Easter

On hearing this, Jesus said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

On Easter morning we awoke and got ready to go to the hospital to be with Nana and relieve Jeff of his duties. He had spent the entire night there because Nana was scared, and the earlier we arrived, the better for his sake. On the drive to the hospital, I thought about what Hunter must be doing. He was at church, teaching the fourth and fifth graders. I thought about the beautiful Easter dress I had purchased the week prior and how pretty it would have looked with my tan skin. I’d been working on my tan for a month, and now it was slowly fading away.

I pictured the rest of our family and all of the people at church in their pretty outfits, so put together and happy. Celebrating Easter the right way: in floral clothes and a full church band gleefully jumping around on stage. And then we pulled into the hospital, and I realized that Easter was for all of us here, too. In fact, how deeply we needed the hope of the messiah in these halls. The hope of some sort of grand redemption. Suddenly a hospital felt like a very appropriate place to spend Easter. Easter is for the sick and broken, those afraid of dying, those with little chance of recovery. The jaded nurses and doctors. The tired family members. The hope of Easter was for this place especially. These people were desperate for it.

We entered Nana’s room with a beautiful bouquet of pink roses and said goodbye to Jeff. We set up the laptop and watched Riverside’s service online. In the middle of the message, a nurse walked in. I hopped up to close the computer, but Nana stopped me. The nurse asked if we needed anything, and Nana responded with a firm “no” and told him we were watching the church service. He looked amused by our sweetness and apologized for disrupting.

As the band began to lead in worship, the three of us watched. Slowly, we each began to sing along. Our weak voices harmonized. I imagine our little melody filling the hospital wing. How I wish I could go back to that sacred moment.

What a beautiful name it is
What a beautiful name it is
The name of Jesus Christ my king

What a powerful name it is
Nothing can stand against
What a powerful name it is
The name of Jesus

Death could not hold You
The veil tore before You
You silenced the boast, of sin and grave
The heavens are roaring the praise of Your glory
For You are raised to life again

Holy holy
Are you Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

We watched fourteen baptisms and passed around the tissues. At the perfect time, uncle David walked into the room, and our moment together came to a close. I am so grateful that we spent Easter here this year. What had appeared at first like such an unfortunate circumstance is now a day that I will treasure for the rest of my life—a day that God was gracious enough to gift me when I did not understand how special it would be.

We spent Easter in T-shirts and hospital gowns, not pretty floral dresses. We celebrated weakly. But in our desperation, the promise of God’s return and the redemption of humankind gave us a real hope, a hope that made us cry from the sadness of the current moment. Thank you father for bringing Nana back to life for twelve days so that she could celebrate one more Easter. And now she is existing in heaven, fully at peace with the very real promise of her own resurrection.