So last week The Boy had his Easter egg hunt and party at school, and on the way home he asked about a cross that we saw outside a church. When he was little he knows that he asked if the cloth on the cross was the Easter bunny's pants, and he thinks that's funny now. When we passed another cross with purple cloth, he asked what the cloth really means. That led to a discussion of the crucifixion and the resurrection, and I explained those basics to him. His response was "but if people come back to life, then they're zombies."
I know. He's got a good point. This stuff makes no sense, logically. Later I googled "zombie Jesus", and I got 1,470,000 results. So he's not alone in his thinking.
And honestly, it's hard for me to explain it to him, because I know it doesn't make sense, and I also don't love the "if you just have enough faith...." approach, because I think it's okay to ask questions and have doubts. He asked what happened to Jesus after he came back to life, and I had to sort of explain that he went up to Heaven in a cloud of smoke a la a Chris Angel show. So he has defeated death, twice actually. Then The Boy was disappointed because he thought Jesus came back to life EVERY Easter, and I hated to let him down that it just happened once.
So on Easter morning we got ready for church. I bought them new (read: consignment) Easter outfits a few weeks ago and had them try them on well in advance, and no one complained. Then Easter morning the outfits were terrible and ill-fitting and no one wanted to cooperate and there were real, actual tears about them, and maybe The Boy looked a little like a cover for Saturday Night Fever.
At the last minute we had to do a wardrobe change, but there were complaints about that one too. We tried convincing, reverse psychologizing, asking, and bribing all to no avail, then I resorted to talking through my teeth at all the people at my house. As my brother in law put it to my niece "If Jesus can wear a cross on Easter, you can wear your dress for an hour!"
We made it to church and promptly lost The Boy. Apparently he'd run in ahead of us and ran straight to his class, either moved by the spirit or glad to be rid of his parents who make him wear good clothes on Easter. I met up with The Husband and our friends and family in worship, Beyoyo in tow. Because I was the designated worship leader for Sunday, we sat near the front. Beyoyo only lasted for a few songs, then he was like:
And we took him to his class to play.
The Boy loves communion. When we ask him if he wants to go to worship he says "is there going to be communion?" and only wants to come if I answer yes. No word on if he appreciates sacraments or just considers it a snack, but I always go get him and let him join. I know that if I go to his class to get him Beyoyo will see me and cry and want to join us, but he doesn't actually want to be in the sanctuary. So I made eyes at Rachel, a high school senior, and asked her if she'd go get him. She did.
A few minutes later here came The Boy, walking fast down the side aisle. He had a cup of orange juice in his hand, and a 12" lego creation that resembled the number one in the other. He had on no shoes, his white socks padding on the dark carpet. I'm sorry to say for an instant I had a flash of embarrassment. He was rough and tumble, sock-footed, bringing a drink and a random number all the way to the front of the church, past many a watchful eye. And he was grinning. He greeted my mom and sister and sat in their laps before communion. At our church we get up for communion instead of having it passed, and since we were near the front we were one of the first rows to stand.
As I stood in line behind him, a realization passed over me: he's the one who's getting it right. We try to clean up nice and present ourselves to others but God accepts us as we are. Loves us in spite of our pride and our sin and our shame, knows all the things we try to hide.
So here I was trying to get everyone dressed and "presentable", caught up in the human side of Easter, and here he was, knowing you don't need no shoes or suit or refined manners, you just come bringing your whole and genuine self, laying out all your cards for God and everybody. And you come with excitement and a smile on your face, because you love these people and what this means, even if you don't fully understand it.
My sister tried to explain to him what was going on with communion, but he already knew. He's an old pro. Holy heck, he clearly knew better than I did. He proudly dipped his bread in the juice chalice, received his blessing, and went on, not realizing the impact this had just had on me or the tears that were threatening my eyes. Easter is about renewal, all right.
After the service we had the planned Easter egg hunt, but the grass was wet so it was held in the sanctuary. Everyone went out, the eggs were hidden, then they were released back in like the running of the bulls.
Here's a portion of The Boy's hunt:
After the egg hunt we went to lunch with family, then went to The Husband's grandmother's house for an afternoon of cousins. The kids mostly played in the dirt and got disgusting. And loved every second of it.
Here you see some of the kids, wet and muddy, sticky from bubble solution, in various levels of (un)pleasantness, and BeYoYo crying in the background. The Boy has his eyes closed. There was nothing special about this play time, it was just cousins communing together and (mostly) enjoying each other. Their great grandmother's house is their sanctuary.
I kid you not, I am certain I will forget all this by next Easter. I will forget that it's not about the clothes and the manners and which hymns were sung and making sure Easter baskets are evenly distributed. I will forget that we're invited to come as we are, and that all the things that I stress about don't matter. And I imagine, if history repeats itself, this child will help me remember. Again. Good thing Easter is about renewal. Again.
Amen.
