A Goldilocks Easter

In the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, a ‘bad-tempered little girl’ visits the forest home of three rather civilized Bears. In her impudence, she tries all their porridge, sits in all their seats, and messes up all their beds.

As you’ll remember, she finds the Great Big Bear’s porridge too hot, the Middle-sized Bear’s porridge too cold, and the Little Wee Bear’s porridge just right. 

It’s an apt illustration for the different ways we approach Easter.

At my church, as at many churches, there’s a special greeting on Easter morning. Instead of “Hello!” and “How are you?” we’ll say to one another, “He is Risen!” and respond, “He is Risen Indeed!” 

But despite the joy of the occasion, I know that some of us will feel we can only utter these words of hope from behind a mask.

Because deep down, we wonder if we can bring our depression to church this Sunday. How can we celebrate Easter when you're going through a divorce, your child is battling cancer, or you can't find work?

And outside the doors of our church, the world groans with suffering. The hungry children of Ukraine and Gaza plead with God for sustenance. Oppressed Afghan women endure the harsh rule of the Taliban. Amidst civil war, the people of Sudan search for clean water.

It’s a jarring contrast when the worship band hits every note, the preacher hypes the good news, and everyone looks like they stepped out of a Gap advertisement. 

If you’re feeling empty, worn out, and alone, the Easter message can feel like unrealistic hype: this feast is not for me.

Yet there’s another meal on offer: the porridge of the Middle-sized bear. 

Increasingly, millions are walking away from church. Scandal after scandal prompts a fair question: why trust the church to proclaim good news when it generates so many troubling headlines?

But even without belief in God, our suffering remains.

Without the Christian story, how do we see ourselves, and where do we find hope? One answer comes from Elise Bohan, an evolutionary macrohistorian based at Oxford’s Future of Humanity Institute. She describes humans as “ape-brained meat sacks” in urgent need of technological enhancement.

Her term is a vivid descriptor that emphasizes our primitive biological limitations. So, in Bohan’s words, we should “use the best of modern science and technology to radically extend the parameters of what it means to be human.” It’s a project based on “the idea of being the best that we can be and ameliorating as much suffering in the world as possible.

However, if we examine Bohan's thesis objectively, its foundations feel too cold for comfort. Reducing humans to "ape-brained meat sacks" is a reductionist phrase that undermines the ethical imperative of the transhumanist project. As Bohan acknowledges, "It feels like the more we technologically enable the human being, the less we see the human as a special entity."

After all, if we measure value solely by intelligence, then what is more worthy of protection? An ape-brained meat sack or the silicon chips powering ChatGPT?

So what does it look like for the Easter meal to be just right?

When our hearts break from sorrow, how can we be nourished?

It's interesting that the little girl is repeatedly drawn to the offerings of the Little Wee Bear. Perhaps we can find hope in the smallest and least likely of places.

The Christian philosopher Blaise Pascal captured the tension of our situation well:

It is dangerous to make man see too clearly his equality with the brutes without showing him his greatness. It is also dangerous to make him see his greatness too clearly, apart from his vileness. It is still more dangerous to leave him in ignorance of both. But it is very advantageous to show him both.

Man must not think that he is on a level either with the brutes or with the angels, nor must he be ignorant of both sides of his nature; but he must know both (Pascal's Pensées, 95).

What does it look like to celebrate Easter - not as angels or brutes - but as imperfect yet glorious humans?

For me, Easter begins by remembering the brutal violence of Good Friday. Jesus' last days were consumed by betrayal from a close friend, false accusations from his enemies, a rigged trial by the authorities, sadistic torture from the soldiers, and a humiliating, excruciating end in the public square.

In the Gospels, the Easter lamb isn't roasted with rosemary and garlic and served on fine china—He's butchered on the cross.

It's a shocking, traumatic conclusion to the life of Jesus.

The full Easter story is a direct confrontation with the inhumanity of humanity.

Yet it's also a story of hope amidst despair, life after death, and God triumphing through love.

The suffering of Good Friday underscores the depth of human pain and the reality of evil in our world. It’s because these stories are united that the empty tomb is a testament to the transformative power of God's love and the ultimate victory of life over death.

In Romans 6:4, the apostle Paul proclaims, “Therefore we were buried with [Christ] by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life.”

Paul's argument is compelling: because Christ has decisively broken the power of sin and death, we are empowered to live new lives.

For Christians, hope is not mere hype.

Instead of ignoring the suffering of this world, Easter joy gives us the courage to confront it. 

From the resilience of refugees who have lost everything yet still cling to faith, to the compassion of volunteers who serve in homeless shelters, to the courage of activists who fight for the oppressed and marginalized, the resurrection of Jesus reminds them that God triumphs over evil. 

I don’t want an Easter that’s too hot or too cold - but one that’s just right.

If Jesus is Risen, then I don’t have to close my eyes to evil or run from the empty tomb. Instead, we can honestly acknowledge that amidst our misery, the resurrection shines a light of hope.

Because Christ is risen, we have confidence that we are neither meat sacks nor angels - but God’s beloved, raised to walk in the newness of life.

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Photo by:  Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash