Our offertory anthem this morning is a jaunty little medieval tune that dates back to 15^th-century France. I’ll also play an arrangement of it for the prelude. It might be familiar to you. The tune is called Noël Nouvelet, and it is often sung to the words “Sing We Now of Christmas.” In 1928 John Macleod Campbell Crum, an Anglican priest, used it for his Easter text, “Now the Green Blade Riseth,” #204 in the Hymnal 1982. This music makes use of the Dorian mode, which is from D to D on the white keys of the piano. It creates a glittery scale that almost sounds minor, but with the sixth note out of place. It has a Harry-Potter-like mojo, an enchantment which whimsically befits the idea of burial and planting. After all, both of these phenomena occur “magically” under the soil. The sprightly rhythms conjure up the seemingly mysterious process of burying a seed which “dies” then rises out of the ground to new life. At what point does the tomb become a womb? This we’ll never know, for it is all concealed from within. But that’s the nature of spiritual development. It’s between you and God, the most private of encounters with the divine, all behind closed doors of inner prayer and discernment.  All of one’s spiritual maturity involves reflection, turning towards the inner dwelling of the soul, as Christ reminded us, “The Kingdom of Heaven is within.” (Luke 17:21) The last verse of the anthem alludes to this metaphysical truth. When our hearts are wintry, as the text states, we’re closed off from the natural flow of love, peace, and joy that wants to be expressed outwardly into the world. As believers, our hearts must thaw, we must roll away the stone of old beliefs, and gain new insight especially in difficult times. God always makes a way of moving forward, going from the tomb to the womb, in a manner of speaking. This is the promise of the resurrection, no defeat, not even death itself!  When we can roll away the stone of our hardened hearts, we can then move to higher levels of God’s promises to us. I love how Michael Burkhardt colors this life principle in his organ setting. The arrangement sounds like an inner spinning wheel, the way our hearts and minds have the potential to renew themselves, when we realize that the outside world is often beyond our control. What is in our control is our inner kingdom. But the green blade can only rise when we realize that we must let go, adapt if necessary, or develop new ideas and insight, especially after trying times that only seem to defeat us. Defeat is only an illusion, and Christ demonstrated that lesson to us 2,000 years ago; however, Easter is not just a memorial day, it’s an ongoing, applicable life-principle that we can use when we feel beat down. Life is not beating you down, if you begin to see difficulty as a means of being planted for new growth, not for burial and defeat.  Eventually the tomb becomes a passageway to inward light called insight. That’s what enlightenment is. When life gets hard, the darkness is not to be resisted but to be moved towards. In challenge, “bury” yourself in your prayer closet and become re-grounded, replanted, and repositioned for newness that will inevitably sprout again in your heart and mind. Easter is part of our daily lives, not just something that comes once a year with floral hats and chocolate eggs. Today, I wonder, “Where are all of those people who packed the pews across the globe last Sunday, on Easter?” Surely, they didn’t think the resurrection applied to only one day. It applies every day. Soli Deo Gloria!