I Hated Easter This Year: The Complication of Death & Resurrection

I hated Easter this year.

Hated it.

Which let us be honest, doesn't feel like a popular thing to say out loud. Especially for someone whose been in a church every Easter for 39 years.

But it's true. We value showing up and paying attention to our lives around here. Especially when it's something we'd prefer not to see. So here we go.

You may assume I missed preaching on Easter or leading worship. It would have been nice to sit with gathered community but I didn't miss the pastoral role. It was great to see so many wonderful colleagues offer their perspective on Easter this year.

Yes, the holiday felt sad as I missed the presence of my brother who died two months ago today. I cried into the crescent rolls at dinner. His favorites.

Yes, I felt sad that we’re not connected to a church we could visit in-person. There's nothing like embodied community on these high holy days.

I cried those tears many times throughout the day. But something remained. Some kind of pain I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It set up camp in my body and I tried to maneuver around it. We went on a hike, hid eggs for the kids, talked to family. Still, the sadness (and anger) felt present with each breath.

I went to sleep early because grieving is exhausting and I could hardly keep my eyes open while watching a show on my phone.

Upon waking this morning, I saw it.

I hate resurrection right now because Jesus came back and Jeremy isn’t.

Every song and celebration on my news feed claiming Jesus is alive felt like a taunt. Felt like a jab to my aching heart. Felt like a cruel joke.

For what it's worth, I don't blame a single lovely person who shared their Easter joy. Two things can be true at the same time. You may experience the joy of Easter after several years of pandemic while it produced complicated feelings for me. It's all valid.

I would give anything to feel the thrill of joy that my beloved who died is now alive. Walking around and talking. Smiling and hugging.

Intellectually I know Jesus and Jeremy are quite different. (Jeremy would smirk that I’m comparing them at all). Sure, they both died at 33 years of age but I know Jesus’ story isn’t Jeremy’s story.

The problem is — my grieving body doesn’t know the difference. The story of the day, regardless of where it came from, was the story of someone dying and coming back to life. I was unprepared for how painful that story would be this year.

I went all day without reading the Easter story to our kids and finally opened their Bible at bedtime and turned to the story. My words grew heavier and my voice cracked. “Jesus is alive! The one we thought was dead is alive!"

I had never encountered this story as someone navigating fresh grief.

Of all my issues with Church lately, this part of the story has always been my lifeline. I know death and resurrection in my bones. It’s the rhythm of all life and creation. I’ve witnessed and experienced it many times over. It grounds my work and vocation. I so deeply believe life is inside our pain. Honestly, it's why I write. It's why I spend time with people in groups. It's why I stand before people and tell stories. This story lives in my every breath.

So it came as quite a surprise that I would hate this story yesterday. That I felt this annoyed at a story I know to be true.

But grief does weird things.

And it feels good to articulate that pain. I can somehow both hate resurrection and find it incredibly beautiful.

Hating something doesn't mean the anger lasts forever.
Hating something doesn't mean the story is untrue.
Hating something doesn't mean we're"bad followers of Jesus."
If anything, I think it makes us honest followers of Jesus.

I also think Jesus understands the anger and grief. Death and resurrection is not a tidy story of fancy dresses, ham dinners, and candy. That's on us. We turned a story of incredible love into rituals that keep us at the surface of life. Rather, this story meets us in our brutal honesty and loves us still. Resurrection breathes life into our grief. And for that to happen, in my opinion, we must offer our brutal honesty first. Love can't resurrect someone who denies their pain.

There is profound hope in showing up to our lives and telling the truth. No matter how weird or awkward it is.

So for anyone else who carries unseen pain in these stories and holidays, you’re not alone. May we shine the light of awareness on the tight fearful places.

Maybe this story we sometimes hate is still the story that heals.

Palms up.