Easter, I Doth Protest...

Jesus was a wanderer. Led by the Spirit, a man without a home. A nomad on the loose, not knowing where he was going. Yet, unlike me, he never lost his way. Though a vagabond, he was not aimless.

His journey took him to a garden. He was overcome with fear, a man like all the rest. He prayed for escape, for a different fate. Yet, unlike me, he never lost sight of his purpose. Though terrified, he was unmoved.

His good friend betrayed him there. He was the victim of greed, a man common in us all. Yet, unlike me, he never vowed revenge. Though snared, he was not bitter.

His enemies apprehended him. He was treated unjustly, a man of good taken to be evil. Yet, unlike me, he did not defend himself. Though misunderstood, he did not lose confidence in his identity.

His accusers beat him, mocked him. He was degraded and humiliated, a man who deserved much more. Yet, unlike me, his spirit was not fractured. Though mortified, he was not ashamed.

His killers laid his cross upon his back. He was weak and feeble, a man whose body gave way to its limits. Yet, unlike me, he picked himself up and continued. Though wearied, he was not willing to give up.

His followers abandoned him. His people executed him. His closest companion denied him. The world gave up on him. He was the hope of all mankind, a man like no other. A man unlike me.



Today is Easter Sunday. Today is the day we are supposed to celebrate the rest of the story. Today is the day that his grave lay open, empty…
His God resurrected Him. He was brought back to life, seen by many before ascending to the heavens. He is said to be exalted to the highest place, seated at the right hand of God…more unlike me than ever. Though glorified, he now seems so distant, so ethereal, so imaginary.

As we experience this Holy Week, the common story tells us that we are supposed to identify with the weakness of Jesus as he journeyed to the cross. We are supposed to experience his fear, his betrayal and humility, even his death. We are told that the highest virtue is to imitate Christ, which usually translates into “do as he did.” This week, however, I find myself focusing more on the strength of Jesus, wanting to emulate those things which he didn’t do.

Jesus was a man like the world has never known. The Gospels are full of stories, of human stories, of Jesus the man. And what a man he was. He showed us what it means to be human. He showed us the potential that each of us has to center ourselves upon God, to hold steady in the midst of chaos, to live confidently and courageously in a frightening world, to be generous in a world of greed, to love in a world of hate, to stand tall in a world that pushes us down. He didn’t lose himself, his sense of purpose. He didn’t hold grudges. He didn’t let shame get the best of him. He didn’t give up. He set his face to what was most important and didn’t look back. This is the Jesus I’ve come to love this Holy Week.

But, again, today is Easter. And whatever hope we may have that his resurrection means he is with us again in the way we had so come to love quickly fades as he begins the mysterious acts of walking through walls, disappearing before our eyes and finally floating away into the clouds. Suddenly, the Jesus who seemed so present to us, who seemed so real, so tangible, has vaporized and vanished into the air.

Growing up, Easter always meant one thing to me. Jesus is alive! And because he is alive, we know he is divine. Our sins were forgiven because of his death, so his resurrection always seemed a little anti-climatic. But, as far as being raised from the dead goes, as far as proof of his divinity, I suppose it was comforting for God to offer us some “proof” that Jesus wasn’t a lunatic. And so, I always joined the refrain, “He is risen…He is risen, indeed,” with a sense of shared accomplishment with Jesus, with a sense of excitement and amazement. He is, indeed, seated at the right hand of God. He is exalted in Heaven. He is up there, or out there, or somewhere…and I’ll get to be there one day, too…and, for now, though I can’t see him, or touch him, or hold a conversation with him I can…umm, well, I can sing songs to him, or worship him, or…pray in his name…or if I’m really dialed in I can “feel” him inside of me…

Truth is, I’m beginning to think I liked Jesus better when he was a man. I liked the flesh and bones Jesus (without the disappearing acts). I liked the limits he had. I liked the weakness, the frailty…the real stuff of humanity and the way he overcame the struggles that are common to you and me every day. I liked the Jesus that gave us a palpable sense of who we are able to be here and now. I’m really disinterested in this version of Jesus who can only promise me some glorified sense of existence after I die.

And I know what some of you are thinking at this point…the Holy Spirit, right??? Of course, the Holy Spirit! I haven’t forgotten about the Holy Spirit, the helper supposedly sent back to fill in for Jesus on earth while he sits on his throne for the last 2000 years…argh! I kind of want to pull my hair out. Are you feeling this with me? Everything that frustrates me about Jesus’ resurrection, the pseudo-corporeality thing, is completely exaggerated in the Holy Spirit…who we’ve never seen, never touched, never talked to, never known anything substantial about, and yet we're supposed to believe that He, or it, or whatever is real and is here and is helpful.

So…before I get carried away…let me conclude. And, honestly I don’t think I can conclude as much as I can just stop. I really have no conclusion, no clever way to wrap this up. This is the end of the story for me. I’m not the least bit convinced that I’ve made a valid point; so, I suppose I have no way of drawing everything together with some type of answer. Perhaps you can relate to some of this. Perhaps it will help us both to know we’re not alone in our frustrations. Perhaps it will help us through this Easter holiday so that Monday morning we can get back to the real business of following our hero- Jesus, the man.