Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts

Sunday, April 5, 2026

Easter and the Rites of Spring Verse--National Poetry Month 2026


The Resurrection--the central miracle of Christian faith.
It is Easter, the holiest day of the year for traditional Christians, celebrating the resurrection of Jesus, the conformation of him as the Christ, and the promise of eternal life for those who believe.  It’s powerful stuff that brings comfort and hope to millions.
It also gives some folks the willies, the hives, or both.  And a lot of those folks end up in Unitarian Universalist congregations.  That’s gotta make it tough for our preachers—ahem ministers since we tend to cringe at the sound of that old fashion word and all it connotes.  We are non-creedal and pride ourselves on being open and accepting to a wide variety of spiritual beliefs and practices united by covenant in communities that pledge mutual respect and support in the quest for meaning.  But on Easter, the stresses sometimes show.
There are congregations where half the members stay home lest they endure the obligatory “annual Christian” sermon or even communion.  In the heyday of humanists in the '50s and '60s when they dominated many congregations, Easter was even the occasion of more of a debunking lecture than a sermon.  You don’t see that so much anymore both because the humanists, who still make up the largest philosophic segment of UU membership, have lost a little of that particular chip on the shoulderand because of general rise in spirituality in our communities including various stripes of theism and pantheism.
That includes self-identified Christians and many others who identify themselves as “followers of the religion of Jesus not about Jesus,” meaning the rabbi of the Sermon on the Mount, and not necessarily who may have rolled the stone away to unseal his own tomb.
Since the World Parliament of Religions during the World Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893 Unitarians and Universalists have become ever more aware of non-Abrahamic and traditional world religions.  Seeking and finding the underlying, uniting universal principles among them has become our hobbyhorse.  Among the probably not terribly surprising discoveries is the idea that spiritual practice as expressed in ritual is closely linked to the repeating cycles of the seasons.
Many of our Easter services make this a central theme.  It is in our wheelhouse.  It is sometimes done with embarrassing shallowness as a pared down metaphor that the minister can’t quite get his or her heart into.  But in the right hands powerful truths are explored and unexpected depths plumbed.
Stripped down some sermons may follow these lines—
Easter’s date is tied to a Jewish calendar based on the cycles of the moon.  Thus, Easter’s date slowly changes relative to our current solar-based Gregorian calendar and slowly creeps forward such that it would ultimately slip out of spring entirely—except  the “reset” from the Julian to Gregorian solar calendars in the 18th Century keeps the holiday in the spring.
Easter is tied to the Jewish calendar because Jesus and his disciples chose to travel to Jerusalem to observe Passover.  Jesus and his disciples were religious Jews and the Last Supper was a Seder
Passover celebrates the Moses-led miracle that saved the tribes of Abraham from bondage in Egypt—a virtual rebirth as a people and nation.  For centuries the Yahweh-worshiping tribes who came to be known as Jews commemorated that miracle in lambing season, perhaps because it was blood of sacrificial lambs that was smeared on Jewish lintels that signaled to the killing Angels to “pass-over” Jewish homes—when the eldest sons from all other Egyptian homes were killed—the  final catastrophe that convinced Pharaoh at last to free his slaves.
Whether or not Passover as a historic event actually fell in the spring, the commemoration is firmly placed in that season of rebirth.

Unitarian Universalists often cast Easter as just one of many festivals celebrating Spring and the rebirth of nature.
This annual explosion of new life just getting under way.  And in a way that is good.  The crocuses and daffodils remind us that in some ways the central Christian story—the death, resurrection, and ascension into heaven of Jesus—commemorates also the resurrection of nature we see around us every spring.  
Celebrating the annual rebirth of nature cuts across and unites huge sectors of all cultures and religions. 
While the Jews were celebrating Passover, their cousin tribes who worshiped Baal and the ancient fertility goddess Astarte (who some paleontologists find represented in the tiny pregnant female torsos found in Paleolithic sites) also held rituals that celebrated the season.  The Seleucid Greeks who  once conquered Judea, as well as those Romans who occupied the country in the time of Jesus, both had spring festivals associated with fertility goddesses.

Paleolithic mother goddess figurines found across much of Europe and the Near East representing fertility and often associated with the later Semitic goddess Astarte.
In Northern Europe long before Christianity was born, tribes celebrated the return of spring with a grand festival to commemorate their goddess of fertility and springtime.  Among some of the Germanic tribes that goddess was named Ēostre or Ostara
Like many traditional gods and goddesses associated with nature, Ēostre was often represented by the rabbit, that most fertile and prolific of all warm-blooded creatures. 

Oestra was often associated with hares--the most fertile of all animals.
During the 2nd Century of the Christian era, when missionaries found that the rebirth holiday of those Ēostre-celebrating Germanic tribes coincided with the Christian observance of the resurrection of Christ, what could be more fitting than to join these two together into one holy day.
Today, our spring ceremony mostly still celebrates an Easter with chocolate bunnies and eggs side by side with a Risen Christ religious observance—joining together several traditions, like many other Christian customs do—the Yule log, hanging of greens, and erection of an evergreen tree alongside the Crèche at Christmas time.  
One way or another, Passover, Ēostre, and Easter, all celebrate rebirth and renewal.
Here are some poems that touch on all of these themes.

The Morning of the Resurrection by Sir Edward Coley Burner-Jones, a member of the Pre-Raphaelite circle.
Christina Rossetti was a leading 19th Century British poet who was a member of the Pre-Raphaelite artistic movement led by her brothers.  Identified as a romantic poet, she was also a proto-feminist and a High Church Anglo-Catholic mystic.  This poem is one of the finest explorations of the personal meaning Christians find in the Resurrection that I have ever read. 

A Better Resurrection

I have no wit, no words, no tears; 
      My heart within me like a stone 
Is numb’d too much for hopes or fears; 
      Look right, look left, I dwell alone; 
I lift mine eyes, but dimm’d with grief 
      No everlasting hills I see; 
My life is in the falling leaf: 
      O Jesus, quicken me. 

My life is like a faded leaf, 
      My harvest dwindled to a husk: 
Truly my life is void and brief 
      And tedious in the barren dusk; 
My life is like a frozen thing, 
      No bud nor greenness can I see: 
Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring; 
      O Jesus, rise in me.

My life is like a broken bowl, 
      A broken bowl that cannot hold 
One drop of water for my soul 
      Or cordial in the searching cold; 
Cast in the fire the perish’d thing; 
      Melt and remould it, till it be
            A royal cup for Him, my King: 
                  O Jesus, drink of me.

—Christina Rossetti




Easter Lillies, the traditional symbol of spring rebirth.
Teresinka Pereira is a contemporary Brazilian-American poet who saw the connection in this poem posted on the web site of the International Forum for the Literature and Culture of Peace (IFLAC).

Spring/Passover/Easter

The bridge between death
and return to life
is full of spring sights.
From the unexpected lightning
to the wind that comes back
with swallows and colorful sky
giving flowers to the gardens
there is a dream flowing
waiting for a chance
to stay forever.
Hope roars and echoes
in joy and happiness.
The lily of Easter and Passover
becomes Spring incarnation
in the eyes of the one who
dares to love.
—Teresinka Pereira


Oestre rises at dawn.
Lady Caer Morganna is the identity of a Solitary Eclectic Wiccan Priestess who blogs at The Wicca Life .   Wicca is a modern religion—sometimes claimed to be the fastest growing faith in the U.S—which draws mainly from Celtic traditions but is also respectful of other so-called pagan traditions including the Germanic and Norse.  Its pantheistic, earth-centered spirituality is shared by many UUs and indeed many practice both faiths. 

Oestre

The snow has all melted
And winter has gone,
Now Nature is singing
Springs’ most beautiful song;
As we honor the Goddess -
The Devine Eostre,
While she breathes her life
Into the birds and the bees;
She's fertile and loving
Ancient Mother is she
From the youngest child
To the oldest tree

Lady Caer Morganna


Rev. Theresa Novak.
Finally, let’s hear from a UU minister who forthrightly connects with the powerful resurrection story of the Bible.  The Rev. Theresa Novak is now retired and blogs at Sermons, Poetry, and Other Musings .

Easter

What an effort it must have been
To climb down from that cross
So many centuries ago
They thought you were dead forever
It certainly looked like that
You’d prayed you last prayer
Healed your last leper
Driven out your last demon.
They even buried you.
t must have felt so good
To lay your head down
The funeral cloths were soft.
The darkness was comforting
So weary you were
Tired, hurt, bleeding.
You’d seen so much
Suffered so much
Done so much
What harm could it do
To give into rest
For a few days
It must have been hard
To hear the weeping
Of those who had loved you
Of those who had betrayed you
The stone was heavy
But you had to push it aside
Rolling away defeat
Banishing hopelessness
Overcoming fear.
What an effort it must have taken
To come back not knowing
What people would think
How they would respond
Would they think the miracle
Was only about you?
Thank you for letting us know
That we each have the chance
The opportunity, the responsibility 
To be reborn
Resurrected.

—Theresa Novak 

Sunday, April 20, 2025

Sandburg for Easter—National Poetry Month 2025

 

 

Carl Sandburg's contemporary, the Socialist cartoonist Art Young, shared his understanding of Jesus.

It’s Easter, the holiest day of the Christian year. Anyway, blessings on all who hold this day in their hearts. But if you checked in at this blog today for the whole Easter story, you will be disappointed. You can find that plus lots of commentary this morning at any of the churches meeting today. 
 
 
                                        Carl Sandburg in Chicago.  He knew whereof he wrote.
 
Instead we are going to hear a different perspective by my favorite American poetCarl Sandburg. The small town son of Swedish immigrants, Spanish American War vet who never got to Cuba, sometimes hobo, Universalist, Socialist, and Chicago newspaper reporter was mightily put out by the shenanigans of Billy Sunday, the former baseball player and hair-on-fire tent show Evangelist. He was even more outraged at the capitalist bosses and their bought-and-paid-for politicians who benefited from a Sunday side show freak distraction. 
 
 
Billy Sunday doing his schtick.
 
Sandburg let loose a volcanic eruption of a poem. If the old poet was still with us today he would have no problem recognizing Billy Sunday’s heirs—Franklin Graham and a gaggle of others, or the evil oligarchy that uses them and their clownish front man, the Cheeto-in-Charge
 
Have at ‘em, Carl! 
 
To A Contemporary Bunkshooter

You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about
Jesus.
Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.

You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.

I’ve read Jesus words. I know what he said. You don’t
throw any scare into me. I’ve got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.

He never came near clean people or dirty people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.

I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.

This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.

When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus—I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?

Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn’t for the way you scare the
women and kids I’d feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that’s got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you—you’re only a bug-
house peddler of second-hand gospel—you’re only
shoving out a phony imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.

You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they’re dead and the worms have
eaten ‘em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he’ll be all right.
You tell poor people they don’t need any more money
on pay day and even if it’s fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus’ll fix that up all right, all right—all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.
I’m telling you Jesus wouldn’t stand for the stuff you’re
handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn’t sit in with
the big thieves.

I don’t want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won’t take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.

I ask you to come through and show me where you’re
pouring out the blood of your life.

I’ve been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.

—Carl Sandburg
 
 

Saturday, April 12, 2025

Murfin Verse on the Hope and Heartbreak of Passover—National Poetry Month 2025


Note—A Passover post returns

Tonight at sundown Passover or Pesach begins when Jews around the world gather around ritual tables to remember and give thanks for the events that lead to the ultimate freedom of the Hebrew people and a Promise Land of their own. That came at a terrible price for their oppressors—a pain that they thank God for inflicting. It is an uplifting night, a hopeful night, but also a terrible one. 

 The story of Passover and the Exodus from Egypt is a saga of freedom that not only gave comfort and hope to Jews through centuries of persecution but inspired others who were enslaved and oppressed. Blacks held in bondage in America in particular used images from the tale in their coded worship and song in which the Promise Land was freedom itself. In his speech on the eve of his assassination Martin Luther King evoked Moses when he declared: 

I’ve been to the mountaintop…Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! 

The traditions of the Passover feast are outlined in the Hebrew scripture making them among the most ancient of continually observed religious celebrations in the world. On the first night families gather for a Seder meal, the ingredients of which are prescribed and highly symbolic in re-telling the story. A service is read from the Haggadah in the form of questions asked by the eldest son of the father. 

The form of the Seder meal shared today, however, dates to the early years of the Diaspora after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, not in the early years of the First Century BCE when Jewish religious life still centered on the Temple and the priests attending it. But some sort of family meal before or after Temple rites was shared. 

 

According to the Gospel of John, Jesus was the Lamb of God, literally like the sheep whose blood marked the Jewish doorways, a sacrifice to save the people.
 

Christians believe that the Last Super was a Seder meal, linking the two observances. In recent years some Christians have taken to celebrating Seder meals to connect to the Jewish roots of their faith. This is a development that is embraced as a bridge to cultural understanding by some, and as an abomination by traditional Jews. Many Reform and Conservative congregations in the U.S. invite non-Jews to attend special Seder meals. I once got to open the door for Elijah

Back in 2012 Passover and Easter coincided. It was also a Blue Moon, the second full moon of the month, symbolic of how relatively rare that coincidence is. On that same night I hosted a benefit evening of song and poetry with blues man Andy Cohen at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry (now Tree of Life UU Congregation.) Naturally, I committed poetry for the occasion. I have edited the poem and replaced a verse from the original. 

A Seder depicted in a card from about the time of Israel's war of independence--note soldier at the family table.

Brief Haggadah for Passover/Good Friday
For Social Gospel in Words and Music
April 6, 2012

The child always asks… 

        What makes this night different 

        from all other nights? 

