Church

Today many of us will see portraits of happy families, all dressed up for Easter. I commend you, given the current state of the world, for carrying on in light of the restrictions. For carrying on the joy in light of the restrictions!

It IS, I think, the most joyous day of the Christian calendar. 

But just like anything we see on social media, these images can be a trigger to some.

I've never much liked Easter. As a holiday. 

Gaspppppppppppp!!!

Well you know, compared to other holidays. Sure I have those memories as a kid of decorating eggs, getting a basket, going on a hunt through my house with my sister, and then usually at my Grandparents' place too, with all my cousins. My cousins and I would wait upstairs while the "Easter Bunny" got everything ready, and then we'd run around outside trying to find the most of those little shiny wrapped eggs. 

I always preferred the jelly beans, though.

We also did the thing, the dress up thing. And, when I was younger, hats and all! Who does the hats anymore?

I know, some families only attend church on Easter. But we went every Sunday. 

And church was always a part of Easter, of course. 

Easter Sunday at church was different, though, in that it was filled with MORE people, more joy! More colours, more flowers, more hymns I loved...maybe a shorter sermon :-)

See, lots of pastors in my family. So church was a real thing. My Dad, Grandpa, Uncle, Second Cousin...all were pastors. So at that Easter family dinner "pastor talk" was huge. Talking about theology, philosophy, church matters, sermons. All while we ate the most amazing food prepared by my Grandma. All while us kids were LOUD and maybe kinda RUDE and ready to leave the table and eat Easter chocolate and RUN AROUND some more! Take off our "church clothes" and put on our "play clothes".

Yes, that was a thing.

Bye bye Easter hat!

Ahhhhh memories. 

Upholding the Easter traditions has become harder and harder as I've gotten older. For some obvious reasons like: everyone is so much more spread out now, my Grandpa passed a few years ago, the family has grown and morphed and broken and changed.

 

But married to Matthew, well we always went to church.

He kind of re-churched me.

See I mentioned I went to church every Sunday growing up, but I always felt a bit of an outsider. No matter which church I went to. The people were nice enough, it's just things like when I think of *getting ready for church, *sitting in the pews, *singing the praise music (notice I didn't say hymns here!), *chit chatting afterwards, *and there's something about that 'after church' feeling, when you get home, that's kind of empty, no matter your 'at church' feeling...well it's those things that when I think of them still make my stomach swirl. 

Married in my 20s, we always went to church. 

As a high school-er though, I'd already started rebelling. 

My dad was a pastor! Say no more!

When I realized I could protest going to church, and just stay home Sunday mornings, well I did that more and more. Much to my dad's disappointment!

No matter, he and my sister always went.

After high school I went to university. It was a Christian university. I didn't choose it for that reason, though. I chose it cause it was in Seattle (where I wanted to move to after high school) and it was small-ish.

The mandatory chapels there always rubbed me the wrong way though. Filling out some kind of scan-tron thing to prove I'd gone to my mandatory chapels always rubbed me the wrong way. The praise music...well it always rubbed me the wrong way. 

Sorry, I might be offending some people out there! It's religion though!

Like what you want, I know praise music doesn't hurt anybody.

But, married, Matthew re-churched me. And it was ok enough. I played along. (That's always how it felt, like I was just playing along.)

We went to church. Found a lovely home at Grace Seattle, a place I will always remember as my most fond church memory. Mostly because we had friends there. Friends I'm still in touch with. And it was different than many church experiences I'd had over the years. Different in a way that suited me.

Then we moved to Vancouver, so Matthew could pursue studies in theology (and art) and other such-church-stuff. His earlier desire to become a pastor came back. And...before I knew it I was on the road to becoming a pastor's wife. 

Ok, Anglican priest's wife.

But still.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

For reasons I will not go into here, well that was an idea that slowly unwrapped itself as a very uncomfortable surprise to me! But, I wanted to be a supportive wife. And anyway, there are worse things that can happen.

So, we went to church. We were church-goers, just like I'd been growing up. I heard the religious conversations, the theological musings, the pastor-talk all over again. 

And still felt like an outsider. 

I tried to make friends with the new people in this church-y circle, but I still felt like an outsider. 

As new parents we did the Easter thing. We dressed the kids up! We went to church! Facilitated egg hunts! Took those adorable family photos full of smiles and cuteness and spring cheer! And we showed them off with pride! 

I look at those photos now, if they pop up places. I see them in other people's photos. I remember.

I also remember the Easter, a week after Therese was born, that everything changed for me. And I look at those photos and feel that shock and pain.

I also remember the way the church dealt with those changes, for Matthew and myself. And I feel the shock and pain. 

I remember the way we were abandoned, Matthew was abandoned.

I remember that too.

I remember trying to remedy it, seek justice for it, years later when my anger still hadn't subsided. I remember deciding it wasn't worth it. I remember remembering that church people are still just people, like the rest of us.

Maybe feeling a little forgiveness in that light.

And now I remember, on Easter, and any time I pass a church, or have had to go into a church for any reason since.

I feel my heart beating fast as I type this. 

Funny how that happens, before we even realize it.

Don't get me wrong, I remember good things too. The love that a church can give. I experienced that many times, and especially at one place we went to during all the changes. But it became too much for me, because the love almost felt more like pity. And I felt so alone in it. 

Sure maybe it was my perception, my pride getting in the way.

But we can't argue with another person's feelings! At least, we shouldn't. 

Leave that to the actual feeler, to argue with the feelings. 

So on Easter, when church-goers celebrate with joy (this year at home), well, I mourn. I feel heavy. You might not be able to tell by looking at me, I will carry on with this day, I will run, I will make music, I will smile, I will enjoy this solitude, and this time with My Man. But I will mourn, and I will remember. 

The pictures, the smiles, the colours, the togetherness. The change.

And I will remember too, they're just pictures. Even yours.

With life behind them.

We all know that life is rough, even in the joy of Easter. So if you too feel alone and somber on this day--either just this year, or every year--know you are not alone. 

The bright smiles can be real, and so can the grief. Both at the same time.

And even so, I will wish you a Happy Easter!

Eat some jelly beans for me. Especially the black ones.

.........

.........PS As I was writing all this at the kitchen table Simon came in to make some breakfast. 

"Hey, do you want some bacon and eggs?"

"Oh hmmm no not really. But! Maybe I should, it being Easter and all..."

And then his face lit up in earnest with: "Oh right, cause Jesus brought on the pork!" 

He wasn't meaning to be funny.

But--HaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHA!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Simon didn't grow up a church go-er, in case you couldn't tell by that response.

"Ha! Love, well, no, I guess I'll have some just cause it's Easter and you're supposed to kind of have a big meal on Easter."

It was good. And Easter-y! 

And it means absolutely nothing that I didn't eat the pork, though.