Easter after Easter

The choir took the day off, the minister yielded the pulpit to an associate, and the pews had space again. So it is with the Sunday after Easter. Like the Sunday after Christmas, the Sunday after Easter is called a “low Sunday” in clergy circles, and it bothered me more than usual this year. I accept that there are those who come to church twice a year, I understand the Holy Week grind can be exhausting, but Easter is a season, not a day, and it’s hard to remember that when everyone, including the church, seems to put the Easter bonnets back on the shelf for another year.

The challenge is to keep Easter alive not only on the Sunday after but throughout the season, and, I would add, throughout the year. To help me, I’ve turned to the gospel accounts. Yes, there are the remarkable accounts of what happened on Easter morning, but the stories that follow Easter morning are equally inspirational. Hidden in their fear, Jesus appears to the disciples despite the locked doors. Walking beside two bewildered and disappointed disciples who were getting away from the pain of what happened in Jerusalem, Jesus was present even though they didn’t recognize him until they broke bread. And then there was the moment when the disciples returned home and tried to get back to life as fisherman only to be invited to breakfast by no other than the risen Christ.  

Such testimonies help me see that Easter comes regardless of what I do or don’t do. When I’m locked in my fears, Easter still comes. When I am walking away from something painful, bewildered and disappointed, Easter still comes. And when I try to get back to my usual routine, Easter still comes.

Easter is not something I make happen.

It’s not a service I attend.

Easter is new life, bursting forth long ago and as recently as this morning. The trick is having the eyes to see, the ears to hear, and the hearts to receive.