Easter Mysteries

Last Thursday night at our church’s tenebrae service I sang sorrowing hymns with the congregation and choir, hymns that commemorate the suffering and death of Jesus. On Sunday morning I sang with them the joyful Easter hymns of resurrection. I’ve been singing these hymns for so many years that I know all their verses by heart. The danger with knowing a song by heart, of course, is that the words can get lost in the music. And the same is true of the Easter story: familiarity can swallow meaning.

I have heard this story every year for as long as I can remember. I know it so well I no longer appreciate its shock value. I say that Jesus was crucified, died and buried and on the third day was raised from the dead but forget that it’s a declaration that makes no sense. By all rational measures, it’s absurd, (as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians.)

Added to that, the risen Christ is a very mysterious figure. The gospels are clear about only one thing: that He rose from the dead. After that, the story gets pretty hazy. People don’t seem to recognize Jesus at first. He appears unexpectedly and vanishes without warning. Even his friends, who you’d think would know him the instant they saw him, have no idea who he is. They believe he’s a stranger until they’re cued in by his voice or his actions.

The truth is I don’t fully understand what we celebrate at Easter. I rejoice in a faith that is, by its very nature, beyond understanding. I sing the glorious, triumphant hymns. I recite the familiar liturgy: Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! without being stunned.

But I should be stunned. I should be reeling in my pew. The hair on the back of my neck should be standing up straight. I should feel as if the world has been picked up and shaken. I should feel as if my life has turned inside out.

Because it has.