Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted March 20, 2009 |
Quatrains of Celebration
The Easter Cross
by adewpearl
Most memories are impressionistic -- we fill in details we've long since lost. And so it is with St. Paul's at Easter, when I remember the flower-filled cross. The flowers weren't there when service began -- the empty cross somber, made of black mesh. And then at some point we filled it with color -- with tulips and daffodils fragrant and fresh. I remember that people with gardens carried their blooms with especial pride, as they processed down the center aisle, asplash with color, but dignified. I remember the spaces filling -- the black mesh replaced with purple and gold, and thinking few sights I ever would see could be so glorious to behold. I don't remember what hymn was played each year in the service as we processed, or what other blossoms covered the cross, or even what offering I possessed. The details are not what matter the most -- I'm not even sure they matter at all. The cross made alive with vibrant color is all that I really need to recall. |
Recognized |
Since it's the first day of spring and my mind is upon the spring flowers that aren't yet blooming on this cold day, I decided to post this poem written a couple Easters ago about the most beautiful ritual I've ever seen in a church.
St. Paul's is no longer my congregation, but this memory of it is the best one I have of it other than my wedding.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. St. Paul's is no longer my congregation, but this memory of it is the best one I have of it other than my wedding.
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