This past week children in Howard County Public School System have begun taking online classes. They started a little later than other school districts in Maryland, but I believe in "better late than never" and so I give credit to the teachers and the leadership who have worked hard to make this happen. Online classes have been designed for all students, including children with special needs like my daughter, Gigi. When they had their online orientation a couple of days ago, I was like, "how are the teachers planning to control each class?" As good as these teachers are, they would be counting on parents to partner them in making these online classes work. But as I looked at the other kids with their parents, I can only be thankful about how fortunate we are that we live in a place where every child - even those with special needs - are offered the same opportunites. Looking at my daughter, and seeing how excited she was about seeing her teacher and classmates, and yet indifferent about the actual work she has to do, reminded me of a story about Nathan, a classmate who was born with a terminal disease. At age 12, he was still in the second grade and challenged with slurred speech. Like Gigi, Nathan often sounded very coherent, bringing to fore all that he could have been but for his debilitating illness. Unlike Gigi, Nathan had twenty children in his class. Their teacher, Ms. Spencer, was always flustered. Another student, Jeremy, had special needs that took up so much of Ms. Spencer's time that she worried about the other 19 children. Like Gigi’s teacher, Ms. Spencer invited Nathan’s parents for a chat. This wasn’t their first meeting, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. They’ve heard all that before. They sat quietly and listened to Ms. Spencer went through her list of Nathan’s obstructive habits in class. She ended her list with this emphatic suggestion “Your son really needs to be in a special school. His presence in this class is unfair to the 19 other children.” They’ve heard this before, but this is the challenge: “There are no special schools in the area” They responded. “And we know what a shock it would be for our son if we moved him from here. He really likes your class”. That night, Ms. Spencer thought about Nathan and his helpless parents. She thought about how difficult it must be for them to care for a child with so many needs, knowing all the while that, sooner or later, his illness will kill him. That night, she said a prayer for Nathan... “Father God, please help me to be more patient with Nathan.” From that day on, she made an effort to tolerate Nathan. Not quite long after her prayer, Easter rolled by and Ms. Spencer thought it would be a great idea to teach the kids something new about Easter. She narrated the Jesus story - his life, death and resurrection. She concluded that Easter was all about resurrection and new life. For their homework, she handed each child a plastic egg and told them to fill it with something that represented new life. When she handed Nathan his egg, she noticed the same indifferent reaction that often greeted her whenever she gave him his homework. As she often did, she would call his parents in the evening and explain the assignment to them so they could help Nathan with it, in the same manner that Gigi’s teacher expects us to help her with her homework. The next day, Ms. Spencer walked into the class to find a pile of 20 plastic eggs on her desk. To her dismay, she forgot to call Nathan’s parents. She knew Nathan wouldn’t be able to complete the assignment without help. She couldn’t believe her own disappointment with herself as she went through the assignments. Jenny, in the front row, was the first egg, and it contained a flower. “Great choice, Jenny,” she said. “Flowers grow at the beginning of spring, and they symbolize new life for plants”. The second egg contained a paper butterfly. “Another brilliant choice, Stuart”, she said, reading the name on the egg. “Caterpillars turn into butterflies and a new life emerges from an old form. Well done.” She picked a third egg from the pile; it was Nathan’s egg. She didn’t know what to expect, and when she opened it, it was empty. Nathan didn’t understand the assignment and his parents didn’t know. She thought hard about how she can avoid embarrassing Nathan in front of the whole class. But then a voice disrupted her thoughts: “That’s mine, Ms. Spencer. Aren’t you going to talk about it?” Ms. Spencer hesitantly responded, “But Nathan, your egg is empty.” And this is where it gets a little more interesting. Nathan looked into his teacher’s eyes, and with a smile, responded, “Yes, Ms. Spencer. Just like Jesus’ tomb.” The whole class gasped and fell into silence. They saw tears rolling down Ms. Spencer’s cheeks. Nathan understood the assignment after all. The egg is empty just as Jesus’ tomb is empty. Easter - the story of the empty tomb and egg. Remember, new life is made possible only when we experience death…and, in our case, the kind of death which resurrects in us the desire to live again, in spite of the devastation in our lives. It is the kind of death which inspires us to go the extra mile to serve the Nathans and Gigis of our world because we believe in life, however challenging it may be. It is the kind of death which makes it possible for us to see the other side of life-beauty, contentment, goodness, peace, and grace. Confucius settles us with these words: “I was complaining that I had no shoes until I met a man with no feet.” Three weeks later, Nathan died. His 19 classmates each brought a plastic egg and placed it on his casket. Each one of them was empty, and they needed to be - for without an empty egg, life cannot rise from the ashes and devastations of our lives. Nathan was right, after all... the egg is empty like Jesus’ tomb, and new life is always possible - even from an empty egg. ~Manny

