Why Am I Not Spiritually Prepared for Easter?

About a week ago, I shared with my husband that I didn't feel spiritually prepared for Easter. Though I do not religiously practice Lent with the same fervency that some communities of faith do, I typically use those forty days as a time of mental preparation to fix my focus on the incalculable brutality of the cross, the stillness of Saturday, and the magnitude of the resurrection. I try my best to feel and experience the realities of Easter before this sacred holiday becomes just another day gone-by on the calendar. 

But I have felt mentally, emotionally, and spiritually ill-prepared this year. 

I began to wonder what stole my attention from the one occasion that sets my faith apart from every other religion in the world. I could easily blame my failure to focus on a litany of things: 

• The ongoing journey of post-transplant life, 
• The never-ending COVID-19 pandemic that continues to affect us all, 
• Or the normal ups and downs of life, like shifting relationships, work stress, or just plain busy-ness. 

Regardless of the unfortunate reality of all of those things, they all pale in comparison to the splendor of a King who willingly gave His life for a wretch like me. And this King would even know that I would one day be tempted to unassumingly breeze past the literal days on the calendar where we reflect on His sacrifice and ultimate triumph over death.  

How could I redeem what was left of this Lenten season? 

How could I fix my focus back on the only One who can bring clarity to the distorted distractions of this life? 

I am a firm believer that most of us are really good at treating the symptoms of our problems, rather than treating the problems themselves. While the litany of stressors above might sound like the main problems, they're not. They are only symptoms of what lies beneath.

When I stop and reflect on what emotion pilots the ship of all of those circumstances, fear is at the helm.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of losing someone I love.

Fear of how people perceive me.

Fear of failure.

Fear of missing out.

So with this more acute diagnosis, how do I fix my focus? What is the prescribed treatment to fix my fears?

The only way to correct my nearsightedness is to adjust the center of my attention. I must take my focus off of myself, my fears, my circumstances, and place it on the One who kept His eyes fixed on His Father, in spite of His fears. 

The Garden of Gethsemane provides us with such a raw picture of Jesus' humanity. I can only imagine the intensity of what He was feeling and thinking. We are only afforded a snippet of true insight when we read the Gospel accounts of His garden pleas. We get words on a page, but I imagine those words are mere glimpses into the unimaginable anguish He was feeling inside.

In those few verses, we hear Him cry out to His Father for His circumstances to be miraculously different if at all possible, yet continuously yielding to God's sovereign will.  In those garden moments, He faced the reality of His impending torture and death, disappointment in His closest friends, and the eventual betrayal by a member of His inner circle. Luke graphically tells us that his anguish was so deep that his sweat was comparable to drops of blood (not coincidental that the doctor of the group would reveal such vivid details).

While I have felt like death has been crouching at our door for some time now, and I have had my fair share of disappointments, and even betrayal, by those I once walked closely with, I am able to adjust my focus to the magnitude of Christ's situation and how He chose to respond to His warranted fears. 

It's a bitter pill to swallow as I acknowledge that I haven't chosen to respond to my fears like Christ did, but medicine rarely tastes good going down. However, is almost therapeutic to simply recognize that He and I have something in common: 

FEAR HAS GRIPPED US BOTH.

So . . .

Will I choose to fix my focus on my Father or on my fears?

Will I prepare my heart for Easter by finding a garden where I can steal away for some raw and intentional quiet time with the Lord?

Will I let myself feel all the fears, yet walk in faith when I say "Amen?"

Will I entrust my fears not only to Him, but to those in my inner circle who may or may not choose to approach the throne of grace with them?

Lent might be almost over, but it's never too late to recognize the need to prepare your heart for Easter. Maybe you're like me and need to fix your focus. Maybe you need to diagnose the root of your distractions. And maybe if we all do this, we'll experience Easter in a fresh and more meaningful way this year. 

Let's echo David's cry and fix our eyes upward:

But my eyes are toward you, O God, my Lord;

in you I seek refuge; leave me not defenseless!

Psalm 141:8