This is the second part in a series. If you missed the first entry begin by reading here.
It all started on Easter Sunday morning– the most joyous day of the Christian year and I was not excited about getting out of bed.
It took Kevin almost an hour to move me.
The problem was that I didn’t want to go to church even though I knew we’d be attending the services of a dear pastor friend.
I didn’t want to be around happy clappy Christians. I did not want to be forced to say “Christ is Risen Indeed!” with a smile on my face.
And though such sentiments went against what I wrote in my “If I were Preaching Easter” previous blog post. It just was where I was. I am just not in a season of life of Easter. Good Friday or Holy Saturday might be more like it.
And I realized in that moment that I was not that kind of Christian (even if it is what my friends or husband or colleagues want me to be).
I can’t pretend.
I’m not a “let the injustices of this world or of my own heart roll off my back” sort of Christian. And I am most certainly not an “everything happens for a reason” sort of Christian. And it really annoys me when others try to belittle my pain by offering such platitudes.
Though I have such amazing Jesus loving friends with lighthearted outlook on life, I’m simply not that kind of Christian.
I’m not a Christian that can be encouraged by, “God works all things together for the good” (because sometimes that good may not come in our lifetime and it really sucks).
I’m not a Christian that believes suffering happens because “God is testing us” (because suffering often comes hand in hand with what it means to be a living breathing and walking human being).
I’m not a Christian that can go to church and eat shortbread cookies afterwards with the church folks and let sexist or racist comments pass for small talk (because if I didn’t call it out– even if it meant I wouldn’t be welcome there anymore– who would?).
BUT, I am the kind of Christian who is not going to give up. I am going to keep seeking. I am going to keep wrestling with the mystery of the Divine.
Even when nothing makes sense and I don’t want to go to church, I will keep on keeping on. I will go to church like I did on Easter.
Last Sunday, passed the peace. I sang, “He Lives, He Lives.” And, I shared an Easter meal afterwards with friends.
All of these, I believe are signs of resurrection, even if I didn’t feel them in the moment. A spiritual mentor reminded me afterwards that Easter is a fact. It’s not a feeling. So at least I observed the fact which didn’t need me to feel it to be true.
Most of all I want you to know that I am the kind of Christian who is always going to tell you the truth.
And this year Easter was a lot like rotten eggs. Maybe next year will be better?