When I first heard about Easter Sunrise Service at the Cemetery, I was expecting something spectacular. I mean, why else would you haul ass out of bed at 5:30AM on a perfectly decent Sunday morning?
I expected to see the sun rise over the magnificent city of Portland, Oregon.
Instead it rained cats and dogs.
I expected a somber, intimate service.
Instead there was a huge crowd and a table of free Hostess Donettes.
I expected an A Capella men’s chorus or a campfire-like sing-along.
Instead there were the Crystal Gayle Vibrato Sisters who wouldn’t recognize a key if it jumped up and bit them in the auto-tuner.
I expected a sermon so ripe with mystery and awe that I would seriously begin to question my lack of faith.
Instead I got “He is risen indeed,” and confirmation that faith and I are still aren’t speaking to one another.
I expected an insightful, intellectual bible reading.
Instead I got the Road to Emmaus, one of the hardest passages for a non-believer to hear without rolling her eyes.
I expected reverence for the dead.
Instead the only dead person mentioned was Jesus.
I expected to be reminded of my own mortality.
I simply… wasn’t.