Why Easter Services Make Me Uncomfortable and Why I’m Inviting You Anyway

Have you heard the one about the pastor’s kid who is suspicious of Easter services? I know. Weird.

As a church-grown adult with 30 Easter services under my belt, you’d think Easter and I would be best buds at this point.  It’s not like the holiday makes me break out in hives, but in the past few years I’ve noticed I’m a little apprehensive about the whole day.  (I’ll try to make my point quickly here so I don’t illicit a concerned phone call from my pastors. 😉  )

In my years of Easter sleuthing, I’ve noticed what you’ve probably noticed yourself: the day rivals even Mother’s Day in it’s picture-perfection.  Bright short sleeve dresses make an appearance each year, whether the weather appropriately acknowledges the holiday or not. Small siblings are dressed in matching ties and bows or perfectly coordinated pastels. (Unless they’re MY children whose accessories at any given time of year might best be described as “fashion rogue”.)

We like to mix patterns and pant holding devices and…squids.  Ahem.

Now that we’ve gotten that adorableness out of the way…where was I again?

Right.  The picture perfect Easter service.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy dressing up in a fun, new outfit as much as the next person.  I promise your Easter suspenders or new high heels aren’t sending me into an anxiety spiral.

Yet I’ve noticed that Easter services are carefully planned and dressed much like the people who attend them.  Everything is meant to be perfect, from the music to the message.  (Not a bad thing, by the way.  I’m not a proponent of the awkward and chaotic Easter service by any means.)

And yet I hold my breath at Easter, as though it doesn’t seem quite like real-life.  Somehow I fear that the message will ring pleasant but hollow, like a plastic egg with no candy.  No matter what church you go to on Easter you’re bound to get some variation of the same message: Jesus came to earth and died because He loved you.  And He rose again in power, defeating sin and death and emptiness.

And it’s a wonderful message- the message I bank my life on actually.

But then Easter’s over and we walk away.  And I wonder: does Easter leave us with more than a vague recollection of lilies and pastels?  Does Easter offer us lasting power?  Maybe I could put it this way: Is Easter Sunday relevant to the Monday that follows?

Because Monday brings us back to real life, real 9-5 jobs, non-pastel kids that occasionally still poop on the floor when they’re old enough to know better.  Monday is messy, everyone is coming off a Cadbury sugar high, and we’re choosing to ignore the “dry clean only” tag on our children’s Easter best…and those are just surface problems.  Monday reminds us of that chronic illness, the loneliness, the divorce, the anxiety we battle.

And suddenly that cross feels a little distant.  The Jesus of Sunday might feel like a once a year, happy thought that, though beautiful, can’t quite access the madness, the mundane, the me of Monday and beyond.

Easter doesn’t make me nervous simply because I don’t look good in yellow.  (I shudder at the thought…)  Easter makes me uncomfortable sometimes because I’m used to everyday Jesus and I don’t want to miss Him in all the perfection of Easter.  I want you to know that the power and love of Easter isn’t confined to a square inch of calendar space.  And Jesus is just as happy to be with you in your ripped jeans and yoga pants as He is in your suit and tie.

Jesus sounds nice on Easter Sunday, but I’ll tell you what… I’m pretty desperate for Him the Monday after.  And I believe there’s nowhere I could go, no child tantrum I could face, no medical issue I confront, no financial hardship I might stumble into, no relational turmoil where Easter Jesus isn’t still there with me.

And it doesn’t mean that my whole life is pinks and pastels and smells like flowers (definitely a no on that last one…showers are a mom luxury and there’s a decidedly un-Easter smell wafting from my bathroom.)

But it does mean I’m never alone.  It does mean I can talk to the God who made me and enjoy Him.  (Really.)  It does mean I have a hope and a purpose and a worth that not even Monday can steal from me.

The beauty of Easter is precisely it’s ability to impact every other day of my life. 

And though the message of God might feel packaged or plastic to us sometimes, I realize that we really do need Easter.  I need Easter.  I need it so that I don’t start taking my everyday Jesus for granted, forgetting His sacrifice or His power over my worst.  I need it so I can remember God’s vast love for me.

Maybe you need it for the same reason.  Or maybe you need Easter because you’re not actually convinced that Jesus is there for your everyday and you’re starting to get weary.  You’re just hoping you’ll get a taste of something real.

Either way…here’s that invitation I promised: If you’re weary, if you’re alone, if you’re hurting, if you’re joyful…I hope you’ll take a chance on Jesus and show up to meet Him.  You don’t have to be in a church to meet God, but it’s not a bad place to start.  I go to Hope Church in East Hampton CT and we have three services this year (Sat night and 2 on Sunday.)  I invite you to join me there (I’ll even where jeans and a t-shirt if that makes you feel less awkward.)   [Click the image below for more info or to sign up on Facebook.]

But if you miss this Easter…I promise God will still be there to meet you the week or even the day after right where you are, even in the middle of you so-not-Easter-approved mess.