Is He risen?

Some holy week wonderings.

Apr 05, 2026

So that’s it.

Another Holy week done.

Last Sunday’s services with palm crosses, talk of the ‘Triumphal Entry’ to Jerusalem and people singing Hosanna as if it’s a celebration song. There was the Maundy Thursday services where embarrassed clergy awkwardly splash some water over the feet of congregants…or if you are in a really progressive church perhaps there will be a token refugee or homeless person. There would have been the enacting of the last supper, where the words of the radical earth inhabiting Rabbi, who was talking about the Mystery of the incarnation and our interconnectedness, are turned into some ritual that only certain ordained people could perform. And then Friday’s focus on the horrendous torture and execution of that same wandering Wisdom Teacher, the stories of how he was betrayed, how everyone left him (no mention of the women who stayed) and the story being told that this was somehow God’s plan, that the suffering was redemptive. All of it reaching a climax this morning, with people all over the globe attending church, the words ‘He is risen on their lips’ .

I get it. I took part in all those activities for years and just this morning, I was up at 5am waiting for the sunrise. As the ink black sky began to shimmer and light seeped in, I took a photo on my phone and sent it to my sisters with the message, ‘He is Risen’. But as I pressed send, I felt the words, “Is He?’ rise up from some deep place within me. A place of utter desolation and grief.

“Is He?”

As I sat in the dawn light, blackbird, robin and wren were singing their greeting to the new day. Normally their song entices me into a place of joy and gratitude, but this morning, I couldn’t shake off the fact that as I had been making my way up the garden in the darkness, I had disturbed an owl. Approaching an old Willow tree on the bend in the path, branches had rustled and the owl took flight over my head, a disturbance of the air across my face the only evidence of her leaving. Owls always remind me of the ancestors, and I have often perceived them as ones who keep vigil. This morning, as I peered after the fading silhouette in the dim morning shadows, I found myself thinking of the women who had stood at the foot of the cross. There in the predawn light, a memory surfaced from 20 years ago. “Woman why are you weeping? Because they have taken away my Lord and I don’t know where they have laid Him” It was dawn on Easter Sunday and Mary Magdalene’s words were going through my head as I walked down a farm track. Instead of celebrating with others at a dawn service as I had for so many years, I was alone. The morning was coming alive with birdsong and a herd of horses looked up as I arrived at their gate, curious as to why I was there so early. Bouncer, my equine partner of three years nuzzled me gently, seeking out the treats he knew would be in my pocket. And weep I did, tears of grief and of rage. Despite the beauty of the morning, I felt desolate, bereft. My partner and I had recently left the church. She had been training for lay readership but had been denied licensing because she had been honest about our long-term relationship. The bishop had said that she could continue to serve, to lead services and do all that she had been faithfully doing but that she he would not licence her. The rejection was made worse by the fact that we knew of others who were not as honest who were being ordained. They just kept quiet and their congregations and Bishops played along. It was the final straw in a long struggle and so I found myself alone, being comforted by the warm muzzle and soft liquid eyes of my horse. My turbulent feelings ebbed away as I saddled and rode Bouncer through the meandering farm tracks. All around creation was singing of new beginnings, trees that had been barren and stark against the skyline where being graced with greenness. Allowing the steady swing of Bouncer’s movement to calm my breathing and mind, I began to feel myself to be part of all that was around me and the sense of isolation began to diminish. Bouncer’s powerful hind quarters propelled us up a slope in a steady canter, and I felt the tension leaving my body as I was one with his movement. Suddenly he came to a halt, and I had to grab at his mane to stop myself going over his shoulder. He stood, sides heaving, his eyes and ears fixated on something I could not see. I could hear and feel my heart pounding through my body as I strained to see what had caused his sudden and very uncharacteristic stop. I could see nothing and tried to urge him forward, but he remained planted, his nostrils flaring to take in a scent undetectable to me, his body on alert, every muscle quivering with anticipation. Then suddenly, just as I thought I would have to turn and go another way, there they were, tumbling out of the hedgerow ahead of us, three hares, dancing and spinning in a circle. Dancing on the spot with excitement, Bouncer turned so that he could follow them with his eyes. My heart leapt as the three hares continued in a circle beside us, boxing, leaping and playing before racing off through the meadow. I could not stop laughing as Bouncer and I continued our ride, the earlier desolation replaced by sheer delight and joy

The journey that followed took me into a spirituality than honoured the earth, a path that I have walked, alongside the Christ tradition. I no longer called myself a Christian but retained a deep love for the Mystic Rabbi, Yeshua. I found I couldn’t use the name Jesus because the person it conjured up seemed to have little to do with the person I had experienced. Most of the time, twenty years later, I can find common ground with my beloved friends who still remain in the church. But Easter is always a struggle and this year, the struggle is more intense than ever. Perhaps that is because there is so much pouring out of our various screens where the far right has taken over Evangelical Christianity and it reminds me of my early days in a Christian fellowship that had cult like leanings. But blaming that extreme would be easy. I have very few contacts in that world now. The struggles I was sitting with this morning are much closer to home. It has something to do with calling this week Holy week and making it all about the events that happened to one man. Its about singing songs about the cross and listening to sermons about the passion of Christ, as if what happened to him was somehow unusual, that he suffered in some special way.

Of course, what happened was horrendous. Cruel and barbaric beyond words. Yet it was hardly unusual. The Romans used crucifixion to terrorise and dominate a population. Yeshua was not the only innocent man to be murdered in such a way. The Romans would often use crucifixion as a group punishment, rounding up whole households, including women, children and slaves, because someone in the family had taken part in some act of sedition. As for Yeshua, you could argue that he knew what he was doing. His passion was not what happened on good Friday. His passion was what led him to speak out against Empire and preach a gospel that was counter cultural and a threat to the authorities. Writing about the inevitability of Jesus’s execution Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan wrote in their book, The Last Week, ‘Not because of Divine necessity, , but because of human inevitability -this is what domination systems did to people who publicly and vigorously challenged them.’

Sitting with the dawn light this morning, I wondered, what do we mean when we say He is Risen? All around I see Empire committing the same atrocities as Rome. The poor and vulnerable being terrorised. School children blown apart. 75000 dead in Gaza. People living in poverty. The disabled having their benefits cut. Never mind the way our greed as a species has driven us into an ecological crisis where thousands upon thousands of our other-than-human kin have died and where the earth herself is polluted and ravaged for profit. Even those who speak out against this destruction, talk about the earth in terms of resources to be stewarded for the benefit of man, not recognising the Holy present in her soil and oceans, four footed and feathered ones, mountains and forests.

I haven’t got any answers to my question. I know that it has something to do with recognising that every week is Holy week. That the resurrection isn’t about what did or didn’t happen 2000 years ago, it’s about what happens today, in my life and yours.