Easter has been my favorite holiday for a long time. I love the music, the traditions, the season, the meaning. You can't leave out any part of Jesus' birth, life, death, resurrection, or ascension, but Easter has been special. It has always symbolized new beginnings for me as spring comes. I enjoy the special liturgy and practices of the week: the sunrise services, the church breakfasts, the brass band.
However, I've been disappointed with my Easter experiences over the past few years. It's not the same in Central America. There's a lot of pomp and ritual in the Catholic tradition here, but I don't know what it means. The Protestant churches don't necessarily mention Lent, Good Friday, or Easter - let alone celebrate them in a way that is meaningful for me. Two years ago, I felt let down by my Easter experience in Nicaragua though I appreciated the sawdust carpets in León. Last year, I went to Guatemala and celebrated a sunrise service with foreigners and Guatemalans together. It was a powerful liturgy, and I was glad to be there, but it wasn't home. This year, I was with my family for Easter weekend.
Full of anticipation ahead of time, I thought the season would feel very special. But I arrived at my parents' house on Maundy Thursday after visiting churches and supporters all week, and Friday we spent the day in Chicago with cousins. On Good Friday evening as I walked into church I felt off. The day had been so normal, so full. I hadn't even meditated on the sacrifice of Jesus, and I was tired and full of worry and longing. Holy Saturday was filled with family time and cleaning house and getting things ready for a family gathering on Easter Sunday. My hopes were pinned on Sunday. We drove the hour south to the church I grew up in, and I was pleased to see the extra chairs up front for the brass band. The choir sang, the service had all my favorite Easter songs, and the message talked about resurrection from the dead. But there was still something missing. I felt like a stranger in my own home environment.
Don't get me wrong. My Easter experience this year (and in past years, actually) has been good. But I have felt like something is missing, like it needs to be a more momentous occasion. And while I'm pondering this, I begin to feel the Holy Spirit nudging me, asking me if that's really what it's about. I live in the fullness of the death and resurrection of Jesus now. I should be remembering and celebrating this all year round.
More than that, isn't it exactly like Jesus to come in the normalcy of life? It was a normal, busy Passover when Jesus died and rose again. The Gospels say the religious leaders were focused on the celebrations and rituals that were coming. They altered several plans (not going into Pilate's house, taking the criminals off the cross early) because of the Passover Sabbath. The women couldn't dress Jesus' body because it was the Sabbath. In the midst of the celebration, relatively few people were focused on Jesus, his death, or his resurrection.
Yet here he is, breaking into our everyday lives, proclaiming healing, forgiveness, grace, peace, and love.
I'm thinking that in the midst of my longing for more ritual, for more quiet moments, for more earth-shattering moments, Jesus comes anyway. I can't always clear a weekend just so I feel like I'm properly celebrating it, but I think I need to learn to celebrate Him despite that fact. He comes in the midst of preparations for other things. Maybe it doesn't feel completely special and different, but he still asks me to look at him, to touch his side, to proclaim his good news. He is not here among the dead; he is risen.
