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This weekend, we’re sure to witness the power of the world wide web, as a multitude of Easter greetings and shared scriptures conclude the recognition of Holy Week 2025. Social media has become invariably a part of our everyday lives, and while there’s a beauty in the freedom with which we can exchange thoughts and keep up with friends and family, it does have its dark side. On at least one platform, we’ve come to call a part of that darkness “jail,” but the jailings have often proven to show social media’s hand. The politicization of massive platforms is another story, but the first time I went to jail was in the winter of 2020. It was a short stint. My posts were restricted for 24 hours, and came on the heels of a “false information” warning I received for posting ‘The Lord’s Prayer.’ My jailed offense, however, was for requesting actual prayer for my mother, who had just been diagnosed with COVID-19, when the world knew little of it, but found itself in the midst of a crazed panic, the likes of which I had never seen. As a family, we, too, were panicked. No one knew what to expect, and the media was showing horrifying images in Italy and Spain and around the world. In some countries, citizens were, quite literally, imprisoned in their own homes, a phenomenon that gave us both terrifying and beautiful moments of humanity. From those days of uncertainty, I’ll always remember the haunting image of pianist Alberto Gestoso Arce, consoling his neighbors with a piano version of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” as neighbors appeared on balconies applauding and, on occasion, joining in, as a saxophone sang out into the Spanish sky – all while isolated in the iconic red brick apartment complexes in the Catalon city of Barcelona. The tattoo on Gestoso’s neck, a poignant and in context, longing – “Carpe Diem.” In retrospect, we all wished for such a seizing opportunity. The world felt dark.
Now, as we sit on the cusp of another Easter – the most religious of holidays – 1,992 years after the resurrection of Christ, those days of COVID panics and social media jails can seem long past, even if, in our frailties, we equally seem haunted by their shadowy presence. For my family, that a global enemy had come ashore in the United States – and worse, had found my mother – was frightfully unsettling. I set an alarm clock for every two hours, not unlike a new parent, just to check in, and frantically messaged my friend, Allison Gilbert, for advice. We all needed prayer. We all leaned on our faith. During those days, Allison was the only person that I personally knew who had been diagnosed and I had a lot of questions that began with whats, ifs, and ands. To her credit, she was always reassuring and, even as she herself recovered, answered every time.
There can be little doubt that those days changed our world. It darkened and battered us all. It divided and separated us. It closed church doors. Though the overwhelming fear, for many of us, has faded, the tease of isolation still lingers, and maybe ever will. This weekend, social media wishes will abound and Easter dresses, seersucker suits, and spring pastels will flock through every church door – once closed – for the celebration of the resurrection. In that, let it also stand for a resurrection of life as we knew it, a rebirth of the spirit that built greatness in each of us, and the reborn light that we, as individuals, can be for one another in the darkness.