like wheat that springeth green

our tidal flats are covered in spartina, various kinds of marsh grass which all died and turned brown as the dirt months back. lately i think i've seen little patches of green here and there on the river banks at low tide. so far marty thinks not. so we bicker. he is fun to quibble with. we both have an overarching desire to be right about everything. we make lots of bets going back to the beginning of time. he almost always wins because he is very smart and has an excellent poker face. so i owe him two million dollars. but he owes me six million because i know when to up the ante.

easter morning. as a child this was my favorite day of the year. from steketees department store in downtown grand rapids: new dress, new anklets trimmed in lace, new hat with satin ribbon, new gloves. i observed that my mom wore white gloves decades longer than most women of her generation thus so did her daughters. when my parents went to italy my mother bought me a pair of gloves in florence made of the softest white leather and stitched with tiny exquisite rosebuds. they remain among my best loved possessions of all time. my sister terry and i got gardenia corsages- they smelled so good it made me want to cry.

after the easter egg hunt we went to church. from third grade on i sang in one of the four choirs. one year the combined choirs performed the hallelujah chorus. forty children robed in red were all lined up in front on the chancel steps in the huge sanctuary. behind us was a bank of lilies the size of a station wagon. their imposing scent made my eyes water and nose run. the anthem built to its glorious crescendo and came to its surprising, thrilling moment of silence just as i sneezed. i was mortified. of course i didn't do it on purpose but you'd never convince minister of music mr. beverly howerton. it ruined the recording he was planning to sell so the adult choir could tour in europe. his stony glare could freeze your heart. i felt like mac in yertle the turtle.

after church we went somewhere wonderful for lunch with my grandparents. so many rituals and traditions. most of all i remember the music. haunting, hopeful, exhilarating, overwhelming beauty on the edge of unbearable sorrow. death is real and you can't undo it but love is enduring. loss will tear you apart yet you are never abandoned or completely alone. sadness hurts to the bone, nonetheless something lifts you with its beating wings.

my core theology didn't come from sunday school, sermons, books, religious education or seminary. it came from memorizing and singing hymns, anthems, great choral works, sacred music; the notes and the words working their way down deep.


Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,
Thy touch can call us back to life again;
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.