From Ashes to Alleluias
As March arrives and then turns into April, the Church invites us on a familiar yet ever-new journey: from the quiet seriousness of Lent into the joy and surprise of Easter. It is a path many of us have walked year after year, and yet it never quite feels the same twice — because we ourselves are not the same people we were last time.
Lent begins with honesty. On Ash Wednesday we hear the stark words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” They can sound severe, even uncomfortable, in a culture that prefers optimism and quick fixes. Yet there is also something deeply freeing about this moment of truth. Lent does not ask us to pretend that everything is fine; instead, it invites us to slow down, take stock, and bring our whole selves — strengths, failings, hopes and regrets — before God.
Traditionally, Lent is a season of prayer, fasting and generosity. Some give things up, others take things on. Some find space for extra stillness; others focus on acts of kindness and service. What matters is not the impressiveness of our efforts but the direction of our hearts. Lent is less about self-improvement and more about re-orientation: turning again towards God, and towards one another, with honesty and humility.
As the weeks unfold, Lent leads us steadily towards the events of Holy Week. Palm Sunday brings both celebration and unease, as joyful crowds give way to betrayal and silence. Maundy Thursday reminds us that at the heart of Christian faith is not power, but service — Jesus kneeling to wash his disciples’ feet. Good Friday confronts us with suffering and loss, and with love that goes all the way, holding nothing back.
It is tempting to rush past these darker moments, eager to reach Easter morning. Yet the Church gently encourages us to linger. The pain of the cross is not an unfortunate detour on the way to resurrection; it is part of the story of how God meets us in the reality of the world as it is. In a time when many people carry quiet burdens — of grief, uncertainty, anxiety or exhaustion — Good Friday speaks with a strange and steady compassion: you are not alone; God is here too.
And then, quietly at first, everything changes.
Easter does not begin with fireworks, but with an empty tomb discovered in the half-light of early morning. Confusion comes before understanding; disbelief before joy. Only gradually does the truth dawn: death does not have the final word, and love has not been defeated. When the Church breaks the Lenten fast and fills the air with Alleluia once more, it is not a denial of the world’s pain, but a proclamation of hope within it.
Easter is not just a single day but a whole season — a time to dwell in the mystery of resurrection and to ask what new life might look like here and now. Where might God be calling us to begin again? What habits, fears or assumptions might need loosening, so that something new can grow? Change is rarely neat or instant; it unfolds gently, often unexpectedly, in ordinary places and conversations.
As a parish, this March and April offer us an opportunity to walk this journey together — supporting one another through the reflective quiet of Lent and sharing in the joy of Easter. Whether you are a regular worshipper, an occasional visitor, or someone who picks up the magazine out of curiosity, you are warmly part of this story. The invitation of Lent and Easter is not to have everything sorted, but simply to come and see and be welcomed. You will find various services taking place in the area, to which you are most welcome wherever you are on your faith journey. Of particular note is the open-air service at Red Hill which those attending in previous years have found quite special. Full details can be found later in the newsletter.
May this season be one in which we find space to breathe, courage to be honest, and hope to carry forward into the months ahead. From ashes to alleluias, God is with us every step of the way.
The Asterby Group Ministry Team