"You can see forever, when the vision is clear" (Harriet Kofalk) Some years ago, my husband and I went to Big Sky Country, Montana and Yellowstone National Park. Mountains, fields, canyons and forests -- they all seemed endless, extending far beyond my natural sight. There were moments when my vision became clear, moments, it seemed, when I could see forever. This vision was not of physical distance but of a sense of holiness.

One of the times I was looking at a mountain that spanned the horizon, encompassing half of the sky, peppered by an occasional hawk, I became physically aware of my finite being. Before me was a form of creation incarnate, a form that had changed through the millennia and would continue to do so far beyond my imagining . I then experienced a moment of the knowledge of how insignificant our human dramas are in general. The moment passed, for it was too full, really, for me to hold onto...and as a human being I have a need to feel singularly alive, important and known. The fullness lingered enough, though, to remind me that there is so much power of life available to us. The frailty and fullness of our lives -- that's one thing a mountain can tell you.

It was more soothing than frightening, though there were elements of both, feeling at once blessed to witness such beauty and yet unnerved by the brief window of opportunity that my lifespan is to take it all in.

What I've described is an experience of awe -- that overwhelming human response to the presence of life's power.

"Awe" writes Jewish mystic Abraham Heschel, "is to feel in the rush of the passing the stillness of the eternal. It is an intuition for the dignity of all things...What we cannot comprehend by analysis", he reminds us, "we become aware of in awe."

Awe clears the vision to sense eternity.

Experiencing this power and beauty of life and KNOWING its eternity is much of what the Easter message is all about. The holy will be preserved, transcending all obstacles. Life continually rises out of death -- hope from despair -- healing from brokenness. Forms of life's testimony are ever available. That which is sacred in life abides.

And what better time to celebrate this message than in spring? When the cycle of life from death is bursting around us. When the weather invites both a sense of lightness and regret in the witness of time passing-- life beginning and reforming and renewing and changing -- with or without us -- ever ready to regenerate itself.

As many of you know, the name "Easter" is derived from the Anglo-Saxon goddess of Spring -- Eostre. The Christian celebration of "Easter" developed from the Jewish Passover in the first century of the common era. It was originally a unitary feast of Jews and Christians held the day after Passover, celebrating the spirit of liberation known both in the Exodus event and in Jesus' redemptive life and death. It was celebrated the day after Passover no matter what day it was. It was not until the mid second century that Easter became a Christian festival celebrated on a Sunday with the preceding Friday as observance of Jesus' crucifixion. There then followed over two centuries of debates, political maneuvering, excommunications and righteous proclamations until a steady, permanent date for Easter was determined in the fourth century by Emperor Constantine. Most religions use the time of Spring to reenact and reaffirm the central stories of their faiths. The seasonal blossoming of life lends itself to celebrating lives worth living.

This Fellowship observed Passover in a kind of unitary feast last Sunday. We openned our doors to an interfaith Seder led by Rabbi Block. The place was filled with Gentiles and Jews. It was a glorious celebration. The central ritual of Christianity is said to have originated during a Seder. The "Last Supper" was a Seder and it was there, so the legend goes, that Jesus administered the communion service that has been repeated millions of times throughout the world ever since.

When Jesus was said to have broken bread and passed around the wine as a lasting gesture of community he gave his disciples a shared moment that would enhance a sense of his presence after his death. "Do this in remembrance of me.", he began, summoning -- loving remembrance -- a form of life beyond death.

One definition of "resurrection" is a complete transformation of the human being in her or his totality. The person we once knew changes form and takes on a new presence.

A commonly told story of Jesus in his new presence after his death took place on the road to Emmaus. Two travelers met a stranger who listened to their story of Jesus' death. The travelers offered the stranger hospitality at the inn where they were to stay. When they sat down to break bread, the story goes that Jesus suddenly revealed himself as the stranger and then disappeared. Their hospitality and generosity kept the remembrance of Jesus' teachings alive. I do not need supernatural proof to believe in the magic and power of the moment of sharing grief for a loved one, supporting one another, supping together and offering a stranger kindness even when one is feeling vulnerable. The love, the faith, the honored remembrance...that's magic enough for me. The travelers suddenly understood, in their breaking bread together, that Jesus was ever with them in spirit. In that moment of communion, that shared moment they invited awe, sensing the stillness of eternity in the power of their lives.

