Antony McMullen

The bridge from pride to reality on Easter Saturday

19/04/2025

Now we are coming to the close of Easter. I write this on Easter Saturday—a day that is often a bit of a challenge for many Christians. It is the second day of what is called the Triduum (three days) and is technically the last day of Lent. All the major denominations recognise the significance of this day. But what does this day present us with?

For me personally, it is the most significant day of the Christian calendar. I realise I may be an outlier here. I started to become interested in the day while working in criminal justice in the social justice office of the Uniting Church (Synod of Victoria and Tasmania). If you’ve read my last two posts on this page, you’ll see I’ve been reflecting on that time. It’s hardly surprising given where I’m working now, at least for a significant part of my working week.

So why am I thinking about that time again in relation to Easter Saturday? A colleague at the Synod worked in an adjacent area—prison ministry. That person was involved in developing and leading services in various prisons and, interestingly, gravitated to Easter Saturday.

Our understanding of Easter Saturday is rooted in what are often called the symbols of the Christian faith—the creeds, which most Christians adhere to (particularly the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed), including Uniting, Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches. The creed states that Jesus was crucified, "suffered, and was buried, and the third day he rose again." But what happened when Jesus died? The widely used Apostles’ Creed states that when Jesus was buried, he "descended into hell" before rising again.

This is a controversial area of theology. Not all Christians adhere to these core creeds, and some question this part in particular citing a lack of scriptural basis. This is commonly addressed by referencing Ephesians 4:9 (Jesus descends "into the lower regions of the earth") and 1 Peter 3:18–22 (having been put to death "in the flesh," then "made alive in the spirit," Jesus visits "spirits in prison").

Interestingly, in the Eastern Christian tradition, on "Great and Holy Saturday" there is a re-enactment of the burial of Christ. You can see from my UnitingWorld bio that I have a particular interest in Eastern Christianity. Yesterday I attended this ceremony as an altar server. Another parent at my youngest child’s school asked, "Are you like an altar boy?" Well, I suppose I am. I assist in a small Melkite church, which liturgically is very similar to Eastern Orthodox. I won’t go into the intricacies of this; suffice to say, the Melkites are a bit analogous to Anglo-Catholics in the Anglican tradition. Anglo-Catholics are Anglican, yes—but are also very Catholic in their theological and liturgical outlook. Melkites are Catholic (in communion with Pope Francis), but entering a Melkite church, you might think you’ve walked into an Eastern Orthodox parish (more specifically an Antiochian one, given the shared lineage). There's much more that could be said here, but I won’t bore you (also noting that most definitions and interpretations in this area are contested to some degree).

To further confuse matters, I am writing this on Easter Saturday, but I attended the burial service yesterday. Isn’t yesterday Good Friday? Well, yes... but honestly, I’m not even entirely sure why we celebrated it then! I’ll have to look into it more.

So how can I best explain why I find this day so profound? Rather than more words, I suggest you Google "Anastasis" and look at the images. You’ll see iconography depicting Christ lifting people out of Hades. This image may not be familiar at first, but it’s quite common in Eastern churches. Spend a little time with it. Icons are intended to be windows, not dead ends. That’s why they often look flat and two-dimensional—to discourage idolatry and help you look in, through and beyond the surface.

Returning to those in prison and the work I did years ago: at the time, I read a book by William Noblett, head chaplain of prisons in the UK and also chaplain to the Queen. What a contrast. The key message of his book was that there may be far less separating ‘us’ from those inside the prison system than ‘we’ like to think. What are we imprisoned by?

This question brings me back to my first post. Lent is about removing what imprisons us in order to open to the transcendent. A lesson I’ve taken from this is that condemning others who are "inside" prevents us from seeing what’s inside ourselves. A traditional Lenten prayer in the Eastern tradition is from Ephrem the Syrian. The prayer asks that we recognise our own transgressions, attachments, and infirmities—and not judge others. Condemnation not only risks being inaccurate (how can we see into another’s soul?), but the pride it fosters blinds us to who we really are and increases our likelihood of falling short in all we do.

Poverty and the purpose of Lent

What does Lent have to do with poverty?

As some of you reading this might know, I have recently returned to part-time work with the Uniting Church after several years away. My longest stint within the UCA was in the Justice Unit of the Victorian and Tasmanian Synod, where I spent over eight years undertaking policy, research, and advocacy on a range of social justice issues—mainly within Australia but with a strong emphasis on global concerns such as fair trade. Working for UnitingWorld is broadening my understanding of our region in the Asia-Pacific and the challenges faced by churches and local communities.

Thinking back to my time at the Synod, perhaps one of the most valuable things I brought to that role was a fresh perspective, as I am not a Uniting Church member. I read all the authoritative statements of the UCA at the Synod and Assembly levels, familiarised myself with the history of the churches that formed the Uniting Church, and found myself particularly drawn to John Wesley. As a minister, theologian, and evangelist, Wesley led a reform movement within the Church of England that eventually became Methodism.

