As my mother lay dying I kept vigil with her the first night while my sister ;was trying to figure out how to get from her home to ours. It was a lonely vigil in part because it seemed such a momentous time and I needed to be there with my mother while the rest of the family needed to be elsewhere. It was definitely no burden. There was no place else that I wanted to be more than where I was. I was comfortable with my mother, even comfortable with her being sick. Sometime in the night, in the midst of singing songs and reciting psalms and even reading to her from my book, I recalled other times of sitting vigil.

There was a time, once, when I sat vigil with a woman from the first church we served as she lay dying. She had outlived her most immediate relatives. A niece from some other city was reported to be coming, but there was no one to be with the woman as she lay in the hospital, struggling to breathe, living the last hours of her life. I had already experienced death. I had seen dead bodies. I was not afraid of death. But I had no clue how long this process of dying would take. I know a bit more about what signs to look for, but even now after many years have passed and I have attended the deaths of so many people, the final moments and final breaths are unpredictable to me. When a family asks me what is going to happen and when I do not pretend to possess special knowledge. I speak, rather, of how God’s time and our time are different. I quote the 90the Psalm: “For a thousand years in thy sight are but as a watch in the night.”

I remembered sitting vigil with an old Dakota cowboy who, had he been able to choose would not have been in the hospital. Had they asked his opinion, he would have asked them to leave him to die out on the prairie where the hip was broken along with several ribs and probably some internal damage when he was thrown or fell from a horse that proceeded to step on him. He never wanted to be in a hospital, let alone die in a hospital. It was something that he had announced to me when I first arrived before he slipped into a morpheme-induced sleep. I couldn’t help but think of the other ranchers I had known, all of whom were of the opinion that the best way to die is out on the open prairie with their boots on. He didn’t have his boots on. They probably had cut them from his swollen feet. He didn’t have his jeans or his vest or his hat, either. Those had been traded for the indignity of a hospital gown. I thought it was better that he was unconscious, rather than aware of his surroundings. I prayed that he was dreaming of riding into the sunset on a perfect Dakota autumn evening.

I have sat vigil many times over the years. It is, of course, different, sitting with one’s mother. You only have one of those and the experience is unique.

Today is the day of our great vigil. Today we remember those faithful few who stayed with Jesus until the end - even after the disciples abandoned the one they called Lord. Our vigil, however, is different than it was for those first disciples - and it is different from other vigils that we keep when we sit with loved ones and friends.

We know where this journey is leading.

In the midst of the vigil we are preparing for Easter morning. Loads of Easter lilies will be delivered to the church this morning, we’ll pick up the hot cross buns for breakfast tomorrow sometime this afternoon. We’ll be laying the fire for the new light celebration this evening. A new paschal candle will be fitted into the stand. And the morning will be occupied with folding and stapeling worship bulletins with bright and cheerful covers. After six weeks of black-and-white printing, we are ready for color bulletins.

It has been a long and hard Lent for our congregation, with a few too many funerals and a few too many deep losses. Perhaps it is a function of age, or perhaps it is a product of experience. Whatever the reason, I find myself longing for Easter these years with more intensity than ever before. I can remember being a child and having a certain longing for the day when I would wake to a basked with candy, the promise of heading off to church with new clothes, and a big family dinner to follow. I liked the holiday. These days, I am intensely aware that I need the holiday.

There are plenty in our congregation for whom his Easter seems to be of poor timing. They are stil dreading their days. For the widow who is between the news of the death of her husband and his funeral, the full celebration of Easter will have to wait. Her vigil will not end with sunset this evening. For the couple who received a devastating cancer diagnosis just yesterday celebrations will be forced and the clouds of an uncertain future that they had not before contemplated will overshadow the sunny skies forecast for the day. Easter is, after all, a symbolic holiday.

For those of us who live in the rhythm of the church year, Easter is a big deal. I can hardly wait until tomorrow morning when I know a man who just a few weeks ago was at hospice house awaiting his death will be walking into the church with his family after having survived an illness that had doctors predicting that he could not live this long. Death-defying is only one of the gifts of Easter. I know that this man doesn’t have many days left in his life, but every day seems like a bonus now and for those who know him there is no sermon necessary for us to understand the triumph of life even in the face of death.

We’ll be keeping ourselves busy with the vigil. We’ve a long list of tasks to accomplish. But they are happy preparations - there is much joy that lies ahead.

PLEASE NOTE: Easter is a very busy time. We have evening services tonight and a 6 am sunrise service tomorrow. I may not post my daily blog entry in the morning tomorrow. I’ll be writing, but I am unsure of when I will upload.

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