Another definition of resurrection is "a coming back into notice". The depth and breadth and blessing and healing power of life can come back into notice anywhere, by anyone, at anytime. We mustn't short change life.

I was writing some of this sermon while in the waiting room of Lancaster General as Tony Yiannokos was undergoing extensive open heart surgery. I knew it was somehow poetic to be writing an Easter service during a very fragile time in the life of one of the families of this congregation. I knew it was poetic, but I couldn't verbalize the feeling. After Linda Boyle and I saw with our own eyes that Tony had survived the surgery and survived it well, I drove home leaving Linda to her loving vigil.

As I was driving down route 222, with acres of farmland on either side in a glorious blue sky day with a warm sun making the air over 60 degrees and the moving view accented every once in awhile by the charm of an Amish traveler driving horse and buggy, I thought "Oh, yes, life is good".

I was interrupted, several times in my revelry, by signs on the road reading "Prepare to meet God". Every time I would pass one of those signs a shiver would go through my body and I would think, I'm noticing these signs because I'm going to die....Now that's not a great thought to have while your driving...

Then I would look up and I'd feel a powerful sense of sadness and frustration...'prepare to meet God'....what do you think this is.....WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS?

"Prepare to meet God"..(ad lib)...that would be like Nick and I looking at map/mountain, etc Or me keeping my face in the paper and not looking up, etc

I do not mean to be glib....In fact, it was Jesus who was reported to have said: "God is not God of the dead, but of the living."

To me, resurrection after death does not compel me to live well. Recognizing the transformative power of life; its resilience, its endurance, its adaptability, its creativity, compels me to live well. To me resurrection after death is not the goal. Contributing to the continuity of life through acts of love and remembrance is the goal.

For therein we find the eternity we seek: in a joyful exchange, a mutual acceptance, a deep understanding, trust from a child, a well-timed hearty laugh, an offer of vulnerable tears, a courageous revealing of self, a shared moment of silence. Those are just a few ways that we "meet God".

Henry David Thoreau, 19th century Unitarian, was once asked about his view of the afterlife. "Madam", he said, "I prefer to take things one life at a time."

The Easter story framed by the message of Spring invites us to become more fully ourselves by realizing that death need not rule our lives -- that we need not so fear our limitations, for life's abundance gives strength to carry on and life's wisdom ways to cope with change.

After being humbled by the mountain in Montana, my husband and I were soon driving by acres and acres of forest land, destroyed by a fire in 1988. I was astounded at the presence of death and destruction which I perceived to be a tragedy. I was appalled. We were observing some of the 793,880 acres of forest land that were affected by those fires. This event had caused worldwide attention.

I then learned that in that summer of 1988, much of the forest was left to burn on the advice of biologists and naturalists. Such fires had happened throughout the last 10,000 years some 300 times to replenish the earth with nutrients from the burned trees. Soon we came upon a part of the acreage where there was a profusion of wild flowers. Pink and yellow splendor in tall grass -- the new life proclaiming its beauty and its part in the eternal cyclical process of life and death. It would behoove me to thank Eostre, goddess of Spring, for that lesson and to remember to honor the fullness and frailty of life.

So may it be. Happy Easter.

READING Awakening by Harriet Kofalk

Awakening
in a moment of peace
I give thanks
to the source of all peace
as I set forth into the day
the birds sing with new voices
and I listen with new ears
and give thanks
my feet touch the grass still wet with dew
and I give thanks
both to the (my mother) earth
for sustaining my steps
and to the seas cycling once again
to bring forth new life
the dewdrops become jewelled
with the morning's sun-fire
and I give thanks

you can see forever when the vision is clear
in this moment
each moment
I give thanks.

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