When Celebration Doesn't Come Easily

Tomorrow is Christmas, a time of joy and celebration, yet as I scroll down my Facebook newsfeed, I see article after article about imperfect lives, about loss, about grief. I think of families I know who are navigating this first Christmas without a loved one, awkwardly learning new roles, new traditions, new ways of remembering the person whose absence on this first Christmas without stings so much, and I wonder if more than a Merry Christmas, we need a Real Christmas, a Christmas when we shed the facade of cheerfulness and speak honestly of our imperfections, grief, and even plain, old-fashioned weariness. I'm not saying we shouldn't be happy and joyful and all that... just that maybe it's okay to be still when all the world dances.

Below are some thoughts I shared two-and-a-half years ago on grief and loss as they pertain to Easter celebrations. I think they apply equally at this time of year when we celebrate the birth of Him who came to take away the sting of sin and swallow up Death in victory.

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Good Friday typically does not top the list of favorite holidays, probably because it's not really human nature to celebrate Death with warm fuzzies and apple pie.  Deep down, I think we all pretty much despise Death.  I sure do.  Yes, because of Christ's death and resurrection, we have the hope of eternal life in heaven when we die, but until then...

Until then, Death steals from us without remorse.  Though defeated, Death lashes out, like a dying despot trying to destroy as many in his demise as in his reign.  Death takes ones we love and leaves us swimming through a flood of emotions ranging from horror to anger to fear to emptiness and finally to surrender.  A shadow of sorrow remains, even as Life brings new joys to celebrate.  So when Good Friday comes around, and I think about Christ's death on the cross, a bit of my soul rejoices in the knowledge that someone, namely Jesus Christ, took on Death.  And won.  While it may not be entirely reverent, I picture myself on the sidelines of an epic boxing match, shouting, "Yes!  You're going DOWN, Death!"

And then comes Easter, with pastels and bunny rabbits, pretty clothes and special music.  The meaning of Easter sometimes seems a bit hidden under all that clutter, but it is a beautiful day.  Easter is that day when we learn that Good Friday worked.  Jesus won.  We win.  Easter is a day of rejoicing.

For some though, rejoicing may not take the expected form.  Rejoicing may not be a jubilant laugh bursting forth from a glad heart, but a choking cry, wrenching its way from the deepest recesses of a broken heart, for whom Christ's death and resurrection are not only its greatest hope, but its only hope, the fine thread keeping its nose above the flood of grief, sorrow, and agony.  For those acutely suffering Death's dying sting, rejoicing is more gritty, more desperate than a pretty pastel Easter morning.  But this sort of rejoicing is just as beautiful as glad faces raised toward Heaven.

Listening to John's ipod as I ran last night - yes, my child is more technologically blessed than his mother -"He Reigns" by the Newsboys came on.  I like the entire song, but the last verse especially stood out last night:

And all the powers of darkness
Tremble at what they've just heard
'Cause all the powers of darkness
Can't drown out a single word

When all God's children sing out
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns
All God's people singing
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns, He reigns

All God's children sing out "Glory, glory.  Hallelujah.  He reigns."  Whether in jubilation or desperation, this song silences the powers of darkness.  It rises above the dying shriek of Death to give glory to Him who defeated Death once for all.  I guess the point I want to make today - besides expressing appreciation for the raw wonder of the cross - is that whether your heart is moved by the softer side of Easter or stinging from the agony of Death, whether you feel more attuned to Easter or to Good Friday, you have a part in the worldwide choir of God's children.  Don't wait till Sunday to sing.

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Grief is ugly. It's clumsy and messy and painful. But it is real and it is necessary, and I hope and pray that those enduring it this season will find the grace in the midst of it.