There is a fascinating tension in our response to Easter.
On the one hand, the church puts an incredible volume of brain power behind the challenge of Holy Week, the Passion, and the Crucifixion. Tomes of theology are written to explain atonement and why Jesus had to die on the cross.
And then, when it comes to Easter, we’re like “Christ is risen! Let’s sing some songs!”
Some will no doubt argue with this characterization. And I’m fine with that. But there is little doubt in my mind that we take two ideas as given this time of year.
- We have to hear the Passion before we get to Easter.
- Easter is our everything.
Easter is so important that we dare say that every Sunday gets to be Easter. Funerals are easters. We do Easter all the time!
Which is also why Easter Day is just a Sunday. At least liturgically speaking. We don’t have any ancient traditions to celebrate it in any special way. Easter is the epitome of Sunday.
We should be able to wing it
One of the things I was taught about Easter was that any preacher should be able to preach about Easter at any time. If somebody said, tell me about Jesus, the preacher just has to open their mouth and an Easter sermon comes out.
This, of course, is in direct contrast with something else I was taught during seminary. That twice as many people show up to Easter, so your sermon better be damn good. Also short. And catchy. Funny. Engaging. Make them cry. And laugh. But know that this is your one shot, so don’t blow it.
Our approach to Easter seems to vacillate between extremely casual and insanely obsessive. Of course, not theologically speaking. But only in performance.
The wider story
As someone who focuses on the wider story during Holy Week, I do find the arrival at Easter to be both exciting and humbling. Perhaps because there is love and grace at the front of the stage rather than human jealousy and deception.
It also reflects the turn from the difficulty of focusing our attention on Jesus’s personal experience of revealing the sin of the preservation of power, his service through suffering, and offering an example to us for discipleship. We now can see how God fulfills the promise.
This is our partner, in our suffering. And in our joy.
What Jesus asks us to do is to learn something valuable in hopes that, in the end, it will take. Essentially, Holy Week is our green vegetables and Easter is the chocolate dessert.
Some of us dutifully eat our vegetables, then enjoy dessert.
And unsurprisingly, many of us try to just have the dessert. Through bargaining, lying, or sneaking the vegetables to the dog under the table.
The irony, of course, is that Easter is the dessert we can have every day. But we can only truly appreciate it after the vegetables.
So, how do we swing it?
Honestly, much like the crucifixion is the time when preachers tend to pontificate about atonement, the resurrection gets the Big Theology treatment.
Of course, it also often gets the narrative treatment. Which is usually my preference, anyway.
But I think there’s something one step deeper for us to consider. Especially those who obsess about “right” interpretations of events.
There’s a reason the story unfolds this way. That the tomb is empty. That Mary Magdalene is the one who is there. And, especially, that the disciples struggle to believe.
Jesus told them he was going to Jerusalem to die.
They didn’t believe him.
Jesus told them he was going to come back.
They didn’t believe him.
And when did Jesus say this?
On his way to the cross.
In other words, he told them, like, minutes ago. And they forget. Just like we come to church, hear about loving our neighbors, and then yell at them in the parking lot.
Our own struggle to listen to him (remember the Transfiguration?) leads us to dwell away from those teachings when they become most relevant.
Fitting, then, to have this week when we should be most keenly aware of what Jesus is about—and we’d rather jump to praise. Dessert.
Perhaps we ought to serve a whole meal.