Easter: The Spirit of Resurrection

Sunday Service, 5 April 2026

Led by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQrsEuPiuvA

Musical Prelude: This Joyful Easter-tide - Charles Wood (performed by George Ireland and Our Quartet of Singers: Lucy Elston-Panter, Margaret Marshall, Benjie del Rosario, Edwin Dizer)    

Opening Words: ‘Today is Easter Day’ by Rex A. E. Hunt

Today is Easter Day.

Today we celebrate life over death.

This day we celebrate changed possibilities.

And give thanks for the Spirit of Life visible in Jesus,

visible in each one of us,

visible in people in all walks of life…

As we celebrate, we also acknowledge that all we have

are the stories, shaped and reshaped and told orally,

by people of faith from generation to generation.

No logical, scientific proof of a ‘bodily’ resurrection.

No video footage of an empty tomb.

No seismograph of an Easter earthquake.

Just the stories.

That in the midst of brokenness, healing stirs.

That in the midst of darkness, a light shines.

That in the midst of death, life is breaking forth.

That when all seems gone, hope springs eternal. (pause)

Words of Welcome and Introduction: 

These words from Rex A. E. Hunt welcome all who have gathered this morning for our Easter Sunday service. Welcome to those who have gathered in-person at Essex Church, to all who are joining via Zoom, and anyone tuning in at a later date via YouTube or listening to the podcast stream.  For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Jane Blackall, and I’m minister with Kensington Unitarians.  

This morning our service is titled ‘The Spirit of Resurrection’. In mainstream Christian churches this is the culmination of Holy Week; the story will have been told in a sequence of services which move from the apparent triumph of Palm Sunday, to the devastation of Good Friday, to the emptiness and not-knowing of Holy Saturday, until we find ourselves here, on Easter Day, when something extraordinary happened. As Unitarians perhaps we’re not sure what to make of it.

Yet it’s an incredibly powerful story that can speak to our human condition and the times we are living through – the highs and the lows – and what might still be possible when all seems to be lost. Our explorations this morning are framed by the prayerful words of UU minister Kathleen Rolenz: ‘Spirit of Resurrection, remind us of the power of hope to triumph over fear, the power of love to prevail over the horrors of hate, the potential for peace to be victorious over hostility.’

Chalice Lighting: ‘The Old, Old Story’ by Ian W. Riddell (adapted)

Let’s light our chalice flame now, as we do each week. It’s a moment for us to stop and take a breath, settle ourselves down, put aside any preoccupations we came in carrying. This simple ritual connects us in solidarity with Unitarians and Unitarian Universalists the world over, and reminds us of the proud and historic progressive religious tradition of which this gathering is part.

(light chalice) 

We gather today to remember and relive

the old old story of death defeated by emptiness,

of hope and newness triumphant over fear and separation.

We come, hearts heavy – perhaps – with pain and anxiety,

spirits flattened by exhaustion and apathy,

vision darkened by strife and injustice.

Still, we come seeking – and sharing – connection and love in this place of community.

So may the old, old Easter story of hope and renewal uplift our hearts

and make us glad in the presence of each other's love and care.

And may this little chalice flame be to us a symbol of

the light we can hold even in life’s darkest hours.

Hymn (on sheet): ‘Life’s Rebirth’

Our first hymn is on your hymn sheets: ‘Life’s Rebirth’. For those joining on zoom the words will be up on screen. Feel free to stand or sit as you prefer.

A day like many other days

Has seen us gather here to sing

And offer words which reach for thoughts

That lie beyond their capturing;

Yet may those prayers our lives renew:

From rocks of thought a vision hew.

We tell from land to land our tales

Where powers of hope shape life from death,

In differing words that share a dream –

With glorying shout, or whispered breath;

To caves of cold, dark unconcern

We bring our lights of love to burn.

Such warmth can melt a winter’s cold

In human hearts, as flower and field,

And push aside the blocking stone

With which so many a heart is sealed;

May I be never shut inside

The tomb of selfishness and pride.

This day, like many other days,

May see us roll the stone to find

A kindred soul who thirsts for light

Yet to the darkness was resigned;

So may we stretch our hands to lead

To life’s rebirth all those we’ve freed.

Candles of Joy and Concern: 

Each week when we gather together, we share a simple ritual of candles of joy and concern, an opportunity to light a candle and share something that is in our heart with the community. So we’ve an opportunity now, for anyone who would like to do so, to light a candle and say a few words about what it represents. We’ll go to the people in the building first, then to Zoom.

