I don’t know about you, but after Lent, I have to rest for a few weeks!

Determined to write through Holy Week, I was faithful to a fault, even writing on my tablet late at night while we moved our Mother out of her house (since late 1978) to a community where we hope she will be safer and more comfortable (she’s quite active, so still living independently!), and the only writing equipment I had was the tablet. I have an unproven theory that all of us have certain things about which we are obsessive, and mine happens to be when I make a promise to myself about something like writing more regularly (for a limited time!).

Lent is over, done with, complete for another year. The disciplines of the 40 days are finished, successfully or not. We are living now with the reminder that Christ is risen. Everything is changed. Even if the news is the same, maybe there is an eterna hope that something inside us has evolved so that we are not powerless in the face of the daily evils we face or hear about.

So it’s the Easter season. A Trappist monk once told me that all Sundays are part of Easter (nice to know during Lent that you get a “feast day” to take a break from whatever Lenten discipline you’re observing); my extension of his thought is that any part of the liturgical year that isn’t Lent should be a season of celebration because of Easter.

Easter is supposed to be a joyous time. Yet how many of us think of “joy” and “spiritual discipline” in the same breath? While we may enjoy certain aspects of spiritual living, do we celebrate them? Are we grateful for them? Does the “alleluia” of the liturgy get spoken or shouted?

This same Trappist monk used to get in trouble occasionally, because he beleived that when we sing hymns during Easter (especially, but most of the time, always), we should lift our heads as well as our voices and sing loud! He lived in a small experimental community at the time, which meant that unless his brothers objected, he could pretty much sing powerfully both in the morning and evening (the two times each day they worshipped as a community). I loved to watch him spread his legs a little, tilt his head back, and sing toward the heavens. My mentors were all equally mad!

The darkness of Lent, while it can be overpowering sometimes, suits those of us who like a little drama with our faith! All this joy and happiness and celebration only goes so far. Remind me that I’m dust, and to dust I shall return: I can get behind that! Tell me I’m okay and well and “saved” and should be dancing and singing and enjoying all the lightness that goes with that, well, come on, that only goes so far. I watch the news. When can I get back to the dark and say, “Mea culpa!” and wallow some (and maybe someone will see me, and have pity on me and say, “There, there, you’re okay,” and I can love being loved on and noticed and being the center of attention). When can I get back to reality?

But we’re Easter people. Just as no one wants to listen to someone go on and on about their problems, none of us really wants to be in the dark forever. Lent’s a good thing, psychologically and spiritually; but living in the dark permanently is not a good way to be. At some point, we have to leave the past and make our life what our faith has told us it really is: a place of light, of joy, of, yes, happiness. Of meaning. Of helpfulness to those in the margins, those in need.

You can still sit silently and listen. You can still pray Psalms (every Friday, pray Psalm 51!). Whatever else you do, don’t forget to go out and look at the stars, or dance in the moonlight, or just smile at someone who looks really stressed out. Enjoy life in front of people instead of trying to look holy – you can’t fool anyone but the other fools, anyway!