I am writing this late on Saturday night, after a long day. It’s been a day of preparation, and lots of it. Up early to get some dough made, then kids to breakfast, and off grocery shopping early, hoping to avoid the crowds. Not too many bumps along the way, not too much extraneous chocolate in the shopping basket. All well. Home again for lunch, then courage (bravado) kicked in as we skipped Blue’s afternoon nap and headed down to the church to get some Easter work done.
The Flower Guild were decorating for Easter, and they had kindly invited the family to join in afternoon tea. Cakes aplenty promised, so of course, we agreed to attend.
When we got to the church, we found a far more ambitious campaign than I expected. Everywhere, it seemed, there was activity. Quiet, peaceful, beautiful activity. The entrance way was full of flower buckets, and people were sorting stalks and vases, vast blooming branches and what must have been a million tulips. Upstairs in the sanctuary, there were more people working with more flowers, alone and in small quiet groups, arranging vases for every window sill and surface. The tops of the pews had already been draped in their traditional white linens for communion. Sunlight came in gently through the windows, and everything was beautiful.
I, too, set to work. My job was to decorate the children’s area, a small alcove at the back of the sanctuary. I started this project last week, setting up a step ladder and arranging jars of salt and yeast, a few collected bits and bobs, and pieces of white paper that could be used to make…something. During the children’s story, last week, we went for a walk to the back of the church to take a look at these ingredients. I spoke about the expectations of Palm Sunday – when you can see that things are lining up, but you aren’t quite sure what is going to happen. It’s difficult to build in surprise to Easter, when we already know so well what will happen. But I did try to introduce a certain element of suspence.
Over the last few Sundays, I’ve been inviting the congregation to trace their hands onto white paper – somewhat mysteriously because I wouldn’t explain why. Today, with the help of the obliging Spouse, I cut out the traced hand-shapes and turned them into white paper lilies. When the children get to church on tomorrow, on Easter Sunday, there will be vases filled to overflowing with the paper hand-lilies, palm crosses, and coloured eggs – those wonderful pregnant images of new life.
There will also be a small table in the alcove, draped in white, where I will place a fresh loaf of bread, made from last week’s salt and yeast and the work of my hands. The bread is currently sitting in my kitchen on the counter, cooling. I have just pulled it out of the oven, and my house smells wonderful. Down the hall, the kids are sleeping. The Spouse is sitting on the couch, playing facebook. I can hear traffic passing on the wet street below the windows.
Tomorrow, there will be trumpets at church and loud hymns, but tonight, it is good to be still and quiet. By the time you are reading this, Easter Sunday will have come and gone, and the flowers in the church will be fading and relaxing. But, the hymns will still be resounding in our ears and, hopefully, the Easter story that we have retold yet again in all our churches will equip us anew for what’s ahead, whatever that might be.
Happy Easter.
