In rural southern Georgia where I was raised, Good Friday meant one thing: the day the farmers began putting spring crops in the fields. The Sunday before Easter also was just that: the Sunday before Easter. Easter Sunday services were either at sunrise or at the regular church time and, with the exception of us dressing in our spring best and singing some well known Easter Sunday hymns, the church service was much the same as other Sundays. Easter was somewhat like Christmas (though most people went to church on Easter Sunday!): Easter was the punctuation mark for a season and was a joyful religious reason to tear through gifts and treats and then sit down to a big family feast.

I tell you this because my understanding of Easter Sunday and the week before Easter Sunday is now very different.