By Christiana Best-Giacomini
April 7, 2026
Easter holds a significant place in the lives of Christians around the world. It commemorates the resurrection of Jesus Christ and marks, for believers everywhere, a season of profound renewal and hope. That sense of renewal is not confined to the spirit alone – it is written across the natural world as well. Spring arrives as a kind of sermon on rebirth: flowers bloom, and trees that stood bare and silent through winter fill once again with new leaves. The changing season becomes a companion to the Easter message, a quiet reminder that new life can emerge even where we once saw only endings.
For those who attend church regularly, Easter offers deep spiritual rejuvenation. For those of us who come less frequently, it remains an invitation to pause, to reflect on the miracle of the resurrection, and to renew our belief in the possibility of miracles within our own lives. In this way, Easter meets people exactly where they are in their faith journey, extending reassurance and hope to all.
My own reflection this year turns, as it often does, to my mother.
She has been living with dementia for nearly ten years. Easter brings her back to me, not as she is now, bedridden and unable to speak, but as she was: a woman of radiant, unshakeable faith. She attended church every Sunday, but Easter was something more. It was not simply a service; it was an event, a season unto itself, beginning days before Sunday arrived.
She started with spring cleaning – changing the curtains, replacing the tablecloths, as if the house itself needed to be made ready to receive the season. Then came the careful shopping, the gathering of ingredients, the quiet hum of preparation. Her Easter table was a beautiful thing: oxtail and salmon, mixed vegetables, rice and peas. And for dessert, her famous sweet potato pudding – as treasured in our home as her black cake at Christmas, and just as irreplaceable.
What I miss most is not only the food, but the spirit behind it. The rituals. The routines. The way her faith gave shape and intention to everything she did. Though I do not attend church as often as she did, her example continues to anchor me. I still make the effort to go. I still try to live with purpose. I carry her forward in the ways I am able.
This Easter Sunday, I began my morning at church. When I returned home, I set my table with its seasonal ornaments: a colorful tablecloth that signals springtime, gold chargers beneath each place setting, and crystal glasses for water and champagne. Then I turned to the kitchen, where I prepared my own Easter meal – lamb, cabbage, sweet potatoes, carrots, and Brussels sprouts. It is not quite my mother’s table. But it is mine, and today it is enough: nourishment for the body, and for memory, as I prepared to share the afternoon with my husband and son.
That is the gift I keep returning to this Easter: the inheritance of faith across generations. My mother passed something to me – not only in words, but in the traditions she practiced, the rituals she kept, the table she set. And now, in my own imperfect and evolving way, I am passing something forward.
Faith, I have come to believe, lives not only in memory. It lives in what we continue to do together.
(Dr Christiana Best is an Associate Professor at the University of Saint Joseph, Connecticut)
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This was beautiful. It was a lovely way to acknowledge the hard work and dedication your mom had to her church and to her family. Keep up the tradition with your family. I’m sure your mom would love that. God Bless🙏