All of our lives have been upended by COVID-19. For those of who are home and barely go out, there’s this feeling of being imprisoned in our own homes. Should we need to go out and grab something outside of home, we have to wear face masks to protect us and others. For those who are considered essential workers, the thought of going to work is freeing but equally fearful because you have no idea who it is that you will encounter, and whether or not that person is infected. We have been subjected to a different kind of life, one that we haven’t lived before, never thought we would ever live, and never hope to live again - should we eventually return to live our normal lives. Returning to live normal lives has been the hope we express to ourselves, and to others. There’s never a day when we don’t hear or talk about our hope to have our lives return to normal - which is fantastic. But the idea of a return to normal lives may be subjective and relative, because the normalcy that we crave for, or expect, may mean different things to different people. For some, the normalcy simply means being able to do the things they used to do before the pandemic. For some, the normalcy means being able to pursue their careers and live life like they used to. For some, the normalcy means being able to shop, travel, go out, run, walk, take kids to school, and simply approach life as they used to, before the pandemic. For some, the normalcy would mean having to pick their lives back up after the devastation of this crisis. For some, the normalcy would mean having to grieve for a loved one with whom they didn't get the chance to spend their last days. For some, the normalcy would mean overcoming the toll of isolation and loss - on that note, there’s a story of a man in Massachusetts who could no longer stand being separated from his wife that they had him visit her in a bucket truck. Amidst these cravings for normalcy are deeper questions, the kind which should cause us to re-evaluate how normal our lives need to be. I really do not think we can return to live as we had without asking ourselves how we can live better in the future than we had in the past. How can we be better angels today, and in the future, than we were in the past? How can we live a kind of future in which questioning is part of our narrative, the sort of questioning that leads us into advocating for the necessary change in our present arrangement? We are well aware of some of the systemic inequities in our society, especially among people of color, the poor, and those whom we have come to recognize as being on the margins of our society. They have certainly been the hardest hit. Quite apart from the disproportionate death toll - which may be attributed to a host of different factors, of which access to primary health care is critical - I fear for the many for whom the pandemic has worsened an already precarious living condition. I fear for the many who may be feeling the brunt of these consequences of inequalities. I fear for the many who have lost income they may never recover, thus having a multiplying effect on them, and on their families. I fear for all for whom the checks from the government wouldn’t be enough to meet their needs. I fear for all for whom the trauma of this pandemic may last for a very long, long time. I fear…. There’s a story of a mother who would always cut the ends of her carrots before she put them in a pot. The daughter always watched her mother cut both ends of the carrots before she put them in, and over the years she thought about asking her mother why she did so. Something always seemed to get in her way every time she wanted to ask about the ends of the carrots, but on this particular day nothing got in the way. She went ahead and asked her mother: “Mom, why do you cut the ends of the carrots before you put them in the pot?” The mother appeared perplexed at this strange question. “I saw Grandma do it, so that’s why I do it,” responded the perplexed mother. “Well, did you ask Grandma why she did that?” asked the girl. Fortunately for both of them, Grandma was visiting and so the mother shot back, “She’s right there in her room; you may want to go and ask why she did that.” So the girl ran to her grandmother’s room and narrated her story: “Grandma,” she said, “Mother always cuts the two ends of the carrots before she puts them in a pot. I asked her why she did that. She said that she saw you do it, and that’s why she does. I asked her if she ever asked you why you had, but she said no, and so now I ask you. Why did you cut both ends of the carrot before you put them in the pot?” The grandmother, who grew up during the Depression, was as perplexed as her daughter had been earlier, and sought to explain why. "Well, I used to have a smaller pot, and the carrots didn’t fit in it when whole, and so whenever I am cooking carrots, which was often, I would cut both ends just so the carrots would fit into the pot.” The girl responded: “But did mom ever ask why you did that?” “No,” the grandmother replied. The girl then screamed, “So why is mom doing the exact same thing when she has a bigger pot??” “I don’t know why,” said the grandmother. “You'll have to ask her.” Without knowing why, her mother cut both ends of her carrots before putting them in a pot - even though she had a bigger pot which could fit her carrots. If she had asked her mother, like her daughter asked her, she would’ve known why her mother did so. At this most perilous time, this time when we are all desirous about returning to our normal lives, a critical part of making our future, normal life incredibly meaningful could include questioning our present arrangement. Failure to do so would mean we haven’t learned much from this experience, after all. To return to life as it was before our confinement would mean that we were satisfied with the status quo. Each situation in life, as good or evil as it may be, offers us the grace to learn about readjusting our lives and our purpose. To return to our old normal lives without asking questions on how to better adjust for a new normal would mean neglecting to ask why mom cuts the carrots at both ends before she puts them in a pot. The Easter story is about the glory of a human being fully alive. And to be alive in that glory of being human is to look at each other differently, and with the hope of living differently, for we do have a bigger pot for our carrots. Happy Easter. Manny

