I regularly check lists of writers’ conferences. One, I noticed recently, takes place on Easter weekend. Apparently Easter is no longer relevant to many Americans, just another weekend.

Then I remembered when I lived in Muslim-majority countries. Easter passed pretty much unobserved there, too. During my first Easter in such a country, a broadcast from an Easter service in another part of the world inspired me before I left for the day’s work (the weekends there were Thursday and Friday, not Saturday and Sunday). I felt kinship with the early Christians.

The pastor of my childhood church used to say he should wish Merry Christmas as well as Happy Easter to the congregation. So many on Easter, he said, only came on that Sunday, so he would not see them for a full year.

When Easter was a more or less national celebration, the day was coopted by the Easter bunny and chocolate eggs and spring fashions. Perhaps it is well that we have fewer “cultural” Christians on Easter now and that our present society limits the celebration of that wondrous event to those who actually ponder its meaning.