easter confessions

Well, it's no secret now that I'll be arriving back at the ol' homestead about a week from now. I can literally feel the cracks dividing my little heart, breaking over leaving Sydney, seminary and, of course, Scott. I think that's just about all I need to say about that. (Except that I better invest in a more environmentally friendly form of tissues. The art of the handkerchief, like letterwriting, is dead. In the Easter spirit, I'm going to give it new life.)

Because I decided to leave a little ahead of schedule I feel like I've been scrambling to drink in as much Oz as possible. Scott and I totally broke the rules and took an Easter four-day weekend to the Gold Coast in Queensland. I realized on Easter at mid-day that it was the first time in my life that I hadn't gone to church on the holiday. (I also realized it was the first Easter where I didn't receive a basket filled with artificial grass) The weekend itself was glorious. We rode a few rollercoasters and toured the rainforest. Of course, back at our hotel at Surfers Paradise (the Waikiki of Australia) I couldn't help but be disturbed by the fact that Easter didn't even seem to exist. Except, of course, for the Easter sales going on everywhere. Because there's no better way to celebrate the most holy Christian holiday than by buying a plasma screen TV.

But, then again, who am I to talk? It doesn't get more indulgent than vacations to places with palm trees. And I did it over the Easter holiday. Yikes.

I guess this is where the real confession comes in. Predictably, I take offense to the mass commercialization of Easter. The Easter bunny may just offend me more than Santa (though it is a close race.) And I will also admit that a holiday on the holiday is a bit in bad taste. But the strange truth is, I do not feel that my faith suffered. In fact, inadvertently boycotting tradition taught me a little about how I really feel about the whole Easter thing (and worship in general.)

Over the last few months I have come to realize that I am not a plug-in Christian. Come Sunday morning service, mid-week bible study, or annual holiday observance I can never expect to walk into church and just get charged up by the Holy Spirit. My moments with God are highly sought after and more like jewels than grains of sand. While mine fill the palm of my hand it seems many of my fellow Christians could store theirs on a private beach.

Don't get me wrong. I love worship and the fellowship of others. It is soothing and affirming in all the right ways. Yet, I find it hard to mean it as my lips form the liturgy. In moments of silence I fumble to find prayer and end up starting mine just as the pastor begins to speak. "Dear Lord...um...please..." I usually try desperately to remember all the people in my life who are sick or in turmoil and then scramble to remember those suffering around the world, always feeling guilty because someone is left out. And just as I begin to apologize (because "repenting" and "confessing" are too graceful words for what I'm doing in my prayers) for all the stuff I've messed up on in recent history I get cut off by responsive reading or a hymn. The sermon is usually my strong suit. Given the preacher is smart and searing. Otherwise I fight to keep my mind off grocery shopping or my cuticles. And if communion is involved the best I can do is try to focus my mind like a laser beam on the idea that my thimble of juice is Christ's blood. But I usually am more self conscious about looking like an idiot it in front of the person serving me and muttering, "Christ's blood shed for you" or something similarly somber.

As I said. I love worship. But I can definitely recognize that I go to church, not to hang out with God, but his kids. Certainly, there are many Sundays where I receive a new gem for my collection. A glistening moment with God that I will pull out and admire many times in the future. Yet, I am soothed and affirmed, not through connections to unison confessions or prayer by rote but the warm handshakes, hugs, and smiles that I am offered during the passing of the peace or the post-service coffee. (All this is quite in keeping with JC's insight in John 13:34-35, "Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.")

So despite loving worship I certainly struggle with it. And I struggle with Easter and Christmas, too. Because, though fellowship is vital to faith and certainly worth the trip to church, I fail to "plug in" to the Holy Spirit as I mentioned before. The most sincere prayer I tend to offer is one where I admit my constant failure to make my worship sincere.

Christmas is a bit easier than Easter. It is a joyful and relatively uncomplicated celebration. The star of the Bible is born and we get to throw a big party. Add in the perks of Western living like Bing Crosby albums and big family feasts and it is easy to bring a general sense of exalting to the singing of "Joy to the World" on Christmas Eve. When trumpets are involved, the hard part is done for you. But Easter is emotionally complex. A week before we wave palms and imagine a Fabio-like Jesus Christ trotting into Jerusalem on a donkey. Then the tone gets dark very quickly and we are led through a series of intense scriptural passages. The loaves and fishes of a few chapters back fade in our minds and the blood and flesh of Jesus appears on the table. The disciples disappoint us. The Jews dismay us. And then Jesus dies for us. Two days later, on Easter Sunday we trade grief for gladness because the tomb is empty. But because we've all heard this story before, the whole experience is shadowed by the enormity of the event. This is it, folks. The crux of our faith!

And I can no more at Easter than any other Sunday of the year, summon those coveted moments with God. In fact, Easter might be a contender for my worst Sunday at all. The week leading up to the resurrection is so exhausting and confusing. (Even Jesus' disciples were confused. Jesus tried to explain that the hour was upon them, and they seemed to get more and more lost. And clearly Judas just gave up.) The truth is, I feel far more connected to Jesus' death (and life) the other 364 days of year than the day where it is expected of me. And, as I admire my collection of jewels, my rare and special moments of revelation, I realize I usually found them outside of the holy hours of Sunday morning. God usually surprises me at work or on the train or in my kitchen.

Taking a break from Easter showed me just how far I am from being a plug-in Christian. And perhaps this is less of a confession than an Easter prayer. I do not feel the need to repent but the urge to ask for intercession. Because I like meeting God in my bedroom or at the movies, but I think I'd like to be able to meet up with Him at church more often.

Dear Lord,
Where can I buy a really good power adapter? It seems my plug doesn't work in your house.



Amen.