* Very enthusiastically, as will children anywhere when encouraged to make noise.
** She even brought out a blanket. It was like watching an infomercial. Are all those knitting needles slowing you down? Try a little crochet, and watch yourself create a baby blanket in a single night!
“By the time you read this, Easter will be past. Or will it? ... what we have is a seven week season of Easter... I think this is very important. The Christian faith is an Easter faith. Resurrection is central: no resurrection, no faith. It’s as simple as that... for a Christian, it’s even more important to celebrate it with worship and rejoicing than Christmas!... The usual interpretation of Easter is that it means you go to heaven when you die. It’s not my interpretation... It sounds dreadfully boring – all that harp-playing and Philly cream cheese? No thanks... Read the Bible, and you’ll soon discover that what the Lord’s resurrection leads to is altogether far richer and more exciting than that. It’s all about the renewal and transformation of creation itself...”
- Rev. Ron Elsdon
Easter in Northern Ireland... a bit late, I know. But it’s worth its own entry. The first week of break was Holy Week, and I spent most of it in church. I’m going to try and remember everything I did - so if this sounds like a list, I’m sorry. It was a lot to take in, and I’m still working through it in my head, even if I organize my photos and update my blog. But hey – it’s still Easter! And these two churches have kept me thinking, talking (and, often, fed) for nearly six months, so I’m going to talk about them as much as possible.
Holy Week began with Palm Sunday at St. Bart’s, where the children sang in front of the congregation.
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| Where I sit on Sunday mornings. |
Of course, this being Ulster, what they sang* sounded like “Shote hosannas tae ower Keng.” I still love the accents here... and you should read the above quote in a very proper English accent, as it’s a quote from the English rector’s letter in the parish magazine.
That night I went to Fisherwick. I was having trouble singing myself, because of being sick. But it was wonderful. The church was really throwing itself into the season, with a three-day prayer vigil – to pray for people to hear the word of God and make time for it in their lives - an art exhibit, and services of different kinds every night of the week. Trying, like Ron’s letter, to get people to really think about Easter as more than a day you just go to church on Sunday for.
Monday, I probably should’ve studied, or cleaned my room, or done something otherwise productive. So I went to the zoo – more on that later. Let’s just say I was the only student who knew what a prairie dog was.
Wednesday I came in for the morning at Fisherwick, and found the place empty. There was tea and biscuits, and pictures and sculptures by local artists all arranged around the church. So I laid on the floor and drank tea, and thought and prayed and watched the sun shine in through the angels’ wings in the stained-glass windows. It was a beautiful day.
In the afternoon, I went hiking. In Belfast? Yes. I took a bus to Cavehill Country Park, and climbed to McArt’s Fort – that’s the bit known as “Napoleon’s Nose,” which supposedly inspired Swift to write about Gulliver on Lilliput. For people where I’m from – think Stony Man. I wasn’t tall enough, though, to climb into the cave on the hill. But it was fun. Afterwards I went to The Patchwork Goose, where you could hardly walk for heaps of yarn and fabric and hoops and this and that, and where I bought sock yarn, for knitting... feeling a little awkward as the shop lady had just spent a good five minutes expounding upon the wonders of crochet** at some other customers.
Pictures later.
Wednesday night was Fisherwick’s Taizé-style worship service. The choir did most of the singing, and the music was recorded, but I still knew half the songs by heart, including “Jesus, Remember Me” and “Bless the Lord, My Soul.” The minister had arranged them chronologically – with a song for each part of Holy Week. I’d never heard that done before, and it was beautiful.
On Thursday. Maundy Thursday, I brought my knitting with me and went to sit in the church. For the four hundredth anniversary of the King James Bible, they’d gotten people to read aloud during mornings and afternoons of the whole three days. I heard part of Isaiah, and Luke and Acts.
To people unfamiliar with the Gospels: Luke is the one that’s very narrative, includes women, the Magnificat, the shepherds, and “Blessed are the poor.” The author of Luke also wrote Acts, or the Acts of the Apostles, which tells what everybody else did after Jesus left – the conversion of St. Paul, and the stoning of St. Stephen, and so on. There’s a lot of emphasis on salvation being for all people. I like Luke. And it was really neat hearing it all read aloud, start to finish. You hear things that your eyes might skip over on the page.
Thursday night was the “Contemporary Praise” service.
Good Friday began with the early service at Fisherwick. It was a Communion service, and we sang “There is a Green Hill,” and “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” both of which I must’ve heard and sung a dozen times that week.
St. Bart’s had a short children’s service, later, followed by tea and biscuits while the children did crafts, making little paper baskets and things like that. This was followed by a quiet hour in the church.
Afterwards I went back to Fisherwick, where the choir sang Compline, and I sat and talked with people until the place went dark for the final night of the vigil.
Saturday morning, was breakfast at Fisherwick, served by the group of people going on a mission trip this summer, who’d spent the night up in the church. It was a full Ulster fry and it was wonderful.
But by then I was pretty much in shock, and I went and spent the day in my room, with a note on my door telling people not to talk to me till after Easter.
Easter Sunday!
Sunday morning was another breakfast – at St. Bart’s. It’s apparently a joke in NI that the only thing an Ulsterman can cook is a fry, so the men’s group does a huge fry breakfast every Easter morning, with nice tables set up and everyone invited. I sat next to Joan, an elderly lady who told me about her travels, teaching English in other countries, and how she never really learned to cook well because of the wartime rationing she grew up with.
You can tell it’s Easter when the church turns white, and when the clergy are standing around grinning like mad and handing out Cadbury cream eggs.
The Elsdons invited me to lunch at the rectory, along with a nice lady named Leslie, who I found out has guinea pigs and a good sense of humour. As before, Ron led me into the living room (or whatever they call it here), where I sat while he made tea. Then he came in, and Janice came in – and then left to change into shoes that weren’t killing her, having run about all week – and then Leslie came, with a bag of wine, and we all had tea and coffee and biscuits.
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| The rectory coffee table. |
Tea went something like this:
"So," Leslie joked, "When's the follow-up post-Easter service?"
"Tonight, led by Leslie, readings by Meghan," retorted Janice, before drinking several cups of coffee.
“Ah, and his lordship has chosen to grace us with his presence,” said Ron, as the cat came in. Herbie climbed between the laps of Ron and Leslie, before he got bored with us and went to loll on his chair behind the sofa.
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| The rectory cat - Herbie, who is quite spoiled, and enjoying it immensely. |
Both Janice and Ron were exhausted after Holy Week, and were glad to relax. We talked about travel and books and the silliness of the royal wedding. We had a lovely big lunch, with wine, and rhubarb crumble for dessert.
I came back later on for the Easter carols service, after which I went home, watched Godspell, ate cookies, cried for two hours, and slept.
Since it’s late, and I’m tired - I’ll stop there. Happy Easter, all!
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| One of the kitchens at 7 College Gardens, decorated for the season. |
