Christ Has Risen!
He has risen Indeed! Hallelujah!
Despotic colonialists wreaking havoc in the Middle East – people fleeing for their lives, fear widespread, parents scared for their children, conflict, starvation, uncertainty and little sense for hope.
These headlines could just as likely have been run 2000 years ago just as they could have been run 200 years ago or just this morning and in fact if you are unfortunate enough to be living in many of the countries of the Middle East this morning these are certainly the feelings that must surely be greeting one on waking, if one has been lucky enough to sleep for fear of being bombed in the middle of the night.
The horrific scenes that have filled our television screens and telephones over the past couple of years from Palestine and Gaza to The Lebanon, Yemen and Iran and most of the surrounding Gulf States, but it is interesting that this sense of uncertainty in the face of a force exerted locally by the superpower of the day, of the fear engendered and cultivated deliberately so as to control, must be not dissimilar to the situation in that region at the time of Christ. The interventions from outside intensifying local conflicts, growing factional in-fighting with each group using the opportunity to secure their own share of power, of influence, of control. In those days there may not have been ballistic missiles and bunker busting bombs and threats of bombing ancient civilisations back to the Stone Age but there were cruel and corrupt individuals in power, local ones supported and encouraged by the protection they received from the then global power, the Romans, who acted with complete and absolute impunity, deaf to the petitions of those who attempted to mitigate for good and drunk with their own arrogance and seemingly limitless ability, but also desperate to use whatever distractions they could to distract from their own unpopularity and waning hold on power. The same with European and Ottoman interventions later. Dynamics such as these are not conducive to breeding hope and yet even in such dark times here is Christ, not just 2000 years ago but also here for us today with a message of rebirth, of fresh chances and of forgiveness, of tolerance and of love. A lesson to turn the other cheek. Another to love one’s enemies. Another to forgive, even a petition to forgive those who had brought about his own torture, humiliation and death on the cross. There had been some, like Judas, who had believed that Christ was to be the new leader of an earthly force who would overthrow the Romans by conflict. It was a long-held belief of DR that a motivation for his betrayal was perhaps an attempt to force Christ’s hand into being such a leader. His ears deaf and his eyes blind to the teachings that our Lord had attempted to share, for they knew not what they had done. Judas’ subsequent suicide the result of a sudden realisation of how much he had missed and his not being able to live with the results of his mistake.
In our own dark and worrying times where so many wars have apparently been ended (I confess I have lost count, eight is it?) and yet all we seem to see from our newsfeeds is yet more and more conflict around our precious globe – fresh stunning images of which we have been gifted only this week by the brave crew of Artemis. So much conflict that we have even forgotten about our poor neighbours in Ukraine who fight on to defend their land against another despotic leader keen to distract from his own domestic issues and his unassuageable thirst for power. Any possible threat in the Far East is not even touched upon now and just forget any serious contemplation of the horrors growing from fundamentalism through sub-Saharan Africa. Does anyone even remember Burma / Myanmar? Can we ever have needed the message of Easter more than right now? Can we ever have needed to be that message of Easter for one another more than right now?
Our scriptural observance and memorial of the historical and theological points that arise at times such as Easter give me a degree of solace, of perspective, of connection. Walking round and being in the precious chapels and passageways of Canterbury always did the same and other churches do for me now. The depth of time such sacred spaces have inhabited and witnessed and their myriad histories and stories gathered through those many years help to bring a sense of perspective. A compass point in the midst of the storm. For me, they bring a sense of solidarity with those that have gone before us and have faced similar – or indeed far worse – situations and crises than we do now. They make me think of the people who will come after us and still inhabit those precious places centuries after we have ceased to be concerned with earthly matters, perhaps relying on our example for good or for bad. Such grounding places remind me that many of these issues have happened in one form or another before, sometimes many times before. I feel this lifts my tiny share of collective burden from my shoulders – not removing it completely but rather taking the weight of it so that perhaps the matters can be considered more carefully and in a broader context. We will each of us have places that we like to retire to in order to focus more deeply on those more tricky issues of our world. When it came to conflict in the Middle East, one particular place that I used to go to so that I might connect a little more definitely, was the tomb of Hubert Walter.
