by the Bishop of Oxford, the Rt Revd John Pritchard
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So what’s your recipe for a good Easter? Well, sun would be a nice idea, though that can be a bit expensive cos you’ve got to fly off somewhere to find it. A bit of a break from work – well that’s central isn’t it? Long Easter weekend. Day out with the family. Maybe even the first barbeque. What else? Well, I like some of the traditional things – like Easter eggs, and daffodils, and hot cross buns and stuff. Reminds me of when I was young. What else? Well, what do you mean………?
Easter’s a funny time. It’s not like Christmas. We know what to do with Christmas. You’ve got a baby and a manger and a stable and a star and angels and wise men – and, well, you can’t go wrong really can you? But Easter - what have you got? A cross, nails, whips, a crown of thorns, a spear, people in despair – it’s a horror movie really. Until one fantastic morning on the third day.
So how do you sell Easter to people? People who see enough barbarity on their TV screens and want to get on with finding their summer clothes and dusting down the garden furniture and jetting off for their first holiday of the year. It’s hard to get across that Easter Day is the best day there’s ever been in the history of the world. Or that the deep engines of a new creation burst into life that first Easter morning.
When I was young my father was vicar of a large church in Blackpool. Easter weekend was great for Blackpool – the first flood of visitors from the Lancashire towns, being parted from their money in the friendliest but most determined of ways. But in church we had a man called Mr Wrigley who stood at the back as a sidesman, giving out the books. Sunday after Sunday he did this, a real stolid Lancastrian. Never said much, but always there.
But once a year he came into his own. On Easter morning he would stride off from the back of the church all the way down the aisle – it was a big church, held a thousand – and he’d arrive at the door of the vicar’s vestry. He’d stand there in the doorway and he’d say to my father, ‘Christ is risen, vicar!’ And my father would have to say, ‘He is risen indeed, Mr Wrigley.’ And Mr Wrigley would nod – satisfied – and then he’d march all the way to the back of the church again for another year!
I used to love that exchange, because it went to the heart of what made Mr Wrigley tick. He was this solid Lancastrian showing us why he came to church Sunday by Sunday and gave out the books, and why he loved his wife and helped his neighbours, and gave to charity and was kind to stray dogs. And why he supported Blackpool Football Club even as they slid down the divisions. He believed in the resurrection! ‘Christ is risen!’ That’s what made him tick. It was wonderful.
You see, that’s what we miss if Easter is only a day of daffodils and chocolate eggs and slightly stale hot cross buns left over from Friday. We miss the dynamic heart of the Christian faith. A risen, living Lord who goes all the way through life with us, our guarantee that the best is always yet to be.
I only know one joke about Easter. What do you get if you pour hot water down a rabbit hole? Answer - hot cross bunnies! Actually that’s not the only joke. The best one of all is about a God whose Son was so full of life and love that even when they killed him he just couldn’t stay dead. He had too much life in him and he came back from the land of shadows. The joke was on those who tried to get rid of this ‘once and future King’.
There are lots of things we might pack into our Easter weekend, but none of them even start to compare, even start to get on the same page, even remotely deserve a glance, compared with the great and glorious truth that Mr Wrigley knew. ‘Christ is risen!’ And millions of us all over the world will reply, ‘He is risen indeed. Alleluia!’