Pie in the Sky: an English Easter

It was a cool, gray, and misty Sunday morning when Mom and I set out to St. Stephen's Church for its High Easter service. Though neither of us tend toward Anglican beliefs, we were curious to check out this mysterious-looking (and very English) church that we had passed by several times on our outings. The air that morning was so wet that a thin, shining layer of dew alighted upon our Sunday clothes, and curled the loose ends of our hair into wispy tendrils before we had even made it around the block. The old church looked especially ancient in the mist, with its aged brownstone facade and many stained glass windows tucked in a garden of tall grass and climbing vines. There was hardly anyone out on the street, and no one outside the building, and we were a little worried, at first, that we had missed the service. But when we pressed inwards on its huge wooden doors, the first strains of beautiful choral hymns slipped through, and we knew we were in for a treat.

Stepping inside, we were enveloped in a sudden warmth and the heady scent of incense. The walls of the church reached high in ornate woodwork, and the floors were laid with a thick vibrant red carpet. As we tiptoed down the outer aisles, we took note of the huge golden organ at the front of the church, and the detailed golden accents on the altar, ceiling, and choir loft. When we finally found an open bench, we were surprised to find large leather cushions that were to be used instead of kneelers (compared to the Catholic church I was raised in, this was luxury!) We thouroughly enjoyed watching the events of the service unfold; being a high Anglican Mass, especially on the holiest day of the year, there was much ritual and ceremony. We were especially enthralled by the deacon who was swinging the golden censer, since he brought a huge trailing cloud of white-gray incense smoke with him whereever he went, and shook the censer (censed?) almost over everything, including the priest, the Bible, the altar, the laypeople, and even himself.

In my long years as a reluctant student at Catholic school, I unfortunately got into the habit of dreading sermons, because they typically seemed very tedious and discouraging to me. Thus when the priest walked up the curling stairs to the wooden turret that composed the pulpit, I braced myself and the upbeat Easter spirit I had been nursing for a long and depressing speech. But I had nothing to worry about. The priest, an elderly, slender man with bright blue eyes and a quick, rollicking accent, launched into an uplifting and even entertaining sermon reminding us that of everything that has happened in the world to this day, Easter was the most revolutionary, turning a world where we clung to possessions, waged war against one another, and feared our eventual death upside down. Even better, his sermon was peppered with references not only to such respected and current publications as the New Scientist and even the New York Times, but also Facebook, Apple (of iPod fame), and Linux. Best of all, however, was the occasional very British phrase; my favorite excerpt would have to be: “Don't kid yourselves, for Easter is not about any of that New-Agey airy-fairy stuff, or about pie-in-the-sky dreams.” For celebrating an ancient religious holiday in a mysterious, misty country across the globe, in an old stone church replete with incense, whose foundations are older than the States itself, this priest managed to keep Easter very real.