Flashback: Living in a New Light

While I'm involved in another project, I am re-posting some of my favorite essays. This one is from April 4, 2010.

Adam lay ibounden,

Bounden in a bond;

Four thousand winter

Thoght he not too long.

      ~ Anonymous (15th century ode)

The Easter vigil at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church was a night of symbol and ritual. The new fire was kindled outside, the Paschal Candle lit, and then came the procession into the darkened sanctuary. As I stood there in the darkness, there were only two sources of light available. There was the Paschal Candle at the front of the church. The second light came as a surprise. Halfway back, emanating from the darkness was an illumined apple with a bite taken out of it. It was the unmistakable Macintosh logo shining in the darkness (I later learned that a technician was digitally recording the choral music that night – the reason for the laptop in the sanctuary).

Of course the apple has been a deeply ingrained symbol since long before Macintosh acquired it. It has served as a symbol of the despair that followed disobedience in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve partook of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It has also been a symbol that celebrates knowledge. How many times have we seen those happy back-to-school images that include a stack of books, smiling children, and that familiar apple for the teacher?

As I stood there in the darkness of the night, awaiting the coming of Easter, I thought about how that apple is the reason we are gathered here to remember the Paschal mystery, and to celebrate our redemption. The bishop spoke that night of how we all have dreams that die – things do not turn out the way we had hoped – and how we must let those dreams die in order to find new resurrected life. He described that life as a creative fire carrying us onward and beyond. As I stood there between the apple and the Paschal Candle, I felt that I knew about dreams that die, new life that arises, and fire that carries us forward.

The anonymous medieval poet certainly knew the drama and hope of redemption. A traditional interpretation of the poem quoted above is that Adam, as a result of the apple, was trapped in Limbo for 4,000 years until being liberated by Christ’s cosmic redemption that included the harrowing of Hell. It can also allude to humankind being in bondage to sin until the coming of Christ. To me, the power of that poem is in re-imagining bondage and hope. Consider that before the apple in the garden, Adam was just as bound by Eden’s bliss. It was a bliss that included a lack of consciousness and a lack of struggle; where 4,000 years could pass as a long weekend. The poet has the wisdom to speak of that fortunate fall which brought us life as we know it, with all of its joys and sorrows. The ode that begins in bondage ends in thanksgiving:

Blessed be the time

That appil that take was.

Therefore we moun singen

‘Deo gracias.’

Like the anonymous poet, whose identity I wish we knew but whose anonymity makes him or her truly one of us, I stood there in the darkness of the Easter vigil celebrating two lights. The apple’s light of consciousness and struggle, and the Paschal light of hope and redemption. “Therefore we may sing, ‘Thanks be to God.’”

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Hope Is Reborn Every Spring

Myth runs deeply in any culture, even down to the very core where collective memories are held which individual minds have all but forgotten. How else can you explain the joy of Easter? In the Bible Belt of the Deep South, even conservative fundamentalists seem to have no qualms about celebrating a holiday named after the Great Mother Goddess of Northern Europe, Eostre (a.k.a. Eastre). Even though the holiday was given Christian trappings centuries ago, the term "Easter" is nowhere to be found in the Bible. Easter is, after all, associated with the vernal equinox as was the ancient rite of the Mother Goddess, whose name the holiday still bears. This makes sense to us as we live within the natural rhythms of the earth. When we begin to see new life arising all around us, and we feel the chill of winter letting go, we naturally feel the hope of new life deep within us. 

The heart celebrates; the mind later tries to give meaning to the experience. It is only natural that the greatest hope that Christianity has to offer would become inexorably linked with the greatest blessing the earth has to give.

Years ago, I wrote a poem relating one Easter experience. It was something I had wanted to write about and finally found the vehicle to present it when I began writing about a snow day. As we are emerging from a cold winter, looking ahead to Easter, may the memories expressed here color your expectation as you wait. 

Southern Snowfall

                       

It was one of those rare days

When all the conditions were right

And a bright soft snow fell

All day long.

Everything was covered in beauty.

Unneeded activity came to a halt.

No hurry.

A wonderful quiet in the city.

All is well.

It will last a day (two at the most)

Then there will be mud and slush

And life as usual.

One Easter at midnight mass

I suddenly saw that everyone was aglow.

A subtle light from within

Revealed wonder in every person,

Joy in every action.

Everything was covered in beauty

And I was completely connected

(Not the usual outsider).

No doubt that all shall be well.

Life returned to normal after a day (two at the most)

Except I carried with me the realization

That what was seen only for an instant

Is always true,

Even while life goes on as usual.
                                   
                                                                  ~ CK

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Pictured: 
Top: Illustration of Ēostre by Jacques Reich, originally with the caption "Eástre."

From  Myths of the Norsemen by H.A. Guerber (1909)

Public Domain 

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Bottom: People hold candles during an Easter vigil mass in the Cathedral in Vilnius, Lithuania
Image found at Word of Technology

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Finding Our Way through the Holy Days

Detail from "The Passion"
by Hans Holbein the Younger

Rabbi Rami Shapiro posted a very thoughtful essay this week in which he recasts the Passover observance in light of his views of God and his understanding of the world we live in. His post reminded me that in our Judeo-Christian heritage sometimes it is a gruesome God that emerges from the Bible. This is a problem that can be a serious stumbling block for the ethically minded or the sensitive pilgrim (in the interest of full disclosure: I put myself in those ethically minded and sensitive categories). Sometimes our participation in inherited rituals, such as Passover for Jewish people or Holy Week for Christians, causes us to ask ourselves what we really believe about what we are doing.