I wonder what The nonbelieving world Was like The day Before Christ died. We all know What happened After – The skies wept. I wonder If they Awaited His execution With trepidation Or if they knew Ahead of time That fury In the Heavens Would soon offer Redemption. ~P. Pruitt

There was only one television station in the whole country, and it ran about six-eight hours a day. Over the years, it increased its daily coverage and now it runs 24/7. For many Ghanaians like myself, that was the only conventional form of entertainment and news, and exactly at 8:00 p.m. every Sunday, you'll find families and friends, neighbors and strangers gathered together to watch TV. In many homes, you really didn’t have to be a resident of that home ion order to be able to watch TV. My mum didn’t own a TV in our house, for example, and so I either visited my cousins about a mile away, or some other cousins about two or so miles away, to watch TV. The reality was that every Ghanaian in any part of Ghana where there was electricity would find a place to watch Akan Drama at 8:00 p.m. on Sundays. There were two main drama groups, Osofo Dadzie and Obra, which were rotated each Sunday. They entertained Ghanaians on Sundays for a long, long time. I am not sure if they still perform and charm Ghanaians with their powerful, witty stories. One of the two groups, the Osofo Dadzie Group, had a jingle - "Woyaya" - a word from Ga, a Ghanaian dialect, which means "We are Going" and which appeared on Art Garfunkel’s album Angel Clare. In all honesty, I came to know the actual lyrics of the song only a few days ago. Throughout the many years of hearing this song as a jingle on Sunday evenings at 8:00 p.m., the only part of the lyrics that I was familiar with was "We are going." It wasn’t because the rest didn’t matter to me, but rather because I had barely heard the words - and even if I did, I didn’t know what they meant. Like many Ghanaian kids, we mumbled words of songs that we didn’t understand or couldn’t hear properly. We are in uncharted territory, as we know, and as I have reflected this week about Holy Week and the unsettling period in which we find ourselves, I read a post by a friend of mine who grew up in Ghana and is a contemporary. In his post, he remarked, “I finally know the words of the song to Osofo Dadzie. Enjoy.” Like many other Ghanaians, he didn’t know the words to the song until a few days ago, as well. When I read his post, I decided to check out the lyrics of the song, and there within those lyrics were words of gold - comforting words that are meant to calm and soothe our fears. There were words that I never associated with the song. Here they are: We are going, heaven knows where we are going, We'll know we're there. We will get there, heaven knows how we will get there, We know we will. It will be hard we know And the road will be muddy and rough, But we'll get there, heaven knows how we will get there, We know we will. We are going, heaven knows where we are going, We'll know we're there. I wonder why the Ghanian drama group picked this particular song. I can only surmise that within every single story they acted, and which came on our television screens, was a much deeper reality about the human story - that we are always on the move, and that we are not static, but it is only heaven who knows where we going. Life may be rough because life’s highways are never smooth; there are potholes, and also some untarred dusty