The Pascha of The Lord

By Father Alexander Schmemann

Christianity is not mere remembrance. It is lived—again and again, as if for the first time.

It takes flesh in what we do: in rites, in words, in music, in color. From the outside, it can look like repetition—ceremony, habit, even illusion. And if that is all it is, then the skeptic is right to walk away. But standing inside her life—praying, fasting, singing, confessing, receiving—you discover that it acts on you.

Holy Friday is not a pageant we observe at a distance. It is our world laid bare—betrayal, cowardice, violence, the quiet cooperation of “good” people with what they know is wrong. We do not need to imagine it. We recognize it.

And yet we dare to stand there. We dare to weep. We dare to wait at the tomb.

Because Pascha is not a memory. It is an encounter. Not with an idea. Not with a story. But with the living Christ.

We will shout “Christ is risen!” hundreds of times. And here is the question Pascha puts to us—whether we like it or not: Do we actually believe He is alive?

Because if He is, then everything changes. Not “eventually.” Not “spiritually.” Now.

Easter is not just the celebration of spring. It is the invasion of a new creation into this one. It is the beginning of a world where darkness no longer has the final word—no matter how loudly it shouts.

“Today the air is filled with the fragrance of spring, and all creation rejoices in its renewal…” (St. Thomas Sunday Exapostilarion)
But this is not sentiment. Not seasonal optimism. Creation is not simply turning a corner. It is being remade.

And if that is true—then we cannot go on living as though nothing has happened.

That is the joy of Pascha. And that is its sting.

Christ is risen.