I have bad minutes. Bad hours. Bad days. I had one this morning. Easter Sunday. I'm in church with my family. All the pretty new Easter clothes. All the pretty families. And I'm mad at them. Whitney is in her standard, jeans, Uggs and a hoodie that says Alaska. I don't know, Goodwill probably. I wore my favorite dress, hoping to feel pretty. But we aren't a pretty family. We don't have new Easter clothes because I don't care.
It's a typical church in Kansas. Priding itself on breaking out of the "church mold" but in actuality doing the same thing every other church is trying to do.
They pass the communion tray and I take my tablespoon of grape juice and chicklet sized cracker and think of the church in Boston last week. So different from where I am today. No Chris Tomlin. No Steve Fee, no overhead projector or light show, no "experience" like here at home. Maybe it's the "in" thing for that area, I have no way to know what is normal there. How their worship is regularly. But I had a moment right in the solemnity. I dropped my cracker in my cup of juice and left it in the cup holder. Wrote Steve a one sentence note (I'm not proud of of) and went to the car and cried. I would say I cried like my heart was broken, but it is. Eventually my family comes out and we head home. Steve tells me about the monologue the youth pastor gave as Simon of Cyrene. I'm still mad.
We get home and I get out of the car feeling sorry for myself. And I realize that today we celebrate the single greatest moment in all history.
Jesus walked out of his grave. The man, Jesus that had all the power of God defeated death. Forgave my sins. Even my anger in church this morning. During the holy ordinance of communion where we celebrate the sacrifice he made. And to think that he can't heal me and restore me is ludicrous. Luke 24:5-6 "why are you looking for a living person in this place for the dead? He is not here, he has risen from the dead."
Because of him, I have all I need.