Celebrating birthdays on death days

I think I am removed enough from my rather strict religious upbringing to celebrate a birthday party on our Holy Day (Good Friday) without worrying too much about the potential sacrilegious repercussions this might cause.

To explain: Once upon a time I would’ve gone to mass, eaten all the correct foods and then settled in for an afternoon in front of the television watching King of Kings with Jeffrey Hunter to drool over those gorgeous blue eyes of his whilst wilting ecstatically to the pure message of sacrifice the story of the day entails.

[Cynic and jaded as I am about certain aspects of Institutionalised Religion, I still am respectful of certain teachings.]

That said, I didn’t even blink as a bit into a cheese and bacon bun yesterday. I didn’t even realise until afterwards that I’d ingested red meat. Did I feel guilty? Yeah, a little.

Which brings us to our evening’s party, to belatedly celebrate Adam’s birthday from during the week, and my sister’s coming up, and generally most of the guests of the dinner who happened to be Piscean males. Chicken risotto was on the menu; but there was a vegetarian option available. Both had been requested, which was completely fine.

And I didn’t go to Mass. I haven’t for years. I have not felt that ‘tug’.

No, I instead chose to celebrate life with all those I love; to have a gathering to share a meal, and laughs, and all the bonhomie I can offer. I think that is perfectly sufficient. And for those of you out there who don’t think that is sufficient, that the only proper means of supplication is to go sit in church, then that’s fine. You have that right.

A few weeks ago, when I did my shift at Clean Up Australia, my ‘beat’ encompassed a stretch of grass along my local train station, which then crossed over behind the clubhouse of a cricket ground in the midst of a match, around that, and then back again to the starting point. A non-denominational service had just commenced in one of the nearby community halls and as I was stuffing my tarpaulin sack with empty VB stubbies, the strains of one of their hymns carried across the air, in between the cheers of the cricket audience as someone scored a boundary.

It struck me as so perfectly Australian - but extensively from that how so perfectly human - this Sunday experience was for everyone. Some chose to worship at church; some chose to support sporting endeavors of friends and family; some just wanted to ‘do their bit’. And it occurred to me that in no way one person tries to make a difference, to be a good person, should that act be derided or belittled by others who choose to express themselves differently.

Okay, so I go pick up garbage instead of going to Mass. So I hold a birthday party on a day I suppose should be held over for another more “appropriate”.

But I tell you what - I don’t think Jesus would mind.

 Happy Easter to you all. May it be as lovely a holiday as you want it to be.