Two Easters ago, my Dad, in his favorite pastel-striped bow tie, was surrounded in prayer and anointed in hugs for an hour after service. The ‘love mob’ around his wheelchair was excited to see him because you do not get out much when in at-home hospice care: cancer pain can hinder communion. Less than a month later, he transcended to his final resting place.
Last year I found myself without my Dad at Easter for the first time, sitting beside my mother in a wooden pew, emotional and dissonant from the backflip spirit of my Baptist tradition on “Resurrection Sunday!” Biblical accounts of Jesus’ family, friends, and followers show a kaleidoscope of emotions reminiscent of Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief more so than an instant party the day the stone was rolled away. Perhaps that is why Jesus committed to 40 days of ministry of presence for his grieving friends before Ascension. Recalling all the people Jesus showed up for was balm for my achy soul, as if Jesus was saying “It’s my (Resurrection) party but you can cry if you want to.” Processing Jesus’ death, or things in your life that have died, may not be a quick two-step to joy, but that’s not what Jesus commanded.
Shocked Servants: “So…where’s the body?”
The women at the tomb are the first to experience shock as their traditional roles were to care for Christ’s body with spices and oils. At dawn they do not awake to make hot-cross buns, but to behold an earthquake, fainted guards and an angel in all their supernatural glory saying: “Do not be afraid, for I know you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay…” (Matthew 28:5-6, NKJV). Talk about surprises. In her grief, Mary Magdalene sees Jesus as a thieving gardener until He cries out “Mary!” Through her tears, she cannot see Jesus clearly. But He still calls her name, cuts through the cacophony of pain and doubts. He did not condemn her countenance, so I stopped feeling guilty that my face during service was missing the wide smile I saw on everyone else.
Angry Apostles: “So much for a kingdom”
In every gospel, we find the disciples huddled together, hiding out of fear and anger. Their friend is gone and their hope crucified–the big, political rebellion against Roman occupation was not supposed to end like this. I’ve certainly felt the disappointment of life not going to plan: why does that person’s loved one get to live in remission and not mine? But Jesus enters the locked room of our hearts, confronting all doubts about Him being good and true, even in death: “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? …It was necessary…Peace be with you” (Luke 24:38,46). And after “[rebuking our] unbelief and hardness of heart” (Mark 6:14), He takes the time to “open [our] understanding, they [we] might comprehend the Scriptures” (Luke 24:45) about His plans for humanity beyond death. I did not leave Easter Sunday thrilled about death, but the greater plan for a reunion with Him in the sky (1 Thessalonians 4:17) felt like a cooling, ruah breath on my inflamed soul, helping me to rally, even when I did not feel much pep.
Sad Simon Peter: “So…I thought I was ready”
Peter’s grief is complicated: his hurt is compounded by regret and shame that his loyalty had limits. But Praise Jesus for making the time to reconcile! Weeks ago, Peter stood by a fire of coals warming himself, but leaving his friend in the cold of a false trial, denying their friendship three times after claiming “I will never be made to stumble…Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You!” (Matthew 26:33,35). Now, he sits by a fire of coals at breakfast with Jesus on the Sea of Galilee, warmed in a much deeper place through the opportunity to rededicate his love for Jesus, three times: “Yes, Lord, You know that I love you.” (John 21:15-17). Jesus does not drag Peter over the coals for his denials. He simply shows him the path to restoration: a commitment to tend the other sheep that are prone to scatter as easily as Peter did. Jesus helps us with our sadness by giving us vocation. I honor my Dad’s absence by using God-given skills of teaching and writing to further build the kingdom. Easter reminds me that Jesus heals our pain with a sense of purpose. He models how His legacy of love can live on even when people do not.
‘Bargaining’ Thomas: “Show me the scars”
Is Thomas ‘doubting’ or just detail-oriented? I wonder why he was not around his friends the first time Jesus appeared–maybe he chose to grieve alone, judging himself for failing to protect his friend: If only he had…Where did they go wrong?! Thomas’ request for healing is unique: “Unless I see…and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). Jesus doesn’t feel it an inconvenience to reappear and speak Thomas’ love language: physical touch. I am comforted by a God who doesn’t require me to grieve or process like anyone else. I did not have to present or process like anyone else in that sanctuary during Easter service. Jesus will meet me in my shade of grief, wherever I am. He is restoring me in the special ways He has wired me.
A Walk Towards Acceptance: “Stay with us”
I listened to a podcast about using rituals to process grief and remember the people we love. For Cleophas and the unnamed disciple in Emmaus, it was the ritual of Jesus taking the bread, blessing and breaking it, and giving it to them that opened their eyes. Jesus was repeating what He: (1) foreshadowed when feeding the hungry crowds (Matthew 15:19), (2) explained in the Eucharist He initiated (Mark 14:22) and, (3) proclaimed with that peculiar statement He made when they asked Him for a sign similar to manna: “…the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world…I am the bread of life.” (John 6:30-36). Suddenly, it’s clear: it was never about carbs but Christ, His title, the Anointed One who comes down to earth to satisfy our hunger. Communion is a memory exercise in grief and recovery: the pain of separation caused by sin and the joy of how one special death refigures all others. Our losses are no longer forever, but our lives in Christ are. This is the heart burning I feel on Resurrection Sunday even if I’m not a firecracker, jumping in praise down the aisles. I am free to worship with woe and with wonder at the prophetic mystery of the cross.
So…what now?
Should you keep reading towards the end of many accounts of Jesus’ appearances post-Resurrection, a theme starts to emerge, most clearly expressed by Jesus’ words in the Great Commission: “Go therefore and make disciples…teaching them… (Matthew 28:17-20).” How striking that Jesus passionately and consistently commands people in every stage of grief to go and tell others about what they have seen and experienced of Him in the midst of their grief: Good News, Death is not how the story ends! Jesus did not condemn any feeling He encountered. He comforted everyone and then called them to “comfort [others] with the same comfort God [gave them]” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).
For the ‘emo’ at Easter, Resurrection Sunday reminds us that Jesus is not done with coming back, and next time, it will be for good to triumph over evil and death once and for all. That is something to smile and shout about, even if today we can only muster a smirk, tear or inward “Hallelujah!”
