I think we have all been haunted these past days by the collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore: the suddenness of the disaster; the fragility of life; the fears that such catastrophic events bring up in all of us.
How do we process such loss? How do we move forward when such seemingly-permanent things have disappeared from our lives, especially when we count on it – and often take it for granted?
As many Marylanders are asking in these days following the tragedy: where do we go from here?
It is the same question the disciples are asking following the death of their leader-teacher-Savior, Jesus.
He had been for three years their own Key Bridge, so to speak – the one support they could count on; the one they knew would lead them to better places; the one who took them into the hearts and lives of those seeking mercy and healing.
Jesus was their bridge to the Father – and now, in a chaotic burst of hatred on Calvary during the Passover festival – that bridge completely collapsed before their very eyes (or so they believed).
So, in that shock and grief, they did the only thing they knew to do: return to the place where they buried their love, their hearts, and their hopes for a better tomorrow. Return to the place where they could be close to his body. Return and say “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you; I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Grieving hearts do such things out of love.
In the news coverage on WBAL and ‘MAR that we have been watching since Tuesday, have you noticed the number of people who come as close as possible to the scene of tragedy in order to try to make sense of it all? Their hearts lead them to the place where they are forced to stand before the mystery of life and death, and then in that space, be changed – to be open to feeling something greater than themselves. Sure, many come to gawk; but make no mistake that some who have stood along the Patapsco are there because they grieve. They come to the river because love always comes running.
That very well may be the heart of the Easter message: Love always meets the chaos and the tragedy, and love never fails.
Mary Magdalen and the women came to the tomb out of love so that they could be close to the One who forever changed their lives. They respectfully came to anoint the body of the one who poured out his entire life for them.
They hadn’t really understood the message of the Kingdom and the meaning of Resurrection, but they knew they had to be close to Love. Let us go and see, they said.
Peter and John, too, on the morning of the Third Day also came to the tomb, running at the news brought to them by a woman – someone whose word was not to be believed in that culture and time. Surely Mary was wrong … or was she? Let us go and see, they said.
They were faithful to the search. They ran seeking love. And every time, God met them where they needed Him most and led them to healing … to hope … to resurrection.
This is why Easter matters.
Yes, we appreciate the candy and the eggs, the bunny and the flowers. All good things … all symbols of new life.
But if I may, I would like this year to propose a new Easter symbol for us in these days – the Key Bridge.
Yes, you read that correctly.
A mangled mess of metal and destruction lying in a heap in Baltimore’s Harbor can be the Resurrection symbol we need right now. Here’s why:
Most of us at some point in our lives have had moments and encounters in which everything seemed to be collapsing around us: a marriage, a friendship, the health of a loved one who is preparing to die. It’s a mess. We’re a mess.
And yet, when we come to that place of suffering and tragedy, God meets us where we are and saves us. His grace becomes like the rescuers in boats who searched the depths that want to claim our souls. He will never give up on us. Cling to that.
His love is like that of the quick-thinking state-police who stopped motorists from ascending the bridge just in the nick of time. He longs to keep us from danger – the danger of sin and hate and selfishness. We can always choose, of course, to steer around the roadblocks He puts in place, but how blessed we are when we decide in true freedom to obey the flashing lights of warning.
And maybe, most importantly, this image of the Key Bridge that has stayed with me these past days: the on-ramps.
Yes, most of the structure collapsed. It will take many seasons to clean-up and rebuild. But no matter how long it takes – no matter what the new bridge may look like down the road – the on-ramps remind us that new life will rise again. This is not the end of the story – for the Key Bridge. For our wounded Church. For our own lives of faith.
We may not know what will come, but the story is not over. In fact, let me be bold: Envision what could be … what is coming … what we can be a part of.
What is the Lord asking you to do in your life and your family to rebuild? Where can resurrection be found in our Church again after years of hurt and departures and stagnation? Where is Christ’s love challenging us – wherever we find ourselves – to let our faith and love for God build a new bridge of hope and strength that this world needs?
The beauty of Easter is always this: when everything seems like it has collapsed all around us, stay Maryland strong, as our governor reminds us frequently these days.
Strong in humility; strong in how we help one another; strong in seeking mercy and new beginnings; strong in becoming a bridge for others to find God again; to return to Church; to seek His mercy. After all, we are in Mary’s Land – and she who loved her Savior and Son will never steer us wrong.
The very First Easter was messy. The Key Bridge right now is, too. But remember the Easter image of the on-ramps. Our Savior always shows us the way to new beginnings and new life in and through Him.