Well, he rose and he has been well and truly glorified and it was all utterly fabulous.
From the welcoming of the newly baptised and confirmed, to the overenthusiastic splashing of one another with baptismal water by a Provost and a Bishop. From the first triumphant shout of, “Christ is risen!”, to the sound of the many hundred voices joining in the Hallelujah Chorus. From the nervous giggles as I wondered if the holy ladder was going to overbalance and squish the trebles, to the jazz anthem accompanied by the popping of champagne corks. From the censing of the Paschal Candle, to the falling with great relief on the food at the post-Evensong party.
And then I located my bed and slept the sleep of the very very tired.
(Easter Recovery Day is what this day has been dubbed by a friend of mine, and I suspect that a truer title has never been given.)
I often wonder, on Easter Day, usually sometime after the Creed when I’ve just about stopped crying, why we don’t do this every week. By the time Evensong rolls around, I’ve remembered that if we did this every week we would have long since keeled over from sheer exhaustion.
But what a great and glorious feast it has been, what joy we have had, and what a privilege it is to be there and to do what I do.