This one time crusade-leading Archbishop of Canterbury (the only one in history) from the time of “Good King Richard” and “Bad King John” was a real rock star of his day, inhabiting and fully utilising his role as Chamberlain (the then role of Prime Minister) as well as being head of the church and effectively regent during the times of Richard’s absences from the Kingdom – which were many and lengthy. It was after seeing and causing first hand much death and destruction in the Holy Land and securing the seizure and control of The Palestine that he then realised that conflict was never going to bring peace and the only way that this might be achieved was through discourse. Walter engaged into discussions with the Ottomans and sat down with Saladin and through a shared respect and trust brought a peaceful accord after the Fall of Jerusalem, which allowed for there to be a worshiping Christian community in the city to this day. I doubt that much of this had been on the cards during the years of conflict which had preceded the discourses and certainly it would not have been expected that there would grow between the two leaders such a sense of mutual respect – so much so that Walter was buried wearing vestments containing Islamic cloth of such high quality that it has long been suspected this fabric or the items themselves may have been a gift from the Sultan. On the other hand, in no small part thanks to the artistry of Walter’s negotiating powers on behalf of England and all Christians, Saladin is quoted as having said that if ever his lands were to be taken from him then he hoped that Richard would be the one to hold them as he believed Richard the Lionheart would care for them and his people well and fairly. This example from the late C12th was perhaps a more enlightened point in time than our current one; it is also one which marks a mid-point from our time today and the time we are all remembering back to this weekend, that of Christ’s crucifixion and rising from the tomb. A sense of hope sparks that perhaps we might see some form of this again which will bring peace to that tragically war-torn area of our world whose peoples, all of them, we must pray for today. We also give thanks that the two servicemen shot down will be returned safely to their families, but hold in our hearts the many thousands on all sides who will not. I pray that like Hubert Walter and like Christ 1000 years before him, our time might find good and honest men who turn away from conflict and use their extraordinary gifts and powers to work for a harmonious and fair solution to the benefit of all people and not be guided by personal gain, by greed and a need for distraction. May a candle begin to burn to bring light in the darkness and let us, each of us, look for the chance to light that candle in our own lives to bring what little light we may for those around us to bring hope. As said the theologian Mary Oliver:
“Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile!”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine”.
In DR’s stunning verse from his Angels Unawares poetry, brought to life in such an astounding way by the music of Sir James MacMillan, he attempts to imagine Mary of Magdala’s emotions on this morning when:
“…I felt impelled to journey to the tomb.
I found it open, wounded body gone,
Even a place to grieve Him was denied.
In panic, anger, helplessness I ran,
Ran to the men whom He had called His friends.
Who came and saw, as I, an empty tomb
Then left me there all alone.
The morning sunshine mocked at my despair.
Yet, through my tears, I sensed a presence there,
The dark tomb seemed to shine with Heaven’s Light,
A Light quite other than the morning sun,
That spoke of hope, of promises reborn.
Two angels asked me why I wept,
Their words of comfort causing me to turn;
The morning sun now shining with new Light.
I heard a voice which simply said my name.
I knew Him then, as Love and Hope returned,
“Rabboni”, I replied. All would be well.”
Hope is an elusive friend and though there have been times, many times, in the past few tumultuous years, when I had learned to distrust and even to hate hope, having vested everything in it in the face of such overwhelming adversity and cruelty only to have it dashed time and time again, still I find it creeping back in under the cracks of the door that I had shut firmly against it. I have come to accept its return as inevitable and to realise that, as with love and as with forgiveness, as Christian virtues these are things that none of us can control or keep out – they are part of what it means to have faith; they are indeed faith. More negative constraints such as anger and hatred, meanness and cruelty – these are instincts which we can train ourselves against and to take command of, as our lord taught us and naturally so, for Christ never set the bar beyond what we were able to do. As a result much of this past year has seen my door firmly and completely bolted and locked against hope and yet now it is creeps back in like the forlorn lost puppy knowing all the while that if he keeps trying eventually he would find the door opened just enough to slink back in. I am not sure I would say that I have made a place for him on the sofa yet, but he is there laying on the rug in front of the fire. Time has helped with this transition and, to a degree, the distance and forgetting that time brings with it – the pain becomes less acute and even though part of you wishes to harbour that pain as in that rests one’s connection to the one lost, one realises that it is as impossible as holding back the tide. Instead a liberation comes from freeing oneself of the pain, of permitting oneself to start to live again in the present instead of just in the past.
