It’s Easter Eve, otherwise known as Holy Saturday, and I’m dreading tomorrow. There. I said it. I’m dreading Easter Sunday. I haven’t attended a church service since last Easter Sunday, and I’m not looking forward to attending tomorrow, either. I probably shouldn’t feel that way, but I’m trying to learn not to “should” on myself, so I’ll just feel what I feel.

I’m going to church with my husband and daughters tomorrow because that’s what they want, and I want them to be happy. But church services still evoke a lot of strong emotions for me, and they’re usually not pleasant. My church experiences over the years have been less than stellar for a variety of reasons. Now, due to my deconstruction of the religion I grew up in, I can hardly stand to listen to theology that depicts God as anything other than Love. (And it’s hard to find the brand of church in the Deep South that believes in and teaches radical, messy grace.)

During the past couple of years, when I’ve experienced overwhelming loneliness, it’s been the voice of Love who has reminded me of these words on a daily basis: I am with you. When the ache from feeling that I’m too different, too much, and not enough threatens to have its way with me, I hear those words. I’ve come to the conclusion that if God is with me, then he (or she) is with everyone, without exception.

I think that’s what Easter is about: God with us. Some would say that’s what Christmas is about, but whatever. It’s true all the time. God is with us. All of us. The best of us. The worst of us. The lonely. The weary. The unchurched. The pharisee. The thief. The prostitute. The doubter. The betrayer. The denier. The racist. Whether the church likes it or not, God is also with the transgender and the lesbian and the pro-choice and the feminist.

I hope when I sit in church on Easter Sunday, I hear the good news that God is with us. All of us. I hope I hear how Grace covers the best and the worst of us. I hope I hear how Love truly makes all things new. I hope there are no stipulations or exceptions or exclusions or fine print. I hope, even though I dread.