Easter Out Into the Light

An original song and some thoughts about the season

Happy Easter my friends! I hope the last week has been a lovely time of joy and celebration for you all. As a musician, the three days leading up to Easter (known in ancient Christian parlance as the Triduum) are always exceedingly busy. I sang in a choir for services on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, and by the time Easter Sunday finally rolled around, I was very ready for a break! I hope you've had a chance to enjoy some rest and relaxation yourself with family and friends.

Some important news: after trialing my new Patreon for a couple of weeks, I’ve found that it’s unfortunately not a good fit for my model and have decided to close shop while it’s still in its infancy. The life of an artist often requires a kind of ‘Goldilocks’ approach, experimenting with different options until one finds just the right fit.

Rather than start back a paid subscription model here on Substack, I’ve decided that for the time being, I’ll continue to offer new content here, with essays, new music, show notes on upcoming podcasts, and more – all for free. I want this space to become a new hub for my artistic activities online, and I’m simply grateful to have a place where we can grow together. My only request is that if you are able, please consider sharing about SOUND + SPIRIT with your friends and family and recommending me if you are happy to do so. And if you haven’t already, please do subscribe!

In the meantime, I'm delighted to share an original song with you all which I had initially posted on my Patreon and which I now offer here, entitled 'Easter Out Into the Light.'

Lenten Feelings in Eastertide

This song came into being a few years ago, while living in St Andrews, reflecting on my own journey into Easter even while still feeling overcast and grey. That year, for some reason, I never could seem to entirely find my footing in the fasts and feasts of the liturgical calendar. Lent undoubtedly always catches me unawares, no matter how late in the year it hits; but that year in particular, it really stymied me. I somehow staggered my way through my Lenten observances, and then, before I could process it, Holy Week was upon me, casting me far deeper into the abyss than I was prepared to go. I still hadn't come up for air when suddenly, Easter burst over me, its light too much for eyes so recently accustomed to the shadows.

I remember walking home after the midnight Easter Vigil. Together, as a congregation, my little Scottish Church community had kept watch in a darkened sanctuary lit only by candlelight, listening to the stories of scripture and waiting, along with the people of Israel, for our saviour to come. And then, in a sudden instant, the lights flew on, and bells were rung by the whole congregation. 'Gloria in excelsis Deo!' We sang the glorious hymn at the top of our lungs, praising God for the Resurrection of Jesus, and for the hope returned. For a moment, the hope had felt real and substantial, and the paschal candle's light efficacious to my needs.

And then, as I walked home, entering back into the silence of the night, the shadows gathered around me again. 'I don't know how to keep your Easter light,' I told God. 'I want to be present for this season, but I still feel the ashes of Lent hanging over me.'

Isn't it just like that sometimes? We know the Lord has burst forth from his prison, scattering the darkness from before His path and shining forth in radiant glory. But we feel as if we are watching from within that very same tomb, caught inside and unable to escape. Everyone around us has followed him on into the garden, and to the world; but we are still covered in the shroud of our worries, fears, and sadnesses, unable to move or find our way out.

Sometimes, we just can't keep pace with the seasons. And that's ok; Jesus understands that better than anyone. He celebrated without reserve, earning the titles of 'glutton' and 'winebibber' (Luke 7.34); healed on the Sabbath, earning the scorn of religious leaders (Mark 3.1-6); wept over the death of his friend Lazarus, even when he knew he would resurrect him moments later (John 11.33-35); and upset moneylender's tables in the temple, turning respectable people's good estimation of him upside down (Matthew 21.12-13). In his ministry Jesus showed a new way, claiming all that had been caught in patterns that had become full of dust and decay, breaking them open and letting the new light of life flow into them. For Jesus, King over Creation, is Lord of all the world, of every nook, cranny, and crevice. Every garden is his; and so is every tomb.

'The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath,' Jesus observes in Mark 2.27. So too are our liturgical seasons. They offer us forms and patterns that help us to bring order and meaning to our often discombobulated spiritual lives. They are meant to invite us into the drama of the story of salvation, and at their best, our emotions are called into alignment with those moments of meaning in every feast day, in every solemnity and celebration.

And yet our bodies and souls are not yet what they will be someday. For most of us, those moments of synchronicity are achieved in snatches, bright, pointillistic moments that stand out amid the often arduous trek through the preoccupations of life as we experience it day to day. God is not surprised by our very human experiences amid the ever repeating sacred cycles of the Church. He meets us on the way, like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who did not know that Easter had come. They walked in sorrow and fear, caught still in the grave seemingly forever enclosing their hopes and dreams of new life in the darkness of death. There, in that solitude and sadness, Jesus met them, in the flesh, as a friend, guiding them along that path until they might find the light again.

Friends, if you find yourself still caught on the verge of the tomb, looking out from the shadows toward a sunlit garden that somehow everyone else has seemed to achieve but you, you are not alone. Jesus is not caught off guard by the Easter season. For in his three days in the tomb, he entered into every tomb in every time, yours and mine included. And his resurrection isn't just for those who have the right feelings at the right time; it's for you and me too. For Easter isn't just a season: it is a living reality, embodied in the risen Christ, who steps into our darkness so it might raise us up into the light of morning again.

I hope you enjoy the song, and I wish each of you my very best as you continue to journey into this Easter season!

Easter Out Into the Light

The tomb is bare, the stone is rolled away

The linen warm, as if just laid aside

But I am left behind here in the dark

The hope that had arisen now denied

Come back to me and stay with me,

Illuminate my darkened night

That I might easter back into the light

I thought I saw you there out in the garden

Walking in the cool dew of the dawn

But you were turned away so that I could not see your face

And you have been away so very long

Turn back to me so I can see it’s really you,

so that I might

Step out and easter back into the light

I want to see, but I am often standing

Between the garden and the bitter tomb

These shadows mask the threshold of the morning

And I am blind within this fearful room

Come take the scales off of my eyes that paralyse

Return me to my sight

That I might easter out into the light