Lifting the siege
As a child I remember a sense of grim foreboding in the run-up to Good Friday. Too little to appreciate that a divine being might die so that I could live forever, I could never assimilate precisely what was so "good" about it.
That sense of all pervasive gloom seems to hover over all our days now. With ceaseless prognostications of how the economic end is nigh, we are living through 365 Good Fridays a year, and there is no sign of a break in the clouds. There appears to be no one capable of giving meaning to any of it.
Has the sky really fallen in, should the last young person out of the country really bang the door, before turning off the lights?