Beyond all the chocolate bunnies, Easter is about a promise
Time has brought us almost within a week of Easter, the great resurrection festival that gives weight and motivation to the Christian church. No other religious holiday holds such importance for Christianity, because if Jesus was not raised from the dead, then he was only a desert wanderer, a nutty prophet who accidentally uttered some wise and useful sayings. But if he was raised from the dead, then the world is held in the grip of his promise: that all who are faithful will be saved from mortal death and given new life. It is a bold promise, but with the underlying strength of truth if we can believe that resurrection, in some human form, is possible. Those who celebrate Easter believe the promise, and they accept as truth that Jesus was God and that he could save us through his death. What a sweet exchange, that Jesus died so we might live. Believe, and you are an Easter Christian. Reject the promise, and you are a spiritual pilgrim following a diminishing path. That is the harsh truth of the Christian message. At this time of year, we are smothered by Easter. I walked through a huge department store recently, and all along the center aisle were little yellow candy chickens, sweet pink bunnies, rich chocolate rabbits and enough colored eggs to discourage the most determined chicken. In past years, I might have found the Easter display disgusting and an assault on the true Christian message. But now I see how difficult it is to separate the culture from religious messages. Now I wonder if it is possible to enshrine our lives to Jesus on Sunday morning and go on an Easter egg hunt in the afternoon. Does Jesus care? One of the routines that many pastors go through before Easter is visiting people who are confined to their homes: shut-ins, according to the acceptable jargon. I remember with pleasure those visits when I had time to look at old photos, talk about the debilitating illnesses that were limiting their lives and exploring the spiritual concerns many older people harbor. I remember one visit that startled me into accepting Easter joy in spite of the dreariness of the season. This parishioner lived above a laundry just across from a florist shop in the central business district of town. She sat waiting for me in a sparsely furnished apartment with one geranium sitting in a kitchen window. She began talking as soon as I was seated and told me about emigrating from Scandinavia, a young girl dreaming of independence and security. She met a man, and within a year of arriving in the United States, she became pregnant. Her man disappeared. When her daughter was born, she moved into the apartment above the laundry, where she worked and stayed the rest of her life, sentenced to poverty and drudgery. She told of her daughter and the meager life they shared. The big issue was her daughter's resentment and how quickly she left after graduating from high school. "She came back once to see me," the elderly woman told me. "But she didn't bring her children in to see me. I saw them sitting in the car parked on the street, but she wouldn't let me see them." Then she looked out the window and asked me the vital question. "I've made a good many mistakes in my life, pastor. But do you think there could be any mercy for an old woman who is sorry for her life?" I told her that God was merciful and that she did not have to feel sorry for her life. Her eyes begged for a complete answer, and I told her people who made mistakes would be ushered into the same salvation as those who have seldom strayed from the spiritual path. Then we shared Holy Communion, and we were silent in prayer for a long time. Finally, when I left the apartment, she held my hand and thanked me over and over. I walked down a long flight of stairs with graffiti on the walls and filthy, wet, moldy carpet on the steps. I pushed open the bottom door, and sunshine embraced and warmed me. Across the street in the flower shop, I saw the figure -- a big, fat, brown chocolate bunny surrounded by white and yellow sweet chicks. All things considered -- the sunshine, the candied animals, the worried woman holding a new promise of life -- it was the best of Easters. But the truth is, most of us plod along through the string of Easters -- eating the ham, dyeing the eggs, hiding our Easter baskets and quietly hoping for mercy. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it all came true? Clark D. Morphew April 7, 2001