Have you ever woken up early in the morning, when you can almost feel nature stretching its arms as it too awakens to greet another dawn? There is that sliver of time when the moisture in the grass seems to rise up to the heavens in tribute, gently.
I love that time of wonder and tribute, as I love the season of Easter and its reminder of the proof that hope indeed rises.
As with Jesus Christ’s resurrection, the season of spring reminds us of the cycle of renewal. From the Earth rises new buds that bloom into celebrations of life’s cycle, and they make us stop in wonder.
While driving in the Central Valley, we are treated to the birth of baby sheep as they walk over their pastures. I can well imagine our Christ shepherding them as He shepherds His flock.
At this magical, solemn, holy and happy time of our year, I can almost feel the leap in my heart that is hope. And isn’t that what this season is about? Hope and faith.
Easter and I have had a binding relationship since I can remember. It is a strange dance between the pageantry of Easter lilies, colorful baskets filled with tempting delights and cuddly stuffed Easter bunnies, and the Passion, from Christ’s glorious entrance on Palm Sunday to the week of thorns where doubt and conspiracy try to take center stage.
It makes you think of that old adage, “Nothing is so good or so bad that it lasts forever,” being turned on its head. We think of that Last Supper and Christ’s inner challenge and victory as He shows us all what it is to believe and to be faithful.
We pause on Good Friday to ponder the humiliation, the betrayal and the trials where He is mocked by those who had earlier in the week shouted, “Hosanna.”
We are but human, and sometimes we struggle. Sometimes we are weak like mischievous sheep. Think of the long walk to Calvary with Christ carrying His own cross, laden with souls to be saved. I find myself standing next to His Mother, Mary, weeping and wanting to change Christ’s path, but humbly aware that He is walking those steps for me.
I can feel the amazement of Easter morning when life conquers death and when those who wish for salvation can be saved.
Why are we worthy? We need only believe that Christ has risen. Christ has risen indeed.
The season of Easter is rich in traditions, customs and history. Way back around 30 A.D., the Romans crucified Christ and history was changed. After forty days of Lent, during which we offer up our small sacrifice, we enter the time of the Passion.
We imagine we can hear the shouts of Hosanna coming from the crowd as they excitedly wave their large palm leaves to welcome Jesus Christ. He was their hero until they listened to the Romans and sang out, “Give us Barabbas.”
We sit at that long table on Maundy Thursday, denying that we would ever betray this man we had followed and loved. Our feet ache as if we had walked from trial after trial where there was never to be a word of justice, only a proclamation to pass the buck, a washing of hands by a weary Pilate.
They place on His head a crown of thorns as they mock the man for being the King of the Jews. He who was the incarnation of love.
The large wooden cross is so heavy, yet Christ carries it up to Calvary. We imagine the agony of nails being forced through such gentle hands, these cruel wounds felt by all those praying at the bottom of the cross.
Then comes the third day. Christ laid in his tomb, waiting to fulfill the prophecy. Then, with the Hope of the Resurrection, Christ rises.
I must pause here. To not do so would seem inappropriate. Only now can I write about the symbolism of Easter.
Lilies abound this season. Although the United States is a secular country and Easter is not ordained as a federal holiday, it is celebrated by millions as families attend church and partake of the customs that have been passed down from generation to generation.
As with Thanksgiving and Christmas, food is a big part of the celebration. My family, true to the Midwest custom, always had hot cross buns for Easter breakfast. These traditional buns have spices in them to represent Christ’s body being anointed with spices before burial. They also have cross-shaped icing on the top. I remember one day before Easter, our nearest baker ran out of the cherished buns, and my mother drove all over Detroit to find some.
Many families eat lamb in commemoration of the death and resurrection of Jesus. I recall the time I first saw a picture of Jesus Christ, his shepherd’s staff in his hand and being followed by his loyal flock of sheep.
At the time, I was in the process of memorizing the Lord’s Prayer, and somehow, I made this strong connection that has lasted with me over the seven decades since. It has always made me feel safe and looked after. It’s not surprising that one of the most popular Easter meals is roast lamb.
One of the zillion benefits of living in Los Banos for over 32 years was tasting food I had never tried. When June Erreca and her sister, Gloria Spina, brought me their Easter pie, I was ready to become Italian right then and there.
When you think of Easter, the holiday, Easter eggs come to mind. Who doesn’t have a story about some historic egg hunt or the time the egg was forgotten…but not for long, its odor alerting people to its hiding place?
Eggs also have their own story of transformation, if not transfiguration. The chicken before the egg? The egg before the chicken? The first colored eggs for Easter were done by the early Christian community of Mesopotamia. They stained their eggs red in memory of Christ’s blood shed at the crucifixion.
Then, of course, there is the Easter Bunny, the cheerful, lovable character that brings gifts. It really ties into the time of year and the theme of rebirth. Real bunnies multiply about as fast as those famed loaves and fishes!
I, purely from a personal perspective, have always loved my stuffed rabbits for their comforting power. And who is the greatest comforter?
Easter holds many poignant, personal memories for me. My beloved Grandpa Day died just a few days before Easter. I was deep into my Sunday school classes at the time, and I remember thinking that my Grandpa Day would be resurrected as well. I kept begging my mother to take me back to the cemetery so I could see the smashed stone where he had broken through and then rose.
My son Brett’s birthday is April 8. This year he will be an unbelievable (to me) sixty-one. I recall vividly his second birthday when Easter fell on the same day. He wore a navy suit, a checkered vest and a red bow tie that almost matched his red hair.
When we walked into our church, Brett was taken aback by the numerous white flowers, white ribbons and candles. A woman noticed my son’s awe and said, “Isn’t it beautiful? It is because of Easter.”
“Nope,” replied my strong-minded two-year-old, “it’s all because of me.”
And I thought hard on that because, in a way, it was because of him and all of us who Christ died for.
A popular ad now running on television has a recording of Johnny Cash’s classic, “My own personal Jesus.” That ad gets me to tear up every time I see it. I smile at peace, thinking, yes, He is. For all that seek Him, yes, He is.
Have a beautiful Easter, and don’t forget to hug your Easter Bunny, whoever that may be. We all want to feel needed.
Diana Ingram can be reached at DingramThurston21@gmail.com
