Eggs in the Cemetery: Weekly Reflection from Emily Rutledge

When I first began my ministry at Church of Our Saviour the fact that the Easter egg hunt occurred mostly in the cemetery was uncomfortable for me. 

a.  I had grown up where most people were cremated and scattered in the ocean so spending time in a cemetery was new to me. 

b.  I was 24 years old and terrified of death. 

Flash forward eight years to yesterday when I spent about an hour and a half walking around the church property hiding eggs for the ultra-competitive teenage egg hunt we have the first Wednesday after Easter.  Death is different for me now.  I find comfort and peace in that cemetery.  I hid eggs at the tombstones of dear friends and beloved mentors.  Eggs are hidden by the graves of children taken too soon and spouses gone long before their partners.  Where the cemetery situated next to my office used to be a bunch of people I didn’t know who had experienced my greatest fear it is now the place people that I love are buried and where I see resurrection come to life.

Before the teenagers went out to hunt for eggs a few newer kids commented on the ‘weirdness’ of hunting for eggs in a cemetery.  An older student reminded them that we have a pretty healthy relationship with death in this youth community, mostly because we have to. 

Her mother is buried that cemetery.

Most of the adolescents in our parish have sat through services, stood witness, and held space as two of our families have buried a parent.  One, a high school youth formation leader, the other, our associate rector.  Not only have they experienced death they have experienced the treacherous path of terminal illness... twice.  

There is a tendency in our society to push away death.  We do everything we possibly can to live as long as we can and when someone does die we like to put that away in a nice box, in a cemetery, in a hidden place in our mind, and not think about it. 

We have made death the worst thing.

Death is not the worst thing.

A few years ago my friend Jenn, the associate rector here at the time, died of ALS.  I was privileged to be with her as her time got small.  Death had not become the worst thing for her… life had.  Before and through her illness she had done a bunch of amazing things, the best of which was raising her two children.  When Jenn knew her time on earth was coming to an end we had many conversations about a million things, mostly her children, but also about the ‘after’.  After she was gone.  She asked that I always hide eggs near her grave.  She knew she would be buried in the cemetery and loved that tradition.   

Jenn dying was crap.  Losing a parent or a child or a partner too soon is crap.  The missing them and the way that life isn’t fair or easy or predictable is crap.  We don’t believe in a God that makes horrible things happen but we live in a world where they do.  We believe in a God that says even after death… there is more.  

As followers of Christ we are given hope and comfort in the resurrection.  The empty tomb on Easter morning is our reminder that what seems like the end isn’t.   The resurrection is not a happy clappy response to the painful reality of death.  It isn’t a cure for the agony and emptiness that comes with the million little deaths we experience in our lives (relationships, careers, hopes, expectations) or how we experience actual physical death.  The resurrection is the fact that even when it all seems over, that we can’t go on, that there is not an ounce of life ahead… there is.  What happens when we physically die is still out of reach for me.  I’m not sure what ‘heaven’ is.  I don’t know what happens to our spirits.  What I do know is what resurrection looks like on this side of the grave. 

Resurrection is a marriage that comes back from the pits of hell and not only survives, but flourishes. 

Resurrection is the parent of a deceased child getting out of bed everyday and finding good in an unfair world. 

Resurrection is the addict who takes life one day, one hour, sometimes one minute at a time and is able to not take that drink or hit or pill.   

Resurrection is the person who bravely lives their true gender identity when it was assigned differently at birth.

Resurrection is the child whose mother died from a cruel and unfair disease that would make anyone question the goodness of God showing up to church each week and being able to take cute pictures with her bestie at mom’s grave while searching for Easter eggs. 

Resurrection is the way a loving God redeems all the really crappy things that happen.  It’s unpredictable, surprising, and covered in grace and mystery. 

Resurrection is why we hunt for Easter Eggs in a cemetery.