We greeted the new Easter day's arrival like disciples hearing news from Mary: taking faith that the sun/son had risen...somewhere over there! A few of us met up at Boars Hill, crept down a strictly private road (to find an east-facing view), huddled in Swifty (our campervan) while the kettle boiled and the hot cross buns toasted, then ventured out into a nearby field to watch the sun illumine the dark into a sort of lighter grey. We used some prayers about dawn from the wee worship book, told our own version of the first moments of Easter, and read a Mary Oliver poem (below). Then we broke into (with remarkable effort, it was still chilly!) an Easter egg and returned to our homes to spread the good news. Happy Easter! Christ is risen! You can die for it– an idea, or the world. People have done so, brilliantly, letting their small bodies be bound to the stake, creating an unforgettable fury of light. But this morning, climbing the familiar hills in the familiar fabric of dawn, I thought of China, and India and Europe, and I thought how the sun blazes for everyone just so joyfully as it rises under the lashes of my own eyes, and I thought I am so many! What is my name? What is the name of the deep breath I would take over and over for all of us? Call it whatever you want, it is happiness, it is another one of the ways to enter fire. ~Mary Oliver