Dear friends, 

I write two days after Easter Sunday, still flying high after the glory of being present with you throughout our Holy Week observances of the past week. I have long loved those days, for the depth of sorrow and grief, for understanding our own complicity in human suffering and the even more powerful love of God.  As I said in my sermon on Sunday, I used to think of Easter as a break from the rest of the week’s observance. Death. Full Stop. Resurrection. A story of differences that could not be reconciled; of pain and hurt, and then, a new story. 

But this year, after our Lenten season exploring our personal and collective lamentations, and particularly after reflecting on Talia’s powerful sermon on marginalized grief, I began to hear a thread I’d missed before. I began to wonder if perhaps this whole week is a story about the importance of recognition – in fullness or in part, for better or for worse. 

Jesus is recognized as powerful, but he is seen not in the fullness of his teaching or love, but as a threat. Too often, the characters in this story are defined by one moment, one trait, one action. Too often in our own lives, in our own world today, we fail to see others in the fullness of who they are; in the complexity of their stories and identities, as beloved individuals created in the image of God. 

So this year, we told these stories differently, with a desire to seek out the voices and perspectives of those who have been overlooked.  In doing so, our Holy Week journey became a time of recognizing one another. Of experiencing the grace of being called by name, seen as we know ourselves to be, and loved. 

On Maundy Thursday, we told the age-old story but a new configuration of clergy welcomed folks to the table. Talia and I, one of our beloved Minister Emeriti, Sandy Reimer, and a new member, UCC minister David Aune. And as folx came up to receive the elements, I had the opportunity to greet each person by name: “The bread of life, for you.” 

On Good Friday, we listened for, looked for, the voices and faces and presence of those who stayed. Mary and Mary and Johanna and Simon and Joseph. Those who stayed at the side of the executed here in Florida, and as a beloved church community closed its doors, and in celebration of the life of a beloved friend. 

Finally, on Easter morning, we celebrated what resurrection can look like: in resurrected trans bodies; in the recognition of Mary; in seeing each person in the fullness of their humanity, even when their full selves defy our expectations. We do not need to be the same to have value, or to stay in relationship. 

Going now into this Easter season, the work of this church is as it has always been: seeing ourselves clearly, and seeing one another and indeed all people in the fullness of our humanity. In their diversity and glory. Our work lies in listening to one another, and sharing our own stories, even when it requires courage and vulnerability. Our work lies in coming to the table together, and sharing in this life together. 

Happy Easter, friends. It is a good and holy thing to be the church with you. 

Bromleigh