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Heartfelt Easter greetings and good wishes to all readers of Anglicans Online on this Easter, the crown of the year. Love has overcome death and life has triumphed over the grave—and even there we make our song:

Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

One can't read the (online) papers at this time of the year without finding reflections on the Meaning of It All. Some are maudlin, others startling, and some simply boring. Not so with two we bring to your attention: American writer Anne Lamott's Breaking the Surface (if you're sensitive to expletives, read with caution). And London parish priest Simon Parke's take on arrows from the sky—One in the Eye for God—is one of our perennial favourites.

Even last week, Holy Week, we learnt of new resources to add to our listings. You'll find them all gathered for you in New This Week. And in our News Centre you'll see that it appears that Anglicans were, in general, too much occupied in church or prayer (or both) to be prominent in the news. As usual, we report all that seems to us worth reporting: Brian's 20-second overview gives you the highlights.

Joy and merriment are the hallmarks of this season. As we mused about the nature of true joy, for some quite inexplicable reason we recalled an old Greek story told by that spinner of tales, Herodotus (VI, 129). Here's how TE Lawrence describes it in a letter to a friend:

In Athens was a gentleman called Hippoclides who became engaged to a rich man's daughter: and they arranged him a [...] splendid marriage. The feast preceding it was too much for his poor head, though. He stood on his head on the table and did a leg-dance, which was objectionable in Greek dress.

'Hippoclides, Hippoclides' protested the shocked merchant. 'You dance your marriage off.'

'Wyworri?' said Hippoclides. Herodotus tells the tale so beautifully that I put the jape on the architrave.

Ou phrontis: Hippokleides doesn't care
Ou frontiV [Ippokleidh] 'Hippoclides doesn't care'
The architrave over the doorway of Clouds Hill, T E Lawrence's home.

Hippoclides remarked to his shocked potential father-in-law something like: 'Hippoclides doesn't care!' Lawrence's whimsical translation was 'wyworri'. What better motto for us who profess and call ourselves Christian, to carve over our doors for the next great 50 days? Let death do its worst: Like Hippoclides, we don't care! Our Lord has overcome the powers of evil: Wyworri, indeed?

  I danced on a Friday
When the sky turned black—
It's hard to dance
With the devil on your back.
They buried my body
And they thought I'd gone,
But I am the dance,
And I still go on.
They cut me down
And I leapt up high;
I am the life
That'll never, never die;
I'll live in you
If you'll live in me—
I am the Lord
Of the Dance, said he*.

See you next week. And, God willing, next year, at Eastertide. A L L E L U I A!

Cynthia McFarland's signature
  Brian Reid's signature
Cynthia McFarland
  Brian Reid

Last updated: 15 April 2001

*Sydney Carter, Lord of the Dance