This is Not Your Easter

Photo by Amber Lamoreaux, pexels.com

This is not your Easter. Yes, the date is right, but this is not the day you imagined. The new outfit bought a month ago will not be worn. The sunrise service will be online, and there will be no dinner table overflowing with a traditional meal in a house filled with family.

This is not your Easter. And it's ok to say that, to acknowledge the reality of that, and to sit in the disappointment that this beautiful day is not the one you wanted.

I'm struck by the notion that on this day where we celebrate resurrection, so many feel buried under the weight of fear, loss, and grief. This global pandemic has shaken the foundation of our society, and just as Jesus cried out in the depths of his suffering, so too have many of us asked, "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?"

Days have turned into weeks, and here we are on Resurrection Sunday buried under this weight. The cases keep mounting, people keep dying, and we're still in this tomb. Lord, when is our resurrection coming?

I won't pretend to have an answer. 

But I do have a hope.

A hope that there is purpose in this collective pain. Hope that although we are socially distant we are growing emotionally closer. Hope that when we come out of this we'll be stronger and more united than before. 

For too long we've allowed political discourse to divide us into red states and blue states, black and white, haves and have-nots. It's left us grasping for safety in homogeneous groups and disconnected from each other. But I have a hope that through this crisis we will turn towards each other, blinking with eyes that have been closed for too long, and say, "Hey....I remember you."

You're the one who sewed me a mask.
You're the one who put a teddy bear in your window so my kids could go on a neighborhood bear hunt.
You're the one who supported my small business.
You're the one who texted "There's toilet paper here--come now." 

And with these new eyes, I hope we'll see what has been true all along:
People are people.
All pain is the same.
We are better together.

The crucifixion was horrific, but oh the change it made possible.
This pandemic is terrifying in so many ways, but oh what an opportunity we have--
To hit reset
To change the conversation
To choose each other

 No, this is not your Easter-- it's not mine either--but it can be our new beginning. 

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow...

The end of the 2016 election cycle is mercifully upon us. It feels like finally seeing the finish line after crawling the last 10 miles on your hands and knees over broken glass and occasional barbed wire. To say this election has been painful is like saying the Titanic didn't quite make its destination.

For a long while there I let this election turn me into someone I am not and have no desire to be. A judgmental, name-calling, us against them, not crazy but not entirely sane person. The kind who mentally rages against someone because they pass by sporting the wrong sticker on his bumper. Or worse, the kind who turns her back on good people because if they're voting for the other side we're through.

My turning point in this vitriolic election was seeing a Facebook post from a girl I went to high school with. Her post was an unabashed "In spite of everything that's happened I'm voting for the other side"deal. And where I had been shifting up, blood pressure elevated, rhetorical arguments locked and loaded, in this particular instance I instead remembered smiling at pictures of her kids and praying for her when she went through a particularly challenging time. Thankfully, a different shift happened as I took a deep breath and thought, "I won't abandon someone I've asked God to help."

I recently celebrated my 14th wedding anniversary. That many years plus three kids ages 6, 4, 2, work, and general life reminds me that love requires a daily choice--just like community and friendship (whether on Facebook or real life). When my husband was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2015 and underwent two surgeries I can tell you good people offered prayers and assistance. They cooked meals for my family and took me to lunch when I wanted to be alone but didn't need to be. They didn't ask me how I voted in the last election or how I felt about Obamacare before jumping in and giving. They recognized that a member of their community was hurting and they did what they could to get me through it. They chose the common bonds that have brought us this far and will lead us home.

Wednesday is going to be a hard day--however this crazy cycle ends a good chunk of the nation, our friends, coworkers, and neighbors will be angry, hurt and disappointed. So let's make a deal--if we've made it this far together let's agree that we're going to choose each other and stay in this for the long haul. I may stay off Facebook for a while but I won't unfriend you because I still want to smile at your kid's picture and watch him grow up. Maybe we won't chat at the copier first thing Wednesday morning but you're still my work buddy and laughing in the kitchen is one of the favorite parts of my day. You're still my tribe, my community...I still love you...I still need you.

My church sings a song written by gospel artist Hezekiah Walker called "I need you to survive." It's a beautiful melody reminding the body of Christ that we're one and hurting another member ultimately inflicts pain on ones self. Part of the verse says,"You are important to me/I need you to survive," and the bridge, which I particularly love, says, "I won't harm you with words from my mouth/I love you/I need you to survive." This sentiment extends beyond the church walls and best sums up what I'm trying to say.

When the hurricane rages, the fires burn, or the cancer scares it's not the president who shows up with a warm blanket and a casserole. The person who shows up is the "idiot" with the wrong bumper sticker on his truck...that's what makes community such a beautiful thing. I'm sorry I forgot that for a moment...and if I said or did anything to offend or make you question our mutual part in this community I'm sorry. I lost my way--forgive me.

However you vote or don't vote, believe me, we're in this together. Will you still love me tomorrow? I hope so. Either way I've decided my answer is yes.