Those who know me well know that I am more at home on Good Friday than I am on Easter Sunday. And that I prefer Advent to Christmas. Some suggest it’s because I am a miserable so-and-so. I don’t contest that.
St Paul says to the Corinthians that he came among them resolved to know nothing “except Jesus Christ and him crucified”. (1 Corinthians 2:2)
The upshot is that I find it difficult to make the transition to Easter, when so much of me wants to stay at the foot of the Cross.
A couple of years ago, the Revd Dr Giles Fraser (formerly Canon Chancellor of St Paul’s Cathedral) wrote an article deriding “evangelicals” saying that they just can’t cope with Good Friday. They want a smiling Jesus. Holy Week is just an interruption in their cheesy joy, he said. He’s wrong! I felt that he had demonised a whole section of the church on the basis of an inaccurate caricature of a small number of people.
Which is not to say that there aren’t Christians who do their best to bypass the Cross. Actually, we all do! Regular churchgoers who come every Sunday, go from the cheering crowds of Palm Sunday to the good news of the Resurrection on Easter Sunday, perhaps without giving a thought to what had happened between those two dates – from Hosannas to Hallelujahs, without listening to a heartfelt, “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?”
In my previous parish we introduced an Easter Vigil service (on the Saturday evening before Easter Day) which gave us an opportunity to look back before going forward to Easter itself. We also did a thing called ‘Experience Easter’ in which we set up a series of ‘stations’ in the church to tell the story of Holy Week and Easter. We invited groups of primary school children to walk into ‘Jerusalem’ cheering and waving palm leaves. Then we sat them around the table and took bread and wine, to talk to them about Passover and the way in which Jesus uses the Passover story to talk about his own ‘exodus’. To this day, at Passover, Jewish families gather around the story of God’s remembering and rescuing his people. God sent them a deliverer, Moses, to lead them out of slavery and oppression towards freedom. In the brickyards of Egypt, God’s people learn that it is not Pharaoh who is ultimately in charge, but the Lord God. Their journey is from being slaves of Pharaoh the oppressor, to being servants of God, whose service is freedom.
Jesus takes that story and makes it his own: our freedom will be bought, not with the blood of a lamb, daubed on the doorpost, but with the self-offering of the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. If you have ever experienced a Passover meal you will know that it brings together bitterness and sweetness, in herbs and spices – the bitterness of God’s people’s history as slaves and the sweetness of God’s redemption; fresh parsley points towards the freshness of spring, but salt water reminds us of the tears of God’s people.
In this context, Jesus takes bread and wine and says, “this is my body, this is my blood” – our exodus will be won for us by his death on the Cross, his body broken, his blood poured out for many.
Without some sense of that, we will never know the joy of Easter. Without Gethsemane and the Cross, all that is left is chocolate and bunny rabbits. Which is not deride chocolate and bunny rabbits, but to say that the light of Easter can only be known by those who also know something of the darkness of Good Friday.
I hope you are able to join us this Easter as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead, our hope and joy.
Alan Jewell