Happy Easter!

Those who know me well know that I'm a melancholy soul. I prefer advent hymns to Christmas carols and I am more at home in Holy Week than I am on Easter morning. Good Friday is my favourite day in the liturgical year! I like the research that suggests that those who are slightly depressed have a more realistic view of the world than those who are relentlessly cheerful. Happiness, it turns out, is a form of mental illness brought about by a failure to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

So, there is a part of me that is reluctant to let go of the Cross in order to welcome the Resurrection.

But on that first Easter morning, Jesus meets a tearful Mary and invites her to let go of her mourning and to embrace joy; to leave Good Friday behind and move on into Easter. For her, it even means letting go of the familiar, comforting, tangible presence of Jesus so that she may know his spiritual and eternal reality - his resurrection presence.

In the Easter vigil readings we are reminded of the story of the exodus: God’s people leave behind the slavery of their old lives in order to move on to freedom in the promised land. The trouble is, the old life was at least one where they knew where they stood. This new freedom lark turns out to be dangerous and unpredictable! Why not slip back into the old familiar patterns, walk the path that has been smoothed by many footprints, rather than break new ground?

In Romans 6:3-11 we read that our baptism is a baptism into Christ’s death so that we might also share with him in his resurrection. We are united with him in his death and so united with him in resurrection. The old self was crucified with him, the old sinful flesh destroyed; we are set free from slavery. But if we have died with Christ, we will also live with him, set free from death and all that goes with it. So, we are to consider ourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

I spend quite a large part of my ministry meeting families who are bereaved. And recently I have been involved in funerals that were particularly significant in our community. (All funerals are significant, of course; I mean that some funerals have a particular impact outside of the circle of family and friends.) In a way, preaching the resurrection at a funeral is easy! What is difficult is living and preaching the resurrection the rest of the time! We are always being pulled back by the things that are to do with death.

"It's life that defeats the Christian Church, she’s always been well equipped to deal with death."

Joe Orton

In Halewood, with Easter coming late this year, we found ourselves holding our Annual Meeting on the Monday of Holy Week. (It’s actually against my religion to hold meetings in Holy Week! If it were up to me, there would be no meetings in Lent either. Or Advent. Or during the Summer...) It definitely felt like a loss - that we had lost some of Holy Week for the sake of a meeting. And when the meeting is a somewhat turgid and lengthy one, as ours was, it’s easy to get bogged down. (We had long discussions about our Constitution and problems in presenting the accounts, we are short of money, short of people...) How difficult it is then to remember that we are in the business of living and preaching the resurrection! (I know those meetings are important and we have to have them. But it’s difficult to walk out of them with a spring in your step. How much of our church life is spent walking through treacle?!)

My point is that, unless our life together is characterised by resurrection joy, we’re doing it wrong! Not enforced jollity or superficial froth, but the shared joy of living the resurrection together. Sometimes we have serious things to do together; but even they should have a note of joy running through them. And we should have fun together, shouldn’t we? Or what’s the point?!

We live in a world that does death very well. The church should do life.

Happy Easter!

In the light of Easter

I am writing this at the start of Holy Week and just a few days after the funeral service of a friend and parishioner, Terry Pollard. If you were at Terry’s funeral, you will know that it was a remarkable occasion. At the age of 51, knowing that his illness was terminal, Terry set about ‘putting his affairs in order’, including preparing his own funeral service. He chose the hymns and readings and wrote his own ‘reflections’ to be read at the service. He saw this as a unique opportunity to address his family and friends with thoughtful and loving words.

Of course, there is a downside to this way of doing things: if you had been asked to speak at a friend's funeral, you would, no doubt, dwell on their strengths and detail their accomplishments. If, however, you were asked to speak about yourself, you might well do what Terry did. Although he acknowledged that he might have some strengths, he seemed more conscious of his weaknesses. As I said at the time, many of his family and friends might have liked the right to reply! We would have had many very positive things to say about him!

What I found particularly interesting - and tried to say in my sermon - was the passage of scripture that Terry had chosen to be read. It was from Hebrews chapter 2, where the writer talks about Jesus as having been made “a little lower than the angels ” (v9) - that is, like us. This Jesus shares our life and our death with us. He is made perfect by his sufferings (v10 - and you thought the Son of God was already perfect!). Like us, he partakes of flesh and blood, shares our nature and is ‘one of us’. Amazingly, he is not ashamed to call us his brothers and sisters! (v11)

What the writer to the Hebrews says is that the problem we face comes in the shape of ‘flesh and blood’ - in other words, our human frailty, weakness and brokenness. So, in what shape do we find the solution? Also in flesh and blood - the flesh and blood of Jesus. In his very humanity, Jesus shares our sorrows and defeats our enemy, through his death on the cross. His body is broken and his blood is shed for us.

I have no idea what made Terry choose this passage, but it seems to me to offer the only hope that any of us has: that God’s love and strength are made known to us in the flesh and blood of Jesus, who invites us to share his life, the life that goes beyond this world’s brokenness.

As I say, I am writing this at the start of Holy Week: you may be reading it after Easter. Thankfully, we approach Holy Week in the light of Easter. We come to Good Friday in the knowledge that Sunday is around the corner.

We may live our lives in the shadow of the cross: we are also invited to do so in the light of Easter.

Alan Jewell