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Oftentimes the observance of Easter Sunday is overtaken by a more “traditional” celebration than one truly reflecting the Feast of the Resurrection.
Lest we forget:
Before there were bonnets or bows, there was a cap of thorns, common and coarse, but more precious than all the crowns of all the kings who ever reigned.
Before there were gatherings or greetings of the day, there was a crowd and the cry, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
Before there were fashion pageants or parades, there was a path whose sacred steps were sorrow-worn and whose only design was that of death.
Before there was elegance or style of dress, there was a simple robe, woven of a mother’s love, and trimmed with tears untold.
Before there were baskets brimming with every sort of sweet delight, there was a crude casket of spikes emptied out upon a hill and driven deep into sinless hands.
Before there were customs of candy and cake, there was the bitter taste of gall.
Before there were gifts of fond exchange, there was redemption, rising with the dawn, and hope, like a prayer, lifting the least of us to the heights of Heaven.
Easter, then, is not about bunnies or bouquets or clothing or cuisine, although they are all pleasant and familiar associations. No. It is about the greatest day in Christendom and the greatest love humankind has ever known. It was a day given to the glory of God. It is a holy day and one line no other.
Mary Lynch
Wilkes-Barre