So I invite some of you here in person to come and light a candle and then if you wish to tell us who or what you light your candle for – please keep it brief – be considerate of others. I’m going to ask you to come to the lectern to speak, as we want people to be able to hear you. 

(in person candles)

And if that’s everyone in the room we’ll go over to the people on Zoom next – you might like to switch to gallery view at this stage – just unmute yourselves when you are ready and speak out – and we should be able to hear you and see you up on the big screen here in the church.

(zoom candles)

And I’m going to light one more candle, as we often do, to represent all those joys and concerns that we hold in our hearts this day, but which we don’t feel able to speak out loud. (light candle)

Time of Prayer & Reflection: based on words by Ruth E. Gibson

Let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer. This Easter prayer is based on words by Ruth Gibson. You might want to adjust your position for comfort, close your eyes, or soften your gaze. There might be a posture that helps you feel more prayerful. Whatever helps you get into the right state of body and mind for us to pray together – to be fully present – with ourselves, with each other, and with that which is both within us and beyond us. (pause)

Spirit of Life, God of All Love, in whom we live and move and have our being,

   we turn our full attention to you, the light within and without,

      as we tune in to the depths of this life, and the greater wisdom

         to which – and through which – we are all intimately connected.

      Be with us now as we allow ourselves to drop into the

         silence and stillness at the very centre of our being. (pause)

We come together this Easter morning to rejoice

in your ongoing creation around us and within us.

We come to rejoice, but we come with burdens of sorrow and pain,

of shame and fear, of false obligation and false pride. We are carrying so much.

On this Easter morning may we discover a joyous and

courageous faith enabling us to set these burdens down.

We would remember the teachings of Jesus, whose words and example

embodied your outreaching and unconditional love.

And we acknowledge that we yearn to be touched by such love,

but that we are not always ready to receive it or to give it.

Our fears get in the way, we have hardened our hearts, and busied our lives with cares.

On this Easter morning, we pray that the heavy stones which burden us and separate us

from you may be rolled away, releasing our spirits to love and to new life.

We confess that too often we have not taken time to

search for the beauty of your creation hidden around us.

As we allow such beauty to go unnoticed we have

deprived ourselves of occasions for joy and delight.

On this Easter morning we pray that our senses may come alive,

ready to respond to all the beauty, the fragrance, taste and texture of life around us.

It is the season of renewal and all around us everything is

bursting into bloom or song. The hidden beauty of nature is preparing to unfold.

On this Easter morning we would be assured that we too have a hidden inner beauty

that is just as ready to unfold, reflecting the image of your creative power.

We pray for the courage to open ourselves to your touch, knowing that as we do,

we will be changed. We will grow, but in so doing we must leave behind

the outgrown coverings which have hidden our true and most beautiful selves.

Spirit of Life, God of All Love, as we feel you flowing and surging within,

we pray for a courageous and joyous faith, empowering us to become our

finest and truest selves, empowering us to see your image in our brothers and sisters, empowering us to participate with you in the creation of a new way of life,

in which love, justice, beauty and peace are abundantly available to all. (pause)

And in a few moments of shared silence and stillness now,

may we speak inwardly some of those deepest prayers of our hearts —

the joys and sorrows we came in carrying –

in our own lives and the lives of the wider world.

Let us each lift up whatever is on our heart this day,

give thanks for all the blessings we have been given,

and ask for whatever it is that we most need. (long pause)  

Spirit of Life – God of all Love – as this time of prayer comes to a close, we offer up

   our joys and concerns, our hopes and fears, our beauty and brokenness,

      and we call on you for insight, healing, and renewal.

As we look forward now to the coming week,

     help us to live well each day and be our best selves;

     using our unique gifts in the service of love, justice and peace. Amen.

Reading: ‘We Don't Know What Happened’ by Daniel Budd (adapted) (read by Roy)

I invite you to join in a responsive reading that’s on your hymn sheets – the words will also be up on screen in a minute – it’s become a bit of an Easter tradition for us to read this every year. It seems useful for us to remind ourselves, before we delve into the meaning and resonances of the Easter story, as Daniel Budd says in the title of this reading, ‘We Don’t Know What Happened’. And, even so, there is much worth to be found in immersing ourselves in the story, and making it our own. (pause).

We're not sure what happened. But we know what it's like,

when someone appears in our life whose message we feel offers hope,

whose way of being inspires us with new ways of living.

