Shell-Shocked: The New Order of Easter

“Love will always have primacy in the realization of flourishing life under the unfitting conditions of the present age.” (Volf & Croasmun, 2019, p. 167)

Shell-shocked. Not the first adjective that usually comes to mind at Easter. However, I hope to persuade you. I’m not just talking about Easter egg shells (though I will), but I’m referring to the shocking revelation of the resurrection—the new order of love that prevailed at the first Easter.

First, egg shells. For many, Easter involves lots of eggs—hard boiled, plastic, chocolate, peanut butter, coconut. I have delightful memories of cracking, popping, and biting open many eggs. In retrospect as a kid, these eggs enticed me into the wonder of Easter. They were like the G- rated version of the joy of Easter. After all, celebrating the return of the slain Son of God sounds more like an episode of “Game of Thrones” than a Sunday School lesson. Perhaps the delight of opening eggs was a diversion—enticing us early before we were ready to be shocked by the reality-redefining crucifixion and resurrection.

Cracking eggs is not the only rupture associated with Easter. There are two other powerful Biblical images that opened me up to the audacity of God. At the crucifixion when Jesus uttered his last breath, the gospels record that the temple curtain was torn. The referred-to curtain separated the most sacred space, the Holy of Holies, from the rest of the temple, where only the high priest was allowed because God’s radiant presence was too overwhelming for unprepared and unprotected persons. At the crucifixion, this temple curtain was torn—irrevocably torn. As a Christian, I understand Jesus as the ultimate high priest, both having gone before God on our behalf and as God coming to us in human form—opening a new connection between God and humanity. 

The sacred or religious order was not the only disruption—but also the natural order. The stone was rolled away from the cave where Jesus was buried. Again, a barrier was removed—allowing the women to enter the cave and get the first glimpse that Jesus was resurrected and alive, and simultaneously permitting Jesus to walk among humankind in resurrected bodily form. If God was not audacious enough disrupting the priestly and religious order, God also disrupted the natural order—not just moving large stones, but bringing life from death.

On Easter day, the two magisterium of knowledge—religion and science—that have been relied on throughout human history for understanding and order were disrupted and redefined by a new order invoked through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In this new order of love, God took on flesh, suffered, died a humiliating death. In embodying and embracing abandonment and disgrace, Jesus bridges between God and humanity. God experiences the full range of humanity. Whether we are in “the temple” or not, God is with us. The crucifixion and cave remind me there is no place, no person too dark or deep for God to reach. This is the shell-shocking news of Easter. God’s loving presence is made available to all—24/7. God’s love is on the loose.

And God’s love is transformative. I am very aware of the necessity and power of love. We can’t live without it. Love is the foremost condition for thriving. Research reveals that only in the loving safety of a caregiver will a newborn baby’s brain grow. Only in the love and acceptance of others can an adolescent find regulation and forge identity. Only through reciprocating mutuality and love enacted in nuanced sensitivity, forgiveness, and patience can a relationship thrive. Only in love being enacted in justice can societies flourish. Love is the oxygen of life.

It’s said, “Love makes the world go round.” Sure. It can also be said, “Love makes the brain calm down.” When our brains are calm, when our amygdala is “chill,” when our limbic system is at rest, our brains broaden and grow. Literally, a regulated brain can explore, learn, connect, create, give, grow, thrive. Thriving starts with being loved. 

I believe that God knew we needed love and came as love incarnate and is present to us through God’s Spirit. Psychological research demonstrates that our belief and experience of relating to a loving God can have a great impact on our mental health and thriving.¹ Easter reminds me that love reigns, and that God’s loving presence is always with me–and you. The game of thrones has been won, and God reigns from the throne of grace. The barriers are gone and the field has been cleared by the love of God. 

How do you experience God as the dependable presence that doesn’t go away? The presence that remembers and holds in a single gaze what has been true and is true of you? The eternal, unshakeable witness to who and what we are? I don’t know about you, but I find this shocking. Through the cross, I am reminded that I am claimed—not shamed. We are welcomed—just as we are. Even where and when we feel most unlovable, God is there. In this way to me the cross signifies the ultimate embrace.

As Christians, when we behold the aching beauty² of the cross, revealing hardship and hope, we are reminded that we are not alone in our aching incompleteness. God loves us into the depths of our entire being, calming our racing hearts and anxious minds, reminding us of the fullness, connection, and purpose God created us for. At Easter, God offers a new way to thrive. The invitation to thrive is understood as an invitation to a new order: love. We are not called to white knuckle it through life, but rather to open to the love of God. 

As you crack open an egg this Easter, consider how God is inviting you to live out this new order of love. What does the shell-shocking news of Easter mean to you? I know that I will celebrate and shout for joy that Jesus is risen and that God’s love is let loose in the world.

Footnotes:

¹For example, see the collective research on “God attachment” by scholars such as Pehr Granqvist, Lee Kirkpatrick, and Richard Beck.

²Mindy Caliguire uses the term aching beauty to describe the Garden of Desolation, a grove of charred trees at Whisper Ranch, which had been severely burned but remained standing in the Marshall Fire in 2021. She referred to these trees as possessing an “aching beauty,” symbolizing resilience and the complex interplay of loss and beauty, which reminds me of the tragedy and triumph of the cross. In Caliguire, M. & Smucker, S. (2024). Ignite Your Soul. Colorado Springs: NavPress.

Reference

Miroslav Volf and Matthew Croasmun, For the Life of the World: Theology That Makes a Difference (Theology for the Life of the World) 2019.