Holy Week

The break in posting has been just that: a pause. Stopping to be present these past weeks, I found so many presences, not just one. I found feelings and emotions. I felt sunlight. And I found a shadow, too; and then I found many more shadows behind the first.

Most children whose families celebrate Easter most likely focus on the fun and excitement of egg hunts and the thrill of tearing into colorful baskets filled with new toys to play with and sweet goodies to devour. I know this to be true because I have witnessed children responding in such wonderfully zealous ways to these pleasures.

What would it be like to feel such pleasure every day? What would it be like to look upon every opportunity as upon an unopened chocolate egg wrapped in shiny tinfoil? I ask myself these questions because I am changing the narrative of Easter.

In my household growing up, the emphasis was not on Easter, but on Good Friday. There would be no smiling, no laughter, no watching comedies on television, no music, no playdates, no talking of whatever a child might talk about. But don’t think we spent the afternoon at church services, either. No. Community connection, the love of our friends, neighbors, other believers: these were not of importance either. The emphasis was on grief, but without the hope of the Resurrection. The emphasis was on sinfulness, inhumanity, and penitence, but never on virtue, mercy, and forgiveness. There was so much heaviness on Good Friday that Easter became an afterthought.

For me now, Easter is the main event. It is abundance, gratitude, charity, compassion, and serenity. It is infinite joy. I choose to be the child digging into the bursting Easter basket. I choose the dawn. I choose the empty tomb. I choose light. And while I know there are shadows–there will always be shadows–what would the sun be without clouds?

What would it be like to feel pleasure every day? It would be heaven. It would be looking into the eyes of God and seeing my reflection, and knowing, too, that God is joyful to see His own reflection in me.