Grown-Up Easter

There are certain events in my life that always bring tears. Kids singing. Silent Night on Christmas Eve. Comeback stories of people facing the odds to accomplish what the world told them they couldn't. (I’m looking at you, America’s Got Talent.) I get overwhelmed with emotion and it leaks straight out my face.

Jesus’ crucifixion has always been one of those things, ever since I was a child. I stood in front of our entire congregation in the middle of the children’s choir with tears streaming down my face while I was supposed to be singing “Watch the Lamb.” I cried at youth group when they showed us “The Judas Project,” a cheesy 1990s rendition of what it would be like for Jesus to have lived in the 20th century. I choked my way through “The Passion of the Christ” and I quickly turn my face away whenever I see any glimpse of a video clip pop up on the screens at church. I can not do it. I can not physically do it.

Sometimes I wonder if it is just a physical reaction that I’ve taught my face to do. To leak uncontrollably at the first sign of someone in a robe. I’ve tried controlling it but just end up with mascara on my cheeks instead of my eyelashes. (Because somehow it always sneaks up on me. This is why I often have a kleenex hidden in my sleeve like a grandmother.)

Sitting at the kitchen table while they ate their lunch, I just read the Good Friday & Easter Sunday stories to my girls from The Jesus Storybook Bible. And of course, it happened again. The streaming tears. Those words.

“Father!” Jesus cried. “Is there any other way to get your children back? To heal their hearts? To get rid of the poison?”

But Jesus knew - there was no other way.

God was going to pour into Jesus’ heart all the sadness and brokenness in people’s hearts. He was going to pour into Jesus’ body all the sickness in people’s bodies. God was going to have to blame his son for everything that had gone wrong.

It partly stems from the guilt I still have tied to my childhood Christianity. I didn’t grow up Catholic and Christianity wasn't presented in a fire and brimstone way, but when you learn that someone else is going to take the burden of everything you ever have and ever will do wrong, a heaviness naturally follows. At least it did for me. A sorrow. Guilt. Confusion. Of how anyone could ever love me that much because even as a goody two shoes kid who followed all the rules, I knew that I purposefully disobey God. I hurt his feelings and made him sad. I played a part in nailing Jesus to that cross and putting him through the pain and humiliation and suffering. (Thank you, Ray Boltz. I will never think of my shortcomings again without hearing the lyrics of “Feel the Nails.”)

But now, as an adult, those words mean even more. It’s not just our sin that he took on. It was our pain. brokenness. mental illness. physical illness. sadness. depression. anxiety. confusion. shame. guilt. unforgiveness. bitterness. self-loathing. He didn't just take on our sins and the ways we mess up, he took on all of the mess of this broken, broken world we live in. The mass shootings, broken families, suicides, discrimination, violence and hatred. The brokenness and pain of this world. All of it. All of the things that God never intended when He created us to begin with. All of the things that sin ushered in. All of the things that are a result of separation from Him. Jesus took it on. ALL. OF. IT. And that overwhelms me like nothing else can.

“If you were really the son of God, you could just climb down off that cross!” they said.

And of course, they were right. Jesus could have just climbed down. Actually, he could have just said a word and made it all stop. Like when he healed that little girl. And stilled the storm. And fed 5,000 people.

But Jesus stayed.

You see, they didn’t understand. It wasn't the nails that kept Jesus there. It was love.

It was love. LOVE. Knowing how increasingly messed up this world, our cultures, our societies would get, He chose to save us because He loved us even more. Knowing every disgusting choice I would ever make in life, every action I would take that would dishonor others or make Him want to turn His face away, He loved me even more. In my inadequacies and flaws, He chose me. To be with him forever instead of keeping me at an arm’s length separation.

Accepting how much God loves me is something that I struggle with pretty regularly. I know it in my head and I believe it for everyone else. I know that it’s true but because the weight of Jesus’ sacrifice is so magnificent, the logical part of my brain can’t process it fully. I can’t look at my daughters’ faces and even pretend that I would sacrifice them for anything or anyone. Ever. It’s unfathomable. But it’s exactly what God did. It’s exactly what Jesus chose to do. For me. For you. For anyone who is accepting of the love that he offers us, the same love that kept him on that cross.

No, these tears are not automated. They’re not a trained response. They’re the outpouring of overwhelm in my spirit. Of the love in my heart that I know is there even on the days I can’t feel it or believe it. It makes me want to run out and live a perfect life and never sin again when I understand the magnitude of what he did for me. But I also know I will never be able to earn it, in public or in private, no matter how hard I strive. No matter the good work I do or the people I introduce to him. I can never do enough to earn his love because there is no earning something that has already been freely given. Perfection isn’t something that God ever expected of us. That’s an impossible expectation we put on ourselves. No wonder it’s so heavy to try and climb out from under. Perfection was never the expectation.

Whatever the thing is that’s blocking you from receiving His love, the thing you’ve done, the things you’ve believed, the thoughts you’ve built your life on or the feelings you can’t seem to let go of: they’re not too big to be covered in His love. It’s not that He will forgive you or will choose to cover you in grace. It’s that He already has. We just have to choose to accept it. Some of us know exactly what it is that we need to surrender in our own hearts before we can let his love in. Some of us can’t put on our finger on the why, we just know that God feels distant. Ask him and be ready to receive the answer. Humbly. Because the answer he gives is often not the answer we’re expecting and it can be a painful jolt to realize a truth about yourself that you were unaware of.

Pick up all your inadequacies and feel the weight of Good Friday. Recognize and remember what Jesus’ sacrifice really means. It’s good for us to look him in the face and feel the feelings even if it brings on all the ugly crying.

But let it transfer to Sunday. Let the overwhelm of burden transform into your acceptance of his love. Easter means Jesus is fully alive.

He’s waiting for you to be, too.