I announced to various family and friends that this would be a hard Easter for me. To prepare them for my moodiness, maybe to prepare myself as I faced another holiday without my Grandmother. We would annually go to her house, then on to the egg hunt at friends nearby. So I didn’t hunt for eggs today. But I wasn’t really down, either. I think it’s because Easter isn’t Christmas. Not that it doesn’t have emotional ties, but it is Spring. Life is springing around me. Trees blooming, I’ve already raked the front and back yards and spread the Turfbuilder. The kids are home but not trapped inside, instead they are out and about meeting neighbors old and new, playing tennis, rollerblading, increasing last year’s skills or learning new ones.
And Easter is fundamentally religious. The bunnies, eggs, candy and baskets are all just trimmings. Unlike the symbols of Christmas cultural the Easter trim cannot really replace the spectacular story. A terrible, unjust trial. A cruel, torturous murder. A burial. A stone. An earthquake. An angel. Appearances and Ascension. Death defeated, Life triumphant and eternal. No kidding, it’s a great story and it gives such hope to those of us who believe it that it makes real the idea of weeping enduring for the night, but being quickly and totally replaced by joy, irrepressible, unstoppable JOY in the morning. Blessings!
And Happy Easter.