If Wittgenstein is right, we cannot enter any world for which we do not have the language. What is the language
we need to learn to unlock the door the mystery of Easter? Perhaps it is not the language of protocols and
outcomes and evidence. If we listen to our epistles and gospel readings for PassionTide we find a language of
lament, of longing, of emptiness, of denial, of betrayal, of failure, of surrender, of crying for help, of sharing a
last meal. This is not exactly the stuff of popular weekend workshops. It is however the very source of the
richness of human life and the ground in which the miracles to come seed themselves. This language sounds to
us from the wider world, from within our biographies and, perhaps most eloquently, from nature. On the path to
Easter we apprentice ourselves to this speaking, if we will, and seek the door to the mystery of Easter.

I leave you with the words of one such apprentice ...

I whish I knew the beauty
In leaves falling.
To whom
Are we beautiful
As we go?

(David Ignatow.)

Lisa Devine

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