COVID Easter Memories
Easter quietly wandered into our houses and snuck out the back door this year, didn’t it? Amidst daily coronavirus updates from governors and the president, a disrupted work schedule and changing patterns of shopping and community, the celebration of traditions had to be tossed aside. Would there even be any Easter memories this year?
The day was quite different from Easters past. More Americans attend church on Easter Sunday than any other day of the year, including Christmas. Families gather together for meals, either in homes or at restaurants. Families maintain traditions, travel to visit each other and enjoy the depths of a history of closeness.
This year we had online church services, dinner delivered and hunted virtual Easter eggs on a Playstation. It was almost as if we were celebrating a different holiday.
The changes made me reflect on my memories of Easter mornings and my desires for life to return to normal. Three thoughts stand out.
Easter Memories: Commercial
My earliest Easter memories were commercial. I woke to look for a hidden Easter basket filled with candy eggs and chocolate bunnies. Pushing aside the temptation to sample one of each, we had to eat a hurried breakfast and get dressed for church. Every Easter meant new “Sunday” clothes to wear, especially a new pair of shoes. Rain or shine, warmth or snow, we paused off the front porch to pose for our father to take our family pictures.
When the crisis is over, I will be thankful to shop again. I look forward to the day when I can again go any store that I want and find it open for business. I long for the day when the shelves will be full, when new product arrives on schedule. There were times that we went shopping together as a family. I look forward to enjoying that luxury again.
Majestic
About the time of my high school and college years, another flavor of the Easter morning made an impact on my life. There was a small Lutheran church not too far from where I lived. A long sidewalk led to its front door. Both sides of the walkway were lined with trumpeters and buglers dressed in normal regalia. Banners proclaimed “Christ is Risen,” “He is Risen Indeed!”
Inside the congregants were treated to festive colors and blooming lilies. Special music was presented by the choir and soloists. An organist tickled the ivories to make the orchestral sounds that accompanied the singing of traditional hymns. The building was as crowded as it would be for another year.
The one word that became etched on my mind was majestic.
This year’s Easter services were viewed from my living room couch. The service was available on my television screen. Resident family members watched and sang. The worship was nice and it filled an incredible void. But there is little in my living room that is majestic. The only spendor was virtual.
When the crisis is over, I will be thankful for those who can take my experiences beyond what I can create myself. Whether it be times of worship, moments of entertainment, or meals on my plate, I am thankful for the times when life is bigger than me. I need to be a part of projects and experiences that are beyond my ability to orchestrate. I will always be grateful that I can share the creativity and thoughtfulness of those who want to make my experiences majestic.
Community
My final Easter memories are crafted by moments when I had my own family and children. We were living in Harrison, Ohio, a small community outside Cincinnati, at the time. The church we attended had a sunrise service. Getting four children up before the crack of dawn was fodder for fairy tales. In between the sunrise service and the first worship services of the day, one of the men in the church would create a wonderful breakfast for anyone in the church. Pancakes, biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs and sausage were available for all.
More than filling our physical needs, the breakfast filled a spiritual need for friendship and community. We were together with people who held similar beliefs, kept similar priorities and wanted the same future. We have an innate need to be together with others.
When the crisis is over, I will be thankful for the ability to gather with friends. I want to be a part of a crowd. There will be joy in attending a crowded ball game. Cheering my team, jeering the opponent and sneering at the officials bring warmth to the heart. Sitting next to friends, feeling the warmth of a handshake, the embrace of a hug, and the comfort of a loving glance, splendor blossoms from the things taken for granted.
From the Catbird Seat, when the crisis is over, I pray for a more grateful heart, a more sensitive spirit and a more compassionate mind. No man is an island. I am tired of living like one.
