Today is Easter Sunday. Those who do not regularly attend church
services sometimes make an exception at either Christmas or Easter. My recent attendance at church services has
been very sporadic. On Good Friday, my
duties as a Rotarian meant that I was on traffic control duties while the Christians
of the town held a public silent procession (with someone carrying a symbolic
wooden cross at the head). As they
concluded by singing the hymn, ‘When I survey the Wondrous cross,’ on the
Market Place, I was emotionally moved.
www.hucknallrotaryclub.blogspot.co.uk/
I felt the need to attend a
church service this morning. I went to
a large city church that I have attended intermittently. There was excitement in the auditorium
beforehand. This is one occasion when the children (who usually have their own ‘church’
event running concurrently) joined in and the Children’s team led the main
all-age family service. The music that
accompanies the congregational singing is always of the highest order, again
something that can’t always be said of church musical groups. There was encouraged ‘audience participation’
that was celebratory. Worshippers were
encouraged to enjoy themselves, the Easter Sunday bible story was told with humourous
photographs appearing on big screens portraying members of the Youth Church re-enacting
the Easter story. To the worshippers, it
would have been a moving experience.
And yet, I couldn’t connect. I was there, but I was an observer. Being a Christian and living such a lifestyle
was all I knew for the majority of my life.
Every step seems to take me further away from having a faith: academically,
emotionally, spiritually as the few prayers I now offer always go unheard and
unanswered. Part of me wants to leave
the door open, but the Christianity which was my whole life is becoming
extremely closed to me.
Today, my thought went back to
Easter Sunday 2010. This was the last
service I conducted as a minister. I
knew it would be my last. I was being
placed on an immediate ‘leave of absence,’ only the church authorities had
delayed the imminence because they didn’t want to manage the logistics of fulfilling
an Easter programme at my church. So,
knowing full well that my life’s vocation was ending, I was allowed a stay of
execution. At the Maundy Thursday
Passover re-enactment meal and the Good Friday service, I was mournful and
emotional. I guess people assumed it
was because of the occasion, not realising that there were deeper emotions
within me. On Sunday, I put on my brave
face, and led the church in their joyous Easter celebrations. No-one knew my inner turmoil.
Afterwards, people were kind
enough to comment that I’d conducted really meaningful Easter services for them
and had no idea how I managed it considering the vast personal pressure I must
have been under. Actually, it was probably
the long established practise I developed from my marriage of leading a Sunday service
and pretending all was well that got me through that last Easter Sunday.
Easter speaks to all because it
is a celebration of hope and new life.
On Good Friday everything seemed bleak but a few days made all the
difference. Maybe this message is why so
many victims of abuse are drawn to religion because of the hope they see in
what appears to be a darken depression. For the non-religious, Easter is a reminder of
the new life and hope of Springtime. In
fact, civilisation rejoiced in this cycle of nature before Christians added
their slant on the festivities.
My easter festival is about new
life and hope breaking through the darkness but not in the conventional understanding of Christianity. Walking away from the church on Easter
Sunday 2010, I walked away from the darkness of abuse, I’ve found a new life
and by speaking out about the Intimate Partner Violence I suffered from, I’m
bringing hope to those who felt trapped in abusive relationships.
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