Το Φως που Κουβαλάμε: Μία Ανάμνηση για το Πάσχα

Easter always comes softly, like a quiet song you knew in childhood. It carries the scent of spring, of flowers beginning to bloom again after long winters. For many of us, it calls up memories, of little shoes polished clean for church, of hands held tight in reverent silence, of eggs dyed with care, of families coming together with light in their hearts, if only for a moment. But Easter isn’t just a holiday. It’s not about chocolate or pageantry. It is a remembering , of Him, of love, of sacrifice, and of everything we’ve somehow forgotten in the noise of living.

Christ didn’t come to condemn, but to love. And He came knowing we would betray, knowing we would struggle to understand. Knowing we would, again and again, choose fear instead of faith, pride instead of compassion, war instead of peace. He walked among us anyway. And on the cross, arms stretched wide, He took on not just death,  but all the pain of being human. And what did He give us in return?

Love.

Not judgment. Not power. Not vengeance. Just love , infinite and burning and impossibly gentle.
But do we remember it?
Each day on this Earth can feel like its own crucifixion. We wake to a world that doesn’t always make sense. We are persecuted in silent ways , not by Roman soldiers, but by the weight of modern life, by our own inner wars. We sacrifice each other not with nails, but with sharp words, with neglect, with indifference. With the lines we draw between “us” and “them.” And sometimes it feels like we’ve learned nothing at all.

Didn’t Christ come to teach us something very powerful? That in all the trials we endure, in the chaos of this fractured world, there is only one way forward: Love.

Love, not as a feeling, but as a way of being. As a revolution. As a discipline. As a decision we make in every moment, to see the humanity in another, to offer a hand instead of raising a fist, to sit in silence with someone’s pain instead of turning away.

You and I may be living different lives right now. One of us in the quiet hum of a small rural village, another in the pulsing electricity of Tokyo or Lagos. One may have everything they need; another may be clawing through the day with an empty belly. But both of us are human, and we are living through uncertain times together.

We have crossed centuries to get here. As a species, we’ve survived the ice and the fire, the plagues and the triumphs, the darkest of nights and the brightest of dawns. And somehow, with all this wisdom, with all this time behind us, we are still choosing war to seek peace. We are still divided. We are still hurting each other.

We have the most dazzling technology, the most beautiful things. Our hands can build cities that touch the sky. But what good is all this brilliance, if we cannot remember who we are? If we cannot sit beside one another and weep for the same sorrows, dream the same dreams?

We’ve lost something along the way.

We’ve forgotten our connection, to the land, to the wind, to water and sky, and most of all, to each other. Lost in the heavy traffic of life, in the endless scroll of our phones, in the roar of ego and ambition, we’ve silenced the very part of us that longs for unity, for belonging.

But Easter reminds us. It stops us in our tracks and says: Come back. Come back to love.

The cross was never about punishment. It was always about redemption. It was about a light so fierce, so unbreakable, that even death couldn’t put it out. And that light, it lives in you.

Yes, you.

And if there is one truth we must take with us during this sacred time, let it be this: bring the light into your heart. Ignite it in everyone you meet. Share it. Feed it. Let it burn away your bitterness, your fear, your walls.
Because without it,  we are nothing.
And with it?

We are everything we were ever meant to be.