Contemplating the Empty Tomb

It’s an odd day here in Southern California. No one is out and about. It’s raining and has been for a few days. Everyone is under “Safer at Home” protocols. Easter is a few days away. Life just feels… off right now, for obvious and not so obvious reasons.

For many of us, Spring is a time of renewal and rebirth. Growing up in Northeast Ohio, Spring was heralded by the breaking of the flowers through the earth; bright colors showing their faces to welcome new life. The time of Easter, regardless of your religious affiliation or background, is a time of new life and new beginnings.

And yet…

We are scared. We are at home. We paused our lives and are living in an odd, liminal space— a place between. We are holding ourselves between the past and the future. We are stuck; many of us without paychecks, without relief, without guidance. Many of us are waiting for life to begin again. Some of us have more than earned a Spring Break as we care for the sick and dying or put our lives on the line for others to have bread and eggs.

Growing up in the Church, Easter was a time of new outfits, bright pastel colors and the best of our Sunday Best. It was a time of Triumph when Jesus defeated Death and saved us for new Life. That feels… wrong now. Empty. A promise unfulfilled.

And yet…

We are all in crisis now. Nothing that we could count on before is solid, and we want some sense of normal, even if it’s not a return to what was (and it likely won’t be). Our world has broken, and if we are honest, we are confused, scared and a little lost. And that is ok.

It’s ok to mourn the loss. It’s ok to feel off; anxious one day and depressed the next. Grief is a difficult thing, and no one does it “wrong.” It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to be angry. It’s ok to despair. It’s ok to be joyful in the day today, and to laugh and find comfort in what life can be lived now.

And yet…

Crisis allows us to look at things differently. It allows us to see things with new eyes. The promise of Easter is the promise of Spring: renewal and new life. The rain that mourns our collective loss is also the rain that washes us clean, that fuels new growth and allows us to rise anew.

That’s the story of Easter. A life lost. Buried. And then… an empty tomb.

Maybe that’s where we all are currently, witnessing an empty tomb. We don’t know what will happen next. We don’t know what is to come.

And yet…

The empty tomb isn’t the end of the story. It won’t be the end of our collective story. I hope it’s not the end of yours.

This Easter, as we stay home, take the time to mourn, and know that a new day is coming. Our lives, your life, doesn’t need to go back to what it was before COVID-19. Each of us is at a different place in our process. Just as it’s ok to mourn what was lost, it’s ok to yearn for what comes next. Who do you want to be, when the new dawn comes? As much as I am sad, and worried and concerned, I am hopeful, and eager to see who we all will become. Because we are all suffering now. And yet…