This should be a joyous day to be sure. It reminds us of Christ’s accomplished work on the cross, His resurrection, and the promise that sin now no longer has any dominion over us. We can now be saved by grace, not by works.

So millions today will go to church, say their prayers, and take communion while their pastors piously reflect on the true meanings of Easter. And for millions, it will mean nothing more to them than just a boring tradition that they follow every year, a reason to get out of the house. They will spend time with families they can’t stand, fire up the TV so they can watch the ballgame, then drink themselves into a near drunken coma while they feast on roasted lamb. The kids will scream and run completely amuk after they have sampled the sugar-ridden baskets of chocolates and jelly beans, or wail at the top of the lungs because they couldn’t find the easter eggs while parents try vainly to console them by feeding them even more sugar.

And then people wonder why I hate the holidays.

Honestly, it’s times like this when I think I’ve been wired so differently that I’m the only one who seems unable to abide by the hypocrisy that especially seems to come out during this time of year. If you can’t stand your family, why spend time with them? If you don’t want to go to church, why go? Why put on a show of piety when your heart is clearly elsewhere? It’s better to be true to yourself than to fake your way around. And yet so many “dissemble themselves in their hearts” on these occasions, mostly because I suspect they fear alienation. They dread the thought of being more principled and true to themselves because it might mean that they’d be shunned by others and would have to walk…. alone. For so many, this is a terrifying thought they simply cannot bear. In short, they are cowards.

One of the reasons I avoid church is not only because the local ones have all sold themselves out to apostasy, but also because I cannot be with a company of people who see Christ as nothing more than someone they half heartedly have to nod their heads to once a week, while the pastors give spiritually dead and recycled sermons in somber voices. Only by blasting the contemporary Christian music to unsafe decibel levels can the church leadership assure themselves that the congregation won’t fall asleep as a result of the same, tired old phony shows of piety they present to the masses every week.

And yet I’m sharply criticized and denounced for not wanting to be a part of this. As I ponder why the hatred sent my way is so strangely venomous and disturbing, I wonder if it’s because they’re jealous. Jealous that I am not a slave to a ritual of traditions that I can’t stand. Jealous that I don’t have to spend time with family members who drive me nuts. Jealous that I could go anywhere I pleased while not feeling the least bit guilty, simply because I don’t have any obligations to fulfill. It would come as some solace to them I suppose to denounce me as a heretic and declare me well on the path to hell because I refused to join them in their misery. Alas, woe is me, for I have deprived myself of the company of these gentle, loving souls.

There is a better way, though. I would gladly seek out the company of those true to themselves, and who truly love the Lord, whether they attend church or not. They’re not perfect. They have doubts and bouts of despair. They get angry at God and question why things happened the way they did, and they don’t criticize others who feel the same way. They shun hypocrisy, choosing instead to seek something real, even if it may not be perfect. They are a remnant, scattered abroad, and it is always a sheer joy when I am able to find and meet one who is a part of that remnant. God is near in their hearts and always on their minds, instead of being utterly forgettable six days out of the week. These are they who understand the true meaning of this holiday.