In many ways, Easter is a puzzling kind of holiday. On the one hand we have the solemn and beautiful biblical story of life triumphing over death in the Resurrection of Christ. On the other we have pastel Easter bunnies and Technicolor eggs. As a youngster, I remember trying to reconcile the empty tomb with an egg-laying rabbit and deciding that the only true thing about Easter was that you could never tell what was going to happen.
I remember my mother and Annette and I boiling eggs and then coloring them with permanent dye. We bought a kit at the grocery store; back then it was pretty simple: for twenty-nine cents you got six colored tablets and a piece of wire to be bent and used as an egg holder. Mother poured the boiling water and a tablespoon of vinegar into each of six cups, and I dropped in the tablets and watched the water turn colors – red, blue, yellow, green, orange and purple. Then, using the wire holder, I dunked a boiled egg into each cup. After a few minutes, I’d fish out the egg and set it to dry in the cardboard carton. I’m still not sure why I thought this was so exciting, but I can recall looking at the whole carton of brightly colored eggs, certain that I had accomplished something quite magical. After the eggs were dyed and tucked away in the fridge, the Easter Bunny, a creature I heard a lot about but never actually saw, showed up in the wee hours of Easter morning, removed the eggs from the refrigerator, and “layed” them all over the house. It never occurred to me to wonder how a rabbit could even open the huge Kenmore in our kitchen, let alone conceal a dozen eggs!
Easter Sunday not only brought a basket full of candy but a new Easter outfit sometimes including a hat, gloves and always shiny new patent-leather shoes. A few weeks before Easter, Mother, Annette and I went to Penny’s Store and chose a pattern from the huge Simplicity catalog, then carefully examined the bolts of fabric. I remember one Easter dress that was pastel in sheer organza and lacy eyelet, supported with a layered petticoat.
We would go to Sunday School where we would always sing, “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today”. After church we hurried home to put the final touches on the Easter dinner; baked ham, scalloped potatoes, creamed peas and salads. We always had mother’s home made cherry and apple pies. Easter dinner always was noisy family members encircling the table. Conversations swirled around me as my older sisters, brothers, in-laws, nieces and nephews shared stories of past and present. Often, during dinner the doorbell would ring and there on the front porch would be a hollow chocolate Easter bunny for all of the children. Never did figure out how the rabbit managed to carry all those chocolate bunnies to our front door and reach high enough to ring the doorbell!
After dinner all of us kids would congregate in my bedroom where, devoid of adult supervision, we perched on the floor or the bed and bit off the hollow ears of our bunnies, stuck them on our fingers as puppets, and made up ridiculous plays about “Rabbit World.” At the end of the day everyone went home happy that we were a family and full of love and replenished with faith.
And maybe that’s the central truth in the midst of Easter’s paradox: emptiness becomes full. Empty homes are filled with loving family members; empty baskets are filled with eggs; the empty tomb bursts with new life. And in the end the most important thing isn’t to be able to explain it all, but just to understand that hope is discovered in the most unlikely places, and that Easter always surprises us with unexpected joy!
