Way back in 1964 I gave birth to my second daughter on 3/31/1964. She, I had hoped, would be born on Easter Day but that year Easter was later. It didn’t matter really, because her birth was so smooth, so quick and quite pain-free, her weight nicely moderate at under 8 pounds. I rejoice on this day as Jill turns 60—ON Easter Day this year, 2024. Alleluia! Here are Jill's beloved pugs, Olive and Jaelee, sitting in her office chair.
I should I suppose on Easter be cheering for Christ’s resurrection but……………well, that is God’s work to do after we die. “Passed away” sounds weak and inaccurate. Yes, I realize “passed” may soften the harsh reality and finality of death, or it may postpone grief’s sting. Still, the mystery we call Resurrection is God’s business after death—a dead body its prerequisite. This is also why the most difficult death to grieve is MIA (missing in action). It is also why some people have pain at Easter, because they know they must celebrate Resurrection but their hearts are still in Good Friday. So if you have a Good Friday heart for Jesus, or anyone else, let it sorrow without judgment. The most authentic things in life always have mixed feelings anyway.
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For myself, I grieve the almost daily pileup of weaknesses, great and small, as I age. I get medical help and attention for which I’m grateful, and I also try to carry on as best I can. Humor helps when it pops up, and so do friends and family who love you no matter what, as does our being able to take my almost-born-on-Easter daughter and her husband, Lee, out for a sumptuous lunch full of laughs and love.
For years I would always have to be presiding or preaching in a parish Church, but now I am retired and free. I do miss some communal worship and hymns. I do not miss going out to church. I do not miss my alarm clock. I do not miss the stiff white collar I lusted for in the 1970s. Now it makes my aging chin double up. And I do not miss having to cheer when I have a Good Friday heart, so I mutter, “Alleluia Anyhow.” (the late Bishop Barbara C. Harris’ favorite wisdom and the title of her memoir.)
I rejoice that my spouse and I can celebrate a Eucharist together at our dining table. We sing hymns off key, and wear casual clothes. We can say things when we preach to each other that we could never say to a congregation. AND we have no pulpits to ascend.
Some people bring their own internalized “porta-pulpits” where’er they go. But we aren’t traveling evangelicals. We laugh and we cry and we argue. No one wins. Then we eat M&M’s, not jelly beans.
Our home Holy Eucharist and prayers continue to nourish us both—casually, eloquently, perfectly.
