There's the promise of Spring, of warm days and sunshine.
April, the cruelest month, is half way to done and you can count the days until May brings sunshine and flowers.
After the bunny lays Cadbury eggs all over the house, the last of which will be discovered some time around Christmas, you have painted, non-chocolate eggs and then egg salad sandwiches for lunch until you can't stand the sight of a hen.
The robin that sits in the muscle wood tree and laughs at you every morning when you gingerly tip-toe through the muddy flower bed to retrieve your paper sings of new life that will hatch, whether you have work that day or not.
While we don our Easter finery that has seen better days, our fellow parishioners will parade about in splendid new rags, but the Bishop's sermon will fall equally on our ears and we will equally not pay attention to most of it.
For those who may have lost it, or for those who need reminding that it's there, Easter is the season of hope. And we need plenty of it these days.
2 comments:
Well said!
***as for my Easter--I was the Lector and had to carry a 20 pound (kid you now!) Gospel book covered in silver (it's the San Juan Capistrano Mission Basilica and we do things kind of big here, to impress the tourists and such) and I was only a breath away from doing the Rocky dance at the top of the altar steps after I managed to put the book down on the altar without a big thump and crash. Good thing I train twice a week at the gym. But you wouldn't know it to look at me--5'2'' on a good day and puny looking. I impressed the plebs indeed.***
We could have used you in my home parish.
It was 6 a.m., however, and the only person willing to rise at dawn (besides the pastor who had to say the Mass) was a lovely granny who doubled as lector and Eucharistic Minister.
The poor woman wouldn't stand a chance with your silver-y book. It was all she could do to hold up the Host.
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