We know what it's like when they fall short of our expectations,

or worse, when they are cut down and cast aside

by the forces of hate, bigotry, and closed-mindedness.

We're not sure what happened. But, we know what it's like

when someone has grown profoundly into our own lives,

who seems as much a part of our living as our own breathing.

We know what it's like when they are taken from us,

perhaps prematurely, by unwanted change, or by death,

and the empty place now in our souls is much like an empty tomb.

We're not sure what happened. But, we know what it's like

to feel sorrow and loss, despair and grief. We know

the waves of tears and the thoughts of the past which flow through us.

We know that memories and stories begin to fill the emptiness;

we integrate their gifts to us, and our lives are shored up with

a different presence, which will live with us all our lives.

We're not sure what happened. But, we know what it's like

to realize, to have it dawn upon us, that what we have known

and loved lives on with us and within us, forever, a part of who we are.

We know that somehow, in our hearts and souls, resurrection is real;

not that of the body, perhaps, but of the spirit — a spirit

renewed, even reborn, in the midst of our lives and our living.

We're not sure what happened. But, we know there is a difficult hope,

a faith, that through whatever sorrow or grief we are feeling,

there is also a growing sense of grace and gratitude, of joy and thanksgiving,

in the mysterious and abiding astonishment of being fully human.

In this wonder, may we find strength, within our own sense of Easter. Amen.

Hymn (on sheet): ‘Morning Breaks, the World Awakens’

Thanks Roy. Let’s sing again now – our second hymn is on your hymn sheet, and it’s a new one, potentially a tricky one – we do have the quartet to boost us thankfully. It’s called ‘Morning Breaks, the World Awakens’. George will play it through once in full before we sing. Let’s give it our best.  

Morning breaks, the world awakens,

aching hearts must face the day,

braving now a world that’s shaken,

daring still to breathe, to stay.

Who are we without your presence?

Who will move our stone away?

Here among us greening power,

here above us dawning skies;

here around us growing promise,

here within us love will rise.

In a garden, met with wonders,

tender hearts seek what is true.

Empty, longing, gripped with hunger,

we reach for a touch from you.

What is this strange revelation,

planting seeds of hope anew?

Here among us greening power,

here above us dawning skies;

here around us growing promise,

here within us love will rise.

You bear wounds yet comfort others,

sharing peace and breath and bread,

caring for the ones who suffer,

calling us to give and mend.

How can we become your body

here on earth as you ascend?

Here among us greening power,

here above us dawning skies;

here around us growing promise,

here within us love will rise.

Reading: ‘Resurrection Every Day’ by Rex A. E. Hunt (read by Antony)

Jesus died.

He was killed—murdered—because of what he said and for what he stood for.

Those close to him, we would claim, were both surprised and shattered.

Stricken with fear and grief, they were in no mood to be

looking for that ‘silver lining’

that supposedly comes with every cloud.

But some people did think about his death.

And all we have of that time and that thinking, are the stories,

shaped and reshaped and told orally by people of faith

from generation to generation.

Yet it is in those stories, they were saying something important,

not about his death, but about his life.

True, his death mattered to them.

But only because his life mattered more…

Especially when they heard him say something,

or do something, that moved them, deeply.

So they began to speak of his death in ways that affirmed his life.

And they came to see he stood for something so important

he was willing to give his life for it.

That something was the vision of life

called the realm or the kingdom of God,

the vision we might now call ‘beloved community’.

And they came to reaffirm their own commitment

to the values and vision stamped into his life by his words and deeds.

They believed that “in his words were God’s words.”

and that his vision of a new realm, a new kingdom,

a new way of being cultivated by him among them

long before he died, no executioner or cross could kill.

Jesus was dead.

But he was not dead to them.

His spirit was still coursing through their veins.

Likewise, when we believe in this vision of what’s possible –

a new realm, a new kingdom, a new way of being –

we too can reaffirm our commitment

to the values and vision,

and a ‘resurrection’ invitation,

to live life deeply and with zeal.

To be embraced by life, not scared of it.

In all its particularity.

Because life can not remain visionary!

It must be concretely practised.

It must be ‘a way of life’.

Because resurrection is not just a collection of stories

about a so-called once-only event in the past.

Resurrection can - and does - happen every day!

