Easter has been many things for me.
The excitement of new patent leather shoes.
The fear of oversleeping for sunrise service and thus waking up at 3:00 a.m. to dress in spring clothing inappropriate for standing on a hilltop in April. (But one MUST wear the Easter finery at a certain age.) Listening to shivering voices singing “He arose!”.
The fulfillment of hiding eggs for my children’s children and seeing these precious grandchildren like colorful little bees swarming around the yard.
The profound spiritual experience of walking amid candles through the streets in a small village in Greece, surrounded by people of deep faith and conviction. The anticipation of waking and running to the window and seeing smoke rise from the beginnings of neighborhood fires for roasting lambs. The sound of Καλό Πάσχα. The joy of being included in the neighborhood gatherings around the fires and the family rituals of breaking red eggs.
Or walking the streets of Italy engulfed in the parade of the faithful as they celebrate and call out “Buona Pasqua” to friends and strangers alike.
Meals with our aging parents when the younger generations were having celebrations elsewhere.
And so Easter changes. There are no young children to hunt Easter eggs. The Masters is more important than Sunday brunch. I no longer buy new clothes. And I think about church services, but I haven’t become one of those “Easter and Christmas” attendees in my own country. I would participate gladly in the rituals of another country or culture. (What’s up with that?)
Yet Easter continues to mean new beginnings for me. It is a leap into spring. It carries memories of holiness, of color and of excitement and joy.
Blessed Easter to all who celebrate today. I’m content with my meditations as I putter in the garden.