Wednesday, April 07, 2010

A Different Resurrection Story

Winter has gone. And here in Atlanta, Spring is not Spring, but Summer. 86 Degrees the past two days/daze...
I celebrated Easter by remembering not only "He Is Risen", but by commemorating the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King's assasination, which this year, fell on Easter Sunday.
I thought it would be meaningful to visit the church where Dr.King himself once preached, and I called and asked newfound(new being the past two years)eternal friend, Diane Davis Weeks, to accompany me.
We dressed up, and headed out to Ebenzer....
Ebenezer Baptist Church was filled with a rainbow of like-minded folks, and the songs, praise and liturgy that day, were breath-taking.
Pastor Ralph G. Warnock spoke bravely about politics, challenging us (as Christians, as people of faith) to remember the poor.
"No one talks about the poor anymore," he began, "Not even Democrats talk about the poor." He added,"We hate the poor. It's their fault,; they're not trying..."
He astutely pointed out that both Jesus and the Bible speak of comfort and great inheritance for the poor.
He then spoke of Jesus and his famous quote: "...the grain of wheat which dies, bears much fruit."
He pointed out, in a very accessible, folks-y way, that "God has you covered."
Pastor added:
"The seed of wheat is worth nothing until it's buried, when it can become more than itself."
Only in death, do we live, and bear fruit.
He ended with what I'd call a modern-day parable:
It seems a terrible forest fire happened out west, and the ranger was walking through the remains of a forest. At one point, he came upon a bird, standing upright, wings extended, burnt to a crisp. He thought it strange the bird would have held still, wings outstretched, and choose to die. He needed to move it out of the way, and so he gently kicked at the dead body, and suddenly there was an eruption of live, healthy baby chicks, which started out from under her wings.
She had endured death for those for whom she loved.
And life sprang forth, from death.
Peace, kids.

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