The time from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday can be one of the holiest weeks of the year, if you let it.

My, how time is moving differently these days. The clocks have sprung forward, the days are lengthening, and the daffodil sprouts are peeping out in Central Park. It is officially Spring, and I venture all of us have noticed the change of season and look forward to what is to come.

This week we begin our 40-day journey from ash to cross to life everlasting. The season of Lent this year comes to us when we are hopefully somewhere just passed the midpoint of our pandemic; it is also midway through this year’s Lent when we will mark the first anniversary of our quarantine. The journey from ash to cross to life everlasting is one each of us know deep in our bones these days. This journey is one we have walked together.

This week we begin our 40-day journey from ash to cross to life everlasting. The season of Lent this year comes to us when we are hopefully somewhere just passed the midpoint of our pandemic; it is also midway through this year’s Lent when we will mark the first anniversary of our quarantine. The journey from ash to cross to life everlasting is one each of us know deep in our bones these days. This journey is one we have walked together.

This Black History Month, we lift up two distinct traditions of Black excellence: Black church and sacred music, and Black women leaders. 

Today we lift up the memory of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and join our hearts with each other in the continuing struggle for racial justice across our country. Dr. King's legacy calls us to share a dream for the day when all may see the mountaintop God has in mind for us. It is also very much our prayer today.

Nine days stand between us and the inauguration of a president who promises to restore dignity and justice to the office of President of our United States. Six days ago the 45th president incited a racist mob's overtaking of the halls of our government and for the first time in our nation's history, the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capital. I can make no excuses for these racist, cowardly, unpatriotic acts: not for the leaders who incited them nor the people who enacted them.

This past week, in keeping with tradition, we festooned the exterior of our church building with boughs of evergreens, bright red bows, and a few very festive wreaths. We also hung new banners advertising our free food for all programs to the community and sharing the mission of our church with our neighborhood. We also created a community art project.

With hearts full of thanks, we have now turned our attention to the coming Light of the World. The season of Advent is a season of preparation, and though many of our preparations are very different this year, preparing is still the work of these Advent days.

This year, Thanksgiving will be new in many ways for many of us—smaller tables, fewer dishes to clean, Zoom calls as place holders for ever-longer overdue hugs. The thing about tradition, though, is that it adapts to meet us where we are.

The face of God that is the face of each other behind a mask is the face of the ineffable just behind a veil.

This Easter, John’s Easter, our Easter, is a personal one. We gather only with those closest to us, the ones with whom we have now been gathered for many weeks. Some of us are weeping.

When I was in grade school, we observed Martin Luther King Jr. Day with an assembly. I remember the 4th and 5th grade chorus singing “We Shall Overcome.” Our principal—the first African-American head of our public school—would lead us in a moment of silent reflection.