On Wanting to Fix Easter

I know it’s Easter, but I am imagining the disciples on that dark tragic Saturday.  The day when all hope was gone.  The day that they hid in holes and prayed the Romans wouldn’t find them.  The day they were grieving, scared, and hopeless.

Have you ever lost a job?  Lost a loved one?  Been shocked by a sudden and tragic turn of events you could never have anticipated?

All these things had happened to these guys yesterday.

Can you imagine the pit in their stomachs?  The waves of nausea that often accompany grief can make us vomit our last meal.  We may not even want to eat for days.

Can you imagine how desperately some of them must have wept?  They had devoted their lives to the purpose of following this man to the throne of Israel, and now he was dead.  Jesus was not merely a leader to them, he was a friend.  They loved him.  And they had watched from a distance as he was brutally beaten and murdered.

Can you imagine how empty their lives must have seemed?  Most people want a purpose to devote their lives to.  We want to plant a seed and watch it grow.  We pursue careers not merely for the money, but for the sense of satisfaction we can gain from a job well done.  We raise children in hopes that they will launch out from our homes and establish new homes where they too will serve and love others.  They had each chosen the career of following Jesus and committing to his purpose.  And now his body was growing cold.

 

I am a guy who wants to fix what is broken.  Broken people, broken hearts, broken lives.  All of these things cause me to ache.  It gives me a sense of purpose to fix these things when they are broken.

If I were there on that saturday, I would like to think I would be able to say “This can’t be fixed.”  I would like to think I would simply grieve.  Something tells me I might try to rally the troops.  I can imagine myself if I were one of the disciples saying, “Hey, Pete, tell you what we need to do…”  But even as I type those words I wonder just what I would suggest.  I can’t come up with anything.  I can’t develop a plan to combat the Roman troops, or the Jewish leaders of that day.

No, I would probably hide out with the rest of them, trembling, scared, and hoping the people who killed Jesus didn’t find me.  Because as badly as I want to, I am utterly incapable of fixing heartache.  I am helpless to patch up a broken life.  I am no good at restoring to those who are weeping all the joy and beauty that can be robbed by living in this fragile and fallen world that we live in.

And can I be honest with you?  That reality kills me.

It doesn’t literally kill me of course, but Oh my God how badly I wish I could restore what is broken.

How I so desperately want to find the words to make the pain go away.  How I so badly wish I could come up with the combination of actions that would make everyone just breathe a sigh of relief.

But that power is beyond me.  I can’t do it.

It is so painfully humbling to have to say, “I don’t know.”

It hurts so bad to admit that I am unable to solve the problem.

But I think that’s just the point.

The good news about Easter forces us to acknowledge all of our insufficiencies, weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and weaknesses.

It is devastatingly painful.

There are people who simply want to have colorful eggs and flowers on Easter.  We want to pretend that all is right in the world because of Easter.

We want to avoid the agonizing reality that Easter should force us to face.

That we are utterly helpless.  That we cannot fix what is broken.  That there is heartache in us and around us that you and I will never be able to fix.

I want us to enjoy Easter.  But even more, I want us to weep for the reality that Jesus wept for.  That there are graves still with bodies in them.  That there are jail cells with children in them.  That there are cancer wards with patients in them.  That there are rehabs with addicts in them.  That there are homes without parents in them.  That there are wombs without children in them.

There is so much broken in the world that we live in that we cannot fix.

There is so much broken in you and me that we cannot fix.

Weep for this.  Feel the helplessness of it.  Feel the heartache.

And only then, remember that the grave is empty.

Our helplessness and loss is not the end of the story.  The empty grave promises us that there is a God who is making all things new.

This is where our story ends.

Hope in Easter, but please don’t skip over your need for it.