ones like our Savior walked, and there are challenges both great and small. But our wanderings are never meant to lead us astray, for heaven knows not only knows where we’re going but also how we will get there. Comforting!! As I reflected on the lyrics, I couldn’t help but to interpret our present predicament through the lens of this song. We’ve heard so much about COVID-19 that we are very much aware of the devastation it has wrought upon us and our loved ones. One of the tragic stories is about a parishioner who lost her husband a couple of days ago. She couldn’t visit with him, hold his hands, or offer him some reassuring words of comfort and love Talk about the road being muddy and rough. It is heartbreaking!! We’re going, but to where are we going? Where’s the destination? We’re in Holy Week, the most solemn week in the Church’s life and in the life of every Christian, but we cannot observe Holy Week like we’re all used to - talk about the road being muddy and rough. Holy Week creates for us the awareness of the darkness that surrounds our path and blurs our vision, and often renders us incapable of noticing little glimpses of God’s glory in the most difficult days of our lives. I have been encouraged by the gift of each of you - your tremendous generosity and kindness has been overwhelming. Your faith and sense of purpose has been reassuring. It tells me that above all else, you understand that weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning; that is our Easter story. As dreary as the times may be, we're going. Heaven knows where we’re going. Heaven knows how we’ll get there. And, in fact, Heaven knows that we shall, for there shall be no Easter sunlight without the darkness of the Friday prior. I invite you to join us for all of our services which will be livestreamed. Join us in celebrating the Triduum and Easter. And after worship on Easter Sunday, stay awhile for Coffee Hour on Zoom. I wish you all a blessed Triduum and a Happy Easter. ~Manny

In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in Prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know That you are nothing. It is only when you Realize your nothingness, your emptiness, That God can fill you with Himself. Souls of prayer are souls of great silence. ~Mother Theresa

Eternal Spirit, living God, in whom we live and move and have our being, all that we are, have been, and shall be is known to you, to the very secret of our hearts and all that rises to trouble us. Living flame burn into us, cleansing wind, blow through us, fountain of water, well up within us, that we may love and praise in deed and in truth. New Zealand Prayer Book - Night Prayer

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief, I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. ~by Wendell Barry

I believe in God, who is for me spirit, love, the principle of all things. I believe that God is in me, as I am in him. I believe that the true welfare of man consists in fulfilling The will of God…. I believe that the will of God is that every man should love his fellow-men…. I believe that the reason of life is for each of us simply to grow in love. ~Leo Tolstoy

May light be born anew in me and you. May peace reign within our hearts and gratitude from our days with gladness and with joy. May each one of us awaken to the truth and allow the universe to use us, hearts, hands, minds, and prayers, united to embrace the world. by Dana Faulds

