The Easter service was going like any other Easter service had gone in Bible-Belt churches across the South for decades. The praise team was hyped and smiling wide toothy grins. The preacher had his handkerchief close by, ready for high emotions and sweat from the strain of preach-yelling at his congregation. The one brown-skinned person in the whole predominantly white town was chosen beforehand to be Jesus in the Easter play, and he walked down the aisle with the wooden cross on his back. There was utterly cheesy contemporary Christian music blaring through the speakers louder than any music had EVER been allowed to play in that auditorium, and yet there were no complaints because…well, it was a song written by Saint Smitty (aka Michael W. Smith).
And of course there was a drama, which continued like most of them did back in the early 2000s: lots of music with a longer-haired man standing next to other men dressed as 1st century Jews with their hands slightly raised, making small circles as if to show that they were talking. I always wondered what they could be talking about during those Easter plays. Maybe they were asking for directions?
At the end of the play, the “big reveal” happened. They had draped a thin sheet over the baptistery behind the choir loft and hidden lights back there so you could only barely see the guy playing Jesus. He was ascending. Or at least it looked like he was. This was small-church Alabama so I doubt they had legitimate hydraulics or zip lines like a lot of our humble brother and sister churches do these days, so he was probably slowly standing up taller in a chair in the baptistery or else they had probably scoped out who was carrying the most chairs at the last potluck and signed them up to stand on each side of the baptistery and pull him up with ropes. But however they created this David Copperfield-level of illusion, “He’s Alive” was again jamming over the speakers at about a thousand decibels.
“He was probably slowly standing up taller in a chair in the baptistery.”
I looked to my left and the lady next to me was looking to the heavens and sobbing with a giant smile on her face. I looked to my right, and a man was on his knees with his hands raised in the air. The preacher was front and center at the foot of the stage, red in the face with a hand lifted up, intensely exhorting people to come down to “give your heart to Jee-uh-sus!”
I looked around the room and couldn’t find one person unengaged with what was going on…except me. For some reason that year, I was totally not feeling it. I had been following Jesus for years up to this point, but something was going on inside of me that was preventing me from “feeling it.” I stood there with my hands in my pockets. I closed my eyes and asked God to help me “feel it” again like everyone else. Nothing happened.
I went home that day feeling strange wondering what it all meant. Was I not a real Christian anymore? Did I do something to “lose it,” whatever “it” is? I took an account of my life. I wasn’t deliberately sinning. I was fighting and struggling with sin like every Christian does, but not actively giving into it and calling it okay. Had I been praying enough? Had I been engaging with the Holy Spirit enough up to that point? Was I listening and paying attention to him? I had to admit the answer to that was no. I was going through what has been called a “dark night of the soul” during that Easter, and it had completely robbed me of my joy. I had begun praying the psalm where David asked God to “refresh the joy of his salvation.” I desperately wanted that—but it just wasn’t happening.
“I looked around the room and couldn’t find one person unengaged with what was going on…except me.”
As I look back now, I wish I could tell myself in that moment to do a couple things differently in my walk with Jesus. They would have helped me, and they’re the reason I’m writing this article. It’s for you. To the nearly burned-out minister, to the exhausted stay-at-home mom, to the teenager who doesn’t quite know what they believe or why, to the seeker, the thinker, and the wonderer. I’m writing for the person whose church puts on truly impressive, well-produced, non-cheesy Easter services—and yet you still aren’t feeling it and it scares you.
Sometimes these things happen because of the way we’re living (deliberately sinning, passively “pursuing” God, etc.), and other times they just happen to us with no real explanation, like a sudden death of a friend: it happened and now we’ve got to deal with it.
So, what do we do in times like these where we’re not “feeling it”? More specifically, how do we get our hearts prepared for the coming Easter Sunday so we can experience God to the full?
Don’t fake it.
Nothing prolongs seasons of numbness, doubts, and questions more than just stuffing it down deeper and trying to move forward. I’m a big proponent of inviting Jesus into the mess. He knows you inside and out and he cares about the details in your life, even the small ones.