Words for Meditation: ‘To Experience Resurrection’ by Kelly Chripczuk

Thanks Antony.  We’re moving into a time of meditation now. To take us into stillness I’m going to share a poem by Kelly Chripczuk, which reflects the Easter themes of suffering, death, and resurrection, and the echoes of these themes in our own lives. A colleague of mine made a comment at the GA annual meetings last week about how Unitarians sometimes want to rush to the happy ending of Easter Sunday without first facing the horrors of Good Friday. This poem chimes with that; it asks us to ‘return to the tomb’ and stay a while. Following the poem, we will hold a few minutes of shared silence, which will end with the sound of a bell. Then we’ll hear music for meditation from our singers. So let’s do what we need to do to get comfortable – adjust your position – put your feet flat on the floor to ground yourself – close your eyes. As ever, these words and music are just an offering, feel free to use this time to meditate in your own way.

‘To Experience Resurrection’ by Kelly Chripczuk

You have to return to the tomb

to experience resurrection.

Return to the place where once

you knew without doubt

all hope was gone, the last

dying gasp of breath expelled.

Then silence, stillness

and the great tearing open

of sky and earth.

The first sign of spring

is the revelation of all

that’s died.  Snow’s clean

slate hides decay,

but when the sun’s warmth rises

its first disclosure is the depth

of loss – the grass,

brown and trampled, barren

broken limbs scattered, earth

exposed and the empty stretch

of field filled with brown stalks

of decomposition.

This is the time of waiting,

the time in which we grow

weary and lose heart.

You have to watch the barren

earth, pull back brown leaves,

lean close scanning the hidden

places.  You have to stand beside

the stone, Martha would tell us,

your trembling hand pressed against      

its cold, hard surface.  You have to enter

the dark cave, Peter whispers, not knowing

what you’ll find.

You have to sit through the long,

dark night to see the first light of morning,       

to feel the sharp intake of breath

as the sky’s closed eye, cold and gray,

cracks open slowly, then with growing

determination.  This is what you must do

to experience resurrection.

Period of Silence and Stillness (~3 minutes) – end with a bell  

Interlude: Ave Verum Corpus - Edward Elgar (performed by George Ireland and Our Quartet of Singers: Lucy, Margaret, Benjie, Edwin)    

Reading: ‘The Threat of Resurrection’ by Parker J. Palmer (read by Jasmine)

Years ago, I stumbled upon a little book by Julia Esquivel, the Guatemalan poet and social justice activist, titled "Threatened with Resurrection." Those few words had a huge impact on me.

I'd been taught that death is the great threat and resurrection the great hope. But at the time I found Esquivel's book, I was experiencing the death-in-life called depression. Her title jarred me into the hard realization that figurative forms of death sometimes feel comforting -- while resurrection, or the hope of new life, feels threatening.

Why? Because death-in-life can bring us a perverse sense of relief. When I was depressed, nobody expected anything of me, nor did I expect anything of myself. I was exempt from life's demands and risks. But if I were to find new life, who knows what daunting tasks I might be required to take on?

Sometimes we choose death-in-life – as in compulsive overactivity, unhealthy relationships, non-stop judgmentalism aimed at self or others, work that compromises our integrity, substance abuse, pervasive cynicism, etc. – sometimes we choose death-in-life because we're afraid of the challenges that might come if we embraced resurrection-in-life.

Every religious tradition is rooted in mysteries I don't pretend to understand, including claims about what happens after we die. But this I know for sure: as long as we're alive, choosing resurrection is always worth the risk. I'm grateful for the people and experiences that continue to help me to embrace "the threat of resurrection."

My Easter wish for everyone is the ability to say "YES!" to life. Even when life challenges us, it's a gift beyond all measure.

Hymn 109 (purple): ‘Now the Green Blade Riseth’

Thanks Jasmine.   We get to sing a bonus hymn this week. It’s number 109 in your purple books ‘Now the Green Blade Riseth’. Hymn 109.

Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,

wheat that in dark earth many days has lain;

Love lives again, that with the dead has been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

In the grave they laid him, Love by hatred slain,

thinking that never he would wake again,

laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,

he that for three days in the grave had lain,

quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,

Love's touch can call us back to life again,

fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

Mini-Reflection: by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

We don’t know what happened. That reading from Daniel Budd, which Roy read for us earlier in the service, has become a fixture of our Easter services here at Essex Church because it feels like a necessary disclaimer for Unitarians. Our denomination emerged from the Christian tradition and we still celebrate – and wrestle with – its core festivals and stories. But some of us find Easter challenging.