Yesterday I had the opportunity of concluding our popular Wednesday Evenings at Lent Program. Over the past couple of weeks, Fr. Mullins and Fr. Kubicek led sessions in New Brick. However, due to the ongoing pandemic - our life in exile - Bishop Ilhoff, Fr. Ginnever, and myself had to offer our presentation online. That was new and a big thing for us, but I am glad we were able to offer this important piece of our spiritual life to you and the wider world. A few days ago, I received an email from a parishioner who asked if I had read an article he sent me some days prior. I had not by then read the article because I got distracted and totally forgot about it. I made it a point to read the article, and I read it again. It was very insightful. I was fascinated with the idea of learning and re-learning old and new things as a result of our life in exile. In a very real way, there’s been a seismic shift in our individual and communal lives and, for that reason, we cannot look at the world the same way or continue to do things the same way we’ve been used to doing them.  The idea of learning and re-learning both new and old things in a different way immediately took me to the period of the Babylonian exile. That exile, itself, was a huge shift in the life and consciousness of the people of Israel for whom God delivered from slavery in Egypt. They were God’s elect. They were favored by God. They were the light to the nations. Well, if that was what they were, how were they to explain the reality of being in exile? In response to this experience, they had to re-calibrate. They had to learn and re-learn both new and old ways of building a sustainable relationship with God - a relationship which was informed by the mistakes of the past and shaped by a new appreciation of the Law - the very mistakes that took them into exile. The prophet Ezra, from whose book our theme Arise for the task is yours…take courage and do it was adopted, was who led the reforms by reconstituting the spiritual lives of the people, read the entire book of the Law at one sitting, and instituted the Law as the center of Jewish life. For Ezra, the question wasn’t about the exile, but rather what they learned from it, just so they wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of their past. I noted in my remarks yesterday that as a community we find ourselves in exile; we, too, are in exile, or at least our present experience feels like being in such a state. We cannot sing the Lord’s song, not because we don’t want to but instead because we are still trying to figure out if there’s still enough reason for us to sing. For if we thought we were invincible, this virus has opened our eyes to how vulnerable we actually are, and to how helpless we can be. Unlike the Jews who walked over a long distance to a far, distant country, we also find ourselves in exile but, by contrast, in our own homes. We are stuck with being home, watching TV, learning and re-learning how to live with each other. As harrowing as the exile experience was, it affirmed for the Israelites that God was faithful and trustworthy. More than that, God was gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. God is good and relents off his anger. As disorienting as this experience of exile has been for us, I have also come to appreciate and trust the Man with the bigger hands. This brings me to the story of a little boy and his father who visited a country store, and upon leaving the store, the owner of the store offered the little boy some free sweets... “Get a hand full of sweets," the merchant said to the boy. The boy just stood there looking up at his father. The owner repeated himself: “Son, get a hand full of sweets. They’re free.” Again, the boy did not move, continuing to look up to the face of his father. Finally, the father reached into the candy jar and got a hand full of sweets to give to his son. As they walked back home together, the father stopped and asked his son why he did not grab a handful of the free candy. The boy, with a big smile on his face, looked into the face of his father, and said, “Because I know that your HAND is BIGGER than mine.” And indeed, the Father’s hand is bigger than yours. I concluded yesterday’s remarks with these words: we are also in exile, but before long this shall pass. What have we learned from being in exile? For me, I am assured that God’s gracious favor has been upon us, and will continue to be upon us. We all have learned some lessons about ourselves, and about others, while in exile. So - whatever your needs, concerns, and fears have been while in exile, please place them in the Father in heaven’s hand, because HIS HAND is BIGGER THAN YOURS. The virus has taken so much from us, but let it not take away who you are… a loving child of the God who delivers us from exile with His Bigger Hands. ~Manny

There is a humorous children's book by Byron Barton entitled Buzz, Buzz, Buzz, which contains a wonderful lesson for us adults as well. The story begins with a bee buzzing around a pasture until it stings a bull. When the bull reacts, the cow becomes so nervous that she kicks the farmer's wife who was milking her (and knocks over the milk bucket, too). The wife then yells at her husband, who goes after the donkey, who flees and knocks over the shed, and so on and so on. While a child's reaction might be one of amused horror, ours should be a bit more thoughtful. When do our frustrations and hurts cause us to lash out at others? How can we turn a "reaction" into an "action"? Perhaps instead of saying hurtful words, we could just give ourselves permission for a quiet "time out" for a few minutes until strong emotions are under control. Or maybe the hurt is such that we need to close the door and just have a good cry and a discussion with God about what we need. In the children's book, the sting of the tiny bee had serious repercussions for the entire farm. This awareness is a reminder to us that our words and actions can begin a cascade of healing or hurting, kindness or meanness, loving or hating. The next time we feel the sting, will we only react, or choose to act? Romans 12:9-17