emo easter
the idea of going to easter crowds for a service with what i believe might be strep throat was not appealing, so instead i woke up early, walked to the nearby cemetery, watched the birds, and had what i called Emo Easter: reflections on what grief and death and suffering have to do with a normally joyous holiday.
i wrote a little "service" for myself, a reading and reflection and some poems, under the cut if anyone would like to see it. :)
Reading
Luke 24:1–12
Reflection
What sort of joy is there in grieving that someone who loves you suffered?
Christ did not shy away from Gethsemane. If there is any model to follow, it is this: that there is an inevitability - or at least a purpose - in suffering. Lent reminds us that we return to dust. I now move towards the Resurrection to remember that Christ too once was dust, died like us, suffered like us. It is a painful feeling and yet somehow comforting to know someone so loving took on this grief.
The Paschal Mystery is the passion, death, descent, resurrection, and ascension of Christ. All five of those. Usually, I only hear about three. The message is clear: the Lord offers victory through an absurd defeat. Life out of death. I wonder if it is not a fundamentally healing God, but a transforming God, that one clings to in these times. Christ’s wounds were not healed - they remain when he appears to disciples. They’re glorified by the stigmatic saints. Christ is the wounded healer, suffering, degraded, cast away. Yet his wounds have been transformed to mean something else to those he loves. I must believe that our suffering too has some sort of meaning. It is not instantly erased, but it can be transformed.
This Easter, I am asked to die. Let go of what I thought I knew. After all, Mary Magdalene did not even recognize this person before her - how could that be? How much could this man have transformed that his most loyal disciple had all expectations totally upended? There is grief in letting go of the idea that Christ walks among us as a breathing, loving, suffering, toiling, crying, laughing man. How he is missed. But there is also joy in the transformation once that expectation is gone. Now all of our hands are his; he is there for all, to love all, through us.
Jonathan Sacks, a Rabbi, talks about Moses at the burning bush. Moses asks God, “Who are you?” God says to him: Hayah asher hayah. This is often translated as “I am that which I am”. A more precise Hebrew is “I will be who or how or where I will be”. It always struck me as a reply that lacked comfort. The Paschal Mystery too lacks comfort to me. There is ambiguity in the initiation and purpose of suffering. Yet I believe that there is something valuable that can emerge from pain. The Lord will be who or how or where he is, and to cling to him is to let go of things that will hold us back from finding him - even if that letting go is painful.
Poetry
Goodtime Jesus (James Tate)
Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn’t afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How ’bout some coffee? Don’t mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.
The Gardener (Mary Oliver)
Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I
come to any conclusions?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?
I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.
Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses.
Nature Morte (Joseph Brodsky, excerpt)
The thing. And its brown
color. Its outlines blurred.
Twilight. Nothing around.
Nothing else. Nature mortes.
Death will come, discover
the body, whose calm will reflect
death’s visit like a lover’s,
with the same effect.
Skull, skeleton, sickle in hand –
this absurdity, all lies:
“Death will come and
she will have your eyes”
Mother to Christ, at a loss:
- Are you my God or son?
You’re nailed onto the cross.
Tell me how to go on?
How can I go, having not
understood, grasped, derived:
are you my son or God?
That is, dead or alive?
He, in turn, explained:
- Dead or alive, this time,
woman, it’s all the same.
Son or God, I’m thine.
Prayer and Meditation
Repeat the Jesus prayer silently: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
