For the past few years, as people are gathering for worship on Easter Sunday, we have engaged in the practice of "flowering the Cross"--i.e., we adorn the large, free-standing, wooden cross at the front of the sanctuary with fresh-cut flowers to create a beautiful symbol of the Resurrection. If you hadn't been at any of the worship services during Lent and Holy Week, you probably wouldn't notice the contrast made by that flowery cross; it'd just blend in nicely with the other flowers in the room, and the brass ensemble, and the Hallelujah Chorus. And that's okay, I guess.
But today, three days after Easter Sunday, I thought I'd tell you about what few see. This morning I went into the sanctuary and began to remove the flowers from the cross, dry and withering (They were cut flowers, after all. We knew they weren't going to last forever.). Yet as I carefully removed each flower, I had the sense that something sacred (just as sacred as what happened on Easter Sunday) was taking place. It was sacred, in part, because I knew that I would not be throwing those flowers in the trash, but would instead take them out to the compost pile of our church's garden. There those flowers will continue to fade, but they will eventually help give rise to healthy food (mostly vegetables) that will ultimately give nourishment to the folks who eat at the House of Bread.
Easter Sunday has come and gone, but the season of Easter, of Resurrection continues; and so, the life and work of the Church continues. We're here every Sunday, and every day in between. Thanks be to God!