I've been thinking a lot lately about the importance of stories, and storytelling. I believe this is because we have embarked on a storytelling project at St John's. There's a notice in today's bulletin about the "Sharing our Stories" initiative, and an article on this subject in the upcoming issue of In Lumine. I would commend these to you.

Storytelling is a central component of Christian life. As Marcus Borg has suggested: "Much of the biblical tradition originated in and was carried by storytelling." For Borg, the purpose of this "story theology" is disclosure: the disclosure (or revelation) of God to, and by, the people of God.

Preachers tell stories. Last night, at the Easter Vigil, our guest preacher - Hans - told several stories. One story concerned his experience of Easter as a child in Czechoslovakia. The story was particularly vivid, particularly evocative. Hans recalled the mysticism, and magic, of Easter - of sacred music, incense, and the celebration of the Eucharist. Hans told a story about his personal experience of the Risen Christ.

I too remember the Easter experience of my childhood, and I too have a story to tell. My story concerns ham - ham, scallop potatoes, and broccoli. I remember Easter dinner. I especially remember little cloves on the ham, cloves sticking up like thorns on a rosebush.

My most vivid recollection of Easter concerns hunting for Easter eggs. My sister and I would search the house thoroughly: under the sofa, behind the drapes, in potted plants, over the doorframe. I was always very good at this task, very fast. It seems to me that I always had the most eggs - and bunnies and chickens and things - when our search was exhausted. Nevertheless, the rule in our household was clear. At the end of the day, my sister and I would share our bounty in equal measure.

Like Hans, my Easter experience includes going to church. I remember getting dressed up for church - in black patent shoes, and new white socks. I remember wearing white gloves, and a hat with a brim and a bow. One year, Pat and I wore matching camelhair coats. I still wear patent shoes. And I wish I had that coat today. (As a point of interest: I think that Gillian may be wearing my hat this morning.)

In church, I remember the intermingling of smells - of brass cleaner, and candle wax, and flowers. I remember singing the beautiful processional hymn that we sang this morning. Unlike Hans, I remember wanting to go home almost as soon as the first hymn was finished. I wanted to go home so that I might change my clothes, and play outside. (Exchange black patent for saddle shoes.)

I remember warm sun and blue sky, the "intermingled" smells of springtime, and tulips sticking up "like cloves" in the garden. I remember feeling my heart expand, and silent songs of praise welling up from within. It was here that I first experienced the mysticism, and magic, of Easter. It was here that I first experienced - first encountered - the Risen Christ. There was something wonderful, something unspeakably beautiful, right there in the everyday world of our little front yard. I think now that it was salvation. As Meister Eckhart has written: "This, then, is salvation: when you marvel at the beauty of created things and praise the beautiful providence of their Creator."

A Nigerian storyteller, named Ben Okri, has said:

"We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives." (emphasis added)

I've never really forgotten the stories of my childhood Easter experience, but - over the years - I have certainly changed the stories I "live by." I have sought to find stories that give my life meaning. In this regard, I have turned to the Bible. Time and again, I have turned to the Bible. I now associate my Easter story with the resurrection narratives of scripture. I now connect my story with the stories of the first disciples.

My favourite resurrection narrative is found in today's gospel - the story of a woman weeping outside an empty tomb, and the gardener who appeared to her there. Traditionally, the garden motif in the text is said to refer to the Garden of Eden. It symbolizes a central truth of the resurrection: the ushering in of a new creation, a great cosmic renewal.

No doubt this is true. But, it occurred to me this week that perhaps - just perhaps - there was more at stake in the text. I allowed the story of Mary and the gardener to intersect with my imagination, and with my own story: what was taking place in my life in the spring of 2004. In this regard, I read our gospel through the lens of a book I've been reading by Thomas Berry. The text is entitled, The Great Work.

For Berry, "the great work" of human society in our age is "to carry out the transition from a period of human devastation of the Earth to a period when humans would be present to the planet in a mutually beneficial manner." Berry writes: "In an earlier period, we have been profoundly concerned with divine-human relationships. In more recent centuries, we have been concerned with inter-human relations. Our future destiny rests even more decisively on our capacity for intimacy in our human-Earth relations." (emphasis added)

This text resonated forcefully with me this week, particularly as I read (and re-read) our gospel for today. Questions arose.

• Perhaps the symbolic motifs of garden and gardener in the gospel are suggesting that we are to seek the Risen Christ, the hidden One who lives among us, in the garden - in the front yard of the Earth we call home.



• Perhaps the Risen Christ is beseeching us to nurture and care for the Earth, which he has created - and, in which, he dwells.



• Perhaps the first word of the Risen Christ - directed to a woman - is that we are to become like gardeners, "to nurture intimacy in our human-Earth relations," and to share the earth's bounty in equal measure.



• Perhaps our gospel story is not only looking back to Eden, but also forward to the inrushing future that is confronting our present age.

As I considered these matters, I was reminded of a beautiful text by Hildegard of Bingen. I will leave you with these words from this holy woman, and mystic.

I am the one whose praise echoes on high.
I adorn all the earth.
I am the breeze that nurtures all things green.
I encourage the blossoms to flourish with ripening fruits.
I am led by the spirit to feed the purest springs.
I am the rain coming from the dew
that causes the grasses to laugh with the joy of life.
I am the yearning for good.

I wish you a blessed Easter.

I pray that each one of us may personally experience the Risen Christ, and share that story with others. That we might proclaim with Mary: "I have seen the Lord."