A Different Kind of Easter

It has been a while since I have sat down to simply write.I always enter with some agenda, a long-term plan that I am following. While it is quite helpful to have a plan, sometimes it robs you of the spark of life that is spontaneity. I had such a good time working on “Matrix for Dummies.” It was the biggest dose of inspiration I have ever gotten. I would go as far as saying that it has become my new why: I want to interact with the world of the mind. I keep finding myself hungry for another writing session, whispering to myself about “the mind.” It makes me laugh every time, but that spark of inspiration is also very much there. 

Nonetheless, writing has still felt like a bit of a challenge, lately. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been doing as much blog writing lately, causing me to lose my edge. Maybe it’s because I haven’t picked up a train of thought and my momentum has all but slowed to a halt. Or maybe it’s just because I’m tired. I dunno. 

Regardless, I’m here now, and I have no agenda. No idea that I’m trying to slowly steer towards and no plans for where this post is going. I’m actually writing because I’m worried about getting too lazy if I don’t do anything with all this free time. I don’t have a 40-hour work week for my job, so I have to make one. 

One thing that has been on my mind lately is how little I feel like I understand the gospel sometimes. I grew up Christian, so I could spit the story back to you in a hundred different ways until you got it, but sometimes I feel like a textbook: boring, bland and passionless. I often sit in church and wonder why I’m not like the folks in the front row, dancing and singing like there’s something there worth getting excited about. I’m fully aware that part of it is because I’m not that expressive a person.

At least–not naturally, anyway.

I can ham it up when I need to, quickly shifting gears to become the life of the party, but that doesn’t feel natural to me. If I were to start dancing around like nobody’s business, it wouldn’t feel genuine. That’s just not who I am. I’m not saying that as an excuse, but a genuine reason. Even something that I know I love like The Fast and Furious movies bring me a different kind of excitement. 

Excitement.

Herein lies a big chunk of our problem. Sometimes, we expect different kinds of good things to feel the same way. I’m not saying it’s bad to be excited about Jesus–that would be kind of weird. But maybe it’s alright to say that excitement isn’t an essential ingredient of the recipe of your faith. What if, at least at times, God’s goodness feels more like a gust of winter wind in a stuffy, yet comfy, apartment? What if God’s grace feels more like the morning jog that you committed to before you found out that it would be rainy? What if it felt like the party that you committed to, despite being hopelessly introverted?

I think there are times when being a Christian is good, but not fun. When choosing the best thing for ourselves tastes more like a bland cup of water than an over sweetened soda. It may not be the fun choice. But if we were to be truly honest with ourselves, we couldn’t say that nothing good has come of our experiences. 

So, why don’t I get excited about God, the way I get excited about The Fast and Furious? Because I serve God, and my movies serve me. God definitely has my best interest in mind, but He calls the shots and I don’t. While my movies are there to make me happy, and I get to summon them whenever I want, God calls me into places of uncomfortable growth. He throws curveballs at me when I’m winding up to hit simple fastballs. He throws monkey wrenches into my perfect, convenient plans, making me rise to the occasion that I otherwise wouldn’t have tried to face. He pushes me to be who He knows I can be, even when that isn’t who I want to be at the moment. 

If I’m being completely honest, sometimes I don’t like His ways. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I know I shouldn’t say it, but it’s true. There are times when I’m even resentful of the growth that I have seen, because it feels like it has come at such a steep price. That’s discipline, though. It’s fixing your eyes on a goal, even when it isn’t fun to chase it.

The truth is, though, I ought to be grateful for the growth that I have seen as a person. I’m capable of being happy and believing in better tomorrows, because I have grown so much. It’s high time we hardened up, and saw the results as worth it. We tend to act like life is short, and that we should just focus on enjoying each moment. Maybe we should focus on what each moment is growing us into, and what responsibilities we are able to carry because of how we have grown. 

In a weird way, all the good stuff–hope, joy, peace–they’re all kinds of strength. It takes strength to carry on, even when you’re sad. It takes ferocity to keep pushing towards your dream–even when it makes you miserable. It’s hard to walk around with all those bad feelings. But we do it anyway because we dream of something more. That’s strength. 

So as we go into Easter, maybe we shouldn’t expect ourselves to be excited. Maybe we shouldn’t hold ourselves to the idea that we should be jumping around, giddy like little kids. Maybe your joy is a smile on your face while clutching at the pain in your chest. Maybe it’s a simple knowing that through the pain and the hurt, the suffering and the heartache, there is redemption. Maybe it’s simply looking at all the wrong that’s still wrong, and saying:

It is good.