The Sunday Project
Witnesses of the Vigil Truth
Easter |
By Patrick Flores
In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, while a mighty wind swept over the waters.
Then God said, "Let there be light,"" and there was light. God saw how good the light was. God then separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." Thus evening came, and morning followed—the first day.
Then God said, "Let there be a dome in the middle of the waters, to separate one body of water from the other." And so it happened: God made the dome, and it separated the water above the dome from the water below it. God called the dome "the sky." Evening came, and morning followed—the second day.
Then God said, "Let the water under the sky be gathered into a single basin, so that the dry land may appear." And so it happened: the water under the sky was gathered into its basin, and the dry land appeared. God called the dry land "the earth, " and the basin of the water he called "the sea." God saw how good it was. Then God said, "Let the earth bring forth vegetation: every kind of plant that bears seed and every kind of fruit tree on earth that bears fruit with its seed in it." And so it happened: the earth brought forth every kind of plant that bears seed and every kind of fruit tree on earth that bears fruit with its seed in it. God saw how good it was. Evening came, and morning followed—the third day.
Then God said: "Let there be lights in the dome of the sky, to separate day from night. Let them mark the fixed times, the days and the years, and serve as luminaries in the dome of the sky, to shed light upon the earth." And so it happened: God made the two great lights, the greater one to govern the day, and the lesser one to govern the night; and he made the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky, to shed light upon the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. God saw how good it was. Evening came, and morning followed—the fourth day.
Then God said, "Let the water teem with an abundance of living creatures, and on the earth let birds fly beneath the dome of the sky." And so it happened: God created the great sea monsters and all kinds of swimming creatures with which the water teems, and all kinds of winged birds. God saw how good it was, and God blessed them, saying, "Be fertile, multiply, and fill the water of the seas; and let the birds multiply on the earth." Evening came, and morning followed—the fifth day.
Then God said, "Let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: cattle, creeping things, and wild animals of all kinds." And so it happened: God made all kinds of wild animals, all kinds of cattle, and all kinds of creeping things of the earth. God saw how good it was. Then God said: "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground." God created man in his image; in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them, saying: "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth." God also said: "See, I give you every seed-bearing plant all over the earth and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit on it to be your food; and to all the animals of the land, all the birds of the air, and all the living creatures that crawl on the ground, I give all the green plants for food." And so it happened. God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good. Evening came, and morning followed—the sixth day. Thus the heavens and the earth and all their array were completed. Since on the seventh day God was finished with the work he had been doing, he rested on the seventh day from all the work he had undertaken.
God put Abraham to the test. He called to him, "Abraham!" "Here I am," he replied. Then God said: "Take your son Isaac, your only one, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah. There you shall offer him up as a holocaust on a height that I will point out to you." Early the next morning Abraham saddled his donkey, took with him his son Isaac and two of his servants as well, and with the wood that he had cut for the holocaust, set out for the place of which God had told him.
On the third day Abraham got sight of the place from afar. Then he said to his servants: "Both of you stay here with the donkey, while the boy and I go on over yonder. We will worship and then come back to you." Thereupon Abraham took the wood for the holocaust and laid it on his son Isaac's shoulders, while he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two walked on together, Isaac spoke to his father Abraham: "Father!" Isaac said. "Yes, son," he replied. Isaac continued, "Here are the fire and the wood, but where is the sheep for the holocaust?" "Son," Abraham answered, "God himself will provide the sheep for the holocaust." Then the two continued going forward.
When they came to the place of which God had told him, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. Next he tied up his son Isaac, and put him on top of the wood on the altar. Then he reached out and took the knife to slaughter his son. But the LORD's messenger called to him from heaven, "Abraham, Abraham!" "Here I am!" he answered. "Do not lay your hand on the boy," said the messenger. "Do not do the least thing to him. I know now how devoted you are to God, since you did not withhold from me your own beloved son." As Abraham looked about, he spied a ram caught by its horns in the thicket. So he went and took the ram and offered it up as a holocaust in place of his son. Abraham named the site Yahweh-yireh; hence people now say, "On the mountain the LORD will see."
