Shortly after this column appears in the wee hours of Sunday morning, crowds will gather and fill churches for Easter Mass. Bright colors, little kids dolled up in their Sunday best, families filling pews that sit vacant most of the year. A joyous occasion.
I have always struggled with Easter.
It has nothing to do with the Christmas/Easter Christians. I believe God lives in your heart and not a building of brick and mortar. I am glad faith continues to live inside them throughout the year and carry them back to their parishes and places of worship, if only on occasion.
Likewise, I love the colors and festive mood. I grew up with dyed Easter eggs, woven baskets, cellophane straw and oversized chocolate rabbits. Those are cherished memories.
It is the message I have always had difficulty coming to terms with: Christ has risen.
I am versed in and understand the liturgical meaning. After dying for the sins of the world, Christ rose again on the third day and ascended into heaven. It is the triumph of Christ over death.
I have simply felt the symbolism too self-serving and too fantastical. He died and rose and washed away all the sins we have ever committed or will commit. In my heart, I guess I do not like getting off the hook so easily.
