By Reba Phelps
Being on this earth for at least fifty Easters thus far, I’ve learned a thing or two about Easter fashion and finding the perfect Easter dress for myself and my two daughters. Having been a mother for the past twenty seven years, I’m also well aware of the Easter basket shuffle. There are so many man hours dedicated to compiling a legendary Easter basket that contains the perfect consistency of sugary confections, trendy items, and beauty supplies, most of which will likely be eaten, lost or broken before the following Monday. When I was a child we didn’t have a lot of extra money, but my mother always made sure we had an Easter dress. It may have been purchased from a clearance rack, a hand me down from a cousin or neighbor, or even from a garage sale, but we always had a dress. It was deemed one of the only Sundays where you had to look presentable. It didn’t matter if we looked like ragamuffins the other fifty one Sundays of the year.
Being a preacher’s daughter and a preacher’s daughter-in-law (for 22 years) I’m well versed in the different styles of Easter Sermons that come along with the fanfare of Easter Sunday morning. It’s that obligatory church attendance that will have you wondering who all of the new faces are in church. More times than not, you may not see these people until next year unless you run into them at the local Walmart.
Easter Sundays are simply different for a preacher’s family. There are weeks of preparations that go into the sermon, crowd control, and special music. They’ll arrive at church earlier than normal and typically stay longer as well. Meaning, the family doesn’t eat until much later, which has them running a high risk of having “hangry” kids and inpatient Preacher’s wives. My favorite Easter Sunday growing up was when my dad invited a lot of extra people over for lunch and my mother was very much unprepared. But, her four-letter vocabulary was very prepared for the occasion. We still chuckle at the thought of my soft spoken mother articulating her displeasure with her entire bank of swear words. (Yes, preacher’s wives occasionally swear).
Simply put, there is no stress like Holy Week stress for parents and preachers.
This Easter season has been very different for me. My oldest daughter lives over 1500 miles away, my youngest daughter lives away at college, and we have lost several family members over the past year that will change the way our future holiday celebrations happen. This year Easter isn’t about the dress or a fashion show. It’s not about the perfectly filled basket. It’s not about the perfect family meal. It’s not about the perfect guest list for lunch. It’s not about perfectly well behaved children and a dozen pictures posted to prove how perfect our life is.
As a Christian, I am ashamed to admit that my prior Easters were all about the dress, the basket, the photo and stress.
I am walking into this Easter as a flawed Christian believer who’s faith has been tested tremendously for the last few months. But, this is the first year I’ve spent time reflecting on the many events that led up to the crucifixion of Christ. My eyes have been opened and my heart filled with the knowledge of the true stress that our Savior was feeling the hours leading up to his crucifixion. The scriptures tell us that he fell on his face in the Garden of Gethsemane, and begged God to let this cup pass him by. Jesus, God in human flesh, was in anguish. Pure anguish that had nothing to do with the worries and stress we feel around Easter.
Even in agony and despair, Jesus still said, “Not my will but your will be done.” In his pain, he took every step to the cross with each one of us on his mind. He did this while we were yet still sinners.
“Then Jesus came forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate said unto them, Behold the man!”
John 19-5
