Easter

Growing up, I had a very vague idea about Easter. Something about spring, palmferns, daffodils and hyacinths, painting eggs, drinking eggnog (or was that Christmas?) and hanging cute little fuzzy sheep on the branches of cuttings of forsythia, which, if we were lucky, would be in glorious, bright yellow bloom by then. I really wasn't sure why we were painting eggs and hanging sheep, but it was fun family time with Mom.

Our family was not the churchgoing kind. There was no antipathy towards church or religion that I could ever tell, it just wasn't something we did. If I asked my father if he believed in God he would say he didn't know what to believe - the agnostic. If I asked my mother, she had far more interesting answers - the borderline pagan exploring the healing arts. I never asked my brothers, but just to round up my exposition, let's say I suspect they'd fall in the agnostic leaning on atheist range. They may correct me at will.

The funny thing was, while there was little talk of God in our house, there was plenty of God in my heart and I thought about that alot. I was at ease and at home in the thought that God exists and spoke to me whenever I would listen. I didn't need anyone else to tell me about God, I was just curious to see if they knew about him, too. But in the quiet of my little mind, I already knew all I needed to know.

I knew that God was an omnipresent, benevolent, humorous presence. I knew there was no explaining God in human terms - he was a feeling, a message painted in exquisite brushstrokes of emotion that would grace my senses from time to time. I knew God would pull my leg and drop funny coincidences in my lap. I knew I was one hundred percent loved, one hundred percent free, and one hundred percent responsible for myself, that I had a life to live and lessons to learn - but God had my back. And I knew God was way, way bigger, present and so much more fun than most adults realized. I never could figure out how they thought he would fit in a little church.

So I wasn't worried about going to church. I was curious. When I chose to become confirmed in the Protestant faith as a twelve year old it was purely out of curiousity and because that is what everyone did and then the adults threw you a party. Yay! I confess, the process did little to interest me in further churchgoings or religious studies, though I do love old churches, their aura of solemn and sincere worship, and I have a profound respect for religion and what I know it offers my friends of various religious beliefs. But while I found the stories that I saw as metaphors and allegories intriguing, the rest was just confusing to me. It didn't seem to match up with what I knew of God in my being.

 

 
 Thus ended my religious career at the ripe old age of 12. I have since read far and wide on the subject because it interests me from a historical perspective. I have had to relearn and remember much of what I knew so readily as a child, and I have come to realize God and religion means very different things to different people, but most important is what God means to those who believe, and that is for noone to say but they themselves.

Now, when I think of Easter and it's original meaning, I also think it means I can choose again. Not just at Easter, but anytime I can clear my mind of the murderous drudgery, habitual beliefs, fear, societal insistence upon time worn norms and the haze of social media. I can resurrect myself, face my True North and start again, day after day, attempt the impossible and overcome. Overcome my own doubts, the skepticism of others and the fear of ridicule. Overcome, go forth, and be my own Miracle.

Here's a Happy Easter song to All, wherever you may be and however you celebrate, may it be a happy time for you with family and friends. ( And painted eggs and fuzzy sheep.)

PS. See you Monday.