And feeling numb or having persistent doubts is no small detail. It’s something worth noting, and you can be sure that he already knows what’s going on and wants to help. It’s one of the reasons Jesus left the earth and sent the Counselor to reside within you. Jesus wants us to be free people who love, obey, and worship him to the max of our abilities and senses. He cares whether you feel numb or not, so be honest with him and invite him in.
Practice: Meditate on Scripture. Find a quiet place by yourself and BREATHE. Play some instrumental music if you can’t take the quiet. I highly recommend Hammock’s album Silencia for this. Open the Psalms and pick one; pretty much any will work. Read along until something jumps out at you and then put your Bible/phone down, close your eyes and repeat that verse over and over, letting yourself soak in Scripture and in the presence of God. The Holy Spirit is present with you. Let yourself feel him in that hidden place and let him bring you joy and comfort and peace in the way that only he can do.
“He cares whether you feel numb or not, so be honest with him and invite him in.”
Take inventory.
Ask yourself: “Is there something I’m doing that I know deep down I shouldn’t?” On the flip side, is there something you know you should be doing, but you’re not? Maybe the Holy Spirit has asked you to delete all your social media apps so you would stop lusting after images online and you deleted all of them…except Facebook. Maybe Jesus has asked you to stop talking badly about people who aren’t present, and you pretty much did, but you just HAVE to let people know to “be praying for Tom, who’s been out drinking every night and is the reason his wife Maggie is so unhappy and he does this to her all the time and she deserves better so… be praying for him.”
It could be an assortment of things in your life that you’re not thinking of. As humans, we have this amazing ability to get ultra ticked at other people’s little hypocrisies while living totally oblivious to our own. That’s why it’s so important to be connected with the Spirit living within us. He sees all things and knows how to direct and guide us, especially with those ugly things about ourselves we refuse to see in the mirror.
Practice: Earnestly pray that God would search your heart and reveal to you any conscious and subconscious ways you may be disobeying him, and then listen for his answers. Things will begin to pop into your mind. Use your discernment there and see if they hold water. Sometimes we don’t hear from God, and we think of things to make up for the silence. Test the things that come to your mind.
“He sees all things and knows how to direct and guide us, especially with those ugly things about ourselves we refuse to see in the mirror.”
Fast and pray.
This is a long-practiced discipline by Christians throughout millennia. I had never tried it until recently. I wish I had known about it when I was going through my season of numbness and questions.
There was a time in my marriage where my wife and I were separated for three months. Our marriage was on the rocks for various reasons and faults on both sides, and we decided to take a break to figure out what was going on. It was easily the hardest time in my life. At one point, we thought we weren’t going to get back together and, even though I was mad at my wife during that time, I was deathly afraid of forever losing the girl I had fallen in love with back in college. There was a desperation in me that physically hurt because I desperately needed God’s help. My bed was “wet from tears” as King David said. I sought God every day and found he was close to me because of my broken heart.
Before I discovered fasting, I would look back at that dark time in my life and think, “That was the closest I ever felt to God. I wish I could go back to feeling that way…minus all the tears and the physical pain and all that.” Then I discovered fasting. Fasting is like a mini version of that desperation I felt from my separation—but accomplished by abstaining from food. The purpose of fasting is not so much to get an answer from God or to get God to move however you need him to; the overarching purpose is closer communion with God. In your seasons of numbness toward God, prayer and fasting can cultivate that closeness.
“In your seasons of numbness toward God, prayer and fasting can cultivate that closeness.”
Practice: skip one meal every day of the week leading up to Easter or skip a few meals in one day. Spend that time reading the Word of God, praying, and sitting in silence. It’s important that we have margin for sitting still and listening for God’s voice and direction.
Remember.
Back in 2004, I went to the movie theater with some church friends to watch an R-rated movie (don’t judge me just yet). I knew this movie was a tear-jerker, so I was prepared to get all ugly-faced in front of my friends. But as the movie progressed and the sniffles in the crowd began to manifest one by one until it reached an all-out sobbing symphony, I noticed something about myself: no tears. Not one. The movie was The Passion of the Christ; maybe you’ve heard of it…
I’m not sure why I wasn’t crying like everyone else. It was horrifying to watch my Lord beaten on my behalf, but for some reason or another I wasn’t shedding a single tear. What was wrong with me? No feels at Easter…no tears at The Passion. You might be wondering if I am in fact a real Christian. Good question. I was wondering that at the time too. More on that in the next paragraph.
