I don’t get Easter.
I mean, I understand it’s a holiday based on, depending on your religion, the resurrected Jesus Christ or the fertility goddess Ishtar. Ishtar, of course, is the one associated with bunnies and eggs and super long movies with virtually no plot that fall flat at theaters despite a star-studded cast. It’s like Dune, but it takes place in the desert. Wait, Dune takes place in the desert, too? Hmm… I’m starting to note a trend. Better tell George Lucas before he sets half of his Star Wars movies on Tatooine.
The thing I don’t get about Easter is its staying power as a major holiday.
Again, not questioning the importance of the date in the Christian mythos. But again, that ain’t got shit to do with the fact that bunnies like to fuck.
Let’s be honest, we’re becoming a much more secular society. Our “Holy Days” have become holidays. Last time I checked, we don’t take Ascension off work. Or Epiphany. If we really want to see how much we celebrate major religious holidays, check out all the Catholics sporting the ash on Ash Wednesday. I think I saw, like, two. Back when I was a “Good Catholic,” I remember being regaled all day with such erudite religiosity like the phrase, “Hey, you got a smudge on your forehead.”
And sure, we’re a predominantly Protestant nation, but then shouldn’t the Protestants be explaining to me why Catholic practice, vis a vis the ashes from the fronds burned on the previous Palm Sunday as an inadequate representation of the Word of the Lord, per the sola fide doctrine of Martin Luther. But nope, they only tried to wipe some grease off my forehead. When I explained to them that Ash Wednesday was the beginning of Lent, and it was all based on Easter, the holiday with Peeps, they could only wonder why the ash wasn’t pastel-colored. Maybe because the groundhog didn’t see his shadow that year.
The Holy Days that have stuck around as holidays, of course, are the ones that have secularized themselves. Saint Valentine’s Day, for instance, has become a day where we celebrate a brutal Prohibition-era gang murder by showing our internal organ and painting everything the color of blood. Similarly, Saint Patrick is widely celebrated as the inventor of Guinness. We no longer celebrate All Hallow’s Day, but rather its Eve, when the spirits of all of our ancestors put on skimpy nurse costumes. Oh Grandma, I didn’t need to see that.
And let’s not forget the Fourth of July, when Jesus, en route to bury gold plates in Pennsylvania, stopped just long enough to shove a bayonet up King George’s candy-ass. Then he ripped off his robes a la Hulk Hogan and shotgunned a brewski. At least, that’s what the bumper stickers on the truck with the Confederate flag driving in front of me seems to think is the true message of Independence Day. The day, not the movie. Actually, on second thought…
And then of course, there’s Christmas. I’ve written before about how the holiday itself is based on the birth of the Roman god Saturn, not Jesus. And virtually everything we associate with it – trees, logs, lights, presents – comes from old pagan rituals based on the shortest day of the year. Or as a marketing ploy for Montgomery Ward.
But it’s cool. A few “Put Christ back in Christmas” whiners notwithstanding, most of us are cool with the secular nature of Christmas. Take away the Jesus, and I’ll still be there for the gingerbread lattes.
Which brings me back to Easter. Again, those of you who are devout Christians, I totally get that it’s pretty much the most crucial holy day. If dude didn’t wake up from his three day nap, then the whole religion is kind of a sham.
And I’ll even concede to them the most frustrating thing about Easter: that it can’t make up it’s fucking mind. The moving nature of Easter is what shows us that, unlike Christmas, it’s actually based on the Bible. It’s always the Sunday after the first full moon of Spring, because that used to be the basis of their calendars. None of this December 25th bullshit.
But the Easter that I’m critiquing is the secular one. The world of Easter egg hunts and disgusting chocolate and jelly beans. Why is that still a thing?
My mom asked what I’m doing with my daughter this weekend, and I told her I’m leaving her to curl in Seattle. She was surprised that they would schedule a curling bonspiel on Easter weekend. I shrugged. It’s always been the third weekend of April. It’s not the curling club’s fault that Easter decided to crash their plans.
But it didn’t stop with my mom. Half my fucking family wants to send my daughter a new basket or a gift card or a new bonnet.
Bear in mind, my mom hasn’t been in a Catholic church for any reason other than a wedding or a funeral since John Paul was pope. And, I’m guessing Ronald Reagan was still president. My wife’s parents have been churchless even longer, but we’re under strict instructions to call them every second of the day on Easter so they can ask if the Easter Bunny left a bunch of rabbit shit on our back lawn.
