My blog friend Angela @ Becoming Me is hosting an Easter carnival, Because of the Cross, where participants share their posts, past or present, about the true meaning of Easter: the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. I hope to post something later this week but for now I’m giving you an Easter post from the Lisa writes archives circa 2007…
April 9, 2007
Most of my holiday ills stem from a resentment of the pressure to conform to the commercialism of the season. Easter, however, is a little different. Instead of resisting conformity, I find a part of me actually wanting to yield. Not about the Easter bunny and eggs, give me a break. No, I struggle more with the new dress-new shoes-new purse angle. I admit it, Easter, in addition to the obvious, often connotes clothes, specifically dresses, in bright, Easter-y colors like pink and green and yellow.
This year I purchased no new dress. In fact, yesterday, Easter Sunday mind you, I committed one of the greatest sacrileges a girl like me, Southern born and Southern bred, could make:
I wore pants.
On Easter Sunday.
With a sweater.
I have to say I have no problem wearing pants to church. In fact, I
probably do wear pants more often than a skirt (though it took me a long time to get to that point) and I never wear a dress. But on Easter? I feel quite sure my grandmother, she of the elegance of the hat-and-glove-and-by-all-means-matching-pumps-and-pocketbook generation, turned over in her grave.
(Okay, not really, as she is not in her grave; her body is, but she is in Paradise, the Presence of God, and I feel quite sure that should she have taken note of my apparel choice yesterday, she would not have minded one bit.)
In Sunday school we watched portions of The Passion of the Christ. Actually, I only watched portions of the portions. I am a wimp. I can’t take it.
As with the first time I saw the film, and upon reflection of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ death and resurrection, I am struck by (among other things) the determination of Mary and the other women to stay, to watch, and to remain. I cannot stomach a Technicolor depiction; yet they stood near to Him through the very worst. I think of Mary’s mother heart: how she must have wanted to die, if not in His place, at least by His side! What strength. What faith. What love.
And certainly they were not concerned with what they were wearing.
Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. Outwardly, I may have been pants and black turtleneck clad, but inwardly my heart nearly broke with gratitude and love as I humbly bowed before the cross of my Jesus…
Far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world.