Easter is not what we think it is.

When I was growing up, some of the choir in our church were hired professional opera singers. We all dressed up in our springtime fanciest. Washed the car on Saturday. Planned an Easter family meal. The final hymn was always The Battle Hymn of The Republic. Then we stepped passed the rows of potted lilies and outside into spring sunshine feeling pretty good.

That was Easter. We planned it. Organized it. Hired its component parts. It involved no suffering. No mystery. No reprieve from that gut wrenching feeling that all is lost. No deep emotional hole inside of us was filled.

How different was Easter in Mark's gospel. Two grieving women who counted for no more in society than livestock went to the tomb not even knowing how they would get into it. It was already open and Jesus was not there. The angel's words were no comfort so they ran away and kept their mouths shut about the whole thing.

Now that is Easter.

Allen