Sectored to Grace

On Saturday night, I attended The Great Vigil of Easter at an Anglican church in our city. It was a beautiful liturgy, leading worshipers through the broad sweep of Scripture, from creation to new creation. There were candles and holy water, Dante and Herbert, a baptism and the renewal of baptismal vows, the gradual physical transformation of the sanctuary from the bleak deathly tones of Good Friday to the light and the life of resurrection. And there was the celebration of the Eucharist, of course. We remembered Christ’s death, proclaimed his resurrection, and strengthened our resolve to await his coming in glory.

There was a line that stood out to me early in the service. During the Service of Light, among the words the cantor sang were these:

This is the day when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin and are sectored to grace and the holiness of life.

Sectored to grace. I had never heard this expression before and have been pondering it since Saturday night. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is, of course, pure grace. The unmerited life of God overwhelming and exposing and judging and defeating the death that we keep dealing. The resurrection is God, in Christ, enacting the deep truth that St. Paul would later pen in his letter to the church in Corinth. Love keeps no record of wrongs, always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

 Never fails.

And the church that this resurrection birthed into the world is now sectored into this same grace. Set apart, divided, apportioned, commissioned to the graceless, loveless, dark and deathly places in our world and in our lives. Sectored to grace. I love it.

A few hours before I marched off to the Great Vigil of Easter on Saturday evening, I was putting the finishing touches on my Easter Sunday sermon with U2’s new EP called Easter Lily. Here, too, a few lines stood out.

(Could there be anything more cliché than a middle-aged pastor quoting U2? Probably not. I suppose we all inevitably become the cliches we claim to despise.)

First, from a song called Scars:

I’m the last of your loves
The loser the least
I’m the name on the form that demands your release.

Again, such a beautiful image of grace. The One who exploded out of Good Friday’s tomb is the One who secures our release from the sin and death that hold us captive. The last and best of our loves. The love to which all our loves aspire. The love which we could spend lifetimes trying to fathom. And would inevitably fail.

And then, from Resurrection Song:

Love extravagantly
And without regret
If there’s anything better
I’ve not heard it yet …

If love is in the air
Let’s take a breath
If I sound ridiculous
I’m not done yet

Easter is, of course, completely ridiculous. Unbelievable. The loser that hung on Good Friday’s cross becoming Sunday’s winner. The mocked and reviled One becoming the Risen and Exalted One speaking words of peace and restoration to his deserters and betrayers. The Victim becoming the Victor over death itself. It is the extravagant love of God set loose in the world. There is nothing better. It’s in the air and we should take a breath.