Rising Life at Easter -HIRD

Rising Life in 2017

By Rev. Dr. Ed Hird

As a teenager, I golfed and skied religiously on Sunday mornings.  But I would never skip Easter Sunday.  For some reason, I always had a soft spot towards Easter.  Perhaps it was all that delicious chocolate.  Maybe it was because my father would attend at Easter, giving up his golfing for one Sunday.  I will never forget when my then agnostic father switched from golfing every Sunday to golfing every other Sunday in order to attend church.  Since taking the Alpha Course four times, my dad has developed a strong personal faith.

My teenage memories of Easter Sunday are connected with a sense of joy.  Unlike my atheist best friend, I never doubted the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. But I was emotionally disconnected from its reality.  It was almost as if I did not believe in Easter.  As a teenager, I became convinced that there was no life after death, and that nothing awaited me but extinction and returning to dust.  I began to fear the power of death and the meaninglessness and emptiness of life.  I even began to secretly wonder if life itself was worth living.  When I came to personal faith at age 17, it was almost as if I had never heard of Jesus’ resurrection.  I remember being astounded over the realization that by faith in Christ, I would live forever.  I started wearing a button ‘Have a nice eternity’, something that would have made no sense to me just a few months earlier. 

At the recent Greater Vancouver Festival of Hope, almost 2,000 people gave their lives to Christ after hearing a clear message of Jesus’ death and resurrection.  Easter is at the very core of what it means to be a Christian, even more than Christmas, our other favorite festival.  Even in our very complicated Canadian culture, Easter and Christmas are still deeply rooted in our self-identity and history as Canadians.  I will never forget a Capilano University Philosophy professor who, though an atheist, invited me to speak in his class about evidence for Jesus’ resurrection.  While initially skeptical, he became appalled by the religious and historical ignorance of some of his students.  He commented that without reading the bible and literature like Paradise Lost, you could not really understand Canadian culture.  The Easter story is deeply woven into our 150 years of Canadian history, something that we will be celebrating with Voices Together at the Pacific Coliseum on Canada Day.

In the past almost 37 years of ordained ministry, I have been privileged to take many funerals, now often called celebrations of life.  Many people nowadays don’t have any services when they die.  I find that rather sad, as it leaves people with limited ways to grieve.  Others no longer use clergy as in the past.  At most funerals that I take, there are many people sharing their memories of the deceased.  No matter how well I know the deceased, I always learn much at the service and wish that I knew them better.  My main contribution at funerals is to remind people of how Jesus conquered death and offered us rising life that would go on forever.  I am totally convinced that life and love are stronger than death, and that Easter is more than just chocolate.  God has given us in Jesus rising faith, hope, love and Life.

Rev. Dr. Ed Hird, Rector

St. Simon’s Church North Vancouver, Anglican Mission in Canada

-author of Restoring Health: body, mind and spirit

-previously published in the April 2017 Light Magazine and the April 2017 Deep Cove Crier

Shock and Sudden Loss—Carolyn R. Wilker

Recently a young teen died.  When I got the news, I found it hard to believe. No, it couldn’t be. The message bearer gave me no reason to disbelieve, but the shock came as disbelief as it often does.  

It still feels unreal, even though I’ve seen Samantha’s photo on the funeral site, then at visitation when we talked with her parents about what her life meant to us. Her family had spread out precious photos, her beautiful artwork and played a video of photos of her alone and with family. School friends, classmates, her extended family and people from our church attended that day at a celebration of her life.

I taught Samantha in Sunday School when she came as a 7- or 8-year-old with her great-aunt Darlene. Samantha brought with her the usual child-like energy and willingness to learn and she seemed to enjoy the stories we shared each Sunday, acting some of them out in the sanctuary after our initial worship time. Her brother came along sometimes too.

One Sunday stands out for me, when we talked about the baptism of Jesus. The writer of the curriculum reminded us that some children might not be baptized and to assure them that God loves them, regardless. Samantha may have seen a baby baptized in our church and was learning what it meant. I was quite sure that she probably had not been baptized, but I learned soon after that she’d been asking her parents for permission. Her Dad relented and a date was set.

Sunday School Fun Day, May 2008. We looked around for Samantha and found she had climbed a tree

I remembered, too, her delight and joy on her baptism day, wearing a brand new dress that her great aunt had bought for the occasion. I was there to celebrate with her and her family who came that day, and then later also for her confirmation. Our congregation, who had been welcoming from the start, celebrated with her.

Some time passed when she began high school and was involved in other activities, however, the seed planted earlier had not withered. Her aunt waited patiently, praying for her and that she might return, and it happened. Samantha started coming to church again with her great aunt, as she was able, and I noticed that she had become a confident and competent young woman. 

The last I saw Samantha was the end of June, and in late July her Aunt Dar shared the news with us, with much sadness. Samantha died after a short illness that turned out to be an undiagnosed medical condition.

 Her illness and ensuing death must feel like a bad dream or nightmare to her parents and her brother, one they hope will end and their girl will come walking in the door saying, “Hi Mom, hi Dad.” 

It seems contrary to nature to bury one’s child, and it must be devastating. Even for others who know her, it's difficult to say good-bye to one we've known and loved, especially one so young. And yet Jesus knows Samantha as his child and will have already welcomed her home. 

This week on a long drive, I pictured Samantha meeting with my friends Kathy, Annie and others who have already gone on ahead. And here I picture Jesus wiping the tears from our eyes with the largest handkerchief ever, for there have been many tears already.

Carolyn R. Wilker, author, editor and storyteller

www.carolynwilker.ca