Friends,

I write this on Maundy Thursday. Kate has been practicing on the organ non-stop for days and is surviving off of caffeine and snickers bars. Sue is printing hundreds of bulletins and thinking of the detailed stuff that would have been lost on me. I have sermon ideas swirling around in my head as I prepare for the emotional and spiritual whiplash that happens between Good Friday and the first Alleluias of Easter. Anxiety is high even though Easter is going to get here regardless of our efforts, and I kind of like it that way.

Between tasks, I ran to 711 to get Kate more snickers bars and Sue and I our favorite brand of sparkling water (Liquid Death of course), and as I was leaving, I saw a Roman Catholic priest nonchalantly strolling toward the Pastry Shop. As we passed each other I said, “Don’t worry, Monday will be here before you know it.” I thought the comment was well-intentioned and funny, but it clearly not as funny as I had thought, because he kept walking by without a care in the world. This sent me down a mental rabbit hole. Are not all Christian clergy as stressed out as I am? I know that most of my peers are. Maybe it’s just an Episcopal thing? Maybe Roman Catholics get other people to do the stressful stuff? Even then, that is a ton of services to go to regardless of work load leading into them. Wouldn’t he be stressed? Maybe they are just more spiritually enlightened and see ministry as a joy and not a burden? Maybe this guy was just weird, or really good at hiding his non-sensical impending sense of doom that all priests, ministers and pastors are feeling in this moment. Maybe he’s going to a costume party.

Even if there was a way to not feel stressed this time of year, I doubt I would try it. Stress isn’t always good, especially if people feel stressed all of the time, but sometimes it is just a byproduct of caring. I remember my wife and I getting in an argument about the color of the train stencils that were going to go on the wall of the nursery. She was seven months pregnant with our first child, we were both stressed out beyond belief, and we poured our stress, love and passion into those silly pastel colors. Andrew was coming regardless of the state of his nursery and certainly wouldn’t care about the color of the trains on his wall. My wife and I could not control the time or place of his birth, if there would be complications, or any other incredibly significant aspect to welcoming in our first child, but we could control the color of those train stencils so we poured our souls into them. On Sunday we are going to celebrate the miracle of the empty tomb regardless of the quality of our efforts as we prepare. Jesus doesn’t need us to have flawless bulletins, never sing a wrong note, to have the altar look just right, and to have hundreds of stuffed eggs ready to hide. We do these things because we need something to pour our souls into as we feel acutely stressed as we wait for evidence that death has indeed been vanquished.

I don’t regret the argument about the train stencil, but I think I regret how I argued. It was a while ago, but if I remember correctly, I probably could have handled things better. Stress, anxiety and arguments can be a byproduct of caring, but people do all sorts of dumb and nasty things because they care. When you care so much that you argue over decorating the nursery, it is easy to be blind to the reality that the other person cares just as much as you. If we live into this season faithfully, then the playing field is equalized. The story of the cross is as violent and tragic as the story of the empty tomb is filled with hope and wonder. We are mortal beings, and we spend a tremendous amount of time ignoring that truth. The journey from Ash Wednesday to Easter forces us to sit with the discomfort of our mortality while pointing us toward something that is impossibly hopeful, the hope of the resurrection. While we wait for this impossibly hopeful thing, we stuff eggs and argue if we bought too much or too little for the children. In the midst of your stress be gentle with others, be gentle with yourself, leave room for redemption, and don’t believe the priest that tells you they are calm and centered on Maundy Thursday.

-Nick