As I mentioned earlier, last week at the GA, the annual meetings of Unitarians in the UK, a colleague commented that Unitarians sometimes want to rush to the happy ending of Easter Sunday without first facing the horrors of Good Friday.  But I’m not sure that’s quite true. In my experience, when Unitarians hear the Easter story, it’s the resurrection bit that many of us struggle with, or gloss over. The notion of someone literally, physically, coming back from the dead is, for many of us, too strange – counter to the laws of the universe as we know them – and it’s my impression that, these days, most of us Unitarians don’t give too much headspace to trying to make sense of the resurrection on a literal level.

But the story that leads up to Easter Sunday is all too real to us, I think, and has so many resonances with the world we are living in right now. We Unitarians find it all too believable that someone preaching love and justice, standing against empire, would get on the wrong side of the authorities, be persecuted, betrayed, and ultimately tortured and killed – his voice silenced – as a message to others. And that his followers would be devastated in the aftermath. They had gathered around this charismatic leader, pinned their hopes on him, seen him as their salvation in times of oppression, and then suffered this total catastrophe.

Easter is a story of the worst possible thing happening. And it asks us to face up and witness to the horrific things that are happening right now in our own times. Whether that’s the terrible violence and injustice that is being wrought by despots and their minions around the world – or the casual cruelty and deep division that is being whipped up to enable such tyrants and oppressors to get away with it – or the everyday suffering going on much closer to home, as ever more are pushed into poverty and precarity, by systems which depend on increasing inequality – as others are scapegoated, and become targets of the mob, as a distraction – I could go on listing all the other unnecessary harms we humans do to one another. And, of course, there are all the other sufferings that inevitably touch every life through natural causes – illness and decline – loss and grief – that’s our human condition.

Easter demands that we look honestly at reality, look at it with clear eyes, in its totality. That we acknowledge all the pain and suffering, whatever its source, rather than looking the other way, putting on a happy face, or being in denial. And perhaps even that we take a look at ourselves and what complicity we have in it. That’s the Good Friday bit of Easter. Facing up to the worst of life. All that’s wrong.

Then comes Holy Saturday. The morning after. Nothingness, emptiness, despair. The worst thing has happened – Jesus is dead – but his followers are still here. It’s a time of not-knowing. Everything they’d hoped for has been swept away. Now what?  What are the survivors supposed to do in the face of devastation? That reading we just heard from Parker J Palmer speaks to this, for me, when he speaks of that state of ‘death-in-life’. He speaks of various ways in which we might respond to disaster: by falling into depression, throwing ourselves into overwork, self-medicating through substance abuse, becoming cynical or even nihilistic. In the face of all the horrors we might just trudge through our days like zombies, half-alive, dealing with what’s in front of us, overwhelmed by the state of things.

But Parker J Palmer suggests that there is another possibility: ‘resurrection-in-life’. Now, I don’t think he’s suggesting this is easy, not at all. But it’s the hope of Easter. After the worst thing happens, if we’re still here, we can choose to turn towards it. To say ‘yes’ to life, no matter how bad things seem, and make a way out of no way. Resurrection in this sense doesn’t mean picking ourselves up, dusting ourselves off, and carrying on like nothing happened. Something was lost. We are changed. Perhaps we are permanently scarred by it, physically, or psychologically.  Our life is now, most likely, not going to look quite like what we imagined, or hoped for.

In the Gospels, and as the story of the early church continues in the Acts of the Apostles, we see how things unfold. After Jesus’ followers discover the empty tomb, first there is confusion, and disbelief, but a way forward slowly emerges. There are reports of Jesus appearing to the disciples, for a while, but soon he ascends to heaven. And then it is down to them to continue what he started.

And now it is down to us. We gather in this community – as others from so many different religious traditions are doing, week-in, week-out – we gather in the face of all the world’s ills, the death-dealing, the injustice, the oppression – and we gather to give each other the courage that we need to live, and live fully, despite it all.  We gather to uphold a vision of a better world – which our forebears might have called the Kingdom of God – and these days we might call it beloved community. When we feel overwhelmed and despairing at the state of it all, come back here, to be reminded of what is still possible, and reminded of the part we still have to play. To be strengthened for the task, instead of giving up, and doing the little we can do. This is how we practice resurrection. We keep on calling each other back to hope. And we do this together – returning our attention to what is good and true – to love.

