COLUMN: Tale from the Gravel Ridge – He is Risen Indeed

Palm Sunday has just passed, and Good Friday and Easter are before us. In the northern hemisphere, spring too is just arriving. We have waited long for this annual period of renewal.

Some years ago my husband Bernie and I had the opportunity to live in Georgetown, the capital of Guyana, South America, for half a year. Guyana is a tropical country, and there is no comparison to spring in that country to how we experience it in our part of the world each year. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I remember so well a specific scene taking place on Palm Sunday. Looking to the outdoors through an open window of St. George’s Anglican Cathedral, we could see a procession of members of the choir, dressed in their red choir robes, coming down the street toward the cathedral. Rarely is it feasible for a choir, dressed in lightweight robes, to come down the street in a Palm Sunday procession in our part of the world. Our seasonal circumstances simply don’t make that feasible.

We also had the privilege of living in Iqaluit, Nunavut for six years. The first time we visited Iqaluit was during the Palm Sunday weekend. When we attended the service at St. Jude’s Anglican Cathedral we were part of a procession indoors that Sunday, April 8, 2001. We were given palm branches and followed Anglican Reverend Methuselah Kunuk in procession. Winter in the Eastern Arctic was far from over.

These two Palm Sunday services were unique in their own respective ways. The meaning of those commemorative services were nevertheless the same, much as our own experiences of such services in a Mennonite context. It may be a good reminder to focus on the reasons for our celebrations, in this case, the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem. Whatever the circumstances of our lives may be, or where it is that we live, or for that matter the colour of our skin, none of these factors are relevant when it comes to why and how we celebrate.

My recollections of years gone by of prairie crocuses next to the Rosengard gravel ridge, and other spring phenomena, also bring to mind memories of religious holidays during my childhood. While I can’t remember any particular celebrations relating to Palm Sunday, the story I heard both at home and during Church services and Sunday School is fixed in my memory from my earliest childhood.

The stories recounting the events of Good Friday and Easter were also imprinted on my mind during those early days of my Rosengard childhood. So too were the hymns that expressed the faith and hope of the Season.

We had no radio, and of course, no television, nor the internet to bring us sermons via live streaming. What we had however, were parents and others who were committed to sharing their faith heritage as affirmed in their own experience, with the next generation. I am amazed and humbled at the commitment they brought to that task.

As spring is once more upon us, along with the religious holidays of the season, I am grateful for the memories of my childhood which give me a sense of wholeness. It seems to me my parents, along with others in the community had learned to celebrate in simple, joyous ways. They cherished the faith of their ancestors, and passed it on to their children. Along with that they enjoyed the company of friends. In all of this their children played an important role, and that which gave us delight, was important to them.

My more recent Easter experiences were also linked to the faith traditions of my husband’s extended family. And so it was that I learned, in particular from my husband’s Uncle, Michael Negrich, the familiar Ukrainian Easter greeting, Khrystos Voskres, to which we joyfully responded, Voistynu Voskres. “Christ is risen, He is risen indeed”.