EASTER LETTING DOWN [Su, 4-17-22]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

I have never liked Easter all that much. It’s a bit of a let-down, especially compared to Christmas

I mean, Christmas has cozy Christmas eve services with candles and a quiet version of Silent Night. Easter has cold, sleepy sunrise services, with bleary-eyed parents of teens not even coming to worship because they’re too tired from serving soggy pancakes at the breakfast we have to promise people to get them to come to the sunrise service. [Although I do love the story of the young woman who explained to her doubting friends why she went to church, “Sometimes they have pancakes.”]

Gene Autry tried his best to convince us that Easter was as good as Christmas, singing about how Peter Cottontail brought presents at Easter to good boys and girls. About as convincing as The Great Pumpkin. “There are jellybeans for Tommy, colored eggs for sister Sue, an orchid for your mommy, and an Easter bonnet, too…” Nothing for poor old dad, not even a tie. Although “maybe if you’re extra good, he’ll roll lots of eggs your way.” What? Being extra good to get eggs you can’t peel and then when you have what’s left, they taste like…eggs!? Yeah, they tried to up the ante on that by including chocolate eggs and bunnies, but nobody’s fooled? It ain’t Christmas!

Jane was one of the best Christians I ever knew, the Lay Leader of a congregation where I preached for 8 years. Once she said to me, “I believe all the other Christian stuff, but I just can’t believe in resurrection.” I wanted to scream, “I’ve explained it to you for 8 Easters; why don’t you understand?” Then I remembered that I don’t understand it, either.

Easter is anti-climactic. We’re supposed to be so elated, because it’s the promise of eternal life. But eternal life is overrated. One of my first sermon illustrations was of the young woman who was no cook but prepared a meal for her fiancé. It was execrable. After supper she sat on his lap and cooed, “Just think, after we’re married, I can cook for you forever.” He thought, “I can’t stand this forever!”

So we try to dress up forever, eternal life, make it look acceptable. In heaven, you’re happy all the time, and reunited with all your loved ones. Nobody notes that you’re reunited with all the people you don’t like, too. How does that work?

There is an old preacher story of the deformed, crippled little boy who is dying. The preacher goes to visit him and assures him that in heaven he will have a perfect body and can run and jump and do all the stuff he couldn’t do on earth. “Then I don’t want to go,” he says, “because it won’t be me.”

We had communion at St. Mark’s Above the Starbucks last week. The first time we’ve taken communion in person, in church with the rest of the congregation, in two years. Because of virus fears, nobody actually served it. We had to pick up a hunk of Wonder Bread, and two steps later get a thimble of grape juice, and then try to get the bread off the roofs of our mouths while swallowing the juice down before we had to dump the thimble into the discard basket three steps on, while the preacher behind the elements table mumbled something that sounded like “Accept the Body of Christ, and keep moving.” Not a bad formula for communion.

Not a bad formula for Easter, for “understanding” resurrection. What diff is it, if it’s in this life or some other life? Life is life, wherever. Just accept the love of God, and keep moving.

John Robert McFarland