But the second I talk in a dismissive manner toward the holiday, I get scolded. I better not blaspheme about not really caring for Cadbury Creme Eggs. That colored sugar in the middle must somehow symbolize our fallen Lord.
But not our risen Lord, because that’s clearly the jelly beans. I’m pretty sure Saint Peter, when he saw the stone rolled away from the cave, didst spake, “Hey, do you smell pectin?”
And don’t get me started on ham. I can’t be the only one who goes through this conversation every spring:
“What are we doing for Easter dinner?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Ham, I guess?”
“That’s what I was afraid of. What about steak?”
“Yeah, steak sounds good.”
Well, at least I’ll have some deviled eggs to go with the ham sandwiches I will be packing in my lunch through Labor Day. Because clearly they don’t make ham in any size smaller than seventy-five pounds. Costco is known for selling the smallest hams on the market, right?
And yeah, I know there’s the whole hunt for eggs thing. But the kids grow out of that a shit-ton faster than any of the other things, right? I enjoyed trick or treating well into double-digits. And Santa Claus’s present are still fun. But finding some plastic oval with some shitty candy into it? Aren’t most kids over that by seven or so? The Easter Bunny is much closer to the Tooth Fairy than it is to Santa Claus.
And really, what matters the most isn’t if it’s still fun for the children, but if it’s worthwhile for the parents. If the joy I see on my daughter’s face outweighs the pain in the ass it is to prepare, then it’s worthwhile. Again, Halloween is totally worth it. Christmas? As annoying as it is getting “Allen Wrench Fingers” putting together a bicycle after downing a bottle of wine Christmas Eve, it’s all forgotten when she comes down the stairs the next morning.
Okay, maybe it’s not all forgotten, because I’m still mentioning it in April. But it still seems worth it
But Easter? I spent an hour coloring eggs last weekend, and I’m already over it. Hell, even hard-boiling the eggs prior to the coloring was a pain in the ass. And you know those eggs are never going to be eaten, because I’m totally going to forget to make deviled eggs out of them and I’m going to have to eat the ham by itself because I’m too busy trying to remember where I hid all the crap on the lawn.
Back in the 1970s, my parents hid the hard-boiled eggs, too. Except we didn’t find one. Sometime in June, we couldn’t figure out where that horrible sulfur smell was coming from until we lifted the couch and found something that smelled like it had been buried in the cave with Jesus.
Which is why I don’t understand how Easter’s still a thing. Especially now that we’ve added leprechaun traps to St. Patrick’s Day and Ewok villages to Arbor Day, what is worthwhile about Easter?
Wait, don’t we make Ewok villages for Arbor Day? We should totally do that. Not that Arbor Day is a thing anymore. Because, unlike Easter, it knew that it was overstaying its welcome. And anything Arbor Day can do, Earth Day can do better.
Which should be the situation Easter finds itself in, too. Dinner is better on Thanksgiving. Candy is better on Valentine’s Day and Halloween. The obsession with sex is better on those two holidays, too. Easter used to symbolize the changing of the seasons, but I’ll take Memorial Day and Labor Day for that task. And if we’re really focused on a holiday specifically for springtime, we’ve got St. Patrick’s Day for that. And green is way more pleasing to look at than pastels.
Heck, even the religion elements of Easter are outdone by the pagan holiday that is Christmas.
But you wouldn’t know any of this by talking to my family or my wife’s family. All of them want to know what special plans we have for this Sunday. Which, and how many, egg hunts are we taking her to? And how many chocolate bunnies is she getting? And how many courses is dinner going to have?
And again, none of these people who are super excited about what we’re doing with our daughter has been to a regular church service since the twentieth century.
And they’re sending her shit in the mail. My mom sent her a full basket. My aunt sent her leggings and wanted to know what gift cards she would like for Easter. I don’t know, is Target a proper spot to have a conversation about capital punishment techniques used in the conquered areas of the Roman Empire? My wife’s family is out of town, because similar to my curling bonspiel, they always have the same week of the year at a timeshare they own, and Easter can’t make up it’s fucking mind. But they want to make sure we send them pictures of the eggs and the hunting and the baskets and the bunny ears. Which totally sucks, because if not for that request, we probably wouldn’t have to deal with the eggs and the hunting and the basket and the bunny ears.
Not that I’m going to be dealing with it. I’m going curling.
Because Easter can’t make up its fucking mind.
Oh, and when is it next year? Yeah, I got a thing that day, too…