Death and Rebirth: Easter Ponderings

So, Palm Sunday I didn't feel well. Actually, for several days before that I wasn't feeling very good: stress headaches, migraines, insomnia followed by nightmares... my emotions clearly had the upper hand, and I was quietly freaking right out, which is not my norm; my best friend once laughingly observed that I tend to be "a drama-free zone". And I do try. But last week I had drama enough that it made me ill.

So Palm Sunday. One of the things about a lay clergy is that sometimes everything is beautiful and perfect, and other times we get to exercise charity and patience. Don't get me wrong; the talks were excellent: one even successfully managed to relate fishing for eel in New Zealand rivers to following the prophet and the Lord; outstanding talk, the kind that people will remember and benefit from for a long time. But every speaker overlooked that it was Palm Sunday; it wasn't mentioned until the classes after Sacrament Meeting. And I was so hungry for a deep dive into the Atonement of Christ; I needed His healing: it had been a tough week --and the next day I was going to dig up my basement.

It felt like breaking my sanctuary: if life is like tag, my home is "safe". Only, it didn't feel very "safe" anymore. It felt broken. That's what I would tell people: "We're breaking the basement."

"I hope your week is less interesting than mine," I said to the guy at the rental place where we got the concrete saw and the mini jackhammer they called a "breaker" (that saw was HUGE). And he laughed, which was the intended effect. But I was whistling in the dark: it wasn't really funny to me. I was trying to put the best face on something that pulled me way out of my comfort zone.


We've been chasing this water issue in our basement for quite some time now. Smells. Bugs. Putrid water seeping in. Gross. It's been close to a year. And about two weeks ago we finally figured out enough things to get the right people to look for the problem, and they found it: it's is a pipe under the basement floor. Used to be that people put cast iron(!) pipes under basements, and that's what we've got, but it gave up at some point. It gave up at some point a while ago. Getting it fixed is not cheap, but it is urgent; we can cut the price by half to two thirds by tearing out the floor and digging the trench ourselves, and my brother is a concrete guy, so he's been talking us through it (he lives too far to actually come, or he probably would, cuz he's nice like that).

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A post shared by Baby Steps Blog (@ritsumei_babysteps) on Apr 15, 2019 at 3:08pm PDT

So the first day of Holy Week, my day looked like this^^. We didn't do anything special at all, besides that I said to my kids, "Hey! It's Holy Week! It's important!" But we found all the stinky. And we realized that not only do we need to stop using the kitchen and laundry (which we knew and planned for), but also using the bathrooms seems to be a problem... there's so much stinky water.

Please let it stay in the trench!

Also.

Notre Dame caught fire. My facebook feed filled up with the burning landmark and mourning from Christians and of all stripes and their friends.

I was feeling better, as far as being sick, but exhausted from the basement, and sad about the cathedral. Which makes it the ideal time for lingering on social media....

Of course, Instagram being social media, it was full of beautiful Holy Week things, all laid out picture-perfect. My friend Catholic Mum had a beautiful and meaningful Mass set for her young son to mark the special day and help him grow in the faith. I sighed, thought of my basement, and said I was a bit jealous of her beautiful plans for Holy Week, thinking that all I have is a big trench of stinky mud. (And a bit of a pity party.)

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A post shared by Catholic Mum (@catholic_mum) on Apr 15, 2019 at 5:51am PDT

My friend, my Sister in Christ, Catholic Mum, she said the most beautiful thing to me in my frustration:

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But the metaphorical meaning in what you are doing! Digging deep into the muck and mire for Holy Week, only to emerge fresh and new by Easter!

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Oh, how I needed to hear that.

She totally reframed this week for me.
Instant tears.
She was so right!

Right about the same time, I found this article from the Church. The title of the piece is Hope From the Ashes: Why the Notre Dame Fire is a Symbol of Rebirth During Holy Week. That was so far from what I was feeling about the fire; I wondered why they would say such a thing. Turns out that our current Presiding Bishop is French, is from Paris, and knows exactly what Notre Dame means to them: he's one of them. But the thing in the article that took my breath away was from one Father McCarthy, who serves near Notre Dame at L'église de la Madeleine: 

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It was a sad and unfortunate event, said Father McCarthy, adding that if it had to happen, he couldn't imagine it happening at a better time. The fire began on the Monday of Holy Week, a week in which Christians celebrate the life of the Savior, leading up to Easter Sunday and commemoration of His resurrection. "If there is a moment when Christians should be ready to mourn the death of something, but to believe in the resurrection of something, it's Holy Week," Father McCarthy said.
"It is my belief that something is going to rise from these ashes."

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How profound.
Someday, I want to be able to come to peace quickly like that.
To see things so clearly, in the moment.

That's it. That's Easter:


Christ's death and resurrection.
He died so that we could die to our sins: we can be reborn, too.
It doesn't matter how much "muck" is in our "basement";
It doesn't matter how damaged our "roof";
He. Still. Wants. Us.

And He has not forgotten me, with my drama and angst, struggling against the mud and stench and foul water in my poor little basement.
 
He hasn't forgotten you, either.
Not for a second. 



PS. My brother says we're doing a good job; the plumbers will be here Wednesday; the end is in sight! But this will be an Easter "to remember for years; to remember with tears." I feel very blessed.

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