Last night I attended the Easter Vigil at Christ Episcopal, Tuscaloosa. The vigil is my favorite service in the liturgical year in the Episcopal Church. The service begins in candlelight as old testament readings bring us through God's saving help in the world, leading to the empty tomb and a ceremonial turning on of all the lights in the church. The smell of incense lingers in the air and finally we are able to say Alleluia! after a lent of penitence.
What strikes me the most about the vigil is the transition. To know and fully appreciate the light of the empty tomb, the service begins in darkness. I too know about the transition. Last year's Easter Vigil I was living at home and my prayers were to keep me strong to survive the last of the year of teaching 7th grade. Last year my prayers were for some sort of light, any sign of light, because the past two years prior were filled with dark and sadness. I was unsure of what my next step was going to be, I only knew it was not going to be teaching at Gulfport Central Middle School.
I was unsure about the long run. I have felt called to the ministry for so long, but it has always been a call in the distant future. "I'll fulfill my call after this..." became the mantra. I couldn't see the immediate, and the way things lined up for The University of Alabama to be my next home were too easy to look over. Do I still think about the ministry? Yes. The difference is, I've put those thoughts on the back burner for the first time since the call originated and have focused on the NOW. Sounds new-agey but that focus was/is what I need.
It might sound strange, especially given the amount of work and stress that I've had this year, but Tuscaloosa has been my resurrection. Yes, I struggle to keep up with reading and writing, but I no longer dread waking up every day and I no longer pray just for survival. Yes, there are still questions and concerns about what I am doing, but I feel I am making a difference whenever a student of mine finally 'gets it.' I feel joy when I finally break through on a paper. I'm happy in the space where I live and the people who have been brought into my life.
I can fully appreciate this opportunity and change because of the darkness I have faced. Is it perfect? Hell no. What is perfect? There are bumps and bruises and frustrations and hurdles. The difference is, I have the strength (notice I didn't say patience- working on that) to deal with it.
So this year at the Vigil, I prayed a thanksgiving, not a desperate plea.
The tomb is empty, come and see.
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