Read: Psalm 23, The Passion Translation
We’re all sitting here at the end of Easter Sunday somewhat stunned.
That was weird wasn’t it?
Whatever our traditions at Easter would usually entail, today wasn’t it.
And we tried hard to keep some semblance of normality, despite that we wouldn’t be gathering for lunch with our people, or doing egg hunts with cousins, or gathering to worship in our church buildings. We hid chocolate eggs and put on our new pyjamas and smiled and said happy Easter, and curled up to watch sermons online.
But if you’re anything like me, you refreshed Instagram 643,768 times, switched to Facebook twice that many, and scrolled, not really seeing anything, not really engaging, but hiding there in a social media stupor.
I couldn’t put my phone down today.
I already knew this weekend would look different—months ago, we knew that Daniel would be working, so we planned our Easter celebrations for Good Friday, and we egg-hunted and ate hot cross buns and gorged on too much chocolate already—but no one predicted just how different today would look.
This Easter we’re choosing to celebrate the joy of answered prayers—that we’re not where we were this time last year.
We’re celebrating the new spaces we’ve walked into, and the redemption of old hopes and dormant dreams. There is so much good, and I choose often to keep my eyes on that.
But even though I had hot cross buns rising ready for the oven, and even though I was busy shaping sourdough early, and even though I got to see some of my favourite neighbour-bestie-family faces while I pinched rosemary from their front garden… it was an uncomfortable Easter. It was the first in our entire marriage that we hadn’t spent together as a family. It was knowing I couldn’t visit my parents, because of travel restrictions. It was not being able to gather, either in worship or in friendship.
I was distracted, and unfocused and scattered.
I tried reading, picking up and put down my current novel. I picked up and put down my phone a bazillion times, wandered aimlessly starting things and then walked away forgetting what I was doing, and starting something else.
And all day I kept going back to the day’s Psalm.
I hadn’t realised that after the tumultuous prophecy of the cross in Psalm 22, that it was this one we’d be lead to; one of the most famous and well-known Psalms.
The Lord is my shepherd.
My Passion Translation Bible tells me that the translated word here for ‘shepherd’ is ra’ah which is also the Hebrew word for best friend.
The Lord is my best friend,
I always have more than enough.
I needed this Psalm today.
I needed it like I needed a quiet walk to gather my thoughts.
I needed it like I needed a tight squeeze from a close friend.
I needed it like I needed a hot cross bun straight from the oven, lathered in butter.
He knows what we need.
He knew today would be lonely the Lord is my best friend (vs 1), I’ll never be lonely, for you are near (vs 4).
He knew my mind couldn’t settle, He offers a resting place for me (vs 2).
He knew what the world would look like today, why would I fear the future? Your goodness and love pursue me (vs 6).
So on this strange Easter Sunday I’m grateful.
I’m grateful for the Word that became flesh, so that I could find the aliveness of God.
I’m grateful for the expression of Him across the earth, for creativity and beauty, and friendship and grace.
And for a God who does not remain silent, and for a cross that has the last word.