Easter 2022


I celebrate Easter in my old age with memories of music and memories of my daughters in pretty yellow outfits.

I don’t celebrate the risen Christ.


It’s a story I should leave untold, but anyway, here goes.

The supernatural events of Christ as a human have seemed more ridiculous to me with the years, notably the virgin birth and the resurrection. The stories of Christ’s life on earth between these two unbelievable events is quite plausible, but not the beginning and the end.

ll my younger life I was led to believe in Christ as a personal friend, there to protect me from the fires of hell.

But it was always a relationship just beyond reach.

At point of death, my Aunt Nettie boldly declared: “I can hardly wait to see my Jesus!”

I don’t think she did.

I won’t.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

So why do I observe Easter? Because of the memories of songs like “All in the April Evening” and compositions like “The Messiah”.

Because of dressing up our three little girls in pretty new outfits and showing them off in church Easter morning.

Because of the Conservatory in City Park where flowers bloomed with the colours of spring.

Because of the loaf of Paska I get from my cousin Catherine each year.

The lustre of Easter is gone. The resurrection is just an image in a stained glass window high in the cathedral alcove that transforms sunlight into vibrant, glorious light beams undulating from pew to pew in an empty church.

It’s an empty structure rendered lifeless by people gone.

The priest used to say: “Christ is risen!”

And the people used to respond: “Christ is risen indeed!”

But Christ never rose above the cathedral’s arches.

I never before dared put to words my innermost thoughts. Too scary! Cut myself off from my upbringing? Abandon the safety net of religion? Can I discard the essence of Easter and still celebrate?

Yes, I can go to Easter dinner with my three daughters, adults now in gtownup, fashionable outfits,, and their children, my grandchildren. Even a great grandchild.

I can listen to “All in the April Evening” and still get a lump in my throat. I can listen to “The Messiah” and relish the memory of playing the french horn under the baton of Ben Horch, my music mentor.

can eat the loaf of Paska I got from cousin Catherine with my partner Anne-Shirley, sharing over coffee my memories, and listening to hers.

That’s Easter for me in 2022.


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