The photos started popping up around
mid-morning Easter Sunday, as folks nationwide were making the journey to
church. Apparently, Easter also has the lesser-known title of National Family
Photo Day, second only to Christmas, just in case some of you missed the memo.
No greeting cards necessary, however—a simple Facebook post will do.
“Easter with the family!” They say.
#happyeaster #heisrisen #lovemyfamily #soblessed
And as I scrolled down the feed,
gazing at the abundance of matching pastels, parents holding their babies, and
smiles plastered on faces all around, I started to wonder. What if those
pictures were instead a sheet of stickers, and I could reach out and peel back
their faces to see what was really hidden underneath? What would I find behind
the mom and her baby, the couple holding hands, or the smiling children lined
up in a row?
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| Not-So-Happy Easter photo, followed by real life hashtags. #thismorningsucked #iyelledoverstupidthings #theonlyonethatlikesmenowisthebaby #smilingforthepicturewouldseemlikeajoke #butitsnotfunny #letsgotochurch #thankGodhe'srisen #reallyneedthattoday |
On the way out the door, I snapped
this one of my kids as we jumped in the car to head to church ourselves. Before
I realized it was Family Photo Day, of course. I told them to “Smile! It’s
Easter! Say Happy Easter!”
Why
do we need to take a stupid picture when you can’t even see our outfits? My
daughter protested.
Ya,
Happy Easter, my son said, with
sarcasm dripping from his lips. And their faces said it all.
Because the reality was, it had
probably been anything but.
Oh, I tried. I really did. I did my
best to have everything set out and ready ahead of time so we wouldn’t have to
rush. I was up early and made every effort to be present with the kids and
finish getting the house prepped. But within the first hour of being awake, I
had to apologize more times then I had fingers on a fist to shake at them.
I lost it over spilled milk and
bubbles, got frustrated with missing socks, failed to see the strides of
obedience and helpfulness and focused on the mistakes instead. I asked
forgiveness, but sometimes the hurt lingers, and so does the stress. It hangs
in the air like the smog from a burnt dinner, and it’s hard to fan away the
stench. Hours later even, it’s still noticeable.
The devil is in the details on Sunday
mornings, and even more so on the Holy Days. He’s like a shark circling in the
water, and he can smell the blood of desperate, wounded souls longing for their
Savior. By time some of us make it to church, we are utterly exhausted from
treading water, just trying to survive.
I dropped the kids off in class and
then poked my head into the classroom across the room to see a dear friend sitting
on the floor, caring for the little one in her charge.
How
was your morning? I asked her.
It
was…rough. Really rough. She replied with a nod as she brushed the hair
behind her ear, her head hanging now from the weight of the guilt.
I
know. Mine too.
Sometimes it’s all you can do to make
it there in one piece.
As I stood in the back of the
sanctuary, soaking in the worship and doing my best not to burst into tears on
the spot, I wondered to myself, almost aloud, why don’t we talk about it??
Amid the toddlers pulled right out of
a magazine ad, the delicious-looking family meals and the color-coded ducks in a row, why doesn’t someone say that even Easter Sunday, particularly Easter Sunday, is hard? Any mention of this thing
called "real life" seems to be mysteriously absent from all the festivities.
Don’t get me wrong—its not that family
shouldn’t be celebrated on Easter—heck, it’s probably one of the few times a
year that everyone is dressed up, coordinated, and early enough to pause for a
rare moment together. A memory that you will look back on and probably treasure
for years to come. I totally get it and even tried to pull it off myself. "Tried" being the operative word there.
And not that there shouldn’t be joy
and celebration, worship and praise—our Savior has risen from the dead! But I
wonder, as the world looks at our lives—at our photos—if they think they have
to be polished and pristine to darken the door of a church. That only
perfect looking, color-coordinated, pretty people go there. The ones who have
it all together. The ones with all their kids in a row, smiling, and a picture
to prove it.
And with the weight of that image on
my chest, I was finding it hard to breathe. I for one don’t measure up, but
that, my friends, is the beauty of the Resurrection. Because I don’t have to. Christ came down to earth, lived a sinless
life, and died a horrible death on a cross for me because of his great love. Not because I did anything for him or
because I deserved it or because I showed up at church on Easter Sunday in my
best dress.
You
see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the
ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good
person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love
for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans
5:6-8
So I guess I’m here to tell you that
it’s okay.
It’s okay to have an Easter Sunday, or
any Sunday for that matter, that totally sucks by 9:00am. The kind of day where
you’d rather just crawl back into bed then face another minute. And it’s okay
to talk about it. You don’t have to feel guilty about it, or ungrateful, or
hypocritical, or like a total jerk of a Christian.
You're not. You just simply suffer from something they call "being human." We all do.
You're not. You just simply suffer from something they call "being human." We all do.
In fact, if you were to peel back the
stickers and peek under the smiles in those perfect family photos, I imagine
that you’d find many a crappy Sunday morning hiding there.
"Worn"
Tenth Avenue North
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left
Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left
Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn