'What I do is me: for that I came.' G M Hopkins



Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Jesus and Chocolate

It’s the end at last. With Easter falling so late, this has been the longest term ever. Who moves these feasts? Last week, pupils and teachers alike were overwhelmed with coursework, essays and deadlines and now it’s the holidays!

I spent the weekend in beautiful Donegal with friends. The views were wonderful and I strode out in the early morning along one of the many paths crossing the peat bogs around Carrigart. It was a grey dawn with the kiss of a crisp breeze but it was so good to get out into the real world and away from the press. Ahead of me lay a small, glassy reservoir into which the bracken-covered hills peered to see their reflection. Errigal’s head was poking above the horizon.

I was thinking about valleys. In the last few weeks we’ve finished all the stories begun with such enthusiasm in January. No happy endings: we left the gorgeous Gatsby (the image of Robert Redford in a pink suit is engraved forever on my mind) floating lifeless on a lilo with his arm tracing a red swirl in the autumn leaves, Holden Caulfield is holed up in a sanatorium and Meursault and Francie Brady are facing the consequences of the murders they committed – one in cold, and the other in very hot smeared-all-over-the-wall, blood. It’s Francie who sums up the sense of complete desolation, ‘How can your solitary finish?’

We were discussing symbolism in the Great Gatsby and wondering about the tragic Valley of Ashes. I mentioned the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ and only one pupil recognised it as a biblical allusion. Does no one go to Sunday school any more? The valley is a metaphor for the low place, the place without light or hope. It’s the place inhabited by most of the characters we met this term. My sixth form told me they were suicidal after reading these bleak texts. I also felt like I needed my soul restored, hence the walking alone in Donegal.

Psalm 23 talks about still waters. As I gazed at the surface of the water rippling ever so gently in the morning’s breath, I meditated on who does what. The shepherd leads, restores, comforts, prepares, anoints and blesses and all that is required of the sheep is to recognise his master’s voice and follow. Sounds like a great deal to me!

My feet were wet as the black bog juice seeped into my walking shoes but my jarred nerves began to settle and some sense of peace returned. Perhaps we appreciate nature more when we’ve been cooped up with books for too long. Perhaps we appreciate life when it comes after death.

It’s Easter this week. Jesus and chocolate – what more could anyone want? Good Friday is all about death and horror and sacrifice – I’ve promised myself that I will watch The Passion. But on Sunday it’s about life and hope and morning…if you believe. My solitary can finish.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks Ruth, I'd gone too long without one of your blog posts. Have a blessed Easter. Maybe I'll watch The Passion too. axo

    ReplyDelete