I'm not totally sure, but I think this may have been my first Easter away from home. No, that's a lie. There were one or two in college, but there haven't been many. I definitely was at home last year for Easter; my first after having moved to Seattle.
Easter is always an interesting time for me - remembering the year and how I have or have not been involved with my faith, how I have or have not gone to church, how I have or have not thoughtfully participated in the Lenten season, how I have or have not disappointed God with what I have or have not done. It's typically filled with a lot more "should have's" and "should have not's" that I would like; and more of those than I think (or hope) God likes.
I really liked my Easter this year. On many accounts, my mind was still filled with the same crap that fills it up every year. Today, I was thinking, or maybe more feeling, the guilt of not being more engaged with my faith; feeling guilty for being tired and worn out from asking so many questions for so many years. I didn't really think about Lent, and certainly didn't give anything up for Lent. While I don't feel good about giving something up for Lent just to do it, I also miss the climactic feeling that comes when Easter finally arrives and you know you've accomplished something personally great. Typically, the climax is aided my the mass amounts of sugar that we can finally consume after fasting from it for forty days - or that's how the story has gone for me.
T and I had been going to a small church for a while and then when we realized we didn't feel like we missed much if we didn't make it, we didn't think that was the place for us. Neither of us has felt a particularly strong push to keep searching, so we didn't. And we didn't. And we didn't. We spent many of our Sunday mornings eating pancakes and drinking coffee together, our broad windows open wide, reading. I don't necessarily think God was upset by our decisions. I think he would like to have breakfast with us too, actually.
But today we tried a new church. It's an interesting thing to try out a church on Easter Sunday; I mean, they're pulling out all the stops. They've got the crazy-big flower arrangements up front, clergy robes pristinely bleached and ironed, and the choir has been on voice rest and Vitamin C for weeks so their harmonies will be perfect for the big day. You know Easter Sunday is the biggest production of all. (A not-to-be-named church held their Easter "revival" service in the Seahawks football stadium downtown today, for example. Although you may be able to guess them, I will not disclose my personal feelings on the matter - unless I talk to you in person...personally).
Today's service was one of the best Easter services I can remember. We visited an Episcopalian church for the first time and, while keeping up with all of the readings from the Book of Common Prayer and songs from the hymnal was almost maddening at times, I really appreciated it. Something about the fragrance of the incense, the constant standing up then sitting down, walking to receive the Eucharist, singing hymns in community and the call-and-response sequences, listening to the cantor and pastor sing every word of the service (except for the sermon) - my entire body was engaged in the worship. I noticed myself resenting the fact that I had to stand up, yet again, in my darling (but not immensely comfortable) heels - but then I also noticed that I was paying attention to the service for the entire hour and a half! It was tough, but I liked it.
And the sermon was one of the most beautiful Easter sermons I think I have ever heard or remember hearing. I was real life - real rawness, real pain, real darkness, and real life rising up out of death. She told this story - of the graduation ceremonies this past March in Japan. They hold graduation in March because of the symbolism of new life in the Spring; as you can imagine, however, graduation ceremonies this past March were bittersweet in the midst of so much death after the earthquake and tsunami. Yet, even through the tears and pain of parents, teachers, students, friends, and families, the surviving children deserved to be honored - and they were.
I encourage you to read the story - it's painful and beautiful just as the the Easter story is. (Find it here via the New York Times). I believe more and more in the power of stories - and Easter, to me, is just not complete without the whole story. Yes, the Resurrection is an indescribable victory, but it's so much more when we remember the whole story; when we remember the pain, the betrayal, the blood, the suffering, and the death. I'm reading a book (for pleasure!), called Traveling Mercies, and I'm reminded of this:
I'm pretty sure that it is only by experiencing that ocean of sadness in a naked and immediate way that we come to be healed - which is to say, that we come to experience life with a real sense of presence and spaciousness and peace. - Anne LamottAs much as I hate it, yes, I believe joy comes from pain. And I cried in church today. The first time in a long, long time. I felt something, and it felt good. My heart broke, but it also sang, "Alleluia, Thank you, Lord." I don't think my heart shouted it from the rooftops inside my body (the rooftops of...my ribcage?), but maybe just hummed it quietly. Hummed through the tears that I shed for those kids and their families in Japan, for myself and my faith and my life and my brokenness and my relationships, for the people I love who are and will always be hurting somehow, for the people I don't know who are and will also always be hurting somehow. I hummed and cried.
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