Easter Aloha

With Evan on Kaneohe Bay Easter 2011

Hau'oli Lā I Ala Hou Ai Ka Haku (“Happy Day of the Rising Again of the Lord” in Hawaiian) 

Nine Easters ago, I was on a pontoon boat in the middle of Kaneohe Bay on Oahu. Evan was still in the Navy, and had been put in charge of a farewell party for a few officers finishing their duty. He was surprised that a pontoon rental that Sunday morning was so easy to obtain, until he remembered what day it was. Plans went forward anyway, and we had a delightful time out on the water. 

I remember talking with Rose on the phone that afternoon, and raving about our fun excursion. “Mother!!” she responded, sounding appalled. “I was in CHURCH!” It was the truth, Rose was living in Seattle and attending a Lutheran church there. I felt badly about not being in a pew myself, but have come to believe I was in the perfect place—with my son and his friends, celebrating a gorgeous day. At one point it began to rain, and I feared our revels were ended, but no. Evan predicted that the shower would be over within 10 minutes, and there would be a rainbow. Sure enough, there was. The display of glorious colors over the bay was like a benediction, and I absolutely felt God’s presence at that moment. 

In my wildest imaginings back then, I could never have predicted the character of Easter, 2020. Once again, I’m not in a church, but for a completely different reason. I can’t be with Evan today, or Rose, Patrick and Julie—and they can’t be with one another. Sheridan, Ya-Jhu, Steve and I are watching/participating in online worship services with three churches. The closest I will get to Hawaii will be a Zoom visit with my sister C later this afternoon (she and Rob moved to Honolulu five months after my one and only trip there; I am eager to return and be with her next time). 

I loved Oahu, and think about that trip often. I did experience a bit of “island fever” though, after about a week. This phenomenon affects some people who are on islands, especially islands far out at sea. It is a kind of panic, a realization that you are cut off from the rest of the world, hours and hours away from the mainland. 

I’m feeling some island fever myself, right here in Oreland, and I bet you are too. We are all on our separate islands, aren’t we? And maybe weeks away from congregating again. The gulf between our houses could be an ocean, since we are prevented from being together. 

But then I think of the song “No Man is an Island.” The verses remind me that “no man stands alone. Each man’s joy is joy to me, each man’s grief is my own.” By joining our hearts and minds, by sending love to each other, our island fever recedes. 

 We are never alone. God makes sure of that. 

 Aloha. (Literally, "Love and Peace" in Hawaiian)

Rainbow

"No Man is an Island" Mormon Tabernacle Choir