Resurrection

Not so very long back, one gray rainy freezing cold morning in Québec City. The family you are staying with has not yet woken up. You are wandering the deserted wet streets. A city reminiscent of old Europe, with its cobbled streets and small shops and cozy restaurants.

Wrapped up in all the warm clothes you have, you walk up and down the steep roads, occasionally pausing to look at the St. Lawrence river down below.

You are not walking completely aimlessly. It is Easter Sunday. You need to find a church. You are not Christian, but you have always been moved by the concept of resurrection. You have always been moved by this young man, who bears on his shoulders not just the weight of the cross, but the burden of watching so many innocents slaughtered in his name - again, and again.

A young man who had thought that his agony would end with the nails.

You have been seeing ancient churches along the way, but with their doors closed, not welcoming to strangers as they always are. Then it finally strikes you - it must be because of the biting cold. You stop at the next ancient church. You gently push open the huge door. The church is packed with people. Easter Mass is going on. And it's in French. You understand that in all languages, suffering and hope sound the same.

You stand shivering alone at the back, slowly absorbing in the warmth. And you smile at the crucified figure. I am here. Today I have not come to ask you anything. Though I am homesick beyond any known definitions of the word. Today I am here for you, not for me.

When you step out, you notice that this is April, that Easter coincides with Spring, in the Northern Hemisphere. The first few buds are coming out on the trees, even though the cold still has not left for its kingdom far up north.

It feels right, that Resurrection and the arrival of Spring happen at the same time.

Dec 2006