AN EASTER IN 2020

This is a message that my wife wrote for a Facebook group with friends (in place of their usual Easter gathering) during this time of COVID-19 quarantine and in the wake of losing her grandmother. The passing of a loved one and the grieving process were made more upsetting by the prohibitive circumstances of a global pandemic. This may be uncomfortable for some Christians and may be surprising for non-Christians but hopefully meaningful to all of us as human beings.

This was a strange Easter. Usually, we are spending time with friends and family, reflecting on the mystery of the resurrection. But this year, I mostly thought about the tomb. Our little family is in a season of deep loss and grief and heartbreak (as I’m sure we all are, to some extent). We have had hit after hit; it feels relentless. I don’t think we’ve been one day yet without someone sobbing. It has been so hard (side note: we will all be okay and we are getting help where needed - I don’t want anyone to worry). 

But all this pain has me thinking about how we as a culture deal with pain - hiding it, ignoring it - and how we as the (white, American) church deal with it - fixing it, refocusing on how God will use it, what positive will come out of it, etc. And, honestly, right now, that all feels like bullshit. The pain hurts. The heartache and grief are crushing. It is awful. Full stop.

I don’t want to know how God will use this and I certainly don’t believe that God sent this to us so we could learn some lesson. That just seems sadistic and cruel. As I think about the cross and resurrection, I don’t believe that God sentenced his son to die, sacrificed him for us; how is that a loving parent? I do believe Jesus died at the hands of a violent empire to make all things new, to expose our ridiculous obsession with using violence to fix our problems (and maybe it means other things? I don’t think any of us have the mystery of all this completely worked out). I think God suffered on the cross to show us we would never suffer alone. That no matter how hard and painful life got, we would still be held by love. I think the good news is not that God will rescue us from our pain but that we will walk through it together.

I’m not yet looking forward to resurrection; I’m still sitting in the pain and grief. The disciples who followed Jesus did this - they called it Saturday. They didn’t tell each other - tomorrow will be better, just hang on. They were scared, confused, heartbroken; it felt like their whole world had ended. And there were no answers. No sign it would change. No reassurances. I don’t think we should steal Saturday from ourselves. Maybe we need it. 

Glennon Doyle wrote this when reflecting on Rachel Held Evans’ death:

“We don’t have to be hopeful yet. Rachel understood that the power of resurrection is in letting yourself be crucified first. To feel it all, so you can use it on Sunday. It’s okay to let it be Friday. First the pain, then the waiting, then the rising.”

We have lost a wonderful person - our momma, our grandma, our aunt, our sister - who loved us all so well. This grief, this pain is proof of the quality and abundance of our mutual love. It hurts so badly because we have been cut off from someone we value so highly. In the end, maybe death and resurrection, pain and healing, grief and joy aren’t as different as we like to think they are. I’m reminded of what Barbara Brown Taylor wrote in Learning to Walk in the Dark:

“in which the good news is that dark and light, faith and doubt, divine absence and presence, do not exist at opposite poles. Instead, they exist with and within each other, like distinct waves that roll out of the same ocean and roll back into it again.”

If you are hurting today, all I can tell you is you are not alone. We are with you. And we love you.