Reflections on Easter

My favorite part of Easter for a long time has been the singing of "Christ The Lord is Risen Today." Even without Easter eggs, without presents and baskets and candy, that song means it's Easter. Because even if I had all of that other stuff, it wouldn't be Easter without a few rousing choruses of "Alleluia". And this morning, I missed it. I woke up, took a shower, got dressed. Everything was going according to plan. And then I was in my car, slightly damp from the rain, driving to church, and I got to the turn I usually take to get there. It was blocked off. Construction I didn't even know existed was in my way. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but I kept going. I didn't know the right way to go to get where I wanted to be. So I told myself what I always tell myself. What I've learned to tell myself after years of being easily confused, often backward, and frequently lost. I told myself, "At the end of the day, God will get you where you're supposed to be." No matter how many times I get lost, it always comes true. I don't always get there when I want to get there, and I don't always get there the way I expect to. But I always get there. Of course, once I get there, I can't always find a parking space. I got to church 2 minutes after service started, and not a single spot was open. I ended up parking on the side of the road a block and a half away. And then I walked to church through the rain. And somehow, it felt better than anything I've done in a while. Because sometimes you just know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the path your feet on is the one they need to travel. Those times don't come too often, at least, they don't for me, and this one felt good. About 15 feet from the door, a man offered to share his umbrella so I could get through the door. It was well meant, and I took the offer. Because sometimes it's not the usefulness of things that matters. Sometimes it's the soul. I found a seat in the balcony, because the floor was full. And once I had time to sit down and look through the bulletin, I realized I'd missed the song. My favorite part of Easter. After church, I walked a block and a half back to my car, and I got in and put the heater on full blast, because it was raining again and I was wet. I turned the radio off, but as I started to sing, I realized I no longer know all the words. It's a song not usually sung on any day but Easter, and the words wouldn't come. So I got home and I looked them up online, and I realized I was alone. People who are close enough to home to be home on Easter generally are. And the other person who can't wasn't in the hall. She was still at church, at a service that starts later than mine. So I sat by myself in my room, singing along with a midi file of the background music, reading the words off my screen. It wasn't the memory I have of childhood, with the hymnal's cloth cover scratchy under my fingers, big and heavy in my hands and smelling of paper and ink. It wasn't my family around me singing, and I wasn't in a congregation full of joy. There was no one around, and yet I didn't feel alone. Because that's the point of Easter. Because whether it's a congregation of a thousand, a family of four, or a choir of one, Jesus is there to hear. Because at the end of the day, the God that gets me where I'm going no matter how turned around I get is the same God who said that not even death can stop him. Because he's the God who loves me enough to die, and who loves me enough to live. Because when you need him, he's standing there behind you, reading the words over your shoulder and singing in your ear. Because sometimes you need Jesus to be there for you, like when you're alone on an Easter Sunday. And no matter what, he's there. Sometimes it's nice to know you're worth it. Because Jesus stared death in the face, and he told it that the sacrifice he made was one worth making. And then he came back to this world, because he knew you'd need him. And that's the whole point.