Bonfire night, when I was a lad, meant scrounging wood for weeks before the fifth, hoping no one would nick it from where you had piled it up. Donations from friendly neighbours were cause for excitement. Doors were like finding gold.
The fireworks were exciting – and we didn’t understand how dangerous they could be.
But Mrs Struminskyj’s jam doughnuts, not black peas or treacle toffee, were the taste of bonfire night. And potatoes saved from the embers. Ours was a multi-national bonfire party.
No idea who Guy Fawkes was, and most of us were actually Catholic!
Doing something with childhood innocence can redeem something with sinister roots.
Steve Turner’s poem (see below) contrasts the innocence of Christmas with the chilling nature of Easter.
And yet, by Jesus becoming cursed – which is part of the dynamics of letting himself be hung on a tree – he releases the reality of forgiveness into creation, into your life. And that restores innocence, it’s part of grace. It may take time to dawn, but the work has been done on the cross.
We had a bonfire night for us as children.
And Jesus did make Easter for the children, for we are Easter children.