For me to think of the future has been too much, I am not ready to imagine a life without DR, but the funny thing is that this kind of takes care of itself too – one finds oneself doing things and moving forward even without planning to just as an inevitability of living. Life gets busy, folk ask one to help with this or with that, one day may be prison visits and helping with programmes there, another assisting with a pastoral emergency for someone. Days become filled with office work and keeping abreast of ever-growing correspondence from wonderful people from all around the world on all manner of subjects. (I thank the dear and wonderful GC members for their continued correspondence which has kept me going and keep me going!) Events start to take place and invitations are accepted. Even a first holiday without DR happens, one which came quite by chance as a result of the beautiful concert in Rome.
Having decided that I would fly out on the day to attend the concert and then fly straight back I then found myself going for two weeks. Having only days before been without appetite to go even to the local shops and resolute not to travel anywhere for some time, I then found myself excitedly and full of interest booking a trip to the Cinque Terre and Florence. I could hear DR’s chuckle and laughed at the ironic change. Staying in local houses in both and finding a room in Rome for the weekend in between, I spent the first week hiking the mountains of Liguria and exploring waterfalls, valleys, ancient wooded cliffs over blue sun-sparkled seas, vineyards budding into leaf on precariously terraced slopes and ancient villages decorated as brightly as any eggs for Easter. Birdsong. Distant snow-capped mountains and warm pebble resting places on empty beaches - cool healing waters of the Mediterranean waters on my skin. Dark shadows of gnarled oaks and bright white of glaring marble islands topped with forests. Waves lapping against rocks below. Waters trickling in the mountain breezes as the streams cascaded frequently and determinedly down the mossy rocks between forests of lichen and bright green emergent ferns and then splashing across the track. Fat emerald green lizards lazing in the warm glow of the sun or darting narrower brown ones scurrying through last year’s fallen leaves all dried and scrunchy on the ground or else under rocks cut and laid in ancient times were my only companions, along with my thoughts and the countless wild flowers and hosts of equally coloured butterflies fluttering in the spring air.
I had never heard of this natural and architectural wonder of Europe before, having been horribly ill-educated about Italy outside of Rome and the predictable large cities, but gosh. The arrangement there for someone wishing to do some hiking (and I have to say, with one sole exception of the paved flat stretch of the coastal walk of the Via d’Amore, that it is hiking and not an easy stroll on not the easiest of paths) is unbelievably perfect. At the time of unification of Italy in the late C19th one of the many impressive infrastructure projects was to connect the five hitherto “islands” of this stretch of coast. Prior to this, saving a rough and sometimes dangerous donkey track – now the hiking path – these five coastal villages and their hillside neighbours could only be reached by boat and then the clever Italians bored through the mountains to make a railway connection threading these outliers and pulling them into the mainland. Today there is also a most scenic curving road that winds its way through wooded hillsides of oak and beech boasting breath-taking vistas that is a joy to drive along, though most of the villages remain defiantly a little distance from this vantaged path and completely vehicle-free, shunning convenience for utter silence save the chatter of the people and the odd fishing boat pop-popping into harbour.
