T.S. Eliot’s famous poem “The Waste Land,” opens with an enigmatic line, “April is the cruellest month.” It was a favorite poem to quote in April 2020!
At first, this seems paradoxical. After all, April heralds spring, blooming flowers, and new life. So why the cruelty? Eliot’s poem highlights the contrast between external beauty and inner turmoil. As the world awakens, those in despair may find their suffering magnified by the vibrant surroundings:
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
The contrast between visible hope and personal pain can be agonizing. It’s a reminder that we sometimes prefer the familiarity of winter’s death to the painful process of transformation.
When we look at creation, though, we know insects must undergo a remarkable process called metamorphosis to transform from larva to adult. This experience involves breaking down and rebuilding their entire body. Similarly, snakes and crustaceans only grow by shedding their old skin or exoskeleton, a process known as molting. It leaves them exposed to predators and the elements until their new layer hardens. Discomfort and vulnerability are inherent in growth and transformation. Why should we expect our personal lives to be different?
Another way to look at it is like a limb that’s fallen asleep. You’re nestled in bed, dreaming of Easter eggs and rainbows. Suddenly, your foot stirs, awakening like a sloth, and a variety of uncomfortable sensations sets in. Ironically, the pain comes when the blood is flowing again. The return of vitality is painful. Before the new, there’s the return of sensation and a painful process of releasing numbness.
In the Easter stories of Scripture, we meet the disciples coming out of their own numbness in the presence of the resurrected Jesus:
- Early Easter morning, Mary Magdalene, overwhelmed with grief, meets Jesus outside his tomb. Recognizing his voice, she yearns to hold him. He instructs her not to cling but to inform the disciples of her encounter.
- Later that Easter day, two disciples travel from Jerusalem to Emmaus, disheartened by recent events. Unrecognized, Jesus joins them, revealing Himself through Scripture and shared bread.
- Still later, Jesus confronts Simon Peter, who had thrice denied Him, over breakfast. Asked three times, “Do you love me?” Peter reaffirms his love each time. Jesus responds: “Feed my sheep.” This moment of restoration allows Peter to confront and let go of his betrayal.
Each time the risen Jesus appears to those he loves, it involves awakening dormant love, numbed by grief, disappointment or failure. The transition to the new life Jesus offers involves releasing past pain. It’s painful, yet like Eliot’s poem, it is part of a beautiful new season.
You may experience these awakening moments that hurt. Jesus’ resurrection promises new life, but it doesn’t instantly erase our struggles or regrets. Our old ways and regrets must die to make room for the new. It’s an ongoing journey from darkness to light, awakening to a reality where hope and healing coexist with our brokenness.
The resurrection calls us to walk through the pain, just as the disciples did. To extend and receive forgiveness, like they had to. To turn and return to the Scriptures and hear all God has to say to us. To release Jesus from our control and instead respond to his command to go and tell. The resurrection isn’t just an event we remember; it names our ongoing transformation by the power of the Holy Spirit out of God’s love for us. As individuals and as a church, we move toward God’s new thing, even when it requires experiencing the pain of letting the old go.
Stay focused on that vision of what is to be for you, our church, and our world in this sometimes-cruel month of April. It is a promise of abundant and eternal life. Like the disciples, you may be experiencing the tension between pain and hope. Take heart: the ache may just mean you’re waking up!
Grace & Peace,