Easter. It’s here. Are you happy? Do you cheer?
Are you with those who say, he’s risen, rejoice?
Or do you think of such things with less confident voice?
If you think of it at all – it’s a tough one to call,
To have any clue what happened such a long time ago, in a far distant land – is there anything to show?
Scattered stories of angels, a stone, empty tomb,
Scared followers, appearances, is it enough to give room
To seriously consider, inside my head, that someone could actually rise from the dead?
I find, if not blind, upon closer inspection, this world sings with subtle signs of resurrection,
And what if faith is not so much believing against facts, but having sight for the light that glints through the cracks,
Like Lucy mourning Aslan, then lifting her eyes, to see the dead lion gone, a deeper magic arise,
Could Easter then be more than mere memory or story, a bright living channel for rumours of glory?
With the power to embrace every trial and storm, with its radiant hope, every dark thing transform?
As broadcast on BBC Radio Leeds on Easter Day.