The instructions proclaimed: "place please tab A in slot B, inserting through 1/4 screw, add washer, tighten also nut." "So far so good", he thought. But after a few minutes he began to realize that something was not quite right. He turned back to the text in front of him. Although the instructions were in English, they were in that peculiar form of English found only in assembly instructions that come from countries that have no alphabets, but always possess unique and ever shifting ideas about English grammar.

Perhaps he had translated the translation incorrectly, he thought - after all "put shortly near-by counterclockwise friendly on less most tall one," may not have meant to describe the ultimate position of one of the 35 left-hand threaded bolts of varying lengths.

An hour of process of elimination - and stacking parts in piles - clarified that problem. He held the small brass nut in his left hand and twisted it gently to the left onto the threads of a short shaft that protruded out of the body of the housing he held in his other hand. He put the assembly on the table, rubbed his hands together and announced: "now we're getting somewhere!" But his triumph of translation and discovery was short-lived.

The next part he picked up wasn't described in the manual. It didn't even appear in the exploded drawing. He scowled, again, at the instruction manual and considered the parts spread out in front of him on the table. He looked at the picture of the completely assembled device on the outside of the box. They looked the same, didn't they? What to do?

He knew from experience the consequences of discarding parts that didn't seem to fit - he remembered bicycles that had suddenly decreased in height, food processors that consumed themselves in a cacophony of shredded metal and plastic, or - from his early bachelor days - that bread he had made leaving out just one small ingredient. Being frugal he couldn't throw it out, but the inch thick mass had been like eating a piece of wheat flavored wall board and he had never baked bread again.

Finally he saw one word on the box in very small print that made the problem clear. He located its counterpart in the instruction manual and read the numbers next to it. The parts and the assembly instructions were from two different models of the same device. It was clear that there was no way he was going to be able to assemble a functioning device following the directions that had come with the box.

So he put them to the side and began to look at the parts with fresh eyes. What a revelation! Options he hadn't even considered because of the power of his expectations became obvious. He hands moved with greater speed, feeling his way into the freedom and mystery of his task. His excitement grew as he neared the end of the pile of parts.

He recognized it now! This was not the bottom of the line model he had purchased -it was an 8000 series, the premium level of the company's line. He blinked and looked again. He grabbed his catalog to be sure. The model number stamped on the device's housing was higher than anything in the catalog. It was a new version, one that had never been released before! He couldn't imagine the true cost of it, but knew it was more than he could have afforded to pay. He didn't know why it had come to rest in his hands. All he knew was that once he had let go of his expectations he was able to see it for what it truly was, and he was thankful.

All of us have an instruction manual in our heads. It is titled "The World and My Life - some assembly required." We did not write the manual, it was put together out of family lore, cultural inclinations, folk-wisdom and, for some of us, a smattering of half-remembered Scripture. Translation is required to decipher this manual and we do this mostly without thinking about it. We are constantly attempting to apply the instructions to the parts that life delivers us. Sometimes it goes pretty well. Then there are those parts that do not fit or those stretches of instructions that seem inscrutable, and finally turn out to be utter nonsense.

We'll start with the last aspect. The newspapers are full of the stories of people who have come to realize that the instructions they have been following do not actually allow the assembly of something that really works. This applies equally to human relationships as it does to financial derivatives. One popular set of instruction guides the reader to focus only on themselves, the financial loss or gain in any given situation, and a time horizon of 3 months. This set of instructions leaves a lot of important parts on the table. Cue the video of exploding food processors, now - or just listen to the sound of air leaking out of punctured Credit Default Swaps.

Other instruction sets claim that our hearts, our bodies and our minds are like independent universes- that what we do with one will not effect the others - think of music videos that contain more expensive automobiles than clothing, more expletives than wisdom; think of bread that cannot rise and the taste of wall board. This instruction set inevitably delivers indigestion.

Perhaps we would be wise to look for something more than we expect, something more than whatever instructions came with the box we're in at present, some other possibilities that actually use all the parts we've been given.

Let's look in the empty tomb with fresh eyes as though we were looking in a box for parts we may have overlooked. Let's join Mary as she peers at the gardener and finally sees who is actually standing there.

There is a book titled "Everything You Know is Wrong," I'd like to suggest an amended title. Let's call it "Everything You Know Requires Some Assembly." For we choose what to believe, and that belief conditions what we see - and what we can then construct out of the raw materials of our life and experience. The lives we construct enable, or disable, how and what we do- for good or for ill.

Mary stood at the empty tomb and at first could see nothing but loss - Jesus had been brutally killed and now someone had stolen the body! Still in that mind set she stood right next to the Risen Christ and did not recognize Him. Is it any surprise that we might have the same lack of recognition even in the face of evidence to the contrary?

But Scripture tells us that Mary recognized Jesus when he spoke her name. Is it possible that this too might be within the realm of our experience. Notice that I did not say the realm of our expectation. Perhaps some of us have heard Jesus calling our name and just sloughed it off as our imagination, the wind in the trees, a part that didn't fit the instruction set we carry in our heads and so the sound of His voice was just discarded?

We are in a time of great anxiety. It is also a time of great possibility. One of the blessings of such a time is that we are shaken out of old complacencies - things which have no life within them are starting to fall away. Things that do not work, cannot work, are being seen for how they truly are.

That which is chaff and that which is wheat become clearer. It is time to review the instruction sheets we have in our heads, to sort out the ingredients before us. The wheat has been crushed, the stone has been rolled away. The bread has risen. Shall we?

Shall we rise to a new understanding, breaking bread with the gardener and accepting the new life that He offers? This is not solitary work- some assembly will be required. May I suggest we assemble, here, each Sunday?

Together we can puzzle out the translation, help each other see the parts and then construct lives worthy of children of God for that is what we are - and He, He is Risen, Alleluia!