The American diplomat Vernon A. Walters, who served under Nixon, Carter and Bush Sr, once said of political intelligence: “Americans have always had an ambivalent attitude towards [it]. When they feel threatened, they want a lot of it, and when they don’t, they regard the whole thing as somewhat immoral.” It strikes me that the same thing can be said of Britain’s attitude to Christianity. When Christian beliefs and moral values were considered part of the establishment, it wasn’t just trendy but counter-cultural to rail against them — especially around social issues (marriage, abortion, sex roles etc). Biblical teachings on such matters are often seen as representing nothing but bigotry and a threat to freedom.
Yet the days of rock star atheism, when Christopher Hitchens, Stephen Fry, Ricky Gervais (et al), were seen as anti-establishment, are long gone. The percentage of the populace in England and Wales that identify as Christian was recorded in 2021 as being 46 per cent, and the most recent Scottish census recorded less than 40 per cent of Christian-identifying Scots ( around 20 per cent Protestant, 13.3 per cent Catholic). And while 86 per cent of Brits celebrate Christmas and 54 per cent Easter, only 8 per cent and 29 per cent respectively see these celebrations as religious rather than secular according to a 2020 YouGov poll.
The erasure of Christianity is all around us
But this is a story that goes beyond statistics. The erasure of Christianity is all around us, from schools removing all references to Christmas from end-of-term pantomimes to Easter egg hunts omitting all mention of the festival from the event. It’s at the stage where our rulers are no longer pretending Britain and Christianity have any special relationship. At the end of February this year, our Prime Minister issued good wishes to Muslims undertaking Ramadan on X, yet said precisely nothing to those of us (myself included) who celebrate Ash Wednesday and Lent. Likewise, His Majesty The King hosted an Iftar meal at Buckingham Palace to celebrate the beginning of Ramadan, a royal first, but no such acknowledgement of Lent was given.
Last month, an especially egregious example of religious exclusionism went viral, in the form of a leaked letter from a primary school headmistress cancelling Easter celebrations. The letter, penned by one Stephanie Mander of Norwood Primary in Eastleigh, Hampshire, explained that “After careful consideration […] we have decided not to hold the Easter bonnet parade or the Easter service this year. This decision has been made in the spirit of inclusivity and respect for the diverse religious beliefs, represented within our school community.”
I would urge reading the letter in full because it is hard to exaggerate how beyond parody the content is. All else aside, the sheer meanness of it was jaw-dropping. (Is there a sentence in the English language more joyless than “we have cancelled the Easter bonnet parade”? You may as well declare the Easter bunny dead and warn that any child caught eating a chocolate egg will be expelled on sight while you’re at it). Yet while few schools, if any, have been quite as explicit in dismissal of Easter as Norwood, the media furore has followed the same patterns as all the others: an outpouring of concern over the war on Christians in Britain and British culture more generally, right-wing politicians weighing in (Suella Braverman called Norwood’s decision indicative of “cultural surrender” and Reform MP Rupert Lowe lamented “the poison that is being pushed on children in schools”) but within mere days it blew over, confined to the so-called culture war archives of memory.
An overlooked irony within the Norwood Primary school letter is that in the final paragraph of the letter, parents are informed of the school’s upcoming celebration of Refugee Week and the schools commitment to becoming an “accredited school of sanctuary”. Putting aside the fact that said Refugee Week is funded by an ideological quango (and the problems with this could be a separate article in itself), let’s meet the headteacher and her advisory board on their level. What historical figure, more than any other, preached a message of unconditional kindness? Of helping the meek and displaced and unfortunate? I’ll give you a clue, Miss Mander, he didn’t work for a government-funded diversity scheme.
The religion of EDI in its current form is perfectly condoning of, even contingent on, anti-Christian bigotry
The failure to pick up on this hypocrisy represents a misunderstanding of what we actually have to lose here. The phoney virtue is obvious to most but the ignorance and moral vacuum that underpins it is the bigger issue. Most of the arguments I’ve seen in response to Norwood’s scandal — and indeed any Christian erasure scandal — tend to focus on the inclusion aspect. The weakness of the logic of blacklisting an entire faith to promote religious inclusivity should be obvious to most, as should the inflammatory implication that acknowledging cultural Christianity in any form is synonymous with exclusion or hostility to other faiths. As the Norwood case so perfectly underlines, the religion of EDI in its current form is perfectly condoning of, even contingent on, anti-Christian bigotry (as it is with anti-white, anti-male bigotry etc).
If there is any hope of saving the next generation from this cultural and moral void, we must make the case for Christian religious festivals as something of immense ethical and educational value to all, regardless of creed. I myself wasn’t born into a devoutly religious household. Both my parents were lapsed Catholics and, in fact, my dad resolutely atheist. Throughout my life, I have been a devout believer, a devout non-believer, and am now a practicing church-going agnostic. Even at my most atheistic though, I never lost that invaluable sense of cultural gratitude and awareness.
This is especially true when it comes to the Easter story. You do not have to believe that Jesus Christ was the son of God, or even that God exists at all, to understand the universal themes of suffering and redemption and humanity in the story. Whether you believe emphatically in it as gospel or treat it as fable, it tells the story of a man who underwent every kind of brutality — physical and emotional, not just flayed and tortured but also humiliated by a mob and betrayed by those closest to him. His bravery in the face of this and steadfast faith that he would come through is rewarded and his memory glorified for eternity.
As an adult now able to comprehend the extent of the horrors and sadism of crucifixion as an execution method, it does seem jarring that the first time I heard the story of Christ’s death was around the age of four or five. Regardless of how many gory or traumatising details you omit or smooth over, it remains an unorthodoxly sad and troubling tale for children. Yet neither myself nor my young classmates were overtly disturbed by it. Partly because we were told it happened so long ago (for some reason, barbarism that happened far in the past generally lessens the visceral impact on the senses and imagination) but also because, in a strange way, we all understood what the story was about. Our friends letting us down, being very scared of something we didn’t want to do, feeling lonely — these are all parts of the human experience children understand from a very young age. Jesus became someone we could look to in these times and draw strength from — whether as a man or a God.
More joyfully, the themes of hope and rebirth that Easter signifies makes the season of Spring so much more meaningful and rich. As a child, I understood that painting an egg and having a race with other kids as to who could roll it down the hill fastest, in part symbolised the stone of Christ’s grave being rolled away to reveal its emptiness. The egg itself was a symbol of hope — a sign of new babies being born in the animal kingdom and the trees getting their leaves back as the days ahead got brighter.
Easter and other Christian festivals are not a cultural or seasonal decoration — like a bauble on a tree or vase of daffodils on a table — they are the canvas into which the tapestry of the West — and all that is good, prosperous and progressive about it — is stitched. The war on Christianity and by extension Western values, is largely a civil one, and ambivalence the weapon of mass destruction to fear. Pride may be a sin but all Christians, whether practising, lapsed or cultural need to show a little more of it.
Bearing that in mind, I wish you all a wonderful Easter, and may God bless.
