I usually associate Easter with joy – Jesus rises from the dead, and the pain his disciples experienced at his suffering and death vanishes as they rejoice in their risen Savior. This year, though, I read the Easter Gospel differently, maybe because everything in my own life is so different. Now I notice that the Easter morning Gospel doesn’t show us a risen Christ; we only see an empty tomb. Joy will come to the disciples eventually, but the original Easter morning starts with grief.

Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb on Easter morning in mourning. Then, as she sees that the stone is moved, she’s afraid and distressed – someone took the body, “and we don’t know where they put him.” Peter and John need to verify for themselves, and so there’s a frantic run to the tomb and the discovery that it is in fact empty with the burial clothes strewn in various places inside. The next line, which not included in the reading on Easter, is “Then the disciples returned home” (Jn 20:10). Isn’t that a weird response? They don’t try to find him. They don’t search for clues. They don’t stand around and speculate about what might have happened. The two guys just go home. Mary stays where she is, continuing to cry, but maybe now she’s horrified too. It’s bad enough that Jesus is dead, but now his corpse is gone. The risen Christ soon makes himself known to Mary, and finally she feels joy, but I imagine even that is surrounded with shock and confusion. What does it mean?

We’ll read the resurrection accounts all through this season, and we’ll see that while Jesus was rising into new life, his followers were mourning, hiding in a locked room, and fleeing town. Jesus appears into each of these situations and evokes a lot of feelings in the people who love him – fear, shock, disbelief, and then cautious joy. The loved ones of Jesus expect to find him in the tomb, but instead he’s where they are – in their grief, fear, disappointment, and even hiding. He comes to them.

Usually at Easter it’s easy to meet the risen Christ. I find Christ in church, in the growing light and baptismal water and overpowering scent of lilies that fill the sanctuary. I find the risen Christ in my worshiping community and my religious and God Space communities. I find the risen Christ with my family as we feast on ham and potato salad and hide plastic eggs for the kids. This year, though, I don’t find myself in any of those contexts with any of those people – no church, no late-night Easter vigil party, no family gathering. This year, rather than joy and anticipation, I feel sad. I feel incredibly sad. I feel lonely. I’m grieving for the loss of community, the plans we had together and the presence of people I love. Instead of celebrating the risen Christ and feeling free to seek him out wherever I want, I’m locked in my upper room. It’s metaphoric, but it’s also pretty real – I’m staying home. Some of the disciples chose to do this, but I didn’t.

Still, though, even if I didn’t intend to celebrate Easter this way, I do have some choices. I can stay open-hearted even if the doors to my house are closed. My default response to heartbreak is sometimes to shut down or shut people out, but I don’t want my physical distancing to turn to emotional distancing too. I want to stay open to my loved ones and to God. The risen Christ is still present this Easter, just not where I usually find Christ. Probably more than any Easter before now, I’m just going to have to take that on faith.

This year Christ will have to meet me where I am – in a locked room with a little bit of fear and a lot of mourning. And if, in my heartbreak and longing, the door of my heart does shut, Christ is going to have to enter there too. As I see from the resurrection accounts, Christ always does that, always meets people where they are. It’s in our nature to keep expecting him to be in the tomb – or in church. This Easter I unite myself with the loved ones of Jesus on the first Easter. I feel their disbelief and lingering pain and fear. I trust that I will receive what they did: the joy, hope, peace, and presence of Christ risen in our midst.

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, dancing, meaningful conversations, and Easter candy.