Near and far

Do you remember that Sesame Street skit from ages ago? One of the characters runs up to the camera to demonstrate "Near!" then runs into the distance to demonstrate "Far!" over and over again.

Time is like that, isn't it? Events, moments, from our past can feel like they happened just yesterday, and then the next time we look at them they seem to be very far off in history, as though they were written by someone else.

Over the course of Easter weekend, with the help of modern technology, we watched two Masses from the church I went to back in Days of Yore when I lived in Capital City. Though I could point out things that have changed in the *gulp* 12 years since I was last there it felt so immediate, surely I could step out my own front door and walk up the stairs of that church to celebrate with those dear, familiar faces I spotted in the (Covidly thin) crowd. The music included hymns I haven't sung in over a decade yet the words tumbled out of my mouth with no hesitation. 

The priest celebrating Mass told the story of an Easter Vigil more than 20 years ago, where the then Pastor, Father F, nearly set fire to the church. The Vigil, you see, begins with the church in darkness.  The priest stands outside with the unlit Easter candle. He lights a fire (usually a small one, in a hibachi, well outside the building - even if it snows, which it often does because this is Canada). Father F, however, had a dramtical flair. He wanted a Fire and he wanted it In The Church. So he lit a fire inside the main doors. A Big Fire. The flames were, by different accounts, 6, 8, or 10 feet high. It was exciting! The Easter candle was lit from the fire, then like a wave moving through the congregation row after row of us lit our tapers from it until the building glowed with golden candle light and we settled in to listen to the Old Testament readings (I think we did seven that year, some of them accompanied by drums. As I said, Father F liked it dramatic.) The church was fine, by the way. Whilst we lit our candles and our hearts thrilled to the 'Escaping Egypt' beat of the drums, the ushers dealt with the fire-code-breaking fire. I think, being quite used to Father F, they knew to be prepared for any eventuality.

I haven't thought of that night in a long time, but hearing the telling of it Saturday night, it felt like he was telling my story. I was there. I remember it. Remembering ties me to that place, those people. It bring us near to each other no matter how removed we might actually be.

Even though I've lived a lot of life in other places, and am entirely content where I now am, it doesn't take a lot of doing to pull the distant past near. Memories can be like a slinky: they  stretch further and further away, until something tugs on them and they come sproinging back to you, and in this case the sproing totally made my Easter. My hope is that you also had moments of happiness this weekend, and that there is joy aplenty ahead.  Happy Easter to  you and yours from us in The Lighthouse.

t.