Spiritual Sunday – Easter
I love this Easter poem by Oscar Wilde, who knows with unerring instinct how to pare away the extraneous from Christianity and bring it back to its roots. In this case, he begins with Vatican Easter pageantry—which itself will be pared down this year due to Covid—but ends with the simple messenger who brought God into the world.
The poem ends with an allusion to Matthrew 8:19-20:
And one of the scribes came to Him and said, “Teacher, I will follow You wherever You go.” Jesus replied, Foxes have dens and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.”
In other words, you think you can follow me to pomp and majesty, but my true home is with those who wander wearily, bruising their feet. Do you still want to follow me?
Easter is a joyous day, but it quickly becomes meaningless if we focus on power rather than those who suffer.
Easter Day
By Oscar Wilde
The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
‘Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.’
