The celebration of Easter was not a major event of my childhood in Niles. Of course, my mother and I would go to mass early in the morning, but that was true for almost every Sunday of the year. There was nothing special about the service on Easter. The then-prevailing cultural custom focused on the Easter Parade, or at least the movies and songs did. There was no parade in Niles, itself, nor at Our Lady of Mt Carmel, my home parish. Some of the women, of course, might wear a new hat. This, after all, was the era when every female wore a head covering of some sort while attending mass. Hats were preferred, or perhaps, even more so, a lace mantilla. As a last resort for the forgetful, there was always a white handkerchief, or, in a real emergency, a Kleenex balanced on top of her head.
My father never went to mass on Easter. Actually, he never went to church for anything other than an occasional funeral. Yet, for some strange, unknown reason, he always held to a very strict fast on Good Friday. He never attended the Stations of the Cross; the Good Friday fasting was his only association with any rite of which I was aware. Unless “going-up-the-hill-for-dinner” was a religious rite. On Easter, the three of us made that exodus as we did on Thanksgiving, Christmas and most Sundays of the year. The meal, itself, was an ordinary one. The only distinction was the presence of a brioche di Pasqua, bread braided into a wreath, with brightly dyed eggs baked on top. I preferred the Easter bread that incorporated scrambled eggs, sausage and prosciutto ham hidden inside of the baked loaf.
In my own home, coloring boiled eggs was the only ritual associated with Easter. I tried to have a steady hand on the thin, wire holder as I dyed an egg halfway with one color before turning it over and dying the other end in another color. I found it fascinating to attempt different combinations and produce either remarkable results or muddy mistakes. No one on my mother’s side of the family was adept at producing pysanka-embellished eggs. Occasionally, I would attempt to make one or two with a wax pencil marking out designs that would have colors different from the background used for the whole egg. The required, multiple dunkings seldom produced a result remarkable in any positive sense.
The earliest Easter event I do recall is being given a blue peep. This was the time when dyed animals were associated with this holiday, as much as colored eggs were. I named this little, live chick “The Blue Fairy” in honor of a character from Pinocchio. She lived in a shoe box. I also have vague recollections of a bunny rabbit, kept for a short time in a wire hutch on our back porch. I have no idea what became of them.
I probably had Easter baskets with candy eggs, but they are not part of my memories of the Season, until our marriage and the arrival of our kids, and many years later, of our grandchildren. My most vivid recollection of an Easter basket concerns one Karen and I had the first year of our marriage. As was the usual case at the time, we drove from Ithaca to Ohio for the holiday. We transported an Easter basket on the window shelf in the back of our car. At the end of the eight-hour drive, the basket contained a large chocolate puddle with two candy eyes staring up at us, the remains of what had once been a cute bunny-rabbit. Afterwards, we were very cautious about transporting chocolate animals.
Our own three kids always had individual baskets of candy for Easter. We took great care to assure that the distribution of goodies was identical for each thatched container. Every year there was a new set of baskets, along with fresh artificial grass. Our closets became filled with leftover containers; I’m not sure why we seldom reused previously purchased ones. When grandchildren arrived, it became mandatary to buy new ones every year, since the current baskets went home with each of them.
The celebration of Easter Sunday became more joyful when grandchildren were added to our extended family. Plastic, colored eggs containing jellybeans and chocolates were hidden in our backyard. Jordan, Kirby, Dillon and Kennedy were seldom satisfied with only one pass at locating the treasures. Usually, we had to re-hide them for a second search. Fortunately, two passes seemed to be sufficient.
As the number of grandchildren grew, the hiding of eggs became less prevalent. This event was replaced by a blessing of Easter baskets at a brief service at the local parish, usually St Ignatius which Ken’s family attended. Videos of grandchildren searching through azalea bushes and elephant ears in our garden on Grand Valley were replaced by those of one of our grandsons holding the Book of Blessings for use by the presiding deacon who, at noon on Saturday, blessed the bread and sample foodstuff to be used for the Easter meal. Afterwards, we all went out for an early Easter lunch in a restaurant. Before the recent COVID years, on Easter Day, after mass, we would go, with Chris and his family, to a more extended buffet-lunch, often at a pleasant, well-staffed hotel.
Interestingly, most of my recollections about celebrating Easter seem to be of a nonreligious nature. They focus on food and candy, rather than upon the true centrality of the Resurrection. However, this aspect became very important to Karen and me about forty years ago.
An essential part of our ministry at Christ the Good Shepherd was our participation, both before and after my ordination, in the parish’s RCIA program, i.e., the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults, in which non-Catholics are brought into the Church by baptism, confirmation and first Eucharist. At this time, the Triduum, the three-days from Holy Thursday through Easter, became important in our lives. Karen and I were deeply involved in the formal instruction of Catechumens and Candidates, i.e., non-Catholics wanting to become Catholics and baptized Catholics who had never been confirmed but now desired to do so. We always looked forward with joyful anticipation to the three-hour vigil service on Saturday evening and greeting those we had walked with on their journeys of faith.
Although formal presentations were important for the RCIA during the months prior to the Triduum and formal entrance into the Church, another annual event was the associated Pascal Seder meal that became a fellowship event during the week prior to Easter. Since the mass, itself, was associated with the Last Supper, a Pascal meal celebrated by Jesus and his Jewish disciples, it seemed appropriate for RCIA participants to join in a re-enactment of this essential religious event, even if the roast lamb were replaced by fried chicken from the local KFC. The other components were provided by the Catechumens, Candidates and RCIA staff who made chopped chicken liver and charoset: apples, walnuts and spices combined in a never-the-same-way-twice mixture.
Every attempt was made to follow the Haggadah of a true Seder, but the historical connection with Eucharist was also present. It was this Christianized format that finally led to the current demise of the Seder as part of the conclusion of the RCIA prior to the Triduum. Apparently, some thought that the Jewish Passover was being belittled when it was combined with its Eucharistic result. Most parishes now do not include this fellowship meal, thus (in my opinion) forgoing an important historical example of a diversity which actually indicates a basic unity in Judeo-Christian cultures.
At the same time, I might mention that the Passover meal continues to be celebrated by the Jewish Community at Eagle’s Trace and Christians have been welcomed at this event. Karen and I attended for several years. On the other hand, the most significant Passover Seder in which I have participated was a real-deal one presided over by Mark Entman, a dear friend who was a member of the faculty of the Department of Medicine at BCM. Mark and Carol invited us to their home and synagogue for such events as Passover, Sukkoth, and their daughter’s bat mitzvah. They were also invited guests for my own Ordination.
The celebration of Easter is, indeed, an important event, one with potentially many associations. Culturally, it may be a time for new bonnets and clothing. These symbols may be a sign of the verdant freshness of spring, and its pagan goddess, Eostre. The rebirth of spring is demonstrated both by the fecundity of the rabbit and the nature of eggs, in general. In modern, cybernetic times, “Easter eggs” are hidden messages contained in electronic codes in computer programs. On the other hand, the true meaning of the holiday, the holy day, is hidden in the meaning of the Resurrection of Christ. Indeed, He is Risen. If this is not the case, then all of Christianity is no more important than a hollow chocolate bunny with its ears bitten off.