March 23, 2008
This winter my five-year-old, Mason, and I have been reading a children’s Bible. He knows the Biblical story of Easter. He knows Roman soldiers executed Jesus and that Christians commemorate this event with Good Friday celebrations prior to the Easter holiday—which he associates much more with a visit from the Easter Bunny than with the concept of resurrection. This past Wednesday morning he was wondering why we call it Good Friday. I had no answer. I suppose it’s a tradition. I asked him why he wanted to know. He responded with another question: “If they killed Jesus, why don’t we call it Bad Friday?” It sounded somewhat sacrilegious, perhaps disrespectful to Christians. And yet, it’s a reasonable question. In the end, how is it a good day when a government arrests a person who is simply—if boldly—professing his faith. How is it a good day when that same government tortures and executes that person?
That same day, Wednesday, fifteen members and friends of UUS:E of all ages, were among the 200 participants in the “Protest and Lamentation” procession in downtown Hartford to mark the fifth anniversary of the United States invasion of Iraq. There were five among us, including my colleague, the Rev. Kathleen McTigue of the Unitarian Society of New Haven, who engaged in civil disobedience, blocking the entrance to the Federal Building at 450 Main St. No torture. No execution. But they were arrested for professing their conviction that our government has lost its moral compass, has told lies to justify the atrocities it has committed, has sacrificed thousands of lives to achieve short-term, selfish ends wrapped up in the pretty language of patriotism, democracy and safety; yes—arrested for professing their faith in a loving divinity whose nature is not war and violence but peace and compassion, whose concern and embrace are not limited to one special group, to one nation, to one race, but wide enough to include all humanity and indeed all the earth.
On Friday, the first full day of spring, Mason and I participated in the Good Friday processional, again along Main St. in downtown Hartford, sponsored by Hands on Hartford, formerly Center City Churches. We asked some of the Christian pastors why they call it Good Friday. They laughed, and said it was a great question. It’s tradition. Along the procession, in addition to the standard Biblical readings, there were prayers and reflections offered for justice, reconciliation, peace and healing. Though I did not recognize as my own the Christian theology professed by the leaders of this procession; and though I did not share the Good Friday anticipation of discovering and proclaiming the resurrection of Jesus Christ on Easter morning; I did certainly share in the authentic and heart-felt yearning among the participants for justice, reconciliation, peace and healing. And, moved more by the arrival of spring, I did certainly share a sense of anticipation for this Easter morning.
Easter is, after all, a rich and multi-layered holy time, with roots reaching far back into human history. The story of the resurrection of Jesus is but one, fairly recent branch emerging from these roots—one, potent expression of the hope that arises in the human heart each year at this time as winter ends and “Lo, the Earth Awakes Again.”
Yes, Easter is the story of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem on a donkey, palm leaves in the road keeping down dust, shouts of “Hosanna,” turning over tables in the temple, washing feet, sharing bread and wine, prayerful struggle in the garden, betrayal, arrest, torture, the cross, weeping, taunting, “forgive them for they know not what they do,” “it is done,” death, tomb, stone rolled away, new life proclaimed.
And Easter is more. Easter is the land shifting from grey, frozen and barren, to brown, wet and muddy, to green, moist and growing. Easter is faint red buds dotting New England trees; crocus tips breaking through muddy earth; robins yanking earthworms from the muck; earthworms tilling and softening the dirt; field mice waking from winter slumbers and bouncing about meadows and lawns; brooks and streams, ponds and lakes swollen with melting snow. Easter is the thawing of the earth inspiring a thawing in our hearts.
Easter is the first planting; the farmer turning over soil; removing rocks brought forth from winter frost heaves; sowing seeds; tending crops; living not by the clock but by the rising and setting of sun and moon.
Easter is the ancient symbols of fertility—the egg, the rabbit—reminding us of birth and rebirth; reminding us of nature’s generative and creative capacity; reminding us of our own generative and creative capacity; reminding us of the persistence and resilience of life; reminding us of our own persistence and resilience through even our most troubling and despairing moments in the depths of our darkest tombs; reminding us that stones can be rolled away and we can come back to lives of meaning and purpose.
Easter is the same spirit at the heart of the myth of Persephone, the grain maiden, renewer of the dead—the story of her return from her underworld journey through a ring of purple crocuses, into the embrace of her mother, Demeter.
Easter is the same spirit at the heart of Norwuz, the ancient Persian New Year celebration linked to the vernal equinox, a celebration of rebirth and renewal.
Easter is the same spirit at the heart of Ostara, the Neo-Pagan and Wiccan celebration of spring, looking back to the ancient and only dimly remembered Germanic goddess Eostre, Goddess of spring and fertility, Easter’s namesake.
Easter is the same spirit at the heart of the Passover Seder, the telling of the archetypal story of the movement from bondage to freedom, the movement from slavery to self-determination, the movement from death to life; the movement from a barren wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey.
Easter is the story we heard earlier of chicken soup brought to the grave of a beloved grandmother.
Easter is the message of love at the heart of Jesus’ ministry, about which Vicki spoke so eloquently last week in children’s worship—a love which transcends all theology and doctrine, a love which is likewise pervasive in all the world’s religions—a love which renews and rejuvenates and redeems when we let it enter and expand our hearts.
Easter is the same spirit of the child who senses the contradiction and asks, innocently, yet with that wisdom all children possess, “If they killed him, how can it be good?”
Easter is the spirit of those who engage in civil disobedience out of a conviction that wars founded on lies, motivated by revenge, and seeking petty, personal profit are atrocities and ought to be challenged in every way we can challenge them.
Easter is voices raised in song, pronouncing the words “With My Own Two Hands,” “Welcome Spring,” and “What a Morning.”
Easter is the spirit which transcends theology and doctrine and prays for peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing.
Easter is the hope—that idealistic, naïve hope—that human beings can come together in the midst of all that divides us and actually create peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing. Easter is the belief—that idealistic, naïve belief—that, as one whom I admire said this week, “We are not irrevocably bound to a tragic past,” that we can indeed come together in the midst of all that divides us, in the midst of war and violence, and actually create peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing. Easter is the firm conviction, reborn and rekindled in our hearts with the coming of spring—that idealistic and naïve conviction—that we can come together and turn this world around for the better, turn this world around for the sake of peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing; turn this world around by bringing love to bear as the earth awakes again.
Happy Easter my friends. Amen and Blessed Be.
