I wish I had something more profound to write today other than that when I smelled a marshmallow bunny, I was instantly returned to my childhood and nearly cried for homesickness. And I think that that was my cross to carry this Lent: not being with my family. Mistake me not, here on the island is where I am called to be. And the Triduum was beautiful, especially the candlelit vigil in the looming basilica, where I found myself absorbed by the readings that span history—and by the choir that filled the sanctuary with their harmonies. Beautiful too was the cloudless sky Easter Sunday morning, and the joy we shared throughout the day as we played and cooked and ate together. And my hosts were sweet to gift me with my favorite tea (Cream of Earl Grey) and dark chocolate, all I desired in the face of the children’s weighty chocolate bunnies and copious jellybeans. Yes, it was a good Triduum. But it wasn’t home.
And I believe in this homesickness, because I believe in the Resurrection. Every cross, if carried to the end, is rewarded by life everlasting. Would we be Christian if it were otherwise? This is my hope.
Christ is risen.
