Happy Easter

From A Pagan

My, what a tangled web we humans weave!

I celebrated Easter throughout my years as the son of two dedicated Presbyterians. At least until the time I left home for good. And yet, like the Spanish lessons I took practically every year I lived as a dependent of my parents, I am no more conversant in the lore of the Christian holiday as I am in conversational Spanish.

Somehow, when it comes to those two topics, repetition was not the key to my learning them. (I have since learned that, for me, desire is the secret ingredient that needs to be coupled with repetition.)

I had to look up the exact meaning of Easter beyond the colorful eggs, bunny rabbits and incredibly sweet confections. I knew it involved the resurrection of Christ but I have always been fuzzy on the Good Fridays and Lents and Maundy Thursdays and how they all related.

So many religious traditions! So little time.

But let me make one thing clear, I am not here to belittle Easter tradition. I believe, any holiday that binds a family and brings them together, deserves respect.

And, if you are ardent in your belief about Christ arising from the dead, and all of the other Christian stories surrounding this time of season, the more power to you.

I will admit, however, I was encouraged that the Christian website I found gave more than a nod to the pagan origins of some aspects of Easter. The bunny representing fecundity. The reason for eggs being possibly associated to the Druids worship of snake eggs. The connection between spring and the equinox and the changing of the seasons. The hare being the ancient symbol for the moon.

The site even left the origin of the word “Easter” open-ended. It could have been from the name of the Teutonic goddess of spring and fertility or the ancient Norse word for “the season of new birth” or maybe, the author notes, the derivation of the word was Christian in nature having to do with white robes and dawn.

Even though I am a non-believer, I am a child of those who did believe. And, my father, the minister, came to believe that my “worship” of nature and my dedication to community were more-than-sufficient signs that he and my mother had done their job. They’d taught me tolerance and empathy and kindness to strangers and the importance of fostering community.

When my dad joined me on river trips, he would often reflect on how it seemed my friends and I would treat the canyons as our places of worship. He noted how lightly we’d try to tread and the respect we gave to wildlife and the river and the world surrounding it.

And every now and again, if the pagans relented, he would provide us with an impromptu sermon.

Happy Easter everyone!