Easter

April 1st, 2024

The church was crowded yesterday morning. It wasn’t full, but then it’s never full anymore. Usually, for a Sunday Mass, only about one third of the pews are occupied. Yesterday, being Easter, we were at around three quarters of capacity. I remember when, not too long ago, it would have been almost impossible to find a seat if a person was tardy for the Easter service. Nowadays, there is plenty of room for anyone who strolls in late.

Personally, I would have been okay with blowing off Mass yesterday. Easter is supposed to be joyous, and it is difficult for me to handle all the positive energy. Deacon Greg, who is a good friend, greeted everyone with a hearty, “Happy Easter! He is risen indeed!”

Okay, whatever.

My wife, Karin, got dressed up for Mass. She wore a new shawl that she had knitted, over a white blouse. Our little grandson, Asher, wore black pants with a multicolored button-down shirt. The shirt had a lot of pink in the mix, and Asher likes pink. He also likes to look good, and of course he did.

I wore a dark sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sandals. Work clothes.

Easter is the culmination of a long period of preparation. There are the forty days of Lent and Holy Week. In the Catholic scheme of things, a person is supposed to use the time during Lent and Holy Week to get ready for the celebration of the Resurrection. Lent is there for prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Holy Week is for meditation on the Passion of Christ. The culmination of it all is Easter, and a new birth, at least in a spiritual sense.

I didn’t do any of that, and so Easter was “whatever”. I would have liked to take the time to prepare myself and get into the groove, but for the most part it didn’t happen. Lent and Holy Week consisted of days filled with chaos and confusion, anxiety and turmoil. I don’t remember there being much time to catch my breath, much less sit quietly to ponder the mysteries of the faith. Easter was not a day of exhilaration. It was a day of exhaustion.

My sister-in-law has a blog with many Catholic readers. In the days before the holiday, she sent an email with Easter greetings to all and sundry. I read her message on a day when I was in a particularly dark mood. I replied to all, and said,

“I don’t believe that God gives a fuck.”

I really didn’t believe that God cared at that moment. In retrospect I can see that it was inappropriate to send that message, but it came from the heart. Most of the time I can grudgingly accept the idea that God loves humanity. More to the point, I can usually buy the notion that He loves me and mine. But probably once a day, especially in recent days, I conclude that God is not all that interested in human suffering. The evidence is for that is mixed. Ask Job.

I spent most of the Easter Mass chasing Asher around the church and narthex. That’s what I do. Years ago, I would have been shocked to see kids running around in church. Those days are gone. Over the years, Karin, and I have gone to a variety of services, and we have discovered that this need to have children passive and silent during a liturgy is more cultural than Catholic. We have gone to Latino Masses where the kids run amok and swarm near the altar, and the priest is okay with it all. Actually, our pastor is okay with it too, so Asher is mobile and so am I.

There was a baptism during the Easter Mass. Two little girls got baptized. The congregation renewed their baptismal promises along with the godparents of the girls. It’s curious that during this recitation people solemnly promise to believe all sorts of things. It’s basically like reciting the Creed at Mass. We say that we believe in a variety of theological doctrines, but we never, not once, say that we believe that God loves us. But that’s the whole point. None of this has any meaning if God doesn’t care for each and every one of us. If we don’t believe that, then why not just close up shop?

Do I believe that God loves us?

I believe it when I hold Asher in my arms.