Boulder, Co

By The Rev. Nicole M. Lamarche

Originally written for and published by The Boulder Daily Camera, April 3, 2021.

It was a Sunday morning tradition. My daughter and I would stop by the King Soopers before we made our way to worship at Community UCC on Table Mesa Drive. She would negotiate for a second cake pop at Starbucks while I ordered a medium roast coffee and picked up some flowers for the altar. We almost always used the west entrance so I could begin in the bright and beautifully arranged floral department. Right to the left, next to the newspaper stand was the clearance section for discounted arrangements and old bouquets, my favorite spot in the whole store. I feel nostalgia for the time not long ago, when I could go grocery shopping and not have to give myself a pep talk. The new and constant reminder of mass violence  and loss is strange and on some days hard to take. And my body still wants to bring me there, like the instinct to call a friend that can no longer answer the phone. How do we live with this presence of an absence? With this hole in our hearts and in our neighborhood?

Many of us had dreamed that life after the pandemic would be a chance for us to be different, individually and collectively. We all spoke of a new normal as we cleaned out our closets and planted gardens. And we talked about rethinking healthcare tied to employment,  and rethinking the fact that essential workers make essentially nothing. But then this happened and it felt like the old normal. One of the few silver linings from the pandemic and at home learning was the loss of constant worry about our daughter being killed in a school shooting. But now this. How do we still have hope?

In the version of the Easter story found in the Gospel of Mark, we read that the women who went looking for Jesus in the tomb eventually fled the scene, “for terror and amazement had seized them.” After witnessing murder, having their dreams dashed and their hearts broken, they managed to also feel a sense of amazement.  And I think many of us feel this way right now too. Even in our tears and new fears, we give thanks for the ways that this tragedy has invited us to circle up in our parks, in the dark, in churches and on curbsides, to ugly cry and howl and sing. We are amazed at the love that has been released and the generosity that continues to pour out. We are amazed at the good that is in us.

I am finding that on some days I have to reroute and avoid my old pattern because the Memorial Wall is now a pilgrimage site, a crime scene, a wound, a barrier, a traffic jam, a sacred place. And I wonder if hope can be like that too. What if holding onto hope is like rerouting so we can keep going? I don’t think this had to happen for us to grow deeper like this. But I do think that part of the Easter story for me, especially this year, is about how we human beings can refuse to let the worst thing be the final thing. We can insist, like the women on Easter morning, even in our terror and amazement, that violence won’t be the end of this story…

Rev. Nicole M. Lamarche is pastor of Boulder’s Community United Church of Christ