Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.
― Gerard Manley Hopkins from “The Wreck of the Deutschland”
There is a fragrance in the air,
a certain passage of a song,
an old photograph falling out from the pages of a book,
the sound of somebody’s voice in the hall
that makes your heart leap and fills your eyes with tears.
Who can say when or how it will be
that something easters up out of the dimness
to remind us of a time before we were born and after we will die?
God himself does not give answers. He gives himself.
~Frederick Buechner from Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale
A terrible beauty is born.
~William Butler Yeats from “Easter, 1916”
It has been a slow coming of spring, seeming in no hurry whatsoever.
Snow remains in the foothills and the greening of the fields has only begun.
The flowering plum and cherry trees finally have burst into bloom despite a continued chill.
It has felt like winter for over a year yet now the perfumed air of spring permeates the day.
Such extreme variability is disorienting, much like standing blinded in a spotlight in a darkened room.
Yet this is exactly what eastering is like. It is awakening out of a restless sleep, opening a door to let in fresh air, and the stone that has locked us in the dark so long has been rolled back.
Overnight all changed, changed utterly.
He is not only risen. He is given indeed.