When writing submissions to government inquiries, I often drew from key UCA documents, such as The Statement to the Nation (1977), which was read at the birth of the denomination. I also referred to Wesley’s collected sermons, some of which I found particularly inspiring. One that stood out was Heaviness Through Manifold Temptations, in which he described the harsh conditions of the working poor during the Industrial Revolution. Wesley wrote:

“Has poverty nothing worse in it than this, that it makes men liable to be laughed at? … Is not want of food something worse than this? God pronounced it as a curse upon man, that he should earn it ‘by the sweat of his brow.’ But how many are there in this Christian country, that toil, and labour, and sweat, and have it not at last, but struggle with weariness and hunger together? Is it not worse for one, after a hard day's labour, to come back to a poor, cold, dirty, uncomfortable lodging, and to find there not even the food which is needful to repair his wasted strength? You that live at ease in the earth, that want nothing but eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to understand how well God has dealt with you, is it not worse to seek bread day by day, and find none?”

This powerful description of poverty remains relevant today. Wesley captures not just the material deprivation but also the emotional and spiritual toll. Without empathy, those who have may even ridicule those who have not. In my work, I often combined these insights with biblical references, particularly from the Letter of James, which bluntly condemns those who mock the plight of the poor and warns that wealth is fleeting and ultimately corrosive.

There is great spiritual danger in ignoring the cries of the poor in our own time. High-profile figures like Elon Musk have dismissed empathy as a flaw, a ‘bug’ in the body politic that can be exploited. History offers many examples of leaders using poverty as a mere backdrop for their own agendas, but to view it in such a way is morally and ethically dangerous. Musk has also referred to the poorest 10% of his country’s population as ‘parasites’—language that echoes the dehumanisation that often precedes the worst forms of social violence. Poverty is not just an economic condition; it is an injustice inflicted by those who extract and hoard wealth, often at the expense of the most vulnerable.

In addition to Scripture, UCA statements, and Wesley’s teachings, I found The Spirit Level by epidemiologists Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett particularly enlightening. In this book, they extended their research beyond health to the broader social impacts of inequality. In Western societies, poverty manifests differently than in developing nations. Here, the shame of poverty is profound. While developing societies focus on raising the whole population’s standard of living, in wealthier nations, economic inequality itself becomes the key issue. This leads to exclusion from recreation, education, and social participation, creating a deep disconnect that diminishes hope for a better future.

This exclusion also breeds resentment, perhaps contributing to the increasing emphasis on group identity (sometimes referred to as ‘identity politics’). I’m speculating here, but could it be that economic exclusion is a root cause of this fragmentation, only then exacerbated by broader social marginalisation? Wilkinson and Pickett argue that while poorer nations experience higher levels of poverty across-the-board, they often maintain stronger social cohesion due to lower levels of economic inequality. Yet poverty remains a scourge in both ‘developing’ and ‘advanced’ contexts, manifesting in hunger, poor health, and the waste of human potential. Extreme poverty is more prevalent in developing countries and with the advent of serious climate change this challenge has become even more acute. The approach of UnitingWorld to support existing civil society (primarily through church partnerships) in developing countries in our region is sound because it strengthens and builds upon existing social cohesion.

So what did Wesley think of Lent and fasting? On the surface, not much. According to the United Methodist Church in the US, Wesley deliberately left Lent out of the first prayer book he devised for American Methodists. He likely saw such observances as largely ineffective, stating that “most of the holy-days (so-called) are omitted, as at present answering no valuable end.” My hunch is that Wesley wanted Christians to integrate the spirit of Lent into their daily lives rather than observing it only at certain times of the year. His Methodists were called to practice ongoing, rather than seasonal, abstinence and fasting.

Wesley was an avid reader of Scripture and, notably, early Christian sources, including the Church Fathers (I’ll add Mothers here), whom I also find compelling. Early Christians did not condemn wealth outright but warned against an unhealthy attachment to it. This attachment fosters pride and inequality, even within Christian communities. The Letter of James again offers a sharp warning—giving the best seats to the wealthy while relegating the poor to the worst places in Christian gatherings is sinful discrimination.

Wesley, in my view, was not interested in piecemeal lifestyle adjustments but in genuine transformation. He practised what he preached. Consider his approach to money: in his first year of ministry, he earned £30, lived on £28, and gave £2 to the poor. By his fourth year, his income had risen to £120, yet he still lived on £28, giving away £92. Before his death, he was earning £1,400 a year but still lived on just £30, donating the rest to those in need (see the UnitingWorld How to be a Good Global Neighbour Bible study for further reflection on this story).

Lent, then, should not be a temporary exercise in self-denial but a gateway to a simpler life—one marked by generosity and a commitment to justice. Well, at least we can make a start!

In my next entry, I will expand on these themes with greater reference to early Christian views on poverty. You might find some of this surprising.

Lent and the Clutter we keep