Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time. Martin Luther, Theologian

Our sermon this morning was on John 11:17-27; Pastor Dalton observed that this passage is about "Practicing Resurrection". Jesus raises Lazarus, in spite of Martha's objection that the timing is too late. Resurrection is beyond time and beyond space; it is about a person, Jesus. Resurrection is greater than death. Poverty, divorce, addiction, job loss....each of these is a death of sorts, but the resurrection is stronger than death.

I only have to look at my own life and the lives of those I know well to see the truth of the resurrection. The love of Jesus and the love of community have seen me through more than a few "deaths". The realization that I survived and, in some moments, thrive amidst these losses is testament to the power of resurrection.

As we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord, alongside the books and nature that Luther observed, may we also see the love of community and the resilience of the human spirit as witness to promise of our Lord's resurrection.

Where have you seen witness to the promise of the Resurrection?

Tolstoy and Privilege

Tolstoy's search for the "meaning of life" is chronicled in his A Confession. He seeks answers from the "experimental sciences" and the realm of philosophy, only to find them wanting. He analyzes the ways that those in his social circle - wealthy, educated - have responded to the quest for meaning; again, he comes up wanting. Tolstoy's quest turns a corner when he opens his eyes beyond his social circle and realizes that his circle does not reflect the "whole of humanity" and that in his blindness, he has missed out on a crucial path to realizing life's meaning.

Tolstoy reflects, "It seems so strange to me now, so utterly incomprehensible, that in my reasoning of life I could have overlooked the life of humanity that surrounded me on all sides and that I could have been so ridiculously mistaken as to think that my life, and the life of Solomon and Schopenhauer, was the true, normal life, while the lives of millions was not worthy of attention".

Tolstoy's narrative reflects the danger of unrecognized social and economic privilege, a blindness to the whole of experience. Typically, we consider privilege in terms of recognizing questions of justice, particularly as it applies to notions of race and gender. Tolstoy broadens the implications of privilege to matters of faith and meaning; and, as Tolstoy asserts, "Without faith, it is impossible to live".

The question of privilege is not, then, a late 20th century question of the social sciences. Rather, it is one with broad implications for the humanities. How does privilege blind us in our quest for answers to the "big questions"?

The Alto as Gendered Construction

I served as a panelist today for a conference on Gender and Vocation. One of my reflections was that I've been surprised at various points by the weight of gender on my experience. Changing my name for marriage brought an unanticipated sense of loss, despite years of doodling potential married names when I was a girl and young adult. Once I was hired for my dream job and was befuddled when my gender played such a prominent role in institutional marketing for my appointment. I never saw gender coming. Perhaps like a lot of painful realities, I wasn't looking...or listening.

As a vocalist, I sing alto. As I think about the songs I'm preparing this week alone, each is saturated with gender expectations. Someone Like You,from Jekyll and Hyde, is a lovely, lilting piece that perfectly fits my vocal range. The song is the signature piece for Lucy, "Hyde's scarlet woman lover" as she fantasizes about a relationship with the gentle Dr. Jekyll; if scarlet woman singing that she'd "feel so alive if someone like you loved me" isn't gendered, I don't know what is. I'm also preparing Losing My Mind, from Follies, which is Sally "carrying a torch for a long-dead love that probably only existed for her to begin with". I'm singing the perspective of a woman who can never really have "her man", because he is incapable of love, and thus she's wondering if, perhaps, she is on the brink of insanity. Gendered? Hm. Can't imagine a man singing about a woman he loves who he can never really have because she is incapable of love. Even Taylor the Latte Boy, a comedic piece I'm preparing, is essentially a woman attributing the "extra foam" of a triple Latte when she ordered a double as an expression of the undying love of a Starbucks clerk.

I probably rehearse every song I prepare hundreds of times. I sing at home. I sing in my car. I'm surrounded by a liturgy of unrequited love steeped in gendered constructions.

And this morning I was surprised by gender.