Yesterday was so hard, and I say that knowing how very fortunate I am, not at the receiving end of bombs or other weaponry, in a safe space, with enough food and water, and in the company of a lovely, personable cat.
But of course it was Easter. Easter hymns were flooding my consciousness, even though I didn't attend church. I have stripped away layer after layer of the onion over the decades in so many different phases: turning from the church in anger at not being given opportunities to get involved in, what was then, the men-and-boys' choir tradition; tip-toeing back long enough to play some organ or choral role (usually staying silent during the Creed and Confession); then leaving again, only to slip in a side door to sing a few choral evensong services or research the life of Herbert Howells. A month or two ago, I even considered taking one last trip back to England to attend an intensive "binge" of Lenten, Holy Week, and Easter services. In the end, airport chaos wasn't the only thing stopping me. I realized that, while I don't find the music unbearable (quite the contrary), the words of this particular season are unbearable. I can still tolerate Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Annunciation, Ascension, Pentecost -- even Trinity...but not the "energy" or lyrics of this pre-Easter and Easter period.
It is at Easter that the duality becomes most acute and, to me, most painful -- death and resurrection, violence and victory, pain and joy, earth and sky. The language can be at its most warlike, with joy coming, in effect, from winning the war, and embracing Jesus' triumph over death. Ugh. It is conditional joy, arguably happening to us thirdhand because of this external "victory". Ugh again.
Over sixty years ago, I told my mother I was a good Episcopalian but not a Christian. She hissed at me never to say such a thing again, and for years I didn't, but walking this tightrope has been spiritually challenging. As you know, I watched the Archbishop of Canterbury's installation the other week (taking my own unconventional personal set of vows), but at least I could sing the words of the hymns that were chosen. "Come Down, O Love Divine", for instance. For this former choirgirl, the hymns and psalms remain important and compelling, when I can resonate with the verbal as well as musical expression.
Yesterday, however, I had no desire to sing Easter hymns, or to hear Easter anthems, and wouldn't even if they had been accompanied by the most glorious organ music and trumpets. The violence of Good Friday doesn't transform for me into Easter joy...it is a saga that reinforces the need for, and addiction to, conflict. At its heart, it is a "good vs. evil" story with way too much violence. Had I made it to church, I wouldn't have made it more than a few bars into "Jesus Christ is Risen Today" before running for the hills..."suffer to redeem our loss"? What does this even mean? Ugh again.
So yesterday, yet more parts of that tradition flew off my little boat into the wind, into the wake. I had to hang on for dear life. Even "Law and Order" was failing to keep me nailed down. Lordy.