I want to close this reflection with a short prayer-poem from Tess Baumberger.

‘Life Breaks Through’ by Tess Baumberger (adapted)

Life breaks through. Time and time again,

life breaks through what seems like death.

Even in the heart of winter, light breaks through,

and unseen growth occurs beneath the frozen ground.

Some plants need winter in order to flower in spring.

Life breaks through, even through stone.

Laurel trees have the strength to break through stone

to sustain their fragrant, vibrant lives.

Even seemingly frail lives can survive

in the harshest of circumstances.

Life is abundant and strong.

It thrives in unusual places, even in the desert.

Life shines through thresholds, even the threshold of death.

It blooms and grows and changes through the stream of time.

Life breaks through walls we build to keep it out

and escapes prisons meant to keep life in.

Life breaks through, shining through the world all around us,

Life breaks through in us as well, in the forms of faith, hope, love, and joy.

Life breaks through, again and again,

and so we celebrate Easter this day –

The triumph of life over death,

of goodness over wrongdoing,

And of love over hatred and intolerance.

Life breaks through. Amen.

Hymn 44 (purple): ‘Give Thanks for Life’

Time for one last hymn now, it’s number 44 in the purple book, and we finally get to sing some alleluias: ‘Give Thanks for Life’. Hymn number 44.

Give thanks for life,

the measure of our days,

mortal, we pass through

beauty that decays,

yet sing to God

our hope, our love, our praise:

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for those

whose lives shone with a light

caught from the Christ-flame,

gleaming through the night,

who touched the truth,

who burned for what is right:

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for all,

our living and our dead,

thanks for the love

by which our life is fed,

a love not changed

by time or death or dread:

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for hope

that like a seed of grain

lying in darkness,

does its life retain

to rise in glory,

growing green again:

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Announcements:

Thanks to Ramona for hosting and Charlotte for co-hosting. Thanks to Margaret, Lucy, Benjie, Edwin and George for marvellous music. Thanks to Roy, Antony and Jasmine for reading. Thanks to John for greeting and Juliet for making coffee. If you’re online stay for a chat with Lochlann if you can. If you’re in-person please do stay as we’re having a potluck lunch this afternoon (or just have a cup of tea and a slice of cake! We’ve got several cakes this week). Many thanks to Marianne who’s coordinated the lunch. Help with clearing up after is welcome!

Tonight and Friday at 7pm we’ve got our online ‘Heart and Soul’ online contemplative spiritual gathering – this week it’s on the theme of ‘Communication’ – sign up with me if you want to join.

Sonya will be here with her Nia Dance class on Friday lunchtime – have a word with Sonya.

We’re having a walk on Tuesday 21^st April, exploring Greenwich Park, sign up with me for that.

This month the Better World Book Club is talking about ‘Finding the Mother Tree’ by Suzanne Simard and I have one last copy to lend out if you’d like to come along on the 26^th on Zoom.

Next Sunday Sarah Tinker will be leading the service on ‘Our Bigger Picture’. That’ll be followed by Community Yoga with Hannah and the Memorial Quilt for Gaza project with Patricia.

One last thing to mention – it’s time for existing members of the congregation to renew their membership – it’s just a simple online form to fill in to re-affirm your belonging to this church. The link is in the Friday email. And if you’re not yet a member and you’d like to join do let me know. It’s not about money – we don’t have a subscription fee – it’s about you affirming your support.

Details of all our various activities are printed on the order of service, and also in the Friday email, so sign up for our mailing list if you haven’t already done so. And the spring newsletter is out! Do take a copy.  The congregation very much has a life beyond Sunday mornings; we encourage you to keep in touch, look out for each other, and do what you can to nurture supportive connections.

Just time for our closing words and closing music now.

Benediction: based on words by William R. Murry and Judith G. Mannheim

Let us go forth, this bright Easter morning, with the faith that life is worth living,

That defeat and adversity can be transformed into victory and hope,

That love is eternal, and that life is stronger than death.

May we find joy this Easter, a joy born of life well lived.

May we have love this Easter, bringing healing and new growth.

May we have peace this Easter, a peace that gives us reason to sing.

And may our faith inspire us to live our lives

with dignity, courage, hope, and love,

as we meet the days to come. Amen.

Closing Music: The Ground from Sunrise Mass - Ola Gjeilo (performed by George Ireland and Our Quartet of Singers: Lucy, Margaret, Benjie, Edwin)    

Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

5th April 2026