Celebrate this Holiest of Seasons

His life and brutal death by Roman crucifixion are historical facts. The earth shook. The sky blackened. The curtain in the temple, a four-inch-thick tapestry representing the separation between God and humanity, ripped from top to bottom by an invisible hand.

His Father’s hand.

For three days, Jesus Christ stayed dead to the world. Then, death defeated, victory won, he walked out of his tomb.

Christians worship a risen Saviour. One who is in the world today. Unseen, but ever-present, he walks with us. Talks with us. Knows and loves us completely. That’s what we celebrate this holiest of holy seasons. Real life.
But not everyone celebrates the same way.

On Easter Monday, In Bessières, France, members of the Brotherhood of the Giant Omelette cook a massive omelette for residents. Imagine it: about 15,000 eggs and a four-metre-wide pan.

Poland celebrates the end of Lent with a tradition known as Wet Monday (Śmigus-dyngus). People toss pails of water at each other, in massive, good-humoured water fights. A symbol of baptism, perhaps?

Residents of Corfu, Greece, observe a traditional Botides (pot-throwing) ritual by throwing clay pots and jugs onto the streets from their balconies. They do this to symbolize discarding old things and welcoming new spring growth. New life, just as our scripture says in 2 Cor. 5:17 “…if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: the old has gone…” Real life at last.

Some homes here, ours too, display symbols of spring, reminding of that new life. Relatives gather to share taste-tickling foods. As I do yearly, I’ll share (and indulge in) some chocolate eggs and bunnies.

But my favourite custom? I read aloud, to whomever will listen, Margery Williams classic story, The Velveteen Rabbit. I’ll choke a bit (always do) at Williams’ gentle though subtle depiction of love and aging, death and resurrection.

Toys aren’t real, the wise old skin horse explains to the velveteen rabbit, who longs to be real. Not until they’re loved greatly by someone. Someone who keeps loving them, even when their limbs get floppy, their bodies lumpy, and their skin shows bald patches.

The boy who owned him loved the velveteen rabbit. Loved him till he was floppy and lumpy, and almost bald. But disease struck the child, and to prevent it spreading, all his toys had to be discarded.

Marked for a bonfire, a fairy rescued him. Transformed him into a brand-new bunny, with a new body. Legs that could skip and hop and dance. No more bunchy stuffing or bald spots.

I can’t skip or dance anymore. My hair is thinning. I’m lumpy in spots. I have more days behind me than in front. But Easter reminds me that death isn’t the end for we who love Jesus. We, too, will rise again. Our real life waits beyond the disposal bin.

And even though I never really could, I will dance. Because of the cross. Because of the empty tomb. Because of our Saviour who washes our sins away. Because of God’s love.

Blessed Easter, friends.
###