I picked this place deliberately as I had wanted a place that was new and which we had not shared so that it would act as a distraction prior to Rome, which I had been concerned might be a little triggering. It provided all this and more. I am not sure that I would have wished to have explored its paths in the height of summer when I understand it is Instagram hell on steroids with individuals taking selfies and clogging up the route but I found it delightfully deserted and full of real charm and genuine friendliness of the locals refreshed from their winter break. There were stretches which were difficult. It is interesting how the most challenging physical stretches test not just one’s body but also one’s mind and one’s spirit. Memories come and emotions spike. There were not many difficult times but on those few occasions there was DR right beside me in the shape and colour and scent of the little clumps of Violets along the path, willing me on and steeling me to keep pushing forward. He always loved Violets and admired their courage at such a risky time of year, showing forth their lovely colour and bringing such sweetness into the world so quietly and humbly and yet proudly holding their perfectly shaped blooms aloft on their tiny little stems, so vulnerable to careless feet, to blankets of snow or torrents. I felt he was in those flowers and also that He was in those flowers, now both abiding in the same place and their encouragement for me being one and the same. Perhaps they always were and as the Lord works through the good that we do all the time, then perhaps He is also in each of the kind words we share every time we ope our lips. These were the passing thoughts and wonderings that filled my mind as I trapsed along my little pilgrimage, taking four days to walk this whole section of the coast from the towns above the “Five Lands” to the towns below.
I mentioned how excellent it was to have the train, the beautiful and comfortable train – it meant that I could walk from the town in which I was staying, Vernazza (in a delightful dawn-facing garret under the tower of the castle and right over the water), which nests in the middle of the coast, and proceed to the next and then the next of the pretty villages and then at the end of the day catch the train back and then use the train when required to drop me where I had completed the walk the day before to pick up again and continue. The connection to nature; time alone; the physical activity; and the sunshine all combined to make me feel consciously happy for the first time in a long time – and to feel good about feeling so. What clever little flowers Violets are!
Rome was just spectacular, not at all triggering and a pure celebration of DR’s beautiful abilities by so many friends old and new and then, following all the success of the weekend, I jumped on the train back up to Florence (into which I had flown originally) and then had a few nights in that lovely city.
DR was here for me too but more acutely and fondly as I revisited many of the cafes and spots which we had enjoyed over the years. This was an intentional time for reconnection and for indulgence in doing so - and it actually felt great and okay to be doing so. It also had the desired effect of making some new memories – some lovely walks, relaxed time sat in the sunshine chatting with locals, three super concerts in little back-street chapels – in a successful effort to start to make my own distinct relationship to that precious and most elegant of cities which is personal and not shared as before.
A successful first trip away, a new beginning as such and how timely at this start of the new Christian year which Easter brings us. This week I am having some of the furniture and boxes of possessions from home brought to Yonsea by the school, who were just so amazingly kind and supportive at such a horrible time when we just had no idea what to do or where to go, and have been ever since. I had been delaying this delivery as it was just too tough a thing to do for the various obvious reasons but I now feel keen to get this sorted and organised, feel strong enough to process the memories which will come as a result of the unpacking and the letting go.
But for today we have all been spoilt by the wonderful chaps at Yonsea. My mother is staying with us, along with my sister and my niece and we spent the morning touring the grounds on the most elaborate and exciting egg hunt designed by Ben and Chris – mostly for Arri’s benefit but with us all taking part (fortunately I just about remembered where all the prizes were hidden – I think!). Cats and dogs, chickens and sheep all took part and were enveloped in the excitement the hunt brought down with much hilarity and a degree of friendly competitiveness from Martin in finding the hiding places. Christoph had created the most beautiful decorations for a festive breakfast including a paschal lamb cake and festive loaf, painted eggs of brilliant hues and blossomed branches festooned with cheerfully coloured birds and yet more eggs. Nature itself too has put on its best for today under an intermittent brilliant sunshine peeping through fluffy white clouds, whose shade today seems only to intensify the brilliance of the orchard’s blossoms. Heaven’s Light indeed.
New blossom and new light, new year and new hope – let us each of us embrace this time and help each other to realise the opportunities that our faith brings us and be ready always to be like the Violets – brave and full of courage to bring encouragement to others and a sweetness even in the face of adversity.
A huge thank you to you, dear friend, and may you have a blessed and happy Easter!
With love,
Fletcher x
