A few thoughts on resurrection, from the weekend

Resurrection sound like a dramatic word, but in practice the glimpses are subtle. God does not overwhelm our senses. Even Mary was slow to recognize reality. How much more so am I. Birungi Suizen did not die on Easter weekend. He was as close as it is possible to come by Good Friday, gasping, intermittently conscious. But Sunday morning he was sitting on his mom’s lap eating a soupy fish sauce, with a snarly little protest when she stopped feeding him to talk to me. Resurrection? He still has far to go, but I’ve rarely seen a little flame of life so stubbornly flickering, so close to being snuffed but smoldering back to light. Matte’s ribs seem to carry a few more millimeters of flesh. The three 1-kg preemies, one of whom stopped breathing repeatedly when he first came in, are snuggling along on their mothers’ incubating breasts, today clocking 1.45, 1.3, and 1.6 kg. Boxes of UNICEF food arrived over the weekend, the real-deal malnutrition milk supplements instead of the ad-hoc formulas we’ve been concocting. I saw staff today covering for each other, pitching in outside their areas of duty to help. Yes, resurrection changes, slow maybe, murky, but there if you squint hard and really look. Highlights of the weekend for me: celebrating passover as a team, reclining, asking the questions, breaking the unleavened bread and drinking the cups of wine, washing feet and celebrating the community of the redeemed, the rescued. Gathering on Friday afternoon, after services, in the side room of the community center on simple benches, praying through John 14-17, a powerful time drawing very diverse people together to lift up the troubles of Bundibugyo. Watching The Passion, which is full of Scripture but hard to fathom, best seen soberly in the company of trusted friends and then followed by prayerful meditation on Is 53, into the night. Sunrise on Easter, drizzle, considering canceling our little sunrise service but over-ruled by my kids, heading down to Massos passing the camouflaged forms of armed soldiers just waking in the dawn, like the first Easter, soldiers. Easter service, a visiting worship leader dancing and clapping the crowd into a joyous swaying celebration. Finally the afternoon feast, family-like, resting together, secure, including three of my orphan students brought into the fold of our family for a day. All of these moments infused with the quiet glory of the resurrection.