Easter, Mumford, and Dancing Babies. March 31, 2013
As I write this I’m sitting on the couch in our apartment. Campbell is dancing in the middle of the living room floor as we watch Mumford and Sons play Red Rocks on our TV. Aaron is still asleep. There are bits of muffin and banana all over the table, remnants from a breakfast that was forgotten when a couple of dogs walked by our window and we had to go say hi.
A pretty typical morning at the Manes house, really. But not in most places, and not most years.
It’s not just any morning. It’s Easter morning.
Everyone we know is pulling out their best dresses and shiniest shoes and heading to church this morning to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. There will be choirs and baptisms and communion wine and “He Is Risen Indeed!” and super high-tech videos and productions and lots of praying and clapping.
But not for us.
Campbell is captivated by live music. She is inches from the screen, clapping and stomping and shaking and dropping it low in her diaper and footie pajamas. Mumford in particular really gets her going. Something about the banjos and the driving rhythms and the yelling must resonate in her little heart. I don’t know where she gets that from.
Marcus Mumford is singing “awaaaaaake my soul…” on the screen in beautiful harmony with the rest of the band and the ten thousand people crammed into that amphitheater. I’m absentmindedly singing along when those words catch in my throat. Awake my soul. Most days that’s about as much as I can pray for.
Which is kind of a lie, since prayer isn’t really something I do.
I left my job as a youth pastor three weeks ago. It was a long time coming but it still took me by surprise. This is the first Easter in at least a decade when I didn’t feel either religiously or professionally required to attend a service. So we didn’t. We’re not. We’re home. It’s weird.
We’re taking this time to… detox? Regroup? Find ourselves? I don’t know exactly. The roles that church has played in my life over the past decade plus are no longer relevant. I have a lot of thinking to do. The tensions I’ve been feeling for a long time finally have room to be worked out. I’m nervous and excited.
A few songs later, the lyrics catch me again. “I will wait, I will wait for you.” I feel those for sure. God will wait for me. And I will wait on God. We’re okay here in the in between. We can figure it out slowly. Or not at all. There’s room for us no matter where we spend Easter Sunday.
So, at least this year, I’m spending mine dancing with a one-year-old and eating muffins. Maybe taking a nap. And working to help my heart find a peaceful place in a season of my life that is anything but.