If two or more people are praying the liturgy, the lines in italics are to be read responsively.
Opening Prayer
O God, whose Son Jesus Christ is the Good Shepherd of your people: Grant that, when we hear his voice, we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. —Book of Common Prayer
Psalm
How lovely are your dwellings,
O Lord God of hosts!
My soul has a desire and longing to enter into the courts of the Lord;
my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
Indeed, the sparrow has found her a house,
and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young,
even your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.
Blessed are they who dwell in your house;
they will be always praising you.
Blessed is the one whose strength is in you,
in whose heart are your ways,
Who going through the valley of misery uses it for a well;
indeed, the early rains fill the pools with water.
They will go from strength to strength,
and the God of gods shall be seen by them in Zion.
—Psalm 84:1-7, New Coverdale
Poem
The Double Strand
Here, where this present
darkness presses in, pushes
down, imprisons you in
ice and stone to wall you up
alive or crush you into dust,
even here, the gold glimmers
through a crack in the rock, splits
the stones as it flames up
in the ruby hue of a tulip
bursting into bloom, droops
down in the blushing pink
of a cherry blossom fluttering
softly in the breeze, sings
in the trilling call of a finch,shines
in dewdrops sparkling
on a spider’s web. Oh the gold
pulsing in graced moments
of camaraderie and laughter,
in the warmth of gentle hands
caressing a cold brow, in quiet
words of love that brim
the hearer’s eyes with tears.
And the gold that rises up
like incense when you raise your
eyes, your heart, your hands
in wonder, thanks, and praise—
all this golden glory! Light
and love! And life. And life. And life.
Reading
The reading is from the Gospel of John, chapter 11, verses 21-26 (ESV).
Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.”
Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”
Reflection
What I went through was a double thing, two strands twisted together of black and gold. There was the bad thing, fear and darkness pressing in, and there was the glad singing of love, the ‘yes, I will’ that is my song. I had not known before that love is obedience.
—Elizabeth Goudge, The Scent of Water
My mom passed from death to life on Easter Day. The timing was one of many gifts of grace our family received that Holy Week: what better day to die than the day we celebrate the resurrection of the Son of God? He is the firstfruits of all who die; His resurrection, the glorious promise that all who die in Him will also be raised with Him. I have always said I believed this, but I sometimes wondered if I really did, for I feared death, and when I imagined its aftermath, I only saw the loss, the blank, the hole, the ache that it would bring. I did not know that when darkness descends, God descends nearer. I did not understand that the darkness of death and grief is shot through with gold.
Death, it turns out, is not what I expected. It is at once more awful, in the original sense of the word, and more ordinary than I thought it would be.
And my response is not what I expected, either. Given that I am a glass-half-empty, woe-is-me kind of person, I expected a firestorm of overt emotion, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Instead, my grief is quiet and subterranean, sometimes welling up in tears, but mostly manifesting itself in physical fatigue and mental haze.
But what I really didn’t expect is that right through the awfulness and the ordinariness, the tears and the tiredness is a golden thread of tender, loving presence. My mom was surrounded by her family in the last months of her life, loved on and cared for with tenderness and joy. When she took her last breath, she lay in the circle of her family’s love: my father, sister, and I were holding her.
And God was holding us.
All through my mom’s final days, I felt the nearness of God in a way I have never experienced before. I was not afraid because I knew we were not alone. Or perhaps I knew we were not alone because I was not afraid. The Good Shepherd was leading us through the valley of shadow—and that shadow turns out to be the shadow of His wing, a shadow of Presence so near, so all-encompassing I could not see Him. But I knew He was present, nearer than sight, nearer even than breath, holding us tenderly.
And now, in this season of grief in which I find myself, I am still aware of the nearness of God. I am aware of the outpouring of God’s goodness and mercy every day in manifold ways, right smack dab in the midst of loss and sorrow and grief. The Psalmist declares that those who trust in the Lord will go through the valley of misery and use it for a well, that they “will go from strength to strength and the God of gods shall be seen by them in Zion.” It is true. I have seen it. I see it still: God really does transform fear into faith, hardship into holy ground, tears into living water, and death into life. And so I can truly say, as Martha did, “Yes, Lord, I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”
Take heart, friends. In this world we will have trouble, but Our Lord has overcome the world. His golden goodness penetrates the deepest darkness with light and love and life. It always has. It always will.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Benediction
In this Easter season may our Good Shepherd companion you each moment—whether tired or tearful, peaceful or distressed, grieved or glad—and lead you to the quiet living waters.
May you see the brightness of His presence and know yourself held in the circle of His love. Amen.
The poem “The Double Strand” and the reflection portion of this liturgy were originally published in April 2021.