There are times when words fail us, and should, because no words can give adequate expression for a wonder too great, too deep, for any spoken syllables to capture. And yet we often grope for expressive words. Some of the words we find to use are like these you have just read; the words which simply name the inadequacy of words at all. This inadequacy of words is how it often feels for me, as I drive from one part of this beautiful state to another, seeing spring emerge here. Tell me, long-term residents of Maine, do you ever get to taking it for granted, this visual beauty which God has flung about in Maine? Or does it always bring a catch to your throat and a skip to your heart, even after a lifetime of years?

I have my own list of Maine’s most beautiful spots. I call it my "Words Fail Me" list. I have learned to seize opportunities for extra travel time, just so I can stop and stretch my legs at these locations. En route recently to join a congregation for one of my "homecomings," I stopped at such a spot, watching dawn steal over a great expanse of water, clouds aflame as they reflected the progressively rising light of a glorious sunrise. As full light chased back the shadows, I broke into applause. Perhaps someone drove by on this spring Sunday morning (I wouldn’t have noticed) and saw a short brunette figure leaning back against the side of a gold Jeep, clapping upraised hands as the Artist of all creation unveiled another day.

As I walked around the roadside area where I was drawn into this moment of worship, I caught sight of a number of tender green shoots coming up through the soil, new growth shyly greeting the world. I stooped down to gaze at the tiny and fragile baby plants which were boldly making their way through the still-cold soil of Maine at early springtime. Words from the familiar Easter Hymn came to me:

Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,
He that for three days in the grave had lain,
Quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen:
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.
— Hymnal 1982, #204, verses 1 and 3

The Creator has formed Creation, I believe, in such a way that Truth will show itself to us no matter where we happen to look. God is utterly consistent, utterly sovereign, and God’s Truth is unchanging. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the consummate Truth of God’s nature, and that Truth sheds its light into every dimension of human experience. Because Christ rose from death, we will be reminded of Resurrection whenever we look into any part of creation with eyes of faith. Of course, we will see sights in which New Life seems distressingly absent. There is, in a fallen creation, real sin and horror and brokenness, and this we must acknowledge, for it too is part of Truth into which Jesus immersed himself. The eyes of faith see these scenes of barren sinfulness in the light of resurrection; with the same hope with which we look at dark cold earth — trusting that even now, in some invisible way, new life is germinating.

Resurrection is loose in creation, sisters and brothers. It’s time to wake up, rub our eyes and pay attention! The risen Christ is striding, marching, tip-toeing, skipping and dancing...and gathering us in behind as the parade of changed lives and souls-made-new grows longer and longer. New life is breaking out: light is flooding our horizons and tiny fragile shoots of new growth are poking up from the cold soil of a Maine winter. Whether I consider our diocese, stirring to life in so many lovely ways; or our region, greening up in spring’s great re-awakening, or my own heart warmed to burning by the wonder of Christ’s Resurrection, hope has been released and moves about in our midst. May you discover the Risen Christ as did the disciples, who found him in all the familiar places where their journeys took them. May you discover Resurrection stirring in new corners of your own heart, in the fragile tenacity of life pushing itself forth from places where all seemed barren, and in the brilliant light which pierces the clouds. Pay attention: Love is come again like wheat that springeth green. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you.

And now, back to wordlessness...with love in Christ,