I had no idea Easter was approaching until I saw a facebook post about Good Friday. That was last week. Today is Monday; Easter came and went without much fan fair at all in my home yesterday.
Easter did not come and go so quietly when I was a child. It meant my sister and I waking up and finding Easter baskets beside our beds. My mother always made sure mine included a chocolate bunny because she knew I loved anything and everything chocolate. After we pillaged our plastic covered baskets full of enamel eroding, sugar-filled sweets, we went to the front yard and hunted for well-hidden Easter eggs. It was all very festive. My mother made a really big deal out of it, but she made a really big deal out of every holiday, even President's Day, and every birthday was celebrated with all the jubilee of the Fourth of July, with cakes, candles, flashing cameras, decorations and even occasional fireworks and then the grand finale concluded at a restaurant where my mother always recruited the waiters and staff to sing, Happy Birthday, to the guest of honor.
So Easter wasn't all that big a deal in comparison to other holidays and birthdays. We never attended church. As a matter of fact, I was in my mid-twenties before I learned that Easter had anything to do with church, or that church and anything to do with Easter. My wife at that time had seen fit to reform me of my pagan upbringing and promptly woke me early one Sunday morning with the surprise announcement that "we" were going to church. It wasn't Easter, it was about two or three months before; but she, with the help of the Good Lord, I assume, saw to it that my churchgoing became a weekly event.
And when Easter rolled around, I even talked a friend of mine into attending church services, too. He came to our house so he could ride with us. Before we left, we sit in the living room and talked. He said he had grown up in church but had not gone in quite sometime. Out of curiosity, I asked him why churches celebrated Easter. He chuckled and laughed, thinking I had made a joke. But then I asked again, "No seriously, why is Easter such a big deal to churches?"
He stared at me in disbelief, his mouth agape. "You really don't know, do you?" Then he proceeded to tell me that churches celebrate the resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday.
I felt really stupid. It was one of my best Forrest Gump moments.
The years passed, I raised two children with annual Easter baskets, egg hunts and church services. Then I got divorced, my children became adults and now have children of their own. Somewhere along the way I realized that my first wife, the taskmaster who had made me get up on Sunday mornings and go to church, was gone; I no longer had to adhere such a strange tradition, not on Easter or any other time. I should probably add that I always thought Easter services were a bit strange. I was never comfortable attending them. They seemed like such a gimmick, a put on. And even the pastor always preached about the "Sunday morning glories" who only blossomed twice a year, at Christmas and Easter. In others words, he politely called them hypocrites when they were not there to add money to his purse.
I've been remarried now for nearly two decades. My wife and I attended church for a while; I suppose there was a time when it was beneficial for us. But there was a lot bad that came from it, too. Maybe we were both becoming adults together and seeing the church charades for what they actually are, but that's another story that'd be best covered in another blog, or a book. I dare say, it would be a scandalous book.
But getting back to my Easter story, it's been several years now since I attended a church. And I really have no recollection of the last Easter service I sat through. And I felt no need or desire to go yesterday, but I did think about my grandkids, and how I didn't get them a basket with a chocolate bunny, and how I wasn't there to watch them hunt for eggs. I felt a bit guilty about that. Childhood only lasts for so long and then the magic is gone forever. My mother tried her best to hold on to that magic. She never attended Easter services that I know of. All that grown-up pomp and pageantry and women desperately trying to out-fashion one another were far too removed from glistening child-eyed wonderment for her.
But I've got to admit that even the secular celebration of Easter seemed odd to me when I was a little boy. I remember distinctly asking my mother several times who Peter Cottontail was, and being even more confused by her rabbling answer. So there is no conclusion to what I'm writing about here, no right or wrong as to whether or not I should've gone to church yesterday or been there with my grandkids to hunt Easter eggs, assuming that they did. I'd like for them to keep the magic of childhood alive in their hearts as long as they can. If it takes believing in Peter Cottontail hopping down the bunny trail to make their hearts thump a little faster, then so be it. But it is a bit sad that Easter felt just like any other day to me yesterday. So maybe this is a confession of sorts. It felt akin to a funeral as I lay in bed last night and realized my childhood days are gone forever. And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd been better off to have followed my mother's example and never attended Easter services or joined a church. Even on into her 70s, her eyes still glistened every time she spoke about the Easter Bunny. I think she believed in him with all her heart.
I wish I could.
No comments:
Post a Comment