When I was a child—many years ago—we drew Easter on our school notebooks. The image was always the same: bells ringing in celebration, peach branches in bloom, swallows soaring through the sky. We drew these three symbols carefully on the little greeting cards we made for our parents. Even now, when Easter approaches, they come back to me.
I don't dare ask my grandchildren whether they still draw bells, peach blossoms, and flying swallows this time of year. I think their answer would disappoint me.
Yet beyond the nostalgia, there is comfort in thinking about what those drawings still mean today—when church bells barely ring anymore, especially in the cities; when peach branches, if we can find them at all, are a thin handful from some florist; and the swallows themselves—are they still here?
Those bells, with their joyful rocking voice, called us to celebration. They announced the greatest event in Christian history: the proclamation of Jesus' resurrection to everyone. They testified to a faith that brings us certainty: if He rose, we too are called to stand upright before death. That death which can terrify us, grieve us, cast us down—but which no longer has the final word. What would our laborious journey after Jesus mean without the certainty of resurrection? Why then do the peach flowers invite us to lift our heads, to awaken with nature's own spring awakening, and to find again that hope which so often abandons us? "Winter is past." "Behold, I make all things new."
And the flight of swallows across a brightened sky calls us to a deep joy—so rare to see anymore on our faces, bent as they are toward the earth with all its empty promises.
Yes, the Lord is risen. He is truly risen!
Let us find again, with courage and faith and hope, the desire to continue our journey. Hard as it is, uncertain and full of doubt, if it remains intimately bound to the passion and resurrection of Jesus, it will bring us true joy—even now.
Mariangela Bertolini, 2007