Ask me what's wrong. It's easy to tell you. The slow burns of disappointments and frustrations and the sharp intrusions of unexpected pain and news---they are easily cataloged and discussed.
Harder, much harder, to tell you what's good, holy, joyful. It becomes a fearful thing to express. We will make fun of the happy-making things in an ordinary day. They get dismissed as trite.
It has become trite, facile, naive to believe in the Christian story. I am a product of an academic understanding and exploration of the faith and I know the ways other such people can be dismissive.
One of the most joyful people I ever knew, also an academic, often described herself this way: "I'm nothing if not trite." She was also one of the few people I've personally known to deeply dive into the suffering of the world. She suffered with it. With us. She understood and practiced compassion in a way for which I've yet to find the strength. Or the vulnerability.
I believe in resurrection. She trusted resurrection.
I can list the things that bring me joy and I might fumble around for the words to explain how this is resurrection. Anyone who has experienced the pounding absence of a loved one, a dead loved one, can tell you how hollow those things sound.
And yet, most of us beaten down by grief will also eventually laugh again.
This is not reportage. This is witness.
Christ is arisen. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia! Alleluia!