For every Sunday I can remember before going off to university, I sat on the
front row of my preacher dad’s church tracing with my mind’s eye the Old
English letters on the Holy Communion table in front of the pulpit:
I’m guessing everyone here knows not only WHO said that but WHEN and WHERE, no matter what religious background. Eucharist words.
But when you trace things like that, repeatedly, over and over
again, they become stuck somewhere in your subconscious, taking on a mind of
their own. That’s probably why I took a calligraphy class in a past life
and inscribed names on Dale Carnegie certificates. Before that, in
another life of wild dreams and great expectations, I labored over the Book of
Kells as a female scribe!
Did you know that, over recorded history, Easter Sunday has occurred as
early as March 22nd and as late as April 25th.
That’s a spread!
It goes like this: Jesus’ death and resurrection occurred at the time of the Jewish
Passover, which was celebrated on the first full moon following the vernal
equinox. By 325CE the Christians (à la the Council of Nicaea) decided
Easter would fall on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the
vernal equinox.
Got it?
And what is the vernal equinox, you ask??? And when???
SPRING! And it starts tomorrow.
So, today is March 19, and I’m definitely in the ballpark…even though
Easter isn’t until April 20th this year. It’s confusing, isn’t
it!
All of that to explain why NOW, today, I’m thinking about Easter and
how it has taken on a mind of its own.
It so happens that my dad, Carl Clarence, died on the Wednesday
before Easter in 1995. A year later, my brother, Bennett Williams,
died a month before Easter. A year later, my mom, Barbara Nelson,
died 30 minutes before Easter. (Three of my bright morning stars!)
Not that I come to this time of the year wondering if another of my 6
remaining siblings or our children or grandbabies will die, mind you, but
rather that it’s a time of remembrance for me now…of those already
passed...more than at any other time of the year.
In fact, what I mean to say about this new mind of its own, is that
when we remember those who have died, we start naming our children after
them. Have you noticed?
Olive Nelson Bennett Sidney Rueben Reuel Barbara
Carl Clarence Hodges Susan Elizabeth Virginia Louise Nancy Rebecca Williams
James Thomas John Stephen Ruth Ann.
Every one of those names has either been passed on from the generations
above and/or to the generations below. I say generations, plural,
because, one name, Ann, was just recently passed to the 3rd
generation below mine in our Hart Tribe. Another name, Olive, set
to be born any day now, comes from 4 generations above. That’s a spread!
Death is about remembering. Dying to not forget because
nothing lives forever. Right now we’re dying for spring. We know it
will come, just like every year before. We don’t doubt it. We
expect it. We add a spring to our step in anticipation.
It’s the cycle we relive over and over again:
death--resurrection. The one thing we know for sure is it IS a
cycle. It’s not stuck! And the good news about that is…we all
remember!
THIS DO IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME