Easter Rest

Some churchy/spiritual thoughts this Easter weekend. ⁣
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It’s starter feeding day, and I’m getting my starter ready to make some sourdough hot cross buns for Easter. It is fitting to be working with a dough that requires so much rest time on this holy Saturday— this liminal space between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. ⁣
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With the help of seminary professors and friends, it’s come to mean so much to me that Jesus laid in the tomb for a whole day. He and his followers literally rested, sitting in sorrow and uncertainty after bearing witness to traumatic death and injustice— at a prophet and a Savior publicly executed by political and religious leaders. ⁣
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It’s an important day for anyone who has been swept off their feet by death or trauma. It’s an important invitation to say, “We don’t know why this happened. It sucks. It’s hard. It’s painful and not right.” ⁣
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My favorite part of the Easter story has always been the quiet of the “very early” morning on the first day of the week. The quiet activity of women bringing spices to care for Jesus’ body is just one of so many small moments of care-taking between big climactic events during this Holy Week story. Small moments of laying cloaks, setting the table, washing feet, wiping tear- and sweat-stained faces. ⁣
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Many of us who observe Easter are grieving the many ways in which typically celebrate this triumphant day: passing the peace, trumpets and fanfare, large family gatherings. ⁣
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But as I knead dough and watch it rise today, I’m feeling a tug to re-imagine Easter; to be grounded in the quiet mystery that it brings when we let it. ⁣
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Maybe this sabbath rest is a point that Jesus was trying to make all along: that the hectic reality of our lives and society has us stuck in death-dealing narratives— narratives of exploitative power, greed, and endless productivity. Stop with all that, we’re being told. ⁣
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Maybe a part of this whole at-home pandemic experience (for those of us who can stay at home) is how we were meant to celebrate Easter all along.⁣
Sunday’s coming, but Saturday invites us to linger, too.

Eva