What’s so ordinary about Easter?

by Doug Koop
Easter Sunday is just another day at church for a lot of Christians – a habit. For countless others, it’s one of the two times per year they actually attend a service – a tradition or duty.

I find it more than passing strange that despite the best efforts of the faithful throughout the ages, the story that launched the most successful religion in history can lose its punch in the retelling. Hard to imagine, but it’s true. I know. I’m that guy.

The year I observed Easter most meaningfully I was studying in a city far from home. For a whole variety of reasons, the longer pacing of the church calendar came alive to me, placing the momentous day of resurrection into the broader context of what preceded it. Metaphorically speaking, I ground the wheat and baked the bread and prepared the whole meal rather than just showing up to sample the dessert.

So, that year I lived the disciplines of Lent for 40 days with acute longing for the celebration of resurrection. Palm Sunday came with its bittersweet foretastes of glory and suffering. I even identified with the young donkey that carried the “king” through the throng – a being created for a purpose.

That year, for the first time, I attended a Maundy Thursday ceremony and was deeply moved by the beautiful, simple, sombre service that sent us quietly into the dark night of betrayal knowing death was imminent. An innocent man was about to suffer brutal agonies – and apparently it had something to do with me. I felt awful.

— photo courtesy Canadian Badlands Passion Play
Actors gather to see the risen Saviour at the Canadian Badlands Passion Play, rated one of the Top 100 Events in North America.
This year’s performances run July 15-24. For more information check their website at www.canadianpassionplay.com.

On Good Friday I went to a church where we reflected on the terrible events of a day 2,000 or so years ago when Jesus was hung up for public display on a crude execution device, a difficult and disgraceful death. This is a hurting scene. Injustice carried the day. The unrighteous ruled. Mercy seemed absent.

“And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts” (Luke 23:46).

The souls of Jesus’ followers were devastated by his death like the debris-strewn aftermath of an earthquake; their hopes drowned like fishermen heading for harbour when the tsunami comes washing in. They were done.

They did manage to get Jesus buried according to their rituals, but of what to do next, they had no clue.

I didn’t know what to do either when I left that Good Friday service. The cross represents the abortion of the Saviour. Death. Lost life. Hope gone. There was no joy in my walk, no hint of resurrection in my experience. I had no classes to attend, no appointments to keep. I was in a solemn mood, a deep melancholy nigh unto depression.
And so, like the people who witnessed Jesus’ death, I went home and waited.

Then Saturday came. There is a day (the Jewish Sabbath) that stands sturdily between the crucifixion we remember and the resurrection we cherish. What about that middle day? What do we do with it? The disciples stuck with their rituals. “On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment” (Luke 23:56).

For me too it was a time of waiting for something –anything. A sorrowing stillness settles in when justice is betrayed, righteousness ruptured and innocence defiled. Even a group of young boys will be silent in the immediate aftermath of some childish act of brutality like tossing a wounded bird to a hungry cat. No dreams were alive this day, only an abiding sense of loss. No hopes. My fatigue felt bottomless.

Waiting is difficult, and waiting without hope is a despondent dance with despair. Like miners trapped deep in the bowels of the earth, the only hope of salvation – of continuing life – depends on a rescue from above.

And sometimes – oh, wonderful sometimes – it does indeed happen. Last year the world watched as 33 Chilean miners emerged from the dark depths after spending more than two months underground. Their first response on seeing daylight again was to cling to their loved ones and give thanks to God.

Why did people watch with such eager anticipation? Why did God get so much credit for the resurfacing of this amazing new lease on life? Triumph over death.

The miners’ salvation is somewhat akin to the miracle we remember at Easter. Somewhat. Jesus rose from the dead with no help from his fellow human beings. His resurrection was the power of God on mighty display. He abandoned the tomb and rejoined His followers.

Humanity has been celebrating our salvation through Him ever since. God promises to be present to all humanity for all time. Our Saviour is among us. This is no ordinary story. It’s life. Life everlasting.

Doug Koop is editorial director of Fellowship for Print Witness, publishers of the ChristianWeek family of newspapers. www.christianweek.org.