HOW DOES ONE celebrate the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ while crippled with fear?
There have been a handful of times in my life of faith that have been filled with sadness. One of those was in November when, according to research, 81 percent of white evangelical Protestants and 52 percent of white Catholics—enthusiastically or not—decided to vote for a president with a platform hostile to the teachings of Jesus. A debilitating fear and despair began burrowing into the marrow of my bones. It’s hard to await the next executive order or policy change or nomination that will instill fear in my community.
As a health-care chaplain and student in public health, I’m keenly aware of the impact repeal of the Affordable Care Act would have on access to basic health care and in the lives of people I’ve worked with in hospitals from coast to coast. With the ACA, a young cancer survivor will still be eligible for insurance; thousands do not have to worry about “lifetime caps” on benefits, and will not have to file for bankruptcy because their premiums skyrocketed. I have sat at the bedside of thousands who have fought to survive their illness. Now they are targeted.
Alone, it’s easy to become lost in the distortion brought on by hate rhetoric. I need to connect to something with deeper roots than my fear.
In my early 20s, I felt disappointed and frustrated with the church; it didn’t seem able to hold the depth of my pain. But I found the beautiful rootedness of the liturgy and now rely on the rhythms of church life as a counterbalance to confusion.
Eastertide is a season that embodies the importance of solidarity in the Christian faith. Jesus’ suffering is rooted in God’s willingness to endure humiliation and crucifixion for the sake of solidarity with humanity. Our liberation is bound to God’s willingness to join us in suffering.
We cannot forget that while the empty tomb represented a larger transformation, the Roman Empire remained entrenched in power. Or that Christ’s hands still wore the nail marks that Thomas reached to touch.
We celebrate Easter as a story of triumph over death, but the point of that death and resurrection is to allow us to persevere in the struggle of life. We celebrate the resurrection while we participate in the work of Christ. Catholic author John Dear wrote, “We opt to be with Jesus, to serve Jesus, to accompany Jesus among the world’s poor in the nonviolent struggle for justice.”
We engage in the work of the people, the liturgy, that is embodied in acts of solidarity and resistance. The transforming hope of the resurrection reminds us that “we hope for what we do not see” even while the Spirit of God “intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:25-26).
The Easter liturgy should be an insurrection of hope. The liturgy of the church needs to translate into acts of solidarity and connection with our neighbors. We need to lend our voices and our bodies in acts that embody hope. I, and we, need the church. We need to know that the person sitting next to us can offer a hand of comfort or a shout for freedom when our hearts break and our voices falter.
Jesus has shown us the way. It is not safe. We may experience threats or fear that shake us to our core. This Easter, I need the work of the people of God to be a transformative force in me and in the world. Alleluia.
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