. . . And Finally!

The hours of Good Friday merged into those of Holy Saturday.
This is our truly quiet time.
Nothing is happening.
Nothing is scheduled.
This is our time of waiting for the first light of the truly new day.
But these are not really empty hours, not for those who know.
For some these are busy hours, very busy hours.
It is in this time that the somber shadings of Lent give way to the glory of the Day that soon will be dawning.
This is the time for that often silent, often secret but always necessary ministry in the Church to swing into action.
This is the time for those who provide the environment, those who craft the beauty, those who work so tirelessly behind the scenes to spring into action.
In the few hours that they have it is the task of those who provide our festive settings to spring into action.
And in the midst of their action that year, the year of the Christmas Tree that wouldn't go away, that Christmas Tree now transformed into the stark shape of the cross, those in charge of decor had this extra item with which to deal.
It just stood there!
Two trunks, devoid of branches now, empty of pine needles, two trunks joined together to form a cross.
And through the weeks that the Tree continued its presence, disgust began to morph into curiosity and then into a sense of awe.
Those in charge of decorating as Easter drew nearer became increasingly fascinated by that Tree.
Now it stood as a sign of God's great love for us.
And, therefore, it should be honored.
And indeed it was.
The decorating crew went to work in those hours before Easter.
They decked those branch bones with garland and vines and flowers.
Suddenly that old barren skeleton blossomed!
It was still a cross but now a jubilant, triumphant witness to the Victory that had been claimed for us by the cross.
It was radiant again but now not with the radiance of Christmas lights and trinkets.
This was a new radiance.
The vines, the blossoms, the beauty all now spoke of springtime and life!
That Christmas Tree that wouldn't go away was now the symbol of our gratitude to that oh so loving God.
It was beautiful with a new sort of beauty,  the beauty that comes when winter is overcome by spring and when death is overcome by life.
It was now an Easter Tree.
And still some weeks later, when the days of Pentecost were accomplished, bright red streams of fabric extended from that Tree out into and over the Assembled People of God.
That Tree seemed to be saying: Remember, you are a Spirit-filled People, filled with the very Spirit of the Risen Lord Jesus!
And then at last the time had come.
With the closing of Pentecost Sunday it was time, at last, for the tTree to depart.
But in those final moments something else happened.
Still another surprise.
A parishioner stepped forth and asked what would happen next.
"Nothing," was the reply.
"Can I have it, then?" the question.
And so what remained of the Christmas Tree that Wouldn't was carried away.
Gone!
At last!
Into a parishioner's workshop where the remains of that wood would be cut and crafted by the hands of a skilled woodsmith.
And he made of it a miniature stable.
And the next Christmas that stable stood before the altar housing the images of those whose "Yes" made this all possible.
The Christmas Tree that Wouldn't was still around!