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21 March 2020

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melanie b

I really like this meditation on sacramentality and seasons and our sense of pattern.

Having a friend in New Zealand, it always strikes me that all the resonances the liturgical year has here in the northern hemisphere are just not there for our fellow Christians in the south for whom the nativity of Christ happens not in the dark of the year but at high summer, for whom Easter is a fall celebration, ushering in winter.

Or how a friend in China reminds me that white, the color of the baptismal garment, there represents death and mourning and funerals. It's still got an echo a meaning, an appropriateness, but it's almost the opposite of the meaning of white to us westerners.

We see patterns, we make meaning, the raw material of life becomes story. It's what we do, who we are, tellers of stories, makers of narratives. And isn't that how we relate to God? He comes into history and tells us a story, the story of a relationship... so it seems appropriate that anything can become a part of that story. Does it make it any less real? Or maybe it's part of being co-creators?

A good question about Easter, though. I'm kind of dreading a shut in Easter. Praying for a miracle cure to let us out of the tomb along with Christ.

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I think I read something somewhere about this

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