I just might offend you with this post. Please
forgive me if I do, but I can’t hold in what’s inside of me right now. I’m
frustrated. I’m angry. I’m sad. The beauty of my Easter weekend has been
tainted by well-meaning words. I just read a blog post by someone whose heart
desires to live in the fullness of Christ. I wish this person no disrespect,
but I am angry because of the words I just read.
It happens twice a year. Every Christmas and Easter,
we are bombarded with how evil American commercialism is and how unspiritual we
are if every moment of every day surrounding these holidays is not about Jesus.
This past week plastic eggs suddenly became the symbol of all that is corrupt
in this world. The words I read today told me that Easter dresses and plastic eggs take away
from the true meaning of Easter, and that the money used should have gone to
the poor people around the world. I didn’t buy Easter dresses for my kids. That’s
not what frustrates me.
I’m frustrated because it doesn’t seem to fit my
view of who Jesus is. When he walked this earth, he lived with his people. They
went to parties. They ate fish. They sat on the beach. He told the spiritual people
that they’d missed the point. Now don’t get me wrong, Easter is a beautiful
day, and yes it is about Jesus. But so is making memories as a family. While we
decorated eggs as a family, Jesus was there. While we hunted for the one egg no
one could remember hiding, Jesus was there. While I ate half the mini-snickers
that were supposed to go into the eggs, Jesus was there. While I fixed my
four-year old’s hair with the new bow she received, telling her how much our
Savior loves her, Jesus was there. He was also there when we did our devotions
the week leading up to Easter. He was there when we talked about his sacrifice.
He was there as the tears streamed down on Sunday morning singing “You make
beautiful things out of the dust.” He was there because celebrating his
resurrection means living in the fullness of our life with him. We went on a
hike Sunday afternoon. That was just as spiritual as singing that morning in
church. Why? Because his Presence is in me! That’s what Easter is about. He
came to give us life—His life, in us.
So what do I do with what I’ve read? Do we live in
excess in America? Absolutely. But I have a hard time with messages that tell
us that we should stop spending and give to the starving children in Africa.
You see, five years ago, we moved to Colorado and my husband couldn’t find a
job. There were no jobs. We lived on food stamps. We paid our bills with credit
cards. We knew how bad debt was, but we didn’t have a choice. Then my husband
started a remodeling business. All those materialistic Americans who cared more
about redoing their homes than the poor kept our roof over our heads. They put
food on our table. I don’t know what we would have done if they hadn’t cared
about getting new things for their homes. They could have chosen to give their
money away. But their money saved our life.
So I live with this tension. How do I live my life
as a drink offering poured out to Christ? Does hiding plastic eggs take away
from his sacrifice? If so, then grace must not be as powerful as I thought. Can
I sacrifice a new Easter dress to offer hope to a child living in poverty. Yes
I can, and it’s actually not that difficult. It’s easy for me to give something
up and write a check to a good cause. What truly requires sacrifice is taking
time out of my day to talk with a hurting mom in my son’s class. It costs me
something to expose my kids to “the world” in an effort to bring the love of
Jesus to people hungry and thirsty for life. It’s easy for me to send money to
someone I’ll never meet, but to watch a football game with a family whose
values differ from ours is extremely difficult.
I’m not saying that one thing is more spiritual than
another. All I’m saying is that the finger pointing needs to end. As soon as we
start thinking that we are more spiritual than someone else because we give up
more or do more, then we are no different from the Pharisees.
Yes, Easter is so much more than plastic eggs and
chocolate bunnies. But if even we’re comparing the two, then we don’t realize
just how big Jesus really is. I don’t think his invitation to grace is lessened
by a few jelly beans. And who knows, maybe he can even use a jelly bean or a
plastic egg to show how close he really is.
That’s the Jesus I believe in.