I now try to watch The Passion every year around Easter. Since its 2004 release, I have, in fact, cried an ugly-faced cry, so it’s official: I am a real Christian (a little sarcasm there). I watch that movie because it helps me remember. Maybe we have trouble being excited by Jesus’ resurrection because we haven’t taken the proper time to remember how bad Good Friday actually was and that our sin was the reason for it. Keep in mind that the word “remember” has been a huge part of our ancient faith throughout its history (see 1 Chronicles 16:12; Psalm 77:11; Deuteronomy 8:2; Isaiah 46:9).
“I now try to watch The Passion every year around Easter.”
What do all of those reminders in Scripture to remember tell us about ourselves? It’s almost like those verses are assuming that remembering isn’t a thing that happens organically. Almost like our Creator knows we need to sit down and force ourselves to think of the ways he has shown up for us.
Like I said earlier, I am a worship leader by trade. I am up there on stage almost every weekend singing songs about how good our Lord has been to us. Do you think I “feel” it every Sunday? Some people have asked me how I do that and if I ever fake it. The answer is I feel it nearly every Sunday. But on the Sundays I don’t feel it, I certainly don’t pretend to be happy. I don’t fake it. So, I either won’t say anything inspiring from the stage that day, or I’ll admit to everyone there that I’m tired and…not feeling it. It is okay to say that! 
Then I follow that up with something encouraging like: “But this is what I do on these kinds of Sundays: I simply think back to when my marriage was a wreck. I think back to when I was hopelessly trapped in addiction, and I remember that he saved my marriage and made it better than ever. I remember that he brought me to a community of recovering addicts that helped me recover and find sobriety.” When I’m not feeling it, I encourage them to join me in remembering. Those things cause a joy to well up within me that carries me through leading people in worship on the days when I initially am not feeling it. We need to remember the story and remember our stories as well.
“When I’m not feeling it, I encourage them to join me in remembering.”
Practice: make time to read through Mark 11-16 or sit down and watch the Passion of the Christ to help yourself get back into the story. Write your testimony down in a journal. Go to or host a lament service on Good Friday that ends with Jesus’ death; don’t get to the resurrection until Sunday morning. Sit in his death through Saturday like the disciples did and remember the weight of it all.
Praise the Lord anyways.
This is my last point. You may not be able to put on a smile that day, but you can sing of his goodness anyways. Sometimes our bodies need to lead the way, and only then will our emotions follow. Trust and obedience kind of work like that too. You may think that sounds a lot like faking it, but I don’t think so at all. I think that’s letting our brains inform our bodies. That’s “bossing our feelings around” as my pastor Bobby Harrington says.
Practice: Sing the song. Lift your hands. Or better yet, be the “weirdo” who goes to the altar during the praise set to kneel and pray and ask God to fill you up that day. Don’t stand in the crowd suffering in silence. Tap a shoulder and ask someone to pray for you.
“Don’t stand in the crowd suffering in silence. Tap a shoulder and ask someone to pray for you.”
So maybe (hopefully) this Easter, you’ll feel it. Maybe you won’t. Maybe the music will hit you just right and you’ll cry during the song’s bridge. Maybe you’ll stand there with your hands in your pockets wondering why everyone else seems electrified. Either way, the tomb is still empty. The stone was rolled away before anyone believed it. Resurrection does not depend on your mood. So, if you wake up on Easter Sunday and you’re just not “feeling it,” don’t panic. Don’t spiral. Don’t assume you’ve lost your salvation or your sincerity.
Be honest.
Take inventory.
Fast and pray.
Remember.
Praise him anyway.
And then rest in this: The risen Christ is not pacing around in heaven wondering, “Why aren’t they more excited?!” He is patient. He is kind. He is not threatened by your numbness. If he met people in the garden while they were crying, if he walked with doubters on the dusty road, if he cooked breakfast for exhausted disciples who went back to fishing, then he will meet you where you are too. Even if you don’t feel it. Especially if you don’t feel it.
Happy Easter.
