Easter for me means new birth, whether that is as seen in the natural world around me, daffodils, cherry blossom, spring bunnies, Easter eggs, the end of the lambing season. Or spiritual new birth.
In the past week we have enjoyed bucketloads of sunshine. The abundance of blossom and fecundity all around cannot be avoided. It's not every day that I get to perfume my washing naturally with the scent of cherry blossom wafting over my drying bedlinen.
New life is addictive. I can't help myself and have to get out every day to admire each new addition. On one early morning walk I caught sight of the sweetest fresh buds and bright new foliage as seen in the photo below. The dusty pink & lime green against the bright blue sky is stunning. I congratulate the tree for its choice of colours.
I am that person who will hug a tree just because I can. There used to be an old Eucalyptus tree at the bottom of the walled garden. If you pressed your ear against the trunk you could hear the gurgling of water rising though the xylem in its very centre. I miss that tree, it was cut down a couple of years ago. It was too thirsty for the garden!
Enough of the tree stuff. Let's move on to bunnies and blossom and lambs.
Quite a few years ago my brother - in - law, Peter, used to work the lambing season and spent a week or two camped out in a barn on call to help the mother sheep with their deliveries. It was always a treat to go and see the new born lambs. Below is a photo of my nephew Oliver meeting a lamb, my sister-in law and cousin enjoying a cuddle.
Now that Peter is no longer helping with the lambing season I have to look for lambs elsewhere. Down at Albury Park there are usually sheep and lambs to be photographed.
These photos are from last year. I couldn't help feeling drawn to the twin grey lambs with their black stockinged feet.
At this time of year we get to enjoy seeing lots of lambs and the lamb theme is no coincidence. This is when we remember 'the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.'
Every Easter in London, Trafalgar Square on Good Friday and Guildford High Street on Easter Saturday, the Wintershall players put on the Passion Play. The play starts at the bottom of the high street and works its way up to the top where the crucifixion scene occurs. A large group of actors made up of local people work together to bring the story alive. There is a donkey and a release of white doves. Sight, sound and smell, a feast for all the senses.
It is a brave thing to put on an outdoor re-enactment of the Crucifixion on an English high street buzzing with the sound of money being spent on Easter eggs and chocolate Easter bunnies. Whenever I watch the Passion Play I do have that moment of awkward toe curling embarrassment. Annoyed shoppers hurry on past irritated by the disturbance to their day.
For a society that frowns on extremism it seems ironic that we swallow the bitter pill of militant capitalism and yet feel awkward when it comes to talking about God's love. I find it slightly degrading that we are pushed to buy Cadburys Creme Eggs as soon as Valentines day is over. We have rejected Christianity and now our world revolves around the commercial calendar.
There is huge opposition to Christianity. Whether it is in the real martyrdom of Christians we are seeing in the Middle East or certain other countries such as Nigeria, or the intellectual bullying and intimidation of the West. I studied a science degree at University and the idea that science has disproved God is complete nonsense. If anything good honest science reveals that there is a masterful designer behind our planet. The fact we have struggled to find any signs of life anywhere else in the entire Universe being just one of Science's contributions to acknowledging that life on earth is completely unique.
I salute the Wintershall players for having the guts to put on the Passion Play every year, in this our very secular society.
Easter is a reminder that Jesus threw out organised religion and brought in a real relationship with the Divine. There is no room for self-righteousness when it comes to Jesus. It has nothing to do with going to church but is about a gift that is given. A gift that cannot be earned or deserved. I am free from the burden of performance, good works, good behaviour! There will be no table of my bad stuff versus my good charitable works being balanced in a heavenly bank account.
For me loving Jesus was an easy choice. I met him at an early age.
I was born into a country at war with itself, Rhodesia in the 1970's, growing up among rebels and missionaries. Civil war in Africa is bloody and terrifying. Rhodesia's war was mainly fought in the countryside, in the villages and bush surrounding the towns.
In some ways my family was protected from the fighting living in the sleepy suburbs of Salisbury, now Harare. But any child with an ounce of sensitivity could pick up on the tension in the air and the dining room table conversations based around the latest atrocities. ( In Rhodesia one of the tactics of war was that the captured would have their legs broken. Ears, tongues or unmentionables cut off. The victim would then be made to eat their own body part.)
Children are not stupid. Boys especially love to re-enact war scenes. My playground was filled with play fighting. Sweet little boys dragging broken legs behind them and dismembered captives being tied up to the fence posts. Cars being exploded by landmines. Houses set on fire.
Every man of a certain age had to serve in the army. I wonder how on earth my mother coped with it all. Can you imagine what it would be like raising 3 children without Dad being around to help for huge chunks of time. Lying in bed at night trying to stop the racing thoughts, calm the panic, fight the fear. Will he drive over a landmine? Will he get caught in cross fire? Will he return this time? As you can imagine, a mother's fear, no matter how hard she tried to hide it would be passed on to the whole family.
Despite all of this I look back on those days with fond memories and laughter at the absurdity of it all. My Mother decided to distract herself by purchasing a new dog, an Afghan Hound whose Kennel name was 'Queen Bathsheba.' I think we called her Betsy for short. She was a designer dog with a pea sized brain. A blur of fur and confusion.
And on the positive side we did learn resilience. Since the world had put sanctions on our country my mother was very good at making us clothes and knitting winter jumpers. At Easter she made chocolate Easter eggs by filling empty egg shells with melted chocolate. Growing up around missionaries I also got to hear about all kinds of supernatural stuff, like the time a farmhouse wasn't attacked because it had an army of angels standing on the roof !
No wonder the kind, gentle, wise figure of Jesus was my safe place in the storm. Mother had placed a picture of Jesus surrounded by children on my bedroom wall. He was laughing and carefree and a magnet for everyone around him. I never doubted him. He was my peace maker and best friend.
Easter is the ultimate message of love. Fully embraced it is the solution to the problem of war and poverty and disease. A reconciliation with God and with our fellow men. A value put on my head that is priceless. I get upgraded from being worth a bunch of flowers and a chocolate Easter Egg and instead am told I am worth dying for and that I am completely accepted.
I know that for me my heart was given a long time ago to the strongest, kindest, wisest, most tender loving Man I know.
" You have captivated my heart .... Thank-you for the cross. "