Faith-Full Connections
Easter morning at the Altapass Apple Orchard, in Spruce Pine, NC.
This morning, my husband and I rolled out of bed at the ungodly (actually, God had everything to do with this) hour of 5:00 a.m. Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, and rather cranky, too, we stumbled our way into the kitchen with arms stretched out Frankenstein-style until we reached the coffee pot. Then, after several swallows, we got dressed and made it to the apple orchard in time for our church’s sunrise service. Today is Easter Sunday, and it has become tradition for us to go to that beautiful spot in order to see the sun rise.
We gather at an area high above the orchard, at a covered pavilion, set up with folding chairs, and a fold-out table where our minister has the communion bread and grape juice waiting for us. Then, just several minutes before sunrise, we commence in singing, “Christ Our Lord is Risen Today.” Before even reaching the last word in the first verse of the hymn, I’m gulping for air and fighting back the tears. Memories of going to church with Mama so long ago come flooding in, and I can almost feel the warmth of her white-gloved hand holding mine as I shiver in the pre-dawn chill of the orchard.
The church I attended as a child in Miami was huge; filled with many arched windows of stained glass and red velvet-covered pews. This morning, my church has no windows. Instead, I have a panoramic view of vivid colors of blue, green, gold, orange and red that cascade down the mountainsides as the sun crests the Linville range. The rich material of velvet does not cover our metal chairs, but a blanket I brought from home does, cocooning my husband and me in its warmth and familiarity.
Following a short sermon, we are invited to the table to take communion. After doing so, my husband and I take our seats again, and I watch as a diverse group of people take the bread from our pastor, then dip it into a goblet of juice that is carefully held by our lay leader. Old and young, alike, take part in this sacred ritual. People I know and love well, and others I’ve never seen before, accept Christ’s symbolic body into their own. As they pass by me, our eyes meet and we smile or nod to each other, or whisper a soft, reverent hello. We are friends, we are family, and we understand how each other feels at that moment. There are no politics to divide us, or cultures and races separating us. There are no words of anger spoken and no faces heatedly glaring at one another. Instead, there is a sacredness surrounding us, making us feel connected to each other.
After the benediction, we quietly leave, still under the God-spell that has been cast upon us. There is not a lot of conversation, no loud laughter, and no one seems in much of a hurry. We’re still in that “inward” state of being, and in no great rush to join the “outward” state that we are in as we go about our everyday lives.
Soon after we arrive home, two other cars pull into our driveway. They are friends who were with us at the service. One couple brings fresh farm eggs that are appropriately colored a soft turquoise green. Because the chickens have free range in our friends’ yard, they are naturally this color and are perfect for Easter breakfast. Another couple comes bearing a platter of fruit. This, too, is a welcomed gift to our table. Large mugs of coffee are poured, plates are filled with a bounty of food, and laughter and old stories liven up our table. It is a blessing to look around at the faces of these people I’ve not known long, but feel like I have.
I stop and think about homes around the world where friends and family have gathered to do the same thing we are doing. Some are celebrating Easter, while others are sharing the sacredness of Passover. And though our celebrations may be different, the reason for them is not: We are all celebrating the joy and the wondrous miracles of our faith.
Wishing a happy Easter to my Christian friends, and a warm shalom to my Jewish ones, as well.