gathered

And when we had invented death

had severed every soul from life

we made of these

our bodies, sepulchers

And as we wandered

dying, dim

among the dying multitudes

he acquiesced to be interred in us

And when had descended thus

into our persons and the grave

he broke the limits

opening the grip

He shaped of every sepulcher

a womb

{"The Christ Hymn," Alana Levandoski}

Celebrating the Easter season in South America has got me thinking even more about death and resurrection and how it's something we experience on a weekly, daily, hourly basis. I've felt this intensely since being here. Last week, I arrived in Cochabamba after several days in Cusco, feeling out-of-place, lonely, and ephemeral. The night of my arrival, I had dinner with a group of people from the organization through which I'm volunteering. Among other volunteers, missioners, and Spanish students, I suddenly and immediately had community. I had life again.

Throughout the past week, I've gone through this death and rebirth so many times, feeling at various moments frustrated, angry, without energy, anxious. All those times, though, have been followed by experiences of community, laughter, sunny walks near the lake in our neighborhood, ice cream, life-giving human connection. 

The other day, I was pickpocketed while riding the bus. It was probably the worst thing to happen on this trip so far (or tied with nearly being stranded at the Bolivian border). It was invasive, and while I wasn't aware what had happened until it was over, I felt violated and unsafe. I was anxious the rest of the day, trying to get my debit card canceled and worrying about all the bus rides in my future. Even so, I was surprised by how quickly I was able to smile afterwards--when some of the missioners and I were trying and failing to do the bridge pose, when I had a really good conversation (in Spanish!) with a few Bolivian women. Or the following interaction that went down in a Trufi on our way home from the school: Teresa, Ming, Annie, and I hopped in a van, and immediately, the driver asks where we're from. Ming says, "United States," and the driver goes, "Why are you bombing Syria?" Conversation doesn't usually happen in public transport here, but the whole van was laughing during this exchange. While sobering, it also felt cathartic to laugh about this.

I went to the Easter vigil last night at Our Lady of La Salette in our barrio. It was a really special candle-lit service, bookended by a meal and dessert with the Maryknoll community and friends. Three hours of singing, reading, and prayers led by a very charismatic priest was the perfect reminder for why I'm here and what it means to be on mission. The joy of resurrection was so, so evident in that sanctuary.

I love this hymn because it describes so well the point of Jesus' resurrection--not in the event, something contained and singular in the past, 2000 years ago, but in its persistence, its continued, perpetual occurring. The only thing more marvelous and mysterious to me than Christ really, truly rising from a physical grave is the idea that when our spirits die (as they do all the time) and our bodies become like tombs, Christ descends, is interred within us. And then he rises from this grave we have made of our bodies, and in so doing, resurrects us, day after day after day.

Rob Bell does this great track for The Liturgists' Easter album, and I'm including part of it here because I think it does a really good job at getting at that oscillating feeling between death and rebirth. Because of Jesus' sacrifice, we can fully live in the knowledge that resurrection is what God meant for us all along.

And so what happens is those good, beautiful, true, moving, inspiring moments the lump in the throat the tear in the eye that sense when you embrace somebody and it feels like you're holding the Universe in your hands Those moments start to feel like they're just little detours and escapes from how it really is Which is cold, dark, lonely, and pointless Resurrection is the opposite Resurrection says oh, no, no, no, no, no. Those glimpses, those are actually the real thing They're the thing that undergird the whole thing Just that moment when that person said that kind word and it ignited a whole new world in your heart That wasn't just an aberration from how things are That was a sign, a symbol, a glimpse, a glance of how it actually is

{"Sunday," The Liturgists}