Like a rabbit, Easter jumps all over the place. Sometimes it crops up in the early, dark days of March with its lion weather of wind and a sudden snow storm. Some years it arrives in the glory days of April, even occasionally falling on my birthday (April 23). Easter has been around a lot longer than Christianity. Easter was originally a pagan holiday. A rite of spring.
Easter falls on the first Sunday after the vernal equinox and the full moon. (Did you enjoy the amazing moon this week?) This is the start of spring when day and night are equal in length.
In England, before Christianity, the coming of spring was celebrated with a feast honoring the goddess Eostre. Early Christians simply adopted this festival with hopes that people would make the shift. The resurrection of Jesus tells the story of life after death. Nature tells the same story! What an amazing thing for early people to see the world come alive after the short days, long nights, empty root cellars and food shortages. All living things appear to die in winter. Animals hibernate, leaves are off the trees, the world is frozen. Then slowly buds open, birds return, the world is alive with activity, the days grow longer, gardens are planted, the first peas poke out of the ground. What better reason is there to celebrate?
Easter and its pagan roots represent hope and new possibility, growth and new life. In that spirit, I wish you all a Happy Easter!
3 comments:
A thousand thank yous, Barb!
Carol and I went for an early morning walk across the top of the palisades. It was brisk and, but for the forsythia and occasional daffodil, lifeless. All the better to take in the matchless views of the great grey bridge and the city across the way.
As we gazed, I said "what's up with the timing of Easter, anyway?" Shrugs all around.
Now we know and won't again forget.
Thanks, Barb! I hadn't notice the moon or thought about the timing of Easter, really. It's great to be kept informed in this era when I don't have to be on top of such things.
I love the picture!
In the midst of filing and soulless desk work, a check-in with the Moccasin Hillbillies restores. The picture of early forsythia and the two stalks of pussy willow calls to mind Easter in Russia. Clearly the ritual of palms on Palm Sunday was a stretch for northern climes, so pussy willow sprigs were substituted. Growing up, the palms always seemed so tropical and exotic, with the pussy willow seeming so much more appropriate to very early spring and nature's rebirth. Obviously, I wasn't too grounded in ancient Palestinian geography......
And the New Hampshire doorway speaks to me, of something lasting, fundamental and solid - an anchoring, archetypal image for America during these turbulent times.
This tranquil space never fails to enrich. Thanks for creating it, Barbara!
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