 You have to think hard. 

 Somewhere children are always 

being massacred for some 

accident of birth 

         or for mere convenience sake.  

Somewhere slaves are plotting their escape 

        and Pharaohs hitch their war chariots 

        to pursue them. 

Somewhere the fearful faithful 

        kneel at the feet of a dying master, 

        a maybe Messiah 

        who frightened an Empire. 

What makes this night different?  

        Nothing, son, except that 

        you asked the right question. 

        Now, what are we going 

        to do about it? 

        Patrick Murfin

Three years ago the first night of Passover fell on Earth Day. At a time when the realities and projections for global ecological catastrophe have never been greater moved me to wonder—What if?
The Plague of Locusts was just one of the punishing catastrophes visited on the Egyptians in Exodus.  The disasters we face are even more chilling.
Passover/Earth Day
April 23, 2016 
What if there were no Passover?
     What if no sacrificial blood
      smeared on the lintel 
      offered any protection?
What if there were no Us and Them?
      What if the Pharaoh’s son
      and our sons fell alike
      from the same dark curse?
What if the Dark Angels were not Yahweh’s?
      What if they were our creation,
       evoked by our carelessness
       and fed by our greed? 
What if there were nowhere to flee?
      What if no haven or Promise Land
       lay waiting even after wandering
       because we have laid waste to it too?
What if there were no Milk and Honey?
      What if our goats all starved,
       we killed the bees 
       and parched the earth bare? 
What if there were no Seder tables to lay?
      What if there were no progeny 
       to ask what makes this night different,
       no generations ever again?

What if this is no mere nightmare?
—Patrick Murfin         
But Passover has always had a dark side, almost forgotten, glossed over, or muttered under the breath—the fate of all of those Egyptian children.  It is easy to do, especially if you envision only the sons of Pharaoh and his court—a just punishment for a king who had ordered the slaughter of Jewish babes when he got wind of a rumor that a liberator would be born among them.  But death was visited not just on the elite, but upon all Egypt and families of every class and caste.  And that sounds, to modern ears, a bit harsh.
At Seder meals Jews acknowledge this in singing Dayenu:
Verse 3:
            If He had destroyed their idols,
            and had not smitten their first-born
            — Dayenu, it would have sufficed!              
Verse 4:
            If He had smitten their first-born,
            and had not given us their wealth
            — Dayenu, it would have sufficed!
All of this got me wondering…do the lives of one set of innocents have to be the price for the freedom and safety of another people?  Are the babes and children of Dresden, Hiroshima, or some dusty Yemini village God’s collateral damage for our noble freedom?  Do Palestinian dead buy a just safety for a people nearly exterminated by others?
Uncomfortable questions, and undoubtedly ones some would wish un-asked.
Five years ago Passover coincided  not with a Blue Moon, but with a Blood Moon, a rare total eclipse under just the right atmospheric conditions that make the Moon darkened by the Earth’s umbra seem to turn red.
The death of the Egyptian first born.
 
Blood Moon/Egyptian Passover
April 15, 2014
Was there a Blood Moon 
that terrible night
long, long ago?
Khonsu, Disk of the Moon
      was eaten, 
      turning the color
      of old blood.
The wails of the women
      leapt from house to house,
      hovel to tent,
      it is said even to 
      the palaces themselves.
The curses of the men
      bearing the limp bodies
      of their sons
      into the dark air
            damning the Moon,
                  the Jews,
                         Pharaoh himself.
What quarrel between bondsmen,
      the mighty and their Priests
belongs to them, not us.
We are the farmers,
      fishers of the River
            and the seas,
      the shepherds, the weavers,
      the folk who cast pots,
      the brewers of beer,
      the molders of simple brick
            from mud and dung,
      the house slaves
            and wet nurses,
      the prostitutes…
What care we for those palaces,
      those temples,
      those monuments,
      those damnable tombs,
            or the slaves who build them!
No Jews dug our wells,
      laid course of simple brick
      for our homes,
      piled a single stone on stone
      on our graves
      to save our dead
            from the jackals. 
Yet they called down on us
      the frogs,
      spoiled our grain
      with locust,
      stoned our kids and lambs
      to death by hail,
      our flesh erupted
     in festering boils.
And now our very sons!
What harm did they do you,
      you Jews?
If your damn God 
      is so powerful
      why did you not call him
      to just wipe out Pharaoh,
            the Priests,
                  the Generals in their chariots,
                        and all their minions
      who have had their sandals 
      on our necks
      since time began?
Such a God would be
     worth worshiping!
Your freedom—and ours—
            would be one!
—Patrick Murfin