Uppsala Cathedral was dark when we entered at 11pm, for the Easter Service.
The darkness flowered into the voices of the choir, which rose to the carved vaulted ceilings.
he lives again
he lives again!
alleluiaThen, the careful lighting of candles, one huge chandelier at a time.
Next, the tiny flame passed hand to hand along the rows of people, until everyone's hands glowed with a lit candle.
I couldn't follow the Swedish liturgy word for word. But six years of convent education and weekly Catholic masses meant I had a pretty good idea of what was happening.
What I loved about the Swedish Lutheran service was that it was conducted by a woman. A Finnish-born priest who emigrated to Sweden decades ago, as a young radical socialist, because the Finnish church did not allow women priests. She has just been appointed the fourth female bishop of the church. When the procession of celebrants entered, there were as many women as men in their ranks.
That deep healing peace of equality let me open myself fully to the beauty of the male baritones and basses in the choir. To the power and mystery of the resurrection story, rooted in the earliest human settlements in this part of the world, where the sun dies for six months, then returns to life.
When we came to the joyous climax,
Christ is risen!everyone raised their candles high. Jubilation tingled along the nerves of my lofted arm, raised the hairs on my body.
Christ is risen!The most beautiful sound of all was when we exited. Hundreds of candles seemed to be singing, a capella, along with the choir in the foyer, as the cathedral bells sent a wild midnight carrolling out over the square and the city.
