Easter Eve

Saturday, April 15, 2017. Call it Easter Eve? It's a warm night, so I'm sitting in the  backyard after Easter Vigil, with an IPA. Hoppy. Bitter.

I read the Creation account at tonight's Vigil:

"In the beginning when God created the heaven and earth, the earth was without form and void."

So God spoke and brought forth light, separated it from the darkness. And then named the darkness, as well as named the light. And it was the whole first day.

Sun and moon and stars came on the second day, and with them the days, the seasons, the years: time! In good order. And good. 

There's not much order in my backyard, but there are things that are good: new cushions on the patio chairs, the leafing-out lilac silhouetted by the back-door light, that light reaching the long skinny  branches of the forsythia, covered in yellow blooms. And there's a breeze, strong enough to be heard rising and rushing down the east-to-west cross street.

God said, and called all this into being, out of the formless void. God said, and called Jesus from the dark tomb, from the void of death. God said, and called each of us through the waters of baptism, to light and love and endless Easter. 

Over at Gronks Finding Grace, my son Kris has written about letting go and about letting God. That God would be the God of Creation, the God of Easter, the God of promises, the God of salvation.  The God who speaks into the void and names the darkness so that there can also be light and love. 

The air is moving through bare trees. It's the Eve of Easter.