A Very Covid Easter by Joy Nevin Axelson

Many claimed it was the darkest, most depressing Easter ever. A worldwide pandemic—a health crisis of unprecedented magnitude—had swept the globe. In the span of two weeks in March 2020, it upended everyone's lives and ushered in the unthinkable—an Easter quarantine. If you had told me on my 47th birthday in March that there would ever come a day when US citizens would be forbidden from eating out, attending church and school, visiting relatives, or flying to Disney World, I'd have said you were losing it. 

Two weeks before Easter 2020, our governor issued a stay-at-home order banning gatherings of more than ten people. This shuttered schools, churches, and movie theaters. The stock market dove 32%. Oil, which was once over $100 per barrel, plummeted to $19.68 per barrel. Gas that used to cost $4 per fell to $1.50 once we were hardly allowed to drive anywhere. 

This frightening novel virus cancelled school plays, proms, and graduations. Students flooded home from college for the remainder of the year. Our son got a week off before spring break so his high school teachers could ramp up “e-Learning,” a new word for us all. Our sixth grader and her middle school minions, armed with their iPads, only enjoyed one day off before e-Learning smacked them back to reality. The good news is that the kids (and their mom) got to sleep in due to a later start to the school day. Thank you, Covid.

So, there we were, on Palm Sunday, at home, in sweatpants without makeup or showers. Some may have brushed our hair. We were living the high life. Sipping coffee with our feet hoisted up in recliners, we watched our church’s worship service online. Please stand and sing... “No thanks, Pastor Dan, I think I'll just sit here in my slippers by the fireplace and only sing the songs I like.” Please stand for the reading of God's Word. “OK, Pastor Tom, you got me there. Come on, kids, stand up.”

This Palm Sunday was striking and peculiar. Not a palm frond or Easter lily in sight. After the sermon, we hosted our first at-home communion. I knew it was coming and wanted to make it biblically authentic and significant. Could I have used saltine crackers and grape juice? Sure, but where's the fun in that? So, the night before, my son and I made unleavened bread from scratch with flour, salt, and olive oil. Sure enough, just like in the original Exodus, it only took five minutes to bake. 

You'll have to cut us some slack in the beverage category since we don’t drink much and we hate red wine. I only use it for cooking. I unearthed the dregs of a 2012 Mike Ditka Cabernet Sauvignon wasting away in the pantry. Someone who didn't know us gave it to us many moons prior. I decanted this sad excuse for spirits and asked if anyone wished to try a real communion with unleavened bread and red wine like Jesus had. Both kids were eager to try. However, my husband, knowing full well that the wine likely tasted like chunky vinegar, stuck to his guns, opting for juice. The rest of us took tiny sips of rancid wine with grape juice chasers. 

Then, we met with our adult Sunday school class virtually via Zoom conferencing. It was such a joy to hear their voices and see their faces. I don't think I've ever wanted to go to Sunday school that badly. As it turned out, Zoom would rule our lives for the next two years.

Now, let's circle back to Easter, which was the following Sunday, April 12. Since our last in-person worship service on March 15th, we had become accustomed to pulling up the link to our pastor’s prerecorded sermon. He preached a timely three-part sermon on Hezekiah’s life entitled Facing an Unexpected Crisis, which he prepared pre-plague. 

In the meantime, dyed in the wool C&E (Christmas and Easter) Christians who only attend church on high holidays (as our Jewish friends refer to them) bemoaned empty cathedrals and loss of liturgical traditions. That year, the Easter Bunny, that integral part of every believer’s Easter celebration, went on vacation. 

But for us, snug and warm in our family room, I followed Mary’s example and pondered the scene in my heart. I sat there listening to our church service. With my daughter’s arm around my shoulder, my son sipping mineral water, and robins warbling in my blossoming backyard, I drank in peace and a quiet sense of unity. This Easter morphed into something intimate, meaningful, and somehow more sacred than before. 

Although I’m the youngest of three and both my mom and my mother-in-law nearby. But due to less-than-ideal life circumstances, I am always forced to host Easter (and Christmas and Thanksgiving). This typically involves gathering the leftover pieces of two very different families and awkwardly shoving them together for a few hours. I scramble to prepare a giant ham, along with an alternative main dish, because so-and-so can't have ham. I clean the house, remind my family several times to insert the extra leaf into our table, whip up a feast, and scramble to arrive at a packed church in time to have seats. Later, we all attempt to return home in time for this event I have no desire to attend. 

I began to wonder, “Why should Easter, which is really about the miracle of our Lord's resurrection, center on the stressful preparation of an uncomfortable meal you neither wish to make nor consume?” Well, thank you, coronavirus! This Easter was the best! No dressing up or harassing kids to brush their hair or change their clothes from two days prior. No timing the cooking of the ham or arguing over whether we should pour nasty clove sauce on said ham. And, best of all, no vacuuming up tiny shreds of plastic Easter grass three years later. 

Just Easter. 

Only the parts I value and find meaningful after sifting out the stressful commercialized chaff. Consequently, after an inspiring sermon, we ordered pizza. That's right. Easter pizza. “Can she do that?” you might be wondering. First of all, I can and I did. Second of all, Covid-19 bonus #7 is that most restaurants started delivering food. Covid-19 bonus #19 is that you no longer have to interact with the delivery person. (I did make a long list of ironic Covid bonuses.)

In spite of the pandemic, we maintained our annual tradition of an indoor hunt for candy eggs. My son hid his sister’s eggs and did a great job... maybe too great. Some candy eggs remain to be found years later. Following our yummy, no prep, no clean up pizza, we played a board game together. Later, I asked my artistic daughter if she would dye easter eggs with me. There remain some non-religious traditions that I enjoy. But she shot me down! I felt disappointed until, to my surprise, my 16-year-old son stepped up to the plate and volunteered. 

We had fun coloring eggs. “Poland,” he said as I dipped a white egg halfway into the red dye. “Italy,” he proudly proclaimed attempting to replicate the Italian flag on an egg-shaped canvas. “I will not eat any eggs that have glitter on them,” he declared, unprompted. “But you remove the shells!” I retorted to no avail. As teenage boys do, he ended up eating most of the eggs anyway. 

Later, my daughter and I played Pokémon Go together outside. We chatted as we walked around enjoying fresh air and spring daffodils. Many were crushed by social distancing and overwhelmed with loss during Easter that year. But for my harried heart, it was the best Easter ever. 

Several posts on social media cropped up immediately following the shutdown.  They said something like, “In the rush to return to normal, use this time to consider which things are worth rushing back to.” Our whole country hit pause. We received a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to clear our schedules and carefully add back in curated and thoughtful activities.

I will be the first to admit that cherished family and church traditions are worth keeping and reinforcing. However, forcing myself to purchase, prepare, perseverate, and pretend I want to host Easter detracts from Easter for me. Given the choice, I would rarely host family events.

In 2020, I relished this simpler holiday—a sweet, intimate family celebration—stripped of bells, whistles, and showy facades. Just once in our entire lives, we were allowed to simply be us—together—apart from the crowd, focused on the presence of our risen Lord.

Joy Nevin Axelson is a Christian author of several published poems and works of nonfiction. She holds a BA and an MA in French (from the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana and from the University of California, Santa Barbara respectively). She also attended Trinity Evangelical Divinity School and North Park University. In addition to being an author, she is the translation coordinator for GlobalFingerprints, the EFCA’s child sponsorship branch. Her translations of training materials are used at 12 international sites. She enjoys traveling with her husband and two older children. Check out her website at www.joynevinaxelson.weebly.com.