Welcome to Brothers and Sisters, the weekly meetup for prayer* and community at Daily Kos. We put an asterisk on pray* to acknowledge that not everyone uses conventional religious language, but may want to share joys and concerns, or simply take solace in a meditative atmosphere. Anyone who comes in the spirit of mutual respect, warmth and healing is welcome.
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought perfumed oils so that they could anoint Jesus. Very early, just after sunrise on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb.
They said to one another, "Who will roll back the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" When they looked, they found that the huge stone had been rolled back. On entering the tomb, they found a young person sitting at the right, in a white robe. They were very frightened, but the youth reassured them: "Do not be amazed! You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, the One who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here. See the place where they laid him. Now go and tell the disciples and Peter, 'Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee, where you will see him just as he told you.'"
They made their way out and fled from the tomb bewildered and trembling; but they said nothing to anyone, because they were so afraid.
Mark 16:1-8
Easter has been a strange day for me for many years now. This year was no different than past years, in that I encountered something alienating in worship on Easter. A woman rose to say "Hurrah for daffodils! Hurrah for dandelions! Hurrah for renewal." In Quaker worship, it's appropriate to let silence follow a ministry. Instead, a man, not a regular attender, rose, and bellowed a biblical Psalm. The woman who spoke of nature's springtime renewal did not seem disturbed, but I felt the moment as jarring, and another incident of Easter going awry. I felt the patriarchy shouting down the Goddess, a long sad history repeated on a day of renewal. I let the moment pass, returned to the silence, and gathered what Spirit I could from it.
Suzanne Vega and the Gospel of Mark show me different ways of thinking about Easter, where moving into new life is moving into deeper ambiguity, not a triumph that is about defeating something. Vega speaks in the voice of a boy who sees a wooden horse come to life but does not doubt his own mortality. He asks us to tell of the miraculous coming-to-life after his death. Biblical scholars posit that the Gospel of Mark originally ended with the verse of the women saying nothing, and thus concludes the Good News of the Gospel of Mark.
It's these ambiguities and this refusal to tidy everything up that give me access to Easter in a real way. It ceases to be a denial of our basic finitude, placing our hope in the reversal of the natural flow of life and death, but becomes a deeper engagement with finding ways to keep affirming life in the face of its fragility. It's not happy or joyous. But it is resilient.
In any case, that's my experience. I know for others, it should be a day of renewed energy, joy, embracing the Spring, or trusting in the promise of resurrection. For you, I offer some cheer from Handel's Resurrection oratorio: