Because (s)He Lives
This time last week, millions of people donned their Resurrection best to mourn and celebrate the death and subsequent empty tomb of Jesus, the Christ.
No doubt, there are messages and proverbs and self-help influencers who connect Jesus’ encore to a message of rebirth, reorganizing, and “don’t let the haters get you down.”
We also routinely witness people celebrate their 33rd birthday as their “Jesus Year,” and often… I am confused.
How many of us have or are willing to bear a figurative cross for the sake of mankind? How many of us are contributing our very best at every moment, and still carry on despite deep ridicule? How many of us, after a thorough inspection of the death/murder, burial, and resurrection of Jesus are ACTUALLY ready to sign up for that wild and fatal ride?
I am a double Leo (sun and rising). Extravagance and drama are written in the stars for me every day of the week, especially in August. In my 20s and 30s, that meant week-long celebrations, complete with detailed itineraries and vibes. Everyone knew there were plans on top of plans with more plans for the just in case.
Blame it on the trauma of control, a consistent theme of: 1) not having needs heard or valued repeatedly and 2) I’ll just do it myself.
In my Leo grand view of self, I believe to my bones that my existence matters. If I were not here, so many people’s lives would be… different. Because I live, there are indelible marks on many big and small things. Because I live, there is laughter when and where I enter. Because I live, I have a responsibility to make the way a little easier and more beautiful for someone else. Because I live, I owe it to this mind, body, and spirit to be gentle and forgiving, while curating new ways of being.
Worthiness has been stripped from me since childhood. Adults don’t seem to understand the life-long impact of hearing, believing, and behaving in ways that affirm “children should be seen and not heard.” As a proper Caribbean household, there was no room for explanations or conversations, it was all “do as I say” and “spare the rod, spoil the child.” What I had to say, what I preferred, an what I believed had no weight and changed nothing. And decades later, I’m convincing my body that all of this is wholly untrue.
Therapy keeps cracking my ribcage open to air out mess and make room for healing. A piece/peace that I’m attempting to keep locked in my bones is the disconnection of praise from worthiness. Even when I don’t hear what I want to hear, doesn’t mean I’m any less deserving. Even when the isms and phobias mount up against me, I am still worthy. Even when the list of no seems longer than the yes, I am still that bitch - and I have an even longer list to prove it. Even when memories and past traumas have defined what I thought was possible, the power to unravel, resurrect, and be reborn lies in me (and therapy).
Even in persecution, by the very same people he healed, Jesus remained the son of the Most High. Sometimes I wonder if and how his humanity brought him anxiety or maybe a little “fuck this shit.” We know he tried to bargain his way out (“let this cup pass from me”). Can any of us blame him?? But because He lived, we have examples of what servant leadership and dedication to humanity SHOULD look like. Because He lived we have a clear roadmap for how to build community. Because He lived faith expands beyond the walls of any building, beyond religion, and requires more from us than 10% and judgey hypocrisy. Because He lived, we are owed liberation and rest in this lifetime.
When we look back over our lives and think things over, can we truly say that we lived a life of value beyond what they told us it should be. Have we maintained our worthiness, in spite of. I’d argue that it doesn’t take death to be reborn. We don’t have to wait for Easter to reimagine. For fuck’s sake, we don’t even have to wait for crucifixion to show them our empty tombs. Resurrection is right here waiting.
