This Easter, has its backdrop several unique items of news, on earth a concerning international conflict, closer to home, a new Archbishop of Canterbury, and in space a voyage to the dark side of the moon.
When I was 9 years old, Robert Runcie was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. I dared to ask my headmaster if I could be let off afternoon lessons to watch it. Disarmed, the Head collected me from double-geography, and joined me for most of it; nerdishly, I commentated, he smiled indulgently.
Fifty years on I watched again before rushing for the 16.30 train from St Pancras to Canterbury West, missing the end, to arrive at Kent University for the evening reception – the ecclesiastical version of the Oscars-after-party!
I was struck by a conversation I had with the cabdriver en route. He’d been watching the service, his enthusiasm obvious. “I used to love history at school” he exclaimed, “today I feel part of history, a woman Archbishop!” He was from Brazil he said. “We love the Archbishops here. They often leave the station and wave at us cabbies, we know them all.”
He was continuing the long tradition of locals honouring their resident Prelate. She is Metropolitan of All England, second in precedence only after the monarch, but his Bishop. It was lovely.
Archbishop Sarah’s inauguration took place in Passiontide, on the Feast of the Annunciation. Adjacent to Holy Week, Theologically Nativity and Passion are never far apart.
The mantle the Archbishop wears is a heavy one indeed. The clasp of the physical cope she had made when she first became a Bishop, is her nurse’s buckle, a reminder of the connection between her vocations.
One more vignette on this year’s journey to Easter. On Wednesday evening, it was a privilege to share the Seder, with Jewish neighbours, who invited us to join their celebration of Pesach. Passover is a lunar Festival. The first New Moon after the Spring equinox. These celebrations are nearly always in synch. Paques in French, Pasca in several languages, underlines that the Church regards this feast as the Christian Passover; something the word Easter does not underline for us in English.
For our Jewish friends and neighbours Passover has constellated to it so many traditions. One which is very poignant and not much discussed is eating fish or chicken, to avoid any associated with the blood libel, a cruel projection onto English Jews in medieval times.
In the Seder, with its foundational connections with the Eucharist, Christians are on familiar ground; the same but, oh so different too, and wonderfully so. The family tells again the ancient story of the Exodus; youngest and oldest have their roles, the generations converge. Time concertinas, past becomes present.
Given the world’s complexity, to be taken back to the foundational story of God’s disruption of tyranny and salvation of His people, and to share, for a moment its origins, was moving beyond words.
The resurrection, for St Matthew, most Jewish of the Gospels, is a moment of earthshattering disruption too. There is an earthquake, as in Matthew’s account of the crucifixion – they spell the same reality. There is a terrifying angel too, on Easter day, not unlike the one who greets Mary in Luke.
In Matthew’s Gospel from Herod at the beginning, to Pilate at the end, and the wilting soldiers at the tomb, Jesus’s life unfolds in the shade of tyrannical powers. Their paranoia leads them to stifle opposition – in Herod’s case, even when it’s just a baby.
The tomb is sealed, not a precaution, but an assertion: this story is over. And Easter is God’s answer: no it is not.
This Easter the Church has a re-set with Archbishop Sarah’s enthronement.
Reflection will chart the road ahead. Recognising the failures to safeguard the vulnerable; revisiting the compromise option for same-sex unions which united all voices in opposition to the proposals; and finding a way to foster a healthy environment for the future, are unenviable tasks.
The women at the tomb that first Easter were not asked to form a committee or refine a vision statement – thank God, we have had enough of those in the last 14 years! The angel gives them a commission.
“And they departed quickly… with fear and great joy.”
It is in going—not in complete understanding—that they become the first witnesses.
The stone is moved by the act of God, Jesus already having risen.
“Do not be afraid.”
Not because there is nothing to fear, we live in a world full of reasons to quake. The women are still afraid. But fear in Matthew no longer has the last word.
And as they depart, uncertain and fearful, on the way they encounter not an idea, not a programme, but a person. The risen Christ.
This Passover, with astronauts heading to the moon to explore its dark-side, while earth has its own that it struggles to bring into the light, let us have eyes to see the Risen Christ. Despite our fears, may we bear witness to him who is our light and our salvation.