Easter in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic

Seeing Easter differently

I remember vividly when Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ was released. It was criticized for the graphic nature of the scenes. Some said it had gone too far. Is that possible to make torture and crucifixion too brutal, too bloody, too distasteful? Is my experience from childhood (and I have to admit a good deal of my adulthood) an effort to make Easter prettier, more palatable? How could I look forward to the Easter season with its beautiful flowers, new dresses, baskets of candy and family gatherings? Shouldn’t I dread reliving those painful, somber days? Does any of that “Easter” stuff increase my experience of God sending his son to suffer and die brutally for my sins….and then rise again because of his love for us and desire to be with us forever?

It all started out so joyously

I would not have asked these questions if I hadn’t experienced Easter in 2020. Easter in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, with its rules of quarantining and social distancing, was so raw and emotional. As Holy Week arrived, I initially felt the familiar joy. On Palm Sunday, we gathered palm fronds from the yard and decorated inside and outside our home. It seemed like such a festive way to celebrate with our neighbors who were doing the same. People were all proclaiming, “Prepare a way for the Lord.” It seemed such a joyful, communal experience. I didn’t realize it then, but I am quite sure the citizens of Jerusalem felt the same celebratory air as Jesus rode in on a donkey.

Overwhelmed by darkness

On Thursday, I watched a short meditation as I prepared for the hard part of the story. One of my favorite pastors, Nadia Bolz-Weber, spoke online about Jesus and his friends. She described them as the “people who stock the fridge with Jesus’ favorite beer.” Yes, Jesus spent time with his disciples for the last supper, but just before that came time with his really close friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. These were the friends he could relax around. I imagined what it was like for him to just hang out with them. The joy they must have all felt in catching up with each other. But then I felt the dread. They don’t know it but they will not ever do this again. He knows this. He understand their hearts are about to break. Jesus loves them so much.

Later in the day, I spoke with my dad who is a pastor. We often talk at length about the Bible. I love the fact that my father’s other loves are history and art and so he always paints a vivid picture. Speaking of pictures, we discussed the most common image of Maundy Thursday, the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. My father tells me how the disciples would actually have been reclined at the table (they didn’t have tables and chairs back then). Dad believes John the Beloved sat beside Jesus based on the Biblical descriptions of the meal. And more shockingly, if we look closely we can only conclude Judas sat on his other side. What?!?! I always imagined it must be Peter or one of the other “favorites.” Again the dread punches me in the stomach. Jesus loves Judas. He is eating and sharing a bowl with him. He knows what Judas will decide even as he sits there thinking about it. He tells him to go do it. Jesus still loves Judas.

Experiencing betrayal and loss

Betrayal hurts differently. Someone we love and trust harms us on purpose. One of Jesus’ best friends is about to start in motion a sham trial which will end in death. And as I look around the table, it isn’t just Judas who will betray Jesus. Peter, John and James are about to leave Jesus alone to suffer in pain as he prays on the Mount of Olives. All he asks is that they stay awake with him...and they can’t even do that. Furthermore, Peter is hours away from further betraying Christ three times by claiming he is not a follower in order to save his own skin. Jesus warned him this would happen. He does it anyway.

The weight of the week felt crushing and is wasn’t even Good Friday yet. These services were always hard and gloomy. As a child, they were my least favorite. It was like attending a funeral where I didn’t know exactly how to behave. Was it OK to smile at my friends? Should I put on the darkest dress I own and not make eye contact with anyone? Often the music would be a droning, wailing, chanting type of thing that just freaked me out. This year’s Good Friday turned me back into that little girl.

Crushed by tremendous guilt

I watched a service online. There were no fancy decorations. My view was the crucifix since I was watching a Catholic service. I could not see anyone else. It was just me and Jesus up on the cross. As a lifelong Methodist, the cross I look at is empty. We remember Jesus’ triumph and resurrection. The stillness and the crucifix were unsettling enough….and then the music began. It was haunting but off-camera and, due to technical difficulties which distorted it, very hard to listen to. Silence would be easier to bear. As I sat looking at Jesus hanging on the cross in front of me, I felt palpable anxiety and overwhelming sadness. I was utterly alone in the moment. My guilt which led to this necessary moment was stifling. It was eerie and a bit scary. This was nothing like past Easter’s for me. Easter looked different, sounded different and felt different. Easter in the midst of coronavirus quarantine felt lonely.

Wondering what will happen next

Holy Saturday is not something I grew up celebrating. No church services happened on this day. We readied ourselves for Sunday. With all the busyness, I never really gave Saturday much thought. But this year, I missed watching the meditations and services so readily available online the other days this Holy Week while we were in self-quarantine. I missed the busyness of arranging the lilies on the altar, preparing food for a big family dinner, making sure my dress and accessories were all laid out for Sunday. It was still and quiet. My family sat locked inside hostage to this Easter in midst of the coronavirus pandemic. This is what the friends and disciples felt. For them, this was the end. After such a horrible day on Friday, they stayed locked in their homes for safety. They felt confused wondering what would happen now that their leader was dead. It is easy to share those same feelings as I sit trapped inside my home wondering whether life will ever be the same again. As I watch the video of a simple burning candle placed online by a distant church, it feels like this day and night will never end.

Surprised by the ending

Easter morning I awake with excitement until I realize there is nowhere to go. Our kids are grown. There aren’t eggs to hide or schedules to meet. It feels the same as yesterday. I have no idea what today will bring. And once again, I realize I am there with Mary when she approaches the tomb. The surprise and shock of this very different Easter throws me off kilter. What’s going to happen now? And then my sister-in-law sends a simple text….”Watch this!” It is a link to the sunrise service from Lake Junaluska. A family place with so many memories for me. So many years of my childhood and adulthood have been spent on this beautiful piece of land surrounding a lake in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains. As I watch the sun rise behind the cross which is lit against a dark sky, I feel it: the excitement of Easter; the surprise of seeing something I didn’t expect; the joy of knowing I was sharing this with so many others at just that moment; and the relief of the familiar.

The gift of Easter during the coronavirus quarantine

Holy Week was particularly exhausting this year. It was awful: dark, heavy and long. It drained me in a way I never experienced before and surprised me in it’s intensity and pain. And on the final morning, it created a joy unlike any other Easter morning of my life. I pray Easter will different next year. Please don’t be as painful and dark as this one. It was such a long, long week. Yet, I never want to forget how it felt in 2020. The discomfort of not knowing how to go about the traditions, services and the big celebration at the conclusion left me adrift. It was painful, heavy and raw. And in the backwards way Christ has of teaching us, I realized it was His gift. For this Holy Week spent locked inside and fearful during a global pandemic. Time crept by so slowly and we didn’t know what would happen next. No fancy plans for meals and services were made. We simply observed Holy Week without expectations. Easter, a time usually experienced as beautiful, full of tradition and sacred, was lived with fear, loneliness and and more than a little mystery.

Things to hold onto in years to come

For one week in 2020, I watched as Christ arrived in Jerusalem, hung out with his friends, ate dinner with his followers, prayed for God to reconsider, faced this all alone as his friends slept, was betrayed to the authorities, endured a sham trial, was mocked and crucified, left in a tomb, and we all waited….and waited. At dawn, on the last day of this awful week, we were surprised by joy and beauty in ways we never could have expected. And I wrote:

“Signs of resurrection are all around…even during this strangest of Easters. This is probably more like the first Easter felt. “

– Alice Culbreath, Three Quarters Full Blog

Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.