This Sunday I will be celebrating Easter with the wonderful folk at St James’ Woodmancott. Where will you be?

We are witnesses

Acts 10:39

Peter declares.

Witnesses to Jesus’ death and burial and resurrection and so much more, as disciples who had followed him in his final three years of earthly ministry.

Last year my children, both now teenagers, experienced their first ‘where were you when..?’ moment. It was the death of Queen Elizabeth. Do you remember where you were? Is it sealed within your cultural memory banks so that you can share with future generations? ‘Where were you when the Queen died?’

It was my daughter’s birthday. I had been following the news and online comments from fellow clergy, so by the time I picked her up from school for a celebratory hot chocolate, I pretty much knew. I decided to share a piece of millionaire’s shortbread instead of the news. There would be plenty of time for that. However as we drove out for a celebratory pizza, her phone pinged with a news update: The Queen was dead, long live the King!

Perhaps there are other ‘Where were you when…? moments you can think of? Where were you when 911 happened (Vicar School), when John Lennon was killed (Secondary School), when Elvis Presley died (pre-school – visiting a neighbour who went into deep mourning)?

Where were you when you first heard that Jesus died?

As children we tend to focus on the Sunday School stories of the more heartwarming parable nature – the sheep that was found, the naughty son who was welcomed home. I remember making Easter Gardens, but they were always rather jolly affairs. It wasn’t until much later that I realised that Easter Sunday and Easter Eggs only existed because Jesus had died.

The disciples witnessed Jesus’ death. They also witnessed the resurrection.

After the shock and horror of the crucifixion, the disciples and all who followed him were in deep mourning, and yet only three days later they were rejoicing. Grief doesn’t work like that. Grief takes it’s time, shapeshifting from raw pain, to deep questioning, to a heaviness of loss and sorrow. What changed them was an end to the reason for their grief. Jesus was no longer dead.

The disciples hadn’t been confused, they hadn’t misunderstood the situation. They had seen the blood and water flow from Jesus side, the way that blood cells separate from each other only in death. They had witnessed the Roman Soldiers call his death. They had been given permission to bury him, and guards were placed at its seal.

And yet, on this day, they rejoice.

I was a teenager when I realised just what crucifixion had meant; when I realised that Good Friday is, in essence, a funeral. I remember joining the walk of witness, carrying a cross through the village where I lived. I remember singing mournful songs in the garden that faced onto the main road and adjoined the garden centre.

And I remember Easter Sunday being so much more joyful because I had ‘been there’ on Good Friday.

Where were you when you first understood the pain and sorrow that comes before the Alleluias of Easter Sunday? Does Easter still have the same impact for you? Perhaps this year’s commemorations have been the ones that have truly hit home, and this year will be the year when you remember ‘I was there!’ Perhaps it will be next year?

If you have a moment sealed in your cultural, your spiritual, memory bank, are you a witness to it? Will you tell others, I was there, here, wherever… when I knew that Jesus is alive; let me tell you about it.

I too am a witness.

Read the full story here.

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