Writing Easter

Today is Maundy Thursday.  If you are devoutly un-Anglican and un-Catholic like me, you might not know what Maundy Thursday even means – I ignorantly assumed its phonetic links to the word ‘mourning,’ meant it carried a similar meaning (apologies to all who are now squirming at my lack of general knowledge).  Thank goodness for Google; apparently, Maundy is an Anglo-French word, derived from the Latin, “mandatum,” which means “commandment,” and reflects the final teaching of Jesus to the disciples (John 13 v 34 – “a new command I give you: love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another,”), before the heavy weight of his divine mission pushed him to his final, agonising hours.

As the Easter weekend unfolds, provoking, as it does, soul-searching and moments of reflection, be encouraged, as a writer, to respond afresh to the rich and multifarious writing stimuli it cannot fail to provide: the charged atmosphere of the Last Supper on that Thursday evening; the agony of Jesus in the garden; the shame and pain of Peter, denying his Lord three times, despite his insistence that he would go with him to death; the horror it must have been to witness Jesus’ final cries; the puzzlement of the temple curtain tearing and dead men walking from tombs; the bewilderment and desolation of Easter Saturday and the utter joy of the women at the tomb on Easter Sunday as bitter mourning turned to hearts leaping with hesitant joy.  How can we not find something in all of this to write about?  How can we not set our hearts and minds and pens to find a fresh angle, a new way to weep or rejoice, in poetry and stories, fiction and non-fiction?

Many literary greats have found similar inspiration – Christina Rossetti wrote ‘Good Friday,’ in 1866, a lament about her lack of closeness to God.  John Donne, some 250 years before that, wrote “Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward,” as his journey caused him to reflect on the events of the first Good Friday. If poems aren’t your thing, apologists like Lee Strobels, once a determined atheist, offer some thought-provoking apologetics writing in books like ‘The Case for Christ,’ and ‘The Case for Easter.’

I certainly don’t count myself in the company of any of these literary giants, but I have turned my hand to a piece or two about Easter.  My first ever blog post was a poem I had recently written, after a long non-writing spell (you can read it here if you feel inclined).

Last year, wading through the swamp of grief, in the wake of my sister’s death, I was struggling to see how I would face Easter at all, with all its hymns of triumph and, in the kind of church I attend, lively, celebratory songs.  Instead, I wrote something that reflected where I was at – dwelling in the Easter Saturday darkness, but with the invaluable knowledge that the disciples at the time weren’t privy to – that Easter Sunday and all that it accomplished was waiting in the wings, whether I was feeling it or not.  (You can read it at the end of this post).

This year, I am in a different place again.  I will join in with gusto, when my current favourite, Hillsongs' ‘O Praise the Name,’ is sung, though I will still find it hard to hold back the tears when I sing the line, “O trampled death, where is your sting?” (It still stings, though I get the point it makes!).  I am learning, slowly, what it is to live and walk the line between the Easter Saturday darkness and the Easter Sunday triumph.  I think we all are – and in that in-between world, where we dwell, there is rich fodder for writing.  So – whether you are a poet, short story writer, blogger, or apologist – spend some time, this Easter, writing from where you are and who you are about an Easter that is relevant to us all – there is a world out there waiting for the hope you write!

 Easter Saturday Living; Waiting to Sunday to Come

Easter Sunday; a strange thought this year.

Celebrating the impermanence of death when it feels permanent and heavy right now to those of us left here, in her wake.

Celebrating hope, light and victory when those things still feel a long way away on the hard days and the dark days, when grief wraps its bindweed more tightly.

Celebrating a God for whom nothing is impossible, yet we did not see our impossible become possible.

Joining in with dancing and joy when tears are more my currency.

It's easier to face Good Friday. I can relate to a tortured and suffering saviour. He gets it. He's walking it with me.

I dwell comfortably in Easter Saturday when hope lay dormant and sadness took hold. I belong with the exhausted disciples and the women overcome with emotion and grief.

I'm not at all sure I am ready for Easter Sunday. Dancing, rejoicing, all-things-come-good. I will stand there one day, feeling it more convincingly.  But for now my life is Friday-Saturday; Sunday stands, a long way off. But I'm glad it's there. The hint of possibility, the glimmer of hope, draws me on.

Georgie Tennant is a secondary school English teacher in a Norfolk Comprehensive.  She is married, with two sons, aged 10 and 8, who keep her exceptionally busy. She writes for the ACW ‘Christian Writer’ magazine occasionally, and is a contributor to the ACW-Published ‘New Life: Reflections for Lent,’ and ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone: A festive feast of stories, poems and reflections.’ She writes the ‘Thought for the Week’ for the local newspaper from time to time and also muses about life and loss on her blog: www.somepoemsbygeorgie.blogspot.co.uk