Easter is a pretty pagan affair. It doesn’t take too much thought to view the story of Christ’s death and subsequent rebirth as a metaphor for the coming of spring. And there is evidence to suggest that the biblical stories, and even the name, of Easter are in part an adaptation of older pagan and Hindu traditions.
I went to Sunday school every week as a kid. I was the last male teenage alto in the choir. I went to youth group. I listened attentively. I was baptized. I took part in the nativity play and I studied the gospels. I haven’t used all this knowledge too often, and I don’t often wax theological. Frankly, I don’t know what I believe, and it doesn’t greatly bother me. But I suspect that if times ever got really tough, all that silent, subconscious, lurking Jesus that chaperoned me through my formative years would find its way to the top and come bubbling over.
In writing a song about the month of April, the coming of spring seemed to be the most suitable topic. And perhaps unsurprisingly, into my allegory of an awakening world, spilled a whole bunch of lurking Jesus. And I started singing higher. Once a choir boy, always a choir boy.