I begin this short Easter sermon this morning with a prayer by Walter Brueggemann. I begin with this because I think it captures something of the question of who God is as we think of what may have happened in the first moments of those who encountered the empty tomb and wondered perhaps where Jesus was and whether, in fact, what the two strangers at the tomb said was true. The title of the prayer is provocatively, "You live at the hinge." It is addressed to God, so, let us pray:

You brood in the night in its fearfulness,
You dawn the day with its energy,
       You move at the edge of night
             into the margin of day.
      You live at the hinge between fear and energy.
You take the feeble night and give us strong day,
      You take our fatigue and bestow courage,
      You take our drowsy reluctance and fashion full-blooded zeal.
What shall we say?
      You, only you, you
      You at the hinge—and then the day.
You—and then us,
      from you in faithfulness,
      us for the day,
      us in the freedom and courage and energy,
      and then back to you—in trust and gratitude.
Walter Brueggemann, Awed to Heaved Rooted in Earth Fortress Press, Minneapolis, 2003, page 5.

It seems to me that God at the hinge of life is a particularly Easter thought. God is the transition from one way of being to another. God is in the muck of life leading us into the light of a new day. God is at the bedside of an ill patient, opening up new possibilities. God is in our searching and our yearning for truth, for answers to our life's questions, for justice in the face of the world's seemingly endless supply of oppression and enslavement. God is at the hinge of life trying to swing the door open, or the window up, or open up the cracks that appear so that the light might shine, so that we might be drawn through the narrow opening into the promise of a new existence.

Brueggemann draws on a number of images, but the one about brooding in the night in its fearfulness is poignant. It draws thoughts back to the poetic portrayal of creation at the beginning of Genesis: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth and the earth was without form and darkness was upon the face of the waters. And the Spirit of God brooded over the waters and God said, 'Let there be light.'" God brooded as a mother hen broods; God brooded in the darkness of chaos and creation to bring forth light, to bring forth life!!

Haven't we all been there? ... a moment in the night when all seems hopeless, a dark night of the soul, a sense of deep night all around and no direction, a seemingly endless night when we gather at the bedside of one we love knowing that the end is near... or is it a new beginning. Or maybe it's been a question of what to do with my life or it's been a turning point. Or it's been a question, "should I end this relationship and begin again anew." Why do we sometimes make choices that are more about death than about life? Why do we get into either/or debates when the issues are more grey than anything else? Why do we let guilt rule our lives rather than setting it aside as Jesus asked us to do? Why do we continue to have meetings where no meeting takes place?

One can imagine what it must have been like for the women arriving at the tomb to find the great stone rolled away and two strangers inside instead of Jesus' body, which they had gone to anoint. One can imagine the consternation, the questions, the wondering, the fear, the sorrow, the upset of finding things turned upside down even more than things already were. Thoughts might turn to anger thinking that someone had stolen the body and were doing God only knew what—more degradation. And into this mix of emotions and feelings, the two strangers speak, "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" This was God speaking, brooding over the fear and uncertainty of the women and of Peter who ran to the tomb. This was God inviting us to consider a new direction, a new opportunity, giving us new eyes by which to see the world. God is very much in those times of great decision and moment. God is brooding over us; the Spirit is interceding with sighs too deep for words. God is creating a new tomorrow, a new beginning. God is at the hinge, at the turning point, at the axis of life, at the centre, at the crux of all that we are about, loving us into new life, loving us into the newness of Easter morning.

Interesting that word... crux. It comes from the Latin word meaning cross. God is at the crux of our lives, the focal point. Jesus cried out from the cross, a heartfelt cry of anguish, "God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" And yet God was there, weeping tears of anguish with Jesus and his friends. God is with us weeping in our pain and struggle, very much at the crux of our lives. God at the hinge of life, at the crux of our lives and the life of the world; God is in the place where night and day mingle, where fear and courage are vying for a prominent place, where reluctance and zeal struggle. God is at the crux of life as in the moment of dying into a new life, of reconciling from separation, of forgiveness out of judgement. And isn't this what the Easter story is about? It is about God at the hinges of life's conundrums and challenges, at the crux of life, drawing us into a new Easter.

God is in the hinge as we open the door to the power of Easter to live more fully present and more fully hope. God doesn't abandon us to dark tombs, having judged us and found us wanting. God is the One who bursts open the stones that entomb us. God is the One who fans the flames of love and transformation that are part of our lives. God is the One who, with Easter surprise, invites us to see the world without dualisms, without isms of any kind, without the need for us and them, for either and or, but with a resounding AND. God is the One who invites us to live the transformed life of Jesus every day and every moment.

Christ is risen... Christ is risen, indeed! ...Alleluia!