A detail I’ve noted since childhood, likely with a little bit of superstition built into it, and probably a selective memory, is how often Easter Sunday was met with a bright sunrise, no matter where in the world I found myself on that day.

This past Easter morning, churches around the world kept their doors shut. Pastors around the world voluntarily complied with Caesar’s requests. Very little opposition was shown, very few lawsuits were even filed to see if Caesar’s right arm agreed with Caesar’s left arm. Very few discussions took place to identify what loopholes may exist.

The pastors charged with caring for the disciples of the courageous Christ exhibited so little courage, they didn’t even go to Caesar and say “Let’s see how we can work this out, closing churches is pretty drastic.” No they just went home and obediently complied.

I stood Easter morning on the steps of the church, at the time that would be “sunrise,” if the sky that morning were not so gray. Alone. In Harm’s Way: H... Matsakis PhD, Aphrodit... Best Price: $3.99 Buy New $45.00 (as of 05:19 UTC - Details)

Alone on Easter Sunday. No jubilant bells. No organ.

No congregational meal. No fellowship.

All forbidden, unless I wanted to pretend Zoom was as good as church. Alone.

Not really alone, for a woman nearby was using the steps of the church that morning for exercise. She paced up and down.

But there were not two or three gathered there with me for Easter, as far as I knew.

Soon after, a man joined her in climbing those stairs. He jogged up and down the dozens of steps that the trailblazers and religious fanatics of an earlier generation had built there as a glorious example atop a hill.

It was a building that the congregation could not today summon the will to erect. It was a relic from a more courageous and honest people.

I conducted a service for myself.

Amazing Grace was sung.

I Know That My Redeemer Lives.

Thine Is The Glory.

In my lone service, in the appointed readings for the day:

From the book of John, the lost Mary Magdalene, at the tomb, did not recognize her dead teacher resurrected, and then she did. And she must have felt very confused, but she was no longer lost.

And in Psalm 118, the stone that the builders rejected became the cornerstone.

These were bold readings about how a no one from nowhere, who no expert would acknowledge as an expert, no insider would deem an insider, 2000 years later is worshiped around the globe. Only, all of a sudden, his followers were a lot more faint. The bravery of Mary Magdalene was nowhere to be found.

This Easter Sunday the sun did not shine. The church did not open. The bells did not even toll. America did not come to its senses. Many parts of the world did not come to their senses.

Next Sunday, the church of the east, the church that some would regard as the true church, using the Julian calendar, will celebrate Easter.

Perhaps America and the world will come to its senses by that day.

Perhaps more clergy will feel a sense of need to come out from hiding.

There on those church steps, my lone liturgy had come to an end. I sang my final hymn. I no longer wanted to be alone. Alone with people around me.

A man walked by on his way home from his night shift. It was now getting to be 8 a.m. He looked up at the church as if it meant something to him different from other buildings. He was the first person who I saw do that since I had been standing there that Easter morning.

He was not wearing his fear mask.

I said hello. He didn’t run away.

I said “Happy Easter.” He said it back.

We started to talk about the closed church that he was looking at. It was the very first thing he brought up, in fact, the shock of the churches closing.

Not even the USSR could close the churches I said. This has been my broken record statement of shock to everyone I’ve met these last four weeks. How Fear Works: Cultur... Furedi, Frank Best Price: $10.04 Buy New $10.90 (as of 03:28 UTC - Details)

We had taken risks with each other. We had bridged the wide gulf of honesty that so separates people in this land on which we now stood. Without courage, there can be no honesty.

We took the courage and honesty a step further in the midst of the corona ban, where all people are mandated not to stop in public, and all must social distance at least six feet from each other. A police cruiser drove by, slowed, and proceeded in disregard of the traffic signal. We two strangers violated the diktats of that land merely by standing there.

We did something more daring, something counter-cultural, something human. We shook hands.

I shook a stranger’s hand on Easter. Imagine the horror an American would have had a year ago, at me announcing such a thing as if it were an act of courage, a source of pride.

And then we did another thing. We prayed there together, on that cold, dreary Easter morning.

And suddenly there were two or three gathered in His name.

We talked for a long time there that morning. And Geoff’s politics were different from mine, but his values were similar. His love of reason was similar. His want of courage was similar. His understanding of right and wrong were similar.

And I knew something much better was ahead.

This is not where the American experiment ends. This is not where the experiment of human freedom ends.

This is where the next battle begins.

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