Gordon Bok is a New England folk singer who sings mostly of the sea along the Maine and Newfoundland coasts.  I’ve had running through my mind the last few days a gentle lullaby of his called Isle au Haut Lullaby. It begins with these words: "If I could give you three things, I would give you these: Song and laughter and a wooden home in the shining seas." The refrain goes: "When you see old Isle au Haut rising in the dawn, you will play in yellow fields in the morning sun." About the song Bok writes, "The melody of this song was composed one day on a schooner while beating past a small grassy island called Hay Ledge, for Capt. Havilah Hawkins, who bet me I couldn’t write a tune as uncomplicated as the island." Hay Ledge is indeed small, hardly a speck on the map, just off Port Clyde along the central Maine coast. Bok continues, "the words came together one pretty night going across that same bay in my own boat… They were written "for a young one who was asleep below in the cabin."

A lullaby expressing a parent’s care and longing and the gifts he would give his child. Song and laughter and a wooden home in the shining seas. And a dawn filled with joy and play. Have you ever considered how lullabies are songs of deep hope? I don’t know a lot of lullabies. But the ones I do know are beautiful songs of comfort, assurance and hope for the future. "If I could give you three things, I would give you these: song and laughter and a wooden home on the shining seas."

Simple, uncomplicated songs of comfort and hope… This particular lullaby inspired by a stalwart and sunny ledge of grass that somehow speaks of joy in the midst of a shining sea. These are lullabies. This is the message a lullaby offers. And yet let us remember when lullabies are actually sung. We sing lullabies as darkness falls, at a time of day when our vision fails for lack of light, and we cannot see the way ahead of us. We sing lullabies at that time of day when monsters creep out of their hiding places under the bed to threaten and assault us. We sing lullabies at that loneliest time of day, when sleep inevitably draws us apart from those we know and love. We sing lullabies in that twilight time when consciousness gives way to uncertainty, when waking rationality is soon to be overcome by the fierce and uncontrolled imagination of dreams

Surely the disciples huddled fearfully in the upper room were in need of a lullaby. They were in a time of darkness, fear and uncertainty. Yes, Jesus had apparently been raised from the dead. His part of the story had turned out OK. But what about them? What about the disciples who had been left behind by Jesus’ death, and evidently left even further behind by his resurrection? They had just been separated from the one person who meant more to them than they could say, and in the darkness of Jesus’ absence the disciples must have felt like their own very lives were slipping away into twilight.

They were certainly at a place in life where the path forward was difficult to see. Their future was uncertain and they locked the doors because they felt threatened by uncontrollable forces around them. They were like children huddled under the covers as nighttime’s powerful terrors approach. And then into the growing darkness of their lives comes Jesus’ gentle voice. "Peace be with you. I am here." Like a lullaby he says to them soft and sure, "Peace. I am with you."

We live in the days after Easter, and like the disciples we have surely discovered that darkness is a part of our ongoing lives. From time to time we will face times of uncertainty and chaos. Separation and confusion still overcome us. As we seek our pathway in life our vision is often cloudy; hidden monsters appear and threaten. But it is into this very darkness in our lives that Jesus’ gentle and loving voice speaks to us like a lullaby and says, "Peace be with you. I am here.  I will see you through the night.  Peace."

Last Sunday on Easter morning, we sang the great, loud, joyous Easter hymns.  I love that music. Some of my earliest memories as a child in church are of singing those hymns, and as I sing them I know Jesus’ resurrection, I feel it more surely than words can ever express. "Welcome happy morning, age to age shall say!" we sang with loud jubilation here last Sunday, Easter Day. And on that glorious day in that glorious music, we proclaimed Jesus' resurrection from the dead.  But on this Second Sunday of Easter let us remember that God's Easter gift is much more than one joyous chorus one happy morning. The Easter message is more like a never-ending lullaby. God's words of comfort and hope sung into the fear and darkness of our ongoing lives. Day after day, night after night.  God’s words, sung soft but sure, to us, the children of God, "Peace be with you. I am here."

The portion of the church where you are seated is called the nave. It’s called the nave from the Latin word for "ship." The roof of the nave rises above us like the hull of a great wooden ship. The church is like a ship. It keeps us afloat. It provides shelter from storms and flood. And, like a ship, it carries us forward, guided by the stars, born on the wind, to explore life’s wonders and joy.

So, in your lives, whenever darkness falls and fear and uncertainty threaten, listen for God’s Easter lullaby. "Peace be with you.  I am here."  God’s words of comfort and of hope will come to you, a beloved child of God. And perhaps as you listen, you will hear God sing these words to you: "If I could give you three things, I would give you these. Song and laughter and this wooden home on the shining seas."