The other night I dreamed my dad and I were cuddled up on a chaise lounge, our shoulders touching, our legs stretched in front of us, the same way we were in the hospital before his first brain surgery, in the height of Covid when only one visitor could come to the hospital a day. I was very aware that it was impermanent — our cuddle. I can’t remember if I knew he was dead or if I knew he was going to die, but either way, I was happy, and sad. I knew it was only for a moment.
Surprisingly, I didn’t wake up sad. Only grateful. It was good to be with him, even if I can’t remember if we talked or not. I only remember our legs stretched out, side by side.
I had a dream a few months after my friend Ali died back in 2015. That dream came with words. I was preparing for Ace’s first surgery, and I was terrified. In the dream Ali did what she normally did in our life as friends: she hugged me, told me she knew I was worried about Ace, and literally prayed for me and my baby with her arms around me. My dead friend prayed for me. I woke up thinking of all the other things Ali should be praying for in her afterlife! Her three boys, for example. Her husband. But, in that dream, she cared about me.
How do we talk about Easter? The truth is, reader, I have a much easier time talking about the sad days: the Ash Wednesdays, the Good Fridays. I’m a melancholy type all the way through. Celebrating is something I’ve learned to do, but dang. Sometimes it’s hard for me. Today we’re supposed to wake up and remember (believe, even!) that all things are being made new. That the Holy One who was killed by the powers of the empire isn’t defeated. That there is something in this universe more powerful than Death itself.
Today is a day for the LADIES. Who finds Jesus? Girls! Who does he speak to first? Girls! Who preaches his resurrection to the dudes despairing (and hiding out)? Girls!
Jesus shows up to the women first, and I’m holding that closely. There’s a reason to trust the women, of course. The ones who bring the myrrh to wrap his dead body, to prepare it for burial? Those are the ones who know how to grieve. Jesus comes to the sad ones, first. He could have gone to the terrified fellas hiding out. But fear is not the same as grief. And, this is just my theory, but I think the women were more ready to receive the good news, because they’d already let the bad news live in their bodies. Grief prepares us for joy in a way nothing else can.
What does Easter mean for us? Richard Rohr explains in his book The Universal Christ, that on Holy Saturday in Eastern Orthodox liturgy, the people say, “Hell reigns, but not forever.” Eastern iconography, “in contrast with the Western images, which emphasize flames and torture – often pictures Jesus pulling souls out of hell, not thrusting them into it.” When the Eastern church “cheers and shouts, ‘Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!’...the underlying message is that we are too!” I like to think about this on Easter. I’m not a fan of talking about hell, but each week in the Apostles Creed I say it out loud, that Jesus descended to hell, and on the third day, rose again.
As my faith has transformed over the years so has my view of hell. I believe that one of the things we’re celebrating on this day is the fact that hell has been undone. It’s unnecessary now. The good news of Jesus is actually good for everyone.
What do I mean by that? Rohr summarizes Pope Benedict, who explains that if Christ actually did descend into hell during that time of death in the ground, “he could have done nothing but undo the place; he would have stopped its functioning, just as he did when he ‘harrowed’ the money changers in the temple. Hell and Christ cannot coexist . . . We must see Jesus as triumphing over hell and emptying it out.”
Emptying it out. Rescuing everyone. Not just the ones who believe the right things, or were raised in the *correct* religion. Not just the ones who make a profession of faith or follow a specific ritual before they die. Everyone.
This, friends, is the kind of good news I can get behind. What if when we say that Jesus took Death once and for all, and brought Life back to humanity, we actually believe that life is available for all of us?
What if death has no sting because, truly, it has been undone? “I am telling you something that has been a secret,” Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:51, “We are not all going to die, but we shall all be changed.”
Today, when you hear the first instruments blast the Easter music, wherever you find yourself, I pray that you imagine One who triumphs over every hell we have made for ourselves on this earth, and every hell we fear for ourselves and each other. One who stands up, shakes off the grave clothes, and reaches down into the hell that is no longer necessary. It’s been undone.
Here’s to hugs and prayers from friends long-gone, a quiet sit with my dad, and a God who undoes Death with a capital D. Here’s to a bigger resurrection than we ever thought possible.
A Slow Practice
Let’s imagine together one of my favorite scenes from Easter, Jesus making his newly refurbished self visible to Mary Magdalene, showing up to prepare his dead body and finding nothing but burial cloths and a couple of angelic beings (nbd) in the tomb.
Let’s imagine this story together, and find ourselves in it. Take a deep breath with me:
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
First let’s read this passage from John 15, verses 1 through 18 together:
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew,[b] “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
Can you imagine with me that you’re Mary, a real life friend who is broken-hearted? Not only has your teacher been murdered, but all the hopes you had in his teaching, all the dreams you’d carried of what his growing following would become has been washed away. You’re on your way to do what women have always done, prepare the dead, care for the body of someone you loved.
Can you pick a moment of the story above to sit with? Maybe you’re drawn to the fear and sadness Mary felt when she saw her teacher’s body missing. Maybe you connect with that moment of tears. Or maybe you want to imagine yourself completely out of sorts in the garden, running into someone you don’t recognize, but who fully knows you. Imagine Jesus saying your name.
Take some time to sit with this moment. Go back to the passage again if you want. And each time, allow yourself to be in the story. When Jesus sees you, when he says your name, Jesus is offering you resurrection. What does that mean for you today?
Close with this prayer: Risen One, you say my name because you know me. Show me all the life I’m invited into this Easter. Open my eyes to see the Really Real.
This newsletter is also available today as a podcast. Find it here or wherever you get your podcasts!