal Candle and the lights of our beautiful old church
shine bright, we have at last moved from the shadows and into the light – out
of the shadows and into the Light of Christ.
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Of
course, what we’re doing here tonight has been carefully planned out, following
a pattern stretching far back into the history of the Church – the practice of
sparking the Easter light – the custom of recalling some of the great stories
of God’s saving acts – the tradition of baptizing new Christians, or at least renewing
our own baptismal promises, as we have just done here tonight.
And,
in the lead up to tonight, we followed another ancient pattern – Lent – forty
days of penance and reflection – forty days when we made some changes here in
church, putting away or covering the silver and most of the other shiny stuff,
using different prayers and trying on other language, walking the way of the
Cross week after week, and, maybe most noticeably, definitely not saying the “A
Word” – not saying the word, “Alleluia.”
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
I’m
not going to name names but over the long weeks of Lent a few of us slipped up
and let an “A word” escape our lips – if you go to church a lot, it’s hard to
break the habit.
I’ll
admit that since I’m usually the one leading our services, I worry that I’ll be
the one to mess up and never hear the end of it from some of you!
Fortunately,
I managed to get through Lent without an Alleluia – with one big exception.
The
traditions around Lent and Easter are all beautiful and important and I wish
everyone could experience them, but the truth is that God is not bound by our
customs – the truth is that God can and will shine light anytime God wants,
even during Lent.
And
that’s what happened right here just a few weeks ago.
Some
of you will remember that, until it closed last year, we used to offer a
monthly healing service over at the nursing home first known as Liberty House
and later Majestic.
For
the small team of us who went over there month after month to pray, and sing
some songs, and anoint some of the residents with Holy Oil, the service became
a very meaningful spiritual practice.
As
usual, we got more out of it than the people we were there to serve, I think.
One
of the residents who often attended our service was a relatively young man with
the memorable name of Hamlet.
It
was only near the end of our time at Majestic that I became aware that Hamlet
had lived what we might call the unconventional life of an artist, it was only
near the end of the nursing home and only near the end of Hamlet’s life that I
realized that he was a very talented and much-loved fixture in the local arts
community.
Last
year our friend Steve Cunniff hosted a show of Hamlet’s work at his hair salon
around the corner from here. I went there to see his art and to see Hamlet.
And, there he was,
just beaming, surrounded by his art and by so many friends, who were all kind
of fawning over him.
I
had to stand in a kind of receiving line waiting to greet him and when it was
finally my turn, Hamlet gazed at my face trying to place me – I wasn’t wearing
my priest uniform – and then his eyes widened and he smiled and said, “I know
you!”
Some
months ago, after a long illness and many years of nursing home life, Hamlet
died and was mourned by so many.
A
few of his friends reached out to us here asking if they could have a memorial
service for Hamlet.
Of
course I said sure, imagining a not-very-religious service, more like friends
gathered to tell stories and sing songs.
But,
gradually, what I came to understand was, no, his closest friends wanted a real
church funeral service, including Holy Communion.
And,
so here we were just a few weeks ago on a Saturday in Lent, with Hamlet’s ashes
in a box in front of last year’s Paschal Candle shining bright – here we were
singing familiar hymns and saying familiar prayers.
I
went into the service knowing that there would be a lot of people here who
don’t go to church – who don’t want to go to church – and I wondered if I’d see
eye-rolling or people staring at their phones or snickering at the whole thing.
But,
instead, it was beautiful.
People
lined up for communion with eyes wide with expectation, somehow knowing that
something special was going to happen.
And,
sure enough it did.
At
the end of the service, during what’s known as the Commendation, I broke the
Lenten fast and, thinking of Hamlet and moved by the whole event, I choked back
tears, and said,
“All
of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.”
And
now, tonight, in our carefully planned and ancient service, the light from a
new Paschal Candle shines bright – shining the light of Christ into our often
shadowy world.
Death
is not the end for Christ and death is not the end for us.
And,
thanks be to God, Easter light shines not only tonight and tomorrow, but any
time and all the time, even during a funeral in Lent.
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.
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