Many images and feelings come to mind as I reflect on Easter this year. God is good to smile on our enjoyment of the kiddie part of Easter... the chocolate bunnies, fancy dresses, patent shoes, and egg hunts. He is present in our daily life, the scurrying to fill baskets, the baking of the ham, the rushing to church. I have always known that. This year, however, His presence was more real than ever; more tangible, as though He were pressing in all around me, demanding I take notice.
"I want you to see me. I want you to feel me. I want you to know I am here." Here, in the midst of some of the worst pain my family has experienced. Here amid the questions, the confusion, the sadness, the fear, and yes, the doubt. I hate to admit I didn't ask Him to come to Easter. I didn't ask Him to make Himself known. There wasn't time for that. Easter flew in on the heels of a tragedy in our family, and we hadn't even had time to pick up the pieces. That may take years. For some, the pieces are forever broken and will lay where they fell.
Good Friday began in haste, and I barely took time to think about the solemnness of the day. We had our own solemnness around here. Still, He was here. It wasn't until I received a text message with a quote from my five-year-old granddaughter that I realized what day it was.
"Today is the saddest day for God", read the text. "His son is dying on the cross right now." Indeed, it was a gloomy day outside, and I shuddered that I hadn't given it a thought. My personal sorrow and concern had squeezed out any sorrow or concern, or gratitude for the Savior. But in the midst of my distractions, here He was crowding His way into my preoccupations through a child.
The preparations for Easter went along through Saturday, and there was a brief, passing discussion about a Cardinal's baseball game on Easter Sunday. Not just any game, but a special day for the kids where they get to go on the field and run the bases... on Easter Sunday. Did I mention that Run the Bases Day was scheduled for Easter Sunday? Opposing opinions on the issue floated by, but I didn't have the energy to participate in the discussion. Why should I continue to be an advocate for Christ on every front when, clearly, it seemed He has done little to intervene in our struggles. My old distorted upbringing was slipping through again. 'Those who live for Christ are spared the ugly pains of this life. You might encounter sickness or even death in old age, but the messiness that "non-believers" experience is more about choice. Yessirree... choose God and live happy!' I shrugged Him off in exhaustion and uncertainty. I wasn't aware of it, but He was still there.
I had a long conversation with one of my family members that night about the painful experience we were going through. I spoke what I had come to know as truth about the everlasting, unfailing, immeasurable love of God. It was good for me to say in words again that I was convinced beyond any doubt, that while I may not have all the answers to the specifics of doctrines and beliefs, I knew God to be a God of Love. I am completely positive His love endures forever. He shows Himself to us daily in so many ways; in the morning chorus of the birds' songs, in the evening sunset-of-the-day paintings, in the laughter of children. He is a good king, and He is constantly vying for our affection.
Sunday morning came, and I honestly didn't feel like going to church. I was more excited to see my grandkids in all their Easter frills than I was looking forward to worshiping. My soul was truly downcast. There had been no time for recovery from the blast. My heart was too heavy for some of my family members, and I honestly didn't trust that God would comfort them. There is no comfort from this.
In addition to my own private doubting, for some time I had been searching for the Truth of God in the world religions. I entertained the belief that perhaps many religions worship the same God, but call him by a different name. Who are we to hold the mortgage on God? Who are we, in the western world, to think ourselves so superior that God needs US to evangelize and ultimately 'save' the rest of the planet? Who am I to judge the devotion of the girl at my nail salon as she begins her day by placing an offering of oranges before Buddha? Who am I to judge the throngs of committed worshipers I saw at the Hindu temples in India? All of these thoughts about God and world religions I could make some sense of. But I just didn't know what to do about Jesus. I was certain His death and resurrection couldn't be ignored, I just didn't know how to excuse that away from other religions that left that part out.
As it would happen, one of our last-minute Easter guests was my niece's boyfriend from India who is Muslim. I hurredly thawed out a beef kabob, knowing he couldn't partake of our traditional Easter ham. We had just returned inside from our annual Easter Egg Hunt with the grandkids. Standing with him in the dining room overlooking the table scattered with pastel-wrapped candy decorations, I ran smack into my dilemma.
"So, Paula" he said placing his arm across my shoulder, "I know about Jesus and Easter and the resurrection, but how do the easter eggs and chocolate and ducks and bunnies fit in?"
I smirked and nodded my head in slow motion in a way that clearly communicated, "You got me, and I'm trying to figure a way out." "Well, Kamal", I finally answered. It's purely commercialism. Of course, I could tell you it's about spring and the newness of life that symbolizes our new life in Christ, but.... um, yeah, it's really just commercialism." I felt like Peter denying Christ, and I expected to hear a rooster crow somewhere. Instead, I surprised myself by saying, "You know, we do celebrate the new life we receive because of Jesus' death and resurrection, but we also celebrate the fun side of Easter with the kids... and I think God does too."
"Yes, you know we believe that Jesus was taken up also, but we believe God took him up so he could escape the people who wanted to kill him. His spirit was taken so all they crucified was his shell." I couldn't speak. I was immediately sad in my heart that the deep meaning of the single most defining moment in all the world for me was viewed so differently by so many. If His crucifixion isn't true, then there is no promise, no guarantee of eternal life. If Christ did not willingly take on himself the sin of the world in an excruciatingly painful display of sacrifice on my behalf, then I have no way of saving myself from the sins I commit on a daily basis; from my nasty attitudes and judgments, from my base motivations for self-gain, from my selfish pride and desire to be right or better than someone else, from my addictive ways, or the million other times I give in to temptation. I need a Savior. I may not have outwardly committed the big ten, but I have done so thousands of times in my heart, and I can't possibly rid myself of that shame or the shame or pain I have caused others. I need the Crucifixion to be True. I need it to be true that I am no longer condemned for my sinful nature. I need it to be true that my punishment was nailed with Christ to that cross. I need it to be true that I am free from condemnation and the punishment of all my ugly sin. If it is not true, then all hope is lost. All hope is lost.
And then, in the middle of the Easter service that I was barely aware of going on around me, my son-in-law stepped to the microphone to sing. Joel has this huge fan club of one in me. We share the same passion for singing. It's truly what both of us were created to do. There's something about communicating with an audience through song. But, he's better and more musically educated than me. He has been doing a lot of singing at church since they began attending, and I joke with him about when he'll really cut loose and they'll really get to hear him. Well, they heard him Easter Sunday. We all heard him. And God pushed His way through and made sure I saw Him and felt Him, and knew He was there.
In my soul I knew once again Easter was real, and it is important. In my soul I knew the Crucifixion was real, and it is important. I knew Jesus is indeed a force to be reckoned with no matter what religion you are. Once again I claimed it is true there is a promise, a guarantee of eternal life. And every bad thing I've ever thought or said or done in the past or in the future is completely wiped away because, He stood in to take my punishment. I was convinced anew that any struggle or heartache or sickness or tragedy I experience here on this earth is because of the presence of evil, and not the way God created the world to be. And He will bring it back around to goodness and health and peace because He defeated evil on the cross. And even death itself can no longer be an end, but is now a beginning... a passing into the next life, because He defeated that too. Hope is restored. He is alive. This is real.
I am grateful. So grateful. I have been freed. I am not condemned. And neither is anyone else who ever believed that Christ is who He said He was... the Son of God himself.