If you have read Mark Twain, you know that he took issue with a faith whose preachers supported slavery with chapter and verse from the Bible when he could clearly see firsthand the travesty of a slave-owning culture. My view is that we in the faith community are in a developmental process. The biblical writers could only interpret within the context of their own knowledge and development.  In many ways the social reforms of the 19th century, led by evangelical Protestants, took us many steps beyond the biblical context of ethical behavior (even though their movements to reform prisons, abolish slavery, improve the workplace, end child labor and improve the conditions of the poor were motivated by their  biblically based Christian faith). Therein lies a lesson: we should not let ourselves be hamstrung by what past generations considered to be biblically normative. 

If God Still Speaks

If God is still speaking, if God’s Spirit is still moving, we will progress to new insights. I’ll give a personal example that was shocking to me when it happened. I was a member of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church which is an Anglo-Catholic parish. The Lenten and Easter season is a wonderful and awesome time at that small parish. They do Palm Sunday better that any church in town. You are actually caught up in the drama of the day beginning in celebrations and hosannas and ending in condemning Jesus and handing him over for crucifixion. You can experience celebration, struggle, conflict and grief within that single liturgical experience.

Here is where my own development and experience became a crucial factor: I sojourned for a time at the Unitarian Church which takes great pains to be inclusive and affirming of all people. Then the day came that I wanted to go back to St. Andrew’s specifically for their Palm Sunday service, because nobody does it the way they do it. The service that year followed the account in the Gospel of John. I was ready for a sacred experience. The Gospel of John is one of my favorite books in the Bible, and there I was sitting in one of my favorite liturgical services.

Quite unexpectedly, however, when I heard the Gospel that day I was struck by the anti-Semitic tone of the passage. My own consciousness and awareness had been raised in regard to people of other faiths so that I found myself taking offense in hearing my own sacred scriptures as they were read. It did not cause me to quit the faith, but it caused me to re-examine my faith in light of my own experience and understanding.

All of us do that. I can’t imagine anyone today reading the Old Testament passage about dashing the heads of infants upon stones in fighting the enemy and saying, “Yea, God!” Those were words of a brutal ancient people who were attempting to obey God. Most of us today have no place for that kind of thinking within the context of faith. You can bind yourself to a tradition without being hamstrung by the past. We have to accept that God is leading us forward and that He still speaks and moves us upward when we are willing.

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Living in a New Light

Adam lay ibounden,
Bounden in a bond;
Four thousand winter
Thoght he not too long.
– Anonymous (15th century ode)

The Easter vigil at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church was a night of symbol and ritual. The new fire was kindled outside, the Paschal Candle lit, and then came the procession into the darkened sanctuary. As I stood there in the darkness, there were only two sources of light available. There was the Paschal Candle at the front of the church. The second light came as a surprise. Halfway back, emanating from the darkness was an illumined apple with a bite taken out of it. It was the unmistakable Macintosh logo shining in the darkness (I later learned that a technician was digitally recording the choral music that night – the reason for the laptop in the sanctuary).

Of course the apple has been a deeply ingrained symbol since long before Macintosh acquired it. It has served as a symbol of the despair that followed disobedience in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve partook of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It has also been a symbol that celebrates knowledge. How many times have we seen those happy back-to-school images that include a stack of books, smiling children, and that familiar apple for the teacher?

As I stood there in the darkness of the night, awaiting the coming of Easter, I thought about how that apple is the reason we are gathered here to remember the Paschal mystery, and to celebrate our redemption. The bishop spoke that night of how we all have dreams that die – things do not turn out the way we had hoped – and how we must let those dreams die in order to find new resurrected life. He described that life as a creative fire carrying us onward and beyond. As I stood there between the apple and the Paschal Candle, I felt that I knew about dreams that die, new life that arises, and fire that carries us forward.

The anonymous medieval poet certainly knew the drama and hope of redemption. A traditional interpretation of the poem quoted above is that Adam, as a result of the apple, was trapped in Limbo for 4,000 years until being liberated by Christ’s cosmic redemption that included the harrowing of Hell. It can also allude to humankind being in bondage to sin until the coming of Christ. To me, the power of that poem is in re-imagining bondage and hope. Consider that before the apple in the garden, Adam was just as bound by Eden’s bliss. It was a bliss that included a lack of consciousness and a lack of struggle; where 4,000 years could pass as a long weekend. The poet has the wisdom to speak of that fortunate fall which brought us life as we know it, with all of its joys and sorrows. The ode that begins in bondage ends in thanksgiving:

Blessed be the time
That appil that take was.
Therefore we moun singen
‘Deo gracias.’

Like the anonymous poet, whose identity I wish we knew but whose anonymity makes him or her truly one of us, I stood there in the darkness of the Easter vigil celebrating two lights. The apple’s light of consciousness and struggle, and the Paschal light of hope and redemption. “Therefore we may sing, ‘Thanks be to God.’”


(This is a reflection on a past Easter experience and was first published in SPAFER's The Oasis Newsletter)

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