Indeed

"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dully roots with spring rain"
T.S. Eliot

Inevitably, this quote becomes my facebook status sometime during the month of April since it reflects so well the longing in my heart as winter wakes up, yawns, and stretches into spring.  But not this year. It’s autumn right now in South Africa, and the spring rain line doesn’t quite ring true down here.

It's the oddest feeling to be celebrating Easter in fall. My body keeps expecting that “summer's coming” feeling and instead gets that “bundle up because winter’s on its way” feeling.  (Celebrating Thanksgiving in spring will be another interesting one…)  Is there anything more seemingly predictable and unchanging than the flow of the seasons? And yet, after 22 years of April=Spring...the world is turned topsy-turvy and, what do you know, April=Autumn.  God’s ability to turn my expectations upside down never ceases to amaze me.

Celebrating Easter in fall looks different.  All those spring/new life symbols, such as baby farm animals and flower buds, are still present in South Africa but not as relevant as in America.  Instead, I'm in the middle of the season where everything dies.  But, come to think of it, that’s rather appropriate. Doesn’t it seem fitting to remember Christ’s sacrifice and death during the dying season? So below the equator is a perfect place to remember Good Friday.  But what about celebrating Easter? 

Fall has always been my favorite season. I’ve often wondered what’s so appealing to me about a season that’s full of dying things.  I’ve discovered the reason: with every coming of fall and winter it’s implied that spring is soon to follow.  That’s why fall is so beautiful: Things must die in order to come back to life.

This past Tuesday, our team celebrated Passover together.  Being my first Passover meal, the symbolism as it relates to Christianity did not escape me. Passover is all about pairing opposites.  Greens which represent new life are dipped in salt water which stands for the tears under slavery. Bitter herbs, like the bitterness of slavery, oppose the sweetness of the charset.  Half of the meal is to remind you of past pain, years of enslavement, and a place you never want to return to; and the other half is to reassure you of a reliable promise, joy, and hope. The hope that you will never be enslaved again.  We cannot forget where we come from, the binding slavery that once held us, or the death that brought us freedom over it. And yet, we cannot stop there, knowing that Christ’s resurrection is the only thing that can keep our past slavery just that…past.  Like holding the taste of salt water and celery simultaneously in your mouth; like living paradoxically in summer and autumn at the same time; Christ died, was buried, and rose again.  It is this that gives me the conviction not just to say, “He is risen,” but “He is risen indeed.”