Holding on to Easter

Have you noticed the somewhat quiet arrival of Easter? It seems to have faded a bit, like the flowers of early spring. Where once we were adorned head to toe in Easter finery, now the outward signs feel more subdued.

Perhaps it’s connected to fewer in the pews, to shifting rhythms in our culture, or even to the unpredictability of the weather.

I don’t often use this space to speak directly about faith—or to echo my sermons—but this year feels different. I’d like to share how I’m beginning my Easter message this Sunday:

When I look back at our family Easter photos, I see my mother who dressed the six of us in our very best.

Dresses, suit jackets, bonnets, buckled shoes…

sometimes even white gloves and matching pocketbooks.

Looking at those pictures now, I think it was our parents’ way of revealing something about who we were and what we believed in.

Easter was a pretty big celebration in our family.

A day worthy of new clothes, baskets filled with chocolate, a trip to church… and of course the Easter egg hunt.

Even though Easter is known as the holiest and most defining day in the Christian faith, I suspect that as kids we were thinking a lot more about the chocolate bunnies and jelly beans than the deeper meaning of the day.

And yet, I can still remember where we sat in church as a family.

I remember the feeling that we lived in a world where faith mattered…

where miracles were possible…

where life held meaning beyond what we could see.

That faith has gone through a number of transitions over the years—as faith often does.

But those rituals shaped something important in us.

They helped form our inner compass.

Our sense of right and wrong.

The way we tried to show up in the world.

And that was important.

Our parents were not what you might call overly religious people.

But these traditions were part of what they wanted to hand down to their children.

A moral code to live by.

A foundation.

Something strong enough for us to build our lives upon.

And once that foundation was there, the rest was up to us.

Throughout our lives we get to choose our own design -

ranch house… cottage… farmhouse… center hall colonial.

The foundation is given.

But the life built upon it becomes our own.

And maybe that is part of what Easter is really about.

Not only remembering a miracle that happened long ago…

but asking what kind of life we are building on the foundation that was given to us.

Now adays Sunday mornings seem to have given way to soccer games and birthday parties and ‘not another morning to have to get up and get dressed and rush out the door’ days. All beautiful in their own way. But the tradition of gathering in community - no matter where you might be on the faith continuum – builds something that may not be found elsewhere. And though my own faith has journeyed through many transitions- and though I will never be a candidate for sainthood- the core that remains has been and will always be a vital part of who I am.

I may sing the church song atop a missing steeple – sometimes it feels like one of the ‘last calls’ to build or hold onto community - I can certainly see its place in the world and worry about its waning. There are many beautiful places of faith and exploration in our community to gather. Faith does not have to be absolute- it can be filled with doubts and fears and questions-but there is something valuable about coming together and being together and journeying together- holding a place for our kids to question and build onto their own foundations.

I am hopeful, as I’ve been reading lately, of a quiet resurgence—people finding their way back to faith. And while Easter is a wonderful time for brunch, egg hunts, and spiral ham, it might also be a good time to gather—in faith, in tradition, and in community.

May these spring days—and the holidays they hold—draw us together again, in peace, in hope, and in community.