A Little Secret: How I Switched Shrillness for Stillness on Easter

At this Sunday's Easter service, our church was packed to the gills.  I am always amazed at the finery that shows up that particular Sunday, and it's simply good people watching to see folks in their expensive clothes with the store tags freshly snipped off intensely walk/running to a pew so that they won't be left without a seat in those final moments before the service.  We were no exception, scurrying in at 9:20 and masterfully claiming the last line of folding chairs on the back row.  With Josh tucked in the nursery, that made six slightly damp and out-of-sorts Roberts in coats and ties and starched dresses all perched mercifully on a chair to call their own, awaiting the "Super Bowl" of Sundays to begin: the message of resurrection.

9:25am.  This is Collin and one tired-looking mama taking a victory selfie that we made it on time to score a seat on the back row.  The hubris was short lived.

I had gotten up late that morning.  Big mistake.  I had 12:30 luncheon at our home to finish preparations for, with a good 80 minutes required for the ham that I threw in the oven while my hair was still dripping.  The baby sat watching me, feeding the dog off his high chair tray and throwing the rest against a nearby wall.   Despite explicit instructions the prior evening, certain socks, shoes, and hair accessories could not be quickly located by the remainder of my brood, with one rain-soaked loafer eventually found in the middle of the driveway (!).  I forgot to press about four garments that needed wearing, so I whipped that job out before shoving on my high heels (the closed-toe ones that wouldn't show my chipped polish) and tossing a linen Talbots number from the resale shop over my still-wet hair.

My life, no matter the level of planning, is an unplanned mess.

As we waited for the hymns to start, we realized that so many people were in the foyer that it seemed some were giving up and leaving.  David jumped up and disappeared for a few minutes, then came back and waved us over to him.  What?  Give up our seats?  No way, man.  These are golden.  The waving intensified.  Okay, okay--I reluctantly gathered up my chicks and was directed by the hubs to a never-noticed, vacant old sound booth near one of the central pilasters.

With only three chairs.

We climbed the short stairs, jammed in, and tried to get situated as the choir began to sing a sort of rock 'n roll contemporary blend.  In the back corner of the choir loft, there was a middle-aged man with freshly combed hair in his coat and tie.  Not only was he not singing, he looked downright miserable.  David glanced at me and we both looked at the poor guy, realizing that the ushers had filled the empty choir seats with unsuspecting latecomers.  This fella looked like he was dying inside.  Like maybe he had not been to church in a long, long time and not only did he not know the words, he had come with no intention of singing or participating at all.  Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined ending up in that loft with the entire church filled to the rafters and looking right back at him.

In the meantime, as we inched towards the sermon, I jostled to situate all the kids happily--something that was never going to happen in such a cramped, seat-less space.  I went from one kid on my lap to two kids on my lap to not feeling my toes or much of anything below mid-thigh.   I wanted to cry a little.  This was Easter Sunday!  We're supposed to worship and feel gratitude and be struck by the magnitude of His sacrifice!  Instead, I was made pretty miserable by our close quarters and the thought of my unfinished ham and the iron I had possibly left on and a particularly cantankerous child whispering loudly and continuously in my ear.  Ugh!  What to do?

I glanced all around, from the beleaguered guy in the choir loft to the music minister with his hands held high to the on-time regulars who were glued to their regular pews, unwilling to budge a single inch even for this Sunday.  Noticing a dark niche under the empty sound booth counter that appeared to have some free oxygen, I decided retreat was the best option.  Much to the amazement of my kids, I gathered up the hem of my nice dress, flipped off my shoes, and hunkered down comfortably under that counter for the remainder of the service.  High heels, nice pearls, pretty dress were all irrelevant to finding a spot where my heart could be still.

I wondered who inherited our comfy seats on the back row.

I wondered what all the proper Methodists would've thought if they could see me hiding in my secret spot right there in their midst.

I wondered if the gentleman in the choir loft would like to switch places with me.

And switching places is what I couldn't stop thinking about the rest of the service. Because, the more I thought about it, the more I was overcome with the revelation that Easter is all about switching places.  It's about me deserving to be up on the cross because of my broken and sinful nature, but Jesus switching places with me and taking the brunt of undeserved punishment, even to death.

He gave up his seat in this world for those who had no space at God's table.  He knows all about my highly imperfect life, just as it played out in the rush of that morning, and yet personally and lovingly is preparing a place for me in heaven. 

Easter worship is knowing that because of His resurrection, my distracted attempts to praise Him will one day be switched out for a kingdom of singing angels where I may glorify Him completely and know peace without end.  

And I prayed during that hunched-up time for the man in the choir loft, that this seemingly punitive hour would not keep him from the limitless hours of eternity.  I prayed that Jesus himself would switch something in that man's heart and every person in that room who hadn't darkened the door of a church all year to know that He didn't come only for us Methodists in all our finery--He came for those who struggle, who doubt, who deny, who refuse to come at all for the show.

He came for the mess and in spite of it felt it was worth redeeming.

Thanks be to God.

Hey!  Put your hands by your sides and smile like normal people!

Now that's better.