Again the LORD's messenger called to Abraham from heaven and said: "I swear by myself, declares the LORD, that because you acted as you did in not withholding from me your beloved son, I will bless you abundantly and make your descendants as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore; your descendants shall take possession of the gates of their enemies, and in your descendants all the nations of the earth shall find blessing-- all this because you obeyed my command."
When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go and anoint him. Very early when the sun had risen, on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb. They were saying to one another, “Who will roll back the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone had been rolled back; it was very large. On entering the tomb they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a white robe, and they were utterly amazed. He said to them, “Do not be amazed! You seek Jesus of Nazareth, the crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Behold the place where they laid him. But go and tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you.’”
“You know all that has happened,” Peter says. “We are witnesses of all that he did.”
This is a post for the queer church.
For the trans bi masc ace lesbian non-binary cis femme pan gay butch intersex still figuring it out I’ve always fucking known flares shining bright in the night.
For those still in the closet and those who have long since burst out the grave and rolled away the stone.
This post is for family.
This is for us.
In a world that still denies we exist, that fights the realities we’ve found way down in the deepest core of our being, we know all that has happened. We are witnesses.
As we share this reflection at the beginning of this Easter night, with Vigil candles flickering all over the world, take stock with us here at Vine and Fig of all that you know that has happened in your life.
Begin your vigil with the rest of the Church, here in the dark. The before, when you didn’t yet know your place in this world.
The priest blesses the Paschal candle and lights it outside the church, praying:
May the light of Christ rising in glory
dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds.
For me darkness begins to dispel in middle school. Being asked at the lunch table which girl I liked best and thinking only of the boy in my gym class who never once looked my way. But twenty years later I can still see his face. The Paschal candle flickers on him several rows back as it begins its procession into the church. He still doesn’t look my way, but the Light of Christ reflects off his cheek and I can see my queerness for the first time.
The Light of Christ, the deacon sings out.
Thanks be to God, we sing back.
Life, after all, is a liturgy. And the night continues.
I turn to my left in the pew and barely make out a face I haven’t thought of in ages. It is high school and I sneak away from my family, from my town, from my friends even, and kiss my first boy in a crowded movie theater. It is loud and hot and packed and so dark except for the light on the screen and the flicker of the candle as it continues down the naive. We kiss for what seems like hours, hands exploring wildly and without shame. On the escalator back down to the ground floor of the mall I reach back and hold his hand, just for a moment, the light illuminating and making real what I had only dared to do in the dark. An incarnation of a fleeting moment before I realize others are staring and I pull my hand back. But a grin remains.
The Light of Christ, the deacon sings out.
Thanks be to God, we sing back.
The candles slowly sharing the flame person to person bring the light closer to me and I glimpse my parents in their own darkness and fear. I’m sitting in their home office, caught, exposed, accused. “Are you gay?” they ask, despite all of us knowing the answer. “Yes,” I respond, though in my heart something deeper says “even though now I understand I can never be.” I run to hide in the Church, where I’ll never have to say “yes” ever again. “Make me good,” I beg an empty chapel. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
The Light of Christ, the deacon sings out.
Thanks be to God, we sing back.
The light makes its way to me and a candle reaches out to light mine. Around me the walls flicker higher and higher with soft golden light. I hold my candle back just a moment longer and ask myself if I am really willing to believe in my queer self and that light I first glimpsed entering the church so many years ago. Am I ready to let that light wash over me and illuminate my soul? I have to. Extending my candle out I watch it catch fire and glow warm. And looking up at the one who reached out their candle to mine I see my husband’s face staring back at me, those deep eyes seeing me in a way no one else ever has or ever will.
The Light of Christ, the deacon sings out.
Thanks be to God, we sing back.
Standing next to Jacob in the Church, our candles helping turn the brutal dark into a brilliant light, I begin to understand.
“We are witnesses of all that he did,” Peter says.
So, my dear queer church, what have you witnessed Christ do in your life? Who have you witnessed him create you to be?
“Please make me good,” I once prayed.
“You have been made so good,” I can hear is the response this Vigil night.
Will you run like Mary Magdalene to tell the Church what you have seen the Risen Christ do in your life? Are you ready to tell them that Jesus is alive?
That Christ is risen. Risen in you. Queer and beautiful.
He is risen indeed.