(Still life at dusk, with apple blossoms and tiny moon.)

Cashier Zia is a bright and upbeat young woman, wielding competence and cheer on a seriously multi-tasking job. On Easter Sunday during a break in the action she waves hello from the next aisle, calling “Mary Mary! Happy Easter. How is your holiday going today?”

In America this worthwhile social ritual is all planned out for us. Just color in the lines. All I have to do is wave back and say “Fine! You?” and by then Zia will be whipping through the transaction for the next customer. Simple.

So at self-checkout, pausing while typing in the bar code for my organic Tuscan kale, I smile right back. Then I just stand there speechless.

The real answer is that St. Sophrony the Athonite, later of Essex England, before his repose in 1993 (Bright Memory to him!) recorded ‘Why Some People Feel Empty During Easter (Even Though Christ is Risen.’ It’s on YouTube with English subtitles. (For some reason they use “Easter” in the title, even though the Orthodox are particular about correcting me to call it Paskha instead.) Anyway, in his frail warm little voice and old-school Russian, Father explains that there are Christians who do not feel joy at Paskha. Rather, they experience the feast as a “time of trials, of existential collapse.” These are the people who have still not conquered their fleshly passions. They may even feel “Paskha has come! Christ has risen from the grave. And here am I, still lying in the death of the passions.”

At that point, feeling many notches more discouraged than before, I turned off the computer and did the next constructive thing, heading for the store for leafy greens.

Zia: (smile turns to empathic concern) OH — What, did all your People die? My Gramma said life is just hell when all your People die. She always told me “Zia Dear, enjoy your golden years while you still can. Because ya don’t get many. And they ain’t that golden!”

Me: Thank you, Zia. She sounds like a wise and caring Gramma. Does she live nearby?

Zia: Oh, she died. (With a wave she sprints off to respond to an alert in the overhead paging system, calling for customer service in the frozen food aisle. Yes, they now have to keep the ice cream under lock and key.)

I finished entering bar codes for the greens, paid and packed, and walked home. Things felt better after the kale run. So I braved the rest of St. Sophrony’s talk, and it’s a good thing. He tells these other souls, the rest of us, “Do not give in to the temptation of these thoughts. You must believe that we shall truly rise. Say this, with fervor: “I do not only believe in the resurrection of the dead; No! I also await it.” Let us AWAIT the resurrection of ourselves and our loved ones, as the Holy Fathers expressed so wonderfully in the Creed. Remember that nothing else exists except Christ. Lean on Him and say in the meantime ‘Into your hands I commend my spirit.'”

It was a good thought to keep in mind for the end of the feast day. The kale cooked up nicely with tomato sauce and garlic flakes and crushed almonds and a shot of balsamic vinegar. Sweet potato on the side.