Claiming that the church has no value, which I have done for years, now seems silly to me

The children are protesting that the Easter egg hunt is being postponed, but I know they will be fine. For the last few months we have enjoyed going to Mass monthly when one of them takes communion. You are in a Church of Ireland school so this will be arranged (very kind of the school) outside of school hours.

The priest is very hospitable. He communicates so well with the kids who enjoy the hymns and can do the readings. They play around a bit, but mostly they listen.

As we leave, I emerge calmer. We all do. The fair gives time for reflection and silence that otherwise would not take place. I can remember that Zen feeling when I went to mass weekly as a kid.

Sometimes I was bored and sometimes I was outraged. This was especially the case on Palm Sunday when Jesus was heard to be treated so terribly when the crowd, so welcoming at first, turned angry.

I ask my daughter if she knows what happened on Palm Sunday and she suspects that we all give up palm oil for Lent because it’s bad for the environment. Perhaps climate protection will become the religion of their generation.

When my older two took their communion those Masses were also enjoyable and I wonder why I didn’t continue. Life is too busy I think.

My partner always brought the children as he felt it was very important to pass on this tradition, but I stayed at home with the youngest. I’m not going this year because they can sit still every 40 minutes, but because I’ve been thinking lately that we all need some form of faith.

It could simply be that we should treat others as we would like to be treated – and our religious historical traditions give us a recognizable language to express this.

Rejecting the church or saying it has no value, which I have done for years, now seems silly to me.

I like the idea that the children have equal access to tradition. Christianity has existed in Ireland for over 1,500 years. Generations of my family have been avid mass visitors, but if I’m not bringing my kids, I’ve probably severed that connection.

I wonder how many will be going to Mass tomorrow? In 1983, when I was seven, 87 percent of the people went to Mass weekly, so on Easter Sunday you can assume that was almost everyone.

In 2020, the Iona Institute found that 27 percent attended the fair regularly – which sounds suspiciously high to me. A 2016 report found it to be 20 per cent in Dublin, dropping to 2 or 3 per cent in some communities. That sounds about right.

From the mid-1990s, people turned away in droves. The Church’s attitude to divorce, contraception, the sex abuse scandals and the mishandling of them has alienated so many. It felt totally justified and right to walk away.

The apathy started from my youth as I became more aware of the world. Also the religious education at the convent school I attended was not inspiring, although the nuns were nice.

That has changed, at least at the secondary school my child attends. I suspect it is the same for many others. He learns about all religions and asks me if I believe that God created the universe. No, I told him, I don’t think so. He said his religion teacher felt the same way. It’s interesting stuff. I find myself poring over his notes.

I changed my hostile attitude somewhat when I went to live in South Africa when I was 30 and met some fun and wonderful priests and nuns who were helping many people. Some of them became my friends. But I still didn’t go to church on Easter Sunday.

When the children were very young we lived in Greece where we discovered that the Orthodox Easter is huge.

It begins on Clean Monday (Shrove Tuesday) when many Greeks go 49 days without meat and fish.

On Easter Thursday, children paint eggs red. The egg symbolizes the resurrection, with the hard shell representing the sealed tomb from which Jesus freed himself. At midnight on Saturday, hundreds of adults and children stood in deep silence in our local square in Athens just before the church bells began to ring and the priests came out and sang in deep voices.

They carried a flame flown from Jerusalem. This is passed from one candle to the next.

The congregation then walks the streets, a beautiful sight with the flickering lights. This candle represents the risen Christ bringing light and hope to the world.

Easter was seen as a new beginning, a time to change attitudes. A time to reflect on self-sacrifice.

I texted one of the priests I met in South Africa, Father Kieran Creagh, to ask what priests think of people like me who only rock out on the holy days and still tick the Roman Catholic box Tick ​​the census form.

He immediately wrote back, “I would say they are very, very welcome.”