Easter
This weekend many people will celebrate Easter, many who aren’t even Christian. Good Friday, the day that Jesus died for our sins. Easter Sunday, the day that Jesus rose from the dead. We rarely the question the traditions we grew up with, but then who has the energy to examine the way they live?
The Christian Easter (as many Christian festivals did) took over an old pagan celebration that marked the coming of the spring. That’s partly why Easter moves around: the moon determines its date. Easter falls on the weekend that follows the first full moon that follows the spring equinox. Christmas – overlapping almost exactly with the northern winter solstice – remains on the same date.
The old pagan celebrations used to glorify the Saxon Goddess Eostre, goddess of spring and dawn. The eggs that are now confectionery used to symbolise the fertility of the season, as did prolific bunny. It was easier to redefine old pagan rites than to banish them completely so now the egg is tomb of Jesus from which he emerged and the rabbit a sign of new life. They hid the old meanings like chocolates in the garden.
The day of the equinox is the only day you can balance an egg upright as the world’s gravity is balanced and the sun hits the equator. Here in South Africa we don’t welcome the spring. Since the equinox last week we’ve been welcoming the winter and losing minutes of light everyday to the north. Hello darkness my old friend.
Education in a Catholic school has embedded in me some need to observe lent and give up some token pleasure. For a few consecutive years I gave up chocolate, to be able to empathise better with Jesus’ deprivation in the desert.
This year I gave up my only daily drug. I went for 40 days in the desert without coffee. I am not caffeine addict, I don’t need it to start my day or get me out of bed. I have a coffee habit: one or two a day, not much more.
I love the ritual of coffee. That it gives you a chance to take a few moments out of your day whilst you make it, wait for it to strengthen so it can strengthen you. Mostly I think its effect on me is placebo, but I find it pleasant on my tongue and any va va voom it might give me is just an added (and subtle) benefit.
Legend has it that an Ethiopian goatherd discovered coffee. Noticing that his goats were practically dancing across the fields, he finally made a connection between their strange behaviour and a red berry they were eating. He tried the berry himself, and though he found it bitter, he also found that it gave a new lease of energy. The goatherd told his wife and she sent him to tell the local monks of his discovery.
The monks condemned the berries and threw them onto the fire. Their delicious aroma as they roasted filled the abbey. Curious, the monks raked them from the ash and distilled their flavour in hot water. The resulting drink kept the monks up at their prayers through the night without needing sleep. They were pleased to have found something to enhance their piety.
So the link between coffee and faith is older than you might think. On Easter Sunday in the morning, before I break bread with my family, I will stand at the oven and brew a coffee, breath it in before I take a sip, and then wait for its grace to move through my veins.
I tried a red cappuccino instead. I don’t really recommend them, it tasted like how I imagine ripping open a rooibos tea bag and chewing the leaves would taste if you washed them down with warm milk.
I’ve seen coffee served in tall glasses instead of china cups: black liquid with a white collar. The white collar is the symbol of religious covenant, it separates the vicar and the priest from the secular worlds.
Coffee is the drug of goats. Jesus is the Lamb of God. We feed our children the symbols of fertility and we rarely thank the lord.
Happy Easter