I Yearned for Something More: The Journey from Platitude to a Personal Easter Experience

By, Mirjami Budarz

From my childhood, in Finland, I remember Palm-Sunday and sweet songs of Hosanna in the church and heart; the house was cleaned for the holy-days, our long farm table was decked with linen cloth, pussy willow branches were put in a large vase and decorated with ornaments. Grandma and mother baked many kind of special Easter pastries, and cooked. We children colored eggs.

From my the teenager years I remember, that during passion week the radio played only classical music and hymns and movie theaters featured somber religious movies, if any. It was a long boring week, time of waiting and suffering. Then Easter came, and I felt obligated go to church and hear of death, burial and resurrection of Christ. The church bells chimed, and I yearned for something more. Then we finally had our festive family meal. Life was “on” again.

As a young adult, a new mother, Easter became cutesy, with new outfits, a time of furry Easter bunnies, egg hunts, candy and a noisy festive meal at Grandma's house, and I yearned for something more.

Then something happened in the early seventies, during Chicago's, hot summer, during a time of social and spiritual upheaval, a time when tanned hippies slept on the beach with their dogs, marijuana, and incense smells lingered in the humid air. A time when long haired young women walked barefoot, dressed in fringed cutoff jeans and halter tops, peace signs dangling on chains around their necks, including mine. The time when our little son waited excitedly for a baby-brother whom he wanted to name after his favorite car, Buick. A time when our money was tight,Vietnam war was ending or over. Time of our second baby's birth, (no we didn't name him Buick)...And I yearned for something more.

Suddenly.. the name Jesus started to pop up in every-day conversations, there were signs of surprising spiritual quests everywhere. I heard of Him during the frequent walks with my little boys to the newly opened health store; He followed me to the farmers market and Indian restaurant or past the transcendental meditation-yoga shop. I heard 

(more like a haunting) of Jesus almost anywhere I went...and constantly my own thoughts drifted to God. Finally one evening I knelt in the alone-ness by my bedside and prayed simply: “Jesus if you are real, I need to know you, come into my life.”

Then, the first time since childhood, I heard a sweet Hosanna song in my heart as a bitter-sweet Easter exchange took place, and what had been just a platitude turned to a deep personal experience.

Holy son of God gave His life as ransom for mine. I sold Him for 30 pieces of silver, He made me His priceless treasure. I denied him, He adopted me in His family. And as I yelled, “crucify Him”, He prayed, “Father forgive her, she knows not what she is doing.” As I hammered the nails in His sacred hands, He carved my name in His palms. When I jabbed a crown of thorns on His brow, He promised me the crown of life. And as I stripped Him naked, He gave me a robe of righteousness. When I pierced His side, He made my heart His habitation. As I wrapped His dead body in burial cloths and spices, He gave me His life, washed me white as snow and I became a sweet savor of Him. I felt ashamed of what I had done and hid Him behind a stone, there He became my corner stone and rock of salvation. I left Him alone in tomb, but death could not keep Him, for His name was Life.

And when He rose on the early dawn of that long-ago Easter-morning, He proclaimed, “I will never leave nor forsake you.” Therefore now I profess, “My Lord and my King,” and as His cherished child I sing joyfully again:

“Into the city I'd follow the children's band, waving a branch of the palm tree high in my hand;                                                        one of his heralds, yes, I would sing, loudest hosannas, "Jesus is King!"

                                           

Bio:

Author and artist Mirjami Budarz was born in Finland after WWII into a large displaced Karelian family. Later she moved with her family to Germany and eventually the United States retiring in Wilmington, NC, with her husband in 2008. A short story of Mirjami’s was published in Guidepost’s, Unexpected Answers and she has illustrated two children’s books.