Why is Easter called Easter? Well, it might have something to do with Eostre, also known as Ostara, a West Germanic spring goddess associated with dawn, spring, fertility, and rebirth. According to a seventh-century Christian monk called Venerable Bede, the month of April used to be called Eosturmonath (month of Eostre), since this is when the spring goddess would be worshipped:
‘Eosturmonath has a name which is now translated as ‘Paschal month’ [Easter month], and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance.’
(Venerable Bede, The Reckoning of Time)
And why does Easter move around so much? (This year it is on 20th April, and last year it was on 31st March, next year it is on 5th April, and then on the 28th March. Quite a range!) Well, this we do know for sure: Easter Day is the first Sunday after the first Full Moon after the Spring Equinox. And why this full moon? So, today’s full moon is also known as The Pesach Moon (from which the world Paschal originates) and determines when the Jewish festival of Passover is (a festival commemorating the Israelites liberation from slavery in Egypt), which, of course, is what Jesus and his disciples were celebrating the night he was betrayed by Judas in what is known as The Last Supper – that subversive interpretation of the Jewish Seder meal before The Crucifixion and Resurrection, in which he identifies the unleavened bread with his body and the red wine with his blood.
So, whether from a Pagan (‘countryside dweller’), Jewish, or Christian perspective, today’s Full Moon is charged with meaning. Today is about new life. Which is why my thoughts are drawn to the ultimate question: what is the point of life? Well, the clue is in the question.
The point of life is life.
I’m having these musings whilst sitting in our beautiful little garden, which my wife has cultivated, created, and curated. I’m semi-reclining across from a wonderfully wild looking rose bush that is readying itself to burst into full bloom. Perhaps waiting for Easter Sunday? Or maybe the Summer Solstice! It’s all a mystery to me. I just sit, chat, drink tea and enjoy the beauty while my wife potters around.
I think The Garden is a good metaphor for the meaning of life. Perhaps that’s why it is central to one of the main Judeo-Christian creation myths: The Garden of Eden. Apparently, from an archaeological-historical perspective The Garden of Eden was a reference to the first temple of Jerusalem. And as I sit within the walls of our little temple, waiting for the Full Moon of rebirth, new life, and liberty, to reveal its pale face with its wild staring eyes, I am struck by the wisdom of our garden, and her gardener.
Perhaps, our lives are gardens, and we are the gardeners. We potter, play, plan, and plant. We devote our time to certain areas, and completely neglect others. We guess, we scatter, and sow. Some things grow, and others do not. Everything dies, and everything is reborn in some way, shape, or form. Nothing is wasted. And we learn about the conditions for growth. We experiment. We innovate. We wait, we watch, and we wonder. We trust the seasons. We surrender to the laws far deeper than our own. We build, we tinker, we dabble. And slowly, things evolve into something fulfillingly beautiful. Yes, there might be times for some heavy lifting, intense digging, and savage burning - but it’s the constant dance of devotion and neglect, hiding and seeking, that fuels the flow of such meandering work. And, of course, it’s not all bliss and beauty. There are chores, deadlines, disappointments, disasters, diseases, and deaths. It can be soggy, sad, and solitary stuff. There is work to do, and there is effort to conjure, but the spirit of The Garden, and its gardener, are so divinely different to some of our worldly ways of viewing things.
It’s so easy to judge our lives through a more industrial, utilitarian, and consumer lens. We often don’t see the value of our endeavours unless it is producing something useful, profitable, or publicly recognisable. So many of us reject possible pots, beds, and patches of mud, because, you know, ‘what’s the point?’ It’s not going to make any money. It's not something we can open to the public. It’s not scalable! And yet, most people who are lucky to have little gardens, or pots of plants on windowsills, don’t judge their work in such a factory manner. They enjoy the beauty, the creativity, the devotion, the emotions, the learning, and the freedom. They do it for love. They do it for free. In fact, they run it at an economic loss.
The point of life is life
Life in all its fullness
Life in all its contradictions
And as I contemplate the beautiful garden my wife has cultivated (she is the daughter of, and sister to, excellent Yorkshire gardeners), I am inspired by Plato to ask why I find this little haven so beautiful. You see, for Plato, beauty matters. Beautiful things teach us important truths about the good life. Perhaps my garden is whispering me important lessons about what my soul longs for. And like my wife’s profoundly layered paintings, our garden is rich in paradoxes. There are wild overgrown areas juxtaposed with carefully curated pots of tulips, perhaps showing me that a good life demands a balance of mystery and structure, chaos and order, change and stability.
Today, I am drawn to the little areas of neglect - dead leaves, weeds, and empty pots – and find a peculiar form of consolation in my attraction. They speak to me of the various things I haven’t been attentive to of late. But their presence does not dimmish the beauty and convalescence of The Whole Garden experience. Their reminder does not wreak havoc on its peace, purpose, and pleasure. In fact, they are a part of its idiosyncratic charm. Within the context of the garden, they remind me that leaving things is an important part of garden living. Nothing is lost. Everything belongs. There are seasons for such things. And perhaps now is the time to have a potter and play in these particular corners of my garden temple. Or perhaps it is time to make a change and re-imagine this area of my life.
Either way, The Garden, as a metaphor, gives me a gardener’s mindset. It helps me see that the point of life is life. It reminds me that we’re not here to find some perfect packaged-deal career-lifestyle that is simultaneously our personal identity, economic support system, social standing, ethical code, religious responsibility, and political system, all rolled up into one coherent field of interest.
Our gardens are far more interesting and idiosyncratic than that!
Our beauty is born from all manner of dark and twisted roots
Our yield is measured in meaningfulness
Our work is ever-present and never-ending
And so, as we dare to stare at that lunatic-looking laughing-face of The Pink Paschal Pesach Moon, let it be a mirror to a larger, freer, and fuller life – a pointer to our own garden temple – rich in renewal, rebirth, and resurrection. A life full of meaning.
Let us raise a glass of our finest red wine
And make a toast To Life
“L'Chaim”