God, help me survive Easter
This is one of four seasonal posts that reflect my struggles to live with integrity in a society built on consumerism, industrialism, and systemic oppression. How can I reconcile my desire to change the world and my desire to accept the world as it is? Doubts and dilemmas run through all four posts, and I describe tripping over myself (in ways that are typical of someone who leads with a One in the Enneagram). I also mark times when Spirit uplifts me and turns me around unexpectedly, times when I am more aware of God’s expansive presence within me.
- Spring: Easter egg hunts, consumerism, materialism, and acceptance
- Summer: swimming pools, landfills, and environmental racism
- Fall: leaf blowers, industrial culture, principles, and humility
- Winter: lighted Christmas balls, appreciating the natural world, and living in a neighborhood
Palm Sunday 2024 (March 24)
God, help me get through Easter.
I don’t mean help me get through Good Friday and the crucifixion. If anything, I’d like to dwell there more.
I mean help me get through Easter egg hunts and all the plastic eggs filled with candy and tiny plastic toys.
I’m not concerned about the infiltration of paganism. Let us celebrate spring and rebirth. Praise God for chicks and bunnies!
No, it’s all the stuff and, even worse, the forced (and very empty) joy.
The church is asking for us to bring in more plastic eggs for the Easter egg hunt on Easter Sunday. We need more, they say. And we need more stuff to put in the eggs. Every egg must have something inside it: if not candy, then some small plastic trinket. And if not that (for the most unlucky kids), a sticker.
We will already have had two Easter egg hunts, one in the neighborhood and one at the (public) school. So this will be Easter egg hunt number three (number four if we have one at our house too). Each hunt must include plastic eggs filled with stuff.
(In my childhood—says the curmudgeon—there was only one Easter egg hunt, at home. We dyed and searched for hard boiled eggs. Actual eggs. I did get an Easter basket filled with green plastic “Easter grass” and candy. I liked the candy, which was special because I didn’t get candy all the time.)
I’m exhausted, and I’m not even the one doing the labor here. That mostly falls on the moms who are communicating about the plastic eggs, buying them, filling them, transporting them, storing them from year to year. They’re the ones answering the call of duty from the school, the neighborhood association, the church. They’re our community organizers. God bless the moms.
What exhausts me are the feelings that are building inside me and that have no outlet because they are socially inappropriate. Easter egg hunts and all the other consumerism surrounding Easter make me feel sad and angry. I see us trying to compensate for the emptiness, sorrow, grief, depression, rage, and powerlessness we feel living in this world by fabricating joy over and over again.
Aren’t Easter egg hunts fun? See how the children laugh and run! See their delight when they find an egg! See their baskets! See their cute clothes! Aren’t we all so happy?
Yet how quickly the joy fades. It’s so fleeting, I think because it’s not real joy. It’s the joy of a sugar rush and momentary relief (via distraction) from our troubles.
But I can’t say any of this because I hear many adults saying how much they love Easter egg hunts. I don’t want to rain on their parade. So I convert my own grief, longing, and sorrow into an unconvincing cheerfulness. Yes, I am having fun! Look at the children! See my half-hearted smile! I’m not grieving right now. I’m not enraged.
The feeling I must repress the most, the one I’m least proud of, is disdain. Why won’t other people control themselves and stop buying so much stuff? Why can’t they cultivate more self-restraint? Why can’t they reject cheap disposable consumerism? Why can’t they be more like me, so tightly restrained? I’m embarrassed to be so judgmental. Am I not also a consumer? Maybe my class privilege and sensibility deter me from buying cheap plastic stuff, but I buy plenty of stuff nonetheless.
Easter will pass, but the river of stuff will continue to flow, straight through our lives and into the great oceanic garbage patch. The next opportunity for forced, empty joy will soon arrive. For us, that comes at least once a week. Our school crossing guard passes out candy every Friday—not one piece but two. And often not just candy but plastic gifts too. See how happy the children are as they cross the street to receive their treats!
I’m so tired of all the plastic, all the candy, all the stuff. I’m tired of the forced joy. I’m tired of unrestrained consumerism. And I’m tired of feeling the way I feel: sad, angry, empty, guilty.
God help me be compassionate, with myself and with others. Save me from my own cynicism and arrogance. Help me to love my neighbors. Help me to allow the world to be as it is and not just dwell on how I think it should be. Help me as I navigate between acceptance and non-acceptance. God help us create a world where we can experience grief and sorrow and rage and, even in their midst, true joy.
Easter Sunday 2024 (March 31)
We did not hide eggs at our house. For breakfast we had pastries from the farmer’s market and fresh pineapple. It was warm enough to eat outside. We told our wonderful neighbors no thanks when they invited our kids to their Easter egg hunt.
After worship every kid got a plastic cup filled with small toys from a generous church member (one cup for boys, another for girls). Then to the main event: the Easter egg hunt on the church lawn. The pastor’s wife, who coordinated the hunt (God bless her), did some quick math and told the kids they could each keep twenty eggs. Afterwards we emptied the eggs and returned them to the church for next year. I can get into that. The treats went home with the kids.
In the car: another lecture from mom and dad about candy. Our eight-year-old hears us and is trying hard to be a good kid. Our six-year-old observes that Easter egg hunts are fun for kids but overwhelming for adults. I admit I feel overwhelmed. I worry about passing my anxieties onto our perceptive kids.
Back home, we sort through the loot (a mini-Halloween) on the kitchen counter. Amid the candy and trinkets I see—unexpectedly—fluffy dandelion seeds. Apparently my daughter picked a dandelion during the Easter egg hunt and blew it into her Easter basket. Oh, thank you God for that. I see you winking at me, reassuring me. I scoop up the wayward seeds and release them outside, where they float gloriously away. Thank you God for your abundant, wild creation, for the breath of a child, for the genius of plants. May the joy of dandelions be my Easter lesson this year.