Easter Sunday

I awoke very early on Easter Sunday to face a chilly and windy Jerusalem. I had to drop off an Easter basket for Josh before going to a sunrise service at the Lutheran Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives. My friends and I decided to exchange Easter baskets secret-Santa style, and I had postponed delivering my basket until the last moment. I raced to Josh’s dorm room in the pre-dawn hour, delivered the goods, then hustled up the Mount of Olives to attend the sunrise celebration. In the early morning I felt like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, who raced all over Jerusalem to spread the good news that Christ had risen.

The sunrise service began at 5:30. I joined a group of about thirty gathered in the twilight around an altar that overlooked the Jordan Valley. On top of the Mount of Olives it was cold -- very cold. Many huddled about bundled in jackets, hats, and scarves. Not much stood out to me about the service except for the moment at the end when the sun finally peaked through the ashen clouds. We had met in the frigid early morning to remember Christ’s Resurrection, and the warm rays of sunshine lighting up the sky encouraged even the coldest worshipper. The sun seemed to be the right metaphor for what we knew full well – Christ, overcoming death and the cross, broke through the clouds of sin to light up the world with the powerful light of his Resurrection.

I returned to my room for a nap and then walked down to the Garden Tomb for another Easter service. Along the way I saw clouds gathering ominously in the west, and when I reached the Garden Tomb the skies opened up. We had hadn’t been praying for showers of blessing, but boy, they certainly did fall on us all. I’ll admit that, besides my jacket and hair getting wet, my spirit also was dampened by the rain. Rain here is so seldom and normally the skies are bright, sunny, and warm. Why did it have to rain on Easter? There I was at the Garden Tomb with several hundred other believers on the cold, grey, wet morning. I was celebrating the Resurrection, don’t misunderstand me, but I was also a little disappointed. I still haven’t figured out why it had to be rainy and cold on Easter morning. The best I can come up with is that God was teaching me to celebrate the Resurrection everywhere and always in my heart, and not just in Jerusalem on Easter morning.

There is something special about being a pilgrim. Spending Holy Week with tens of thousands of Christians, united in purpose to recall the death and Resurrection of Christ, was an amazing encouragement to my faith. I found there is much to be gained from rejoicing, weeping, worshipping, praying, remembering, and meditating together with others. The mystique of Jerusalem heightened every experience as we traced our Savior’s trials and triumphs in sacred remembrance and ritual. We participated in traditions that joined us with thousands of years of Christian practice along with countless millions of saints who have gone before us. I will not too soon forget Holy Week in Jerusalem and the time I spent here with other pilgrims united in faith.