Because I have spent much of my adult life involved in planning Easter Sunday events at a church, Saturday has always been a day of tension. I know that we are still in the darkness of Friday, yet there is work to do to prepare for the celebration to come. Again, today, I split this tension.
I woke up this morning and intentionally slowed my thoughts. I recalled (in a pre-coffee haze) the pain that we walked though last night. I chose to hold on to Friday for as long as I could. Then I watched a giraffe be born and sat with my own 11 year-old giraffe and giggled as the baby learned to stand. We may have cheered upon success.
I went to 218 (the name for the building where we gather to serve and worship) about 1pm. As I walked in, the cross was still hanging. The thorns were still present. The candles were out and the evidence of a dark night was present. We began to transform the space for a party. The curtains went from the black fabric to the bronze satin. The waters of Baptism took the place of the cross. The drapes of the Lenten season were lifted and you could begin to feel the lightness in the air.
There were four of us working today. One took the time to lint roll all of the black chairs. One made sure that the bathroom supplies were stocked and the floors were clean. We all worked to create space for all to hear that the darkness has gone and we have a story worth sharing.
The last few years, I have gifted myself a guilt free Easter afternoon. This was a lesson that took many years to learn, but here is why. I give all that I have to Holy Week. By the time that Saturday evening comes around, I have poured and felt and worked and loved the heck out of the journey. The idea of cooking and cleaning is last on my list. I WANT to have a lovely Easter dinner or drive to be with family on the other side of town. But on the years that I have forced this, I leave with little to no resurrection joy. What seemed like a good idea 4 weeks beforehand, leaves me exhausted and downright intolerable by Sunday night.
Two years ago, I let go. I invited a few friends for crawfish on Easter. There was no set table, no place cards, no china. There was no silver or ham or rolls. We ate crawfish on newspaper in the backyard. It was wonderful. This year, we have our pool ready and some hotdogs and hamburgers. Paper plates will be more than sufficient, as we are going to focus on being the Church on this special day.
For those of us with deeply imbedded Southern Jesus-loving roots, this may seem sacrilegious. But for this free thinking, resurrection celebrating pastrix, flip-flops and shorts is exactly what I need. Any and all egg cuteness and bunny crafting will come because someone else played on Pinterest. If there are no vegetables and all desserts courtesy of pot-luck style lack of planning, hallelujah. And when it is all said and done, a nap is defiantly in the plan. I'll be ignoring all swimming teenagers by 2:30pm. Bye, Felicia.
Whatever you are planning to do to celebrate Jesus tomorrow, make it a day where the reason we gather is the focus of your planning. Sing and smile and love and laugh. Walk with a lightness and a spirit of joy. May we see Jesus in all the glory of new life and fling ourselves into a season of falling more deeply in love with our Savior.
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