A few weeks ago we celebrated Christian Family Sunday at St. John’s, a celebration of our relationships with one another that also coincides with Mother’s Day. One of my favourite things about that particular day in our church calendar is that it celebrates all the ways we are family. Growing up I had a “guncle”, a man who wasn’t my uncle or my godfather. He was my dad’s best friend, and a big part of my life (imagine a giant man, bald as an eagle, bearded, and a constant source of good humour and kindness). Even after he moved with his family from Nova Scotia to British Columbia he has continued to be one of my cheerleaders. In many ways, even from a distance, he and his wife helped raise me.
So far my family and I have been in lockdown for nine weeks. That’s nine weeks of us keeping to our own company, and nine weeks of me preaching to an empty room.
Easter is coming, and we’re greeting its arrival a little differently this year. There will be no procession of worshippers with palm branches held aloft, no gathering to meditate on the stations of the cross, no potluck dinner to capture the magic of Jesus’ final supper with his friends, and no loud and joyful Easter service in our church buildings. The whole town, even with the strong rays of the sun beating down on our decks, feels a little tomb-like.