Fire and Primstone
Rob Long
Easter Sunday, for Americans of the Christian faith, and, as a friend of mine puts it, Christians of the American faith, is a lovely springtime ritual. In my specific branch of Christianity, the Episcopal Church, we celebrate Easter morning by dressing in pastel-colored clothing made of expensive, luxury fabrics and parading around church like delighted peacocks. And that’s just the guys. The women are resplendent in sundresses and floral hats, leading well-scrubbed and dressed-up children by the hand down the aisle of the church. The organ thunders celebratory hymns, the choir trills majestically, and everyone pretends that they come to church on the regular, once a week, rather than twice a year.
I’m not here to judge. (Well, I am, and I’m very good at it. But in this instance, I’m holding back.) The point is, here in America, for Easter, everyone puts on their very best clothes and nicest available manners and gathers in a dignified and orderly celebration. It’s not like that everywhere. In Jerusalem, in the Church of the Resurrection, the very place, we Christians believe, that Jesus rose from the tomb, Easter Sunday is closer to an out-of-hand block party.
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The church itself, and the surrounding courtyards and narrow streets, are packed with worshipers. It’s said to be as silent as a crowd of that size can be, with the low, constant hum of prayer and the shuffling of thousands of feet, filled with the electricity of the collective anticipation of the big moment.
At an appointed hour, several priests from the Orthodox sects that govern the church enter the small chapel built over the tomb, each carrying fistfuls of unlit candles. A moment later, to great shouts of joy and hallelujah, a priest appears from the tomb holding candles ablaze with the holy fire. It really doesn’t matter how those candles were lit — the assembled faithful believe that they ignite spontaneously, touched by the Holy Spirit; the party poopers insist that one of the priests is carrying a Bic — because before you can start to apply rational, skeptical analysis, the crowd erupts into whoops and cheers and hymns of every language and sobs of joy. The great mob surges forward, everyone thrusting their own clutch of candles and beeswax tapers toward the front, lighting them and passing them back until the place looks like one gigantic moving bonfire. It’s hard to maintain a science-first posture when you’re in the middle of that much living, combusting faith.
Some candle-bearers are carried out on the shoulders of worshipers to spread the flame throughout the old city. Thousands of candles are lit from that one holy fire, including some lanterns that are spirited to the nearest airport to make their way to churches across the globe, lighting Easter candles from that first special one. It’s a metaphor that symbolizes God’s forgiveness and the love that comes from this one place and that one moment and spreads its warmth and joy and good news across the world. But it’s also a lot of people going a little nuts with candles and fire.
It’s a breathtaking sight — you can watch it live on YouTube — but if you’re anything like me, you’re wondering how the fire marshal feels about all of this noisy and unsupervised activity. You’re thinking, as a good Episcopalian might, about the liability of it all. How does this church get insured?
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And you may also be thinking, especially if you’re a reserved Episcopalian whose idea of cutting loose is wearing a pink blazer on Easter morning, that all of that hollering and shouting and pyrotechnics are just a little bit too much, a little bit, um, Mediterranean, if you get my meaning. Barring a miracle, someone must have gotten burned by this over the years, though I couldn’t find a record of it.
On the other hand, if you believe — really and truly believe — that what people say happened at that very place 2,000 years ago actually happened, a pastel-colored bow tie or a straw hat with flowers may not quite cut it, celebrationwise.
Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.