We know that Jesus’ Resurrection makes it possible for us to go to Heaven after we die, but supposedly our being Baptized makes it possible for us to have access to some kind of newness of life right here, right now. Our drudging through Lent and our celebration of Easter is supposed to be more than just a remembering that resurrection is possible after death, but how often do we experience a real and lasting “newness” after each year’s Easter parties?
The truth is, especially in our families, the only newness of life we typically experience is when a new child is born. Even then, we quickly work to get into a groove, a sense of normal, daily flow necessary for survival. We all subconsciously fight hard against newness in our lives because newness takes a lot of energy, and we’re barely managing as it is. However, at the same time, we
deeply crave it. We yearn for it and even fantasize about it. It’s what keeps us addicted to the news and to scrolling endlessly on our phones instead of spending time with the same spouse and kids we see every day. We want so badly to taste newness, and we resent the normal rhythm of our everyday lives, yet we intensely fear the unknown, so we settle for temporary, surface novelty, and at Easter we celebrate some far off newness that we’ll experience at some point after we’re dead.
Ultimately, Lent is one giant risk. We willingly choose to undergo forty days of suffering with the hope that it will make some kind of difference. Whether or not it actually makes a difference is usually missed in our panting for and eventual indulgence in whatever it was we gave up once Easter finally gets here, and we’re just relieved that Lent won’t come around for another year. But,
we willingly take that risk each year because we desire a newness that we intuitively know only God can provide.
The hardest thing about the newness that God promises us is that we have no control over it: we can’t picture it, we can’t pre-analyze it, and we can’t make it happen through our efforts and according to our timing. The only thing we can do is offer what is old, limited, tired, and unfulfilling, and to be honest, this will take everything we’ve got. The reason this is so hard is that we can’t control how God will respond. Will He give us what we need if we offer Him what we’ve been leaning on for all this time? We know that what we’re doing is not working, but at least we have
something rather than
nothing, and if God doesn’t come through, if He just stays quiet and motionless in the tomb rather than bursting forth in glory, then we will have wasted our time and energy. So, do we believe in the promise of Easter?
The best and most important place to start is at home. Do I hold my kids at arm’s length because I’m afraid their demands for deep and lasting attention are going to kill me? (How’s that working out for me?) Do I most often expect my spouse to be just the source of comfort and support I need to survive what is such a difficult life? (How’s that working out for me?) But, if I let go of survival mode and, for the sake of my spouse and children, entrust my needs to God, will I be consumed and left empty and hopelessly exhausted? Or, will God respond in the same way He did to Christ’s total offering, painful as it was?
If I leave my phone in the back while I am at home with the kids, will I be able to keep up my image as a reliable employee/friend? If I take time to pray with my spouse instead of immediately starting a movie or surfing on my phone once the kids are asleep, will it be a waste of energy, and how will he/she respond to my spiritual inadequacy? If I make spending time with my children and spouse more of a priority than the mounting household chores and social obligations, will I lose my sense of self-worth? There is only one way to find out.