My Dear Tobias,
There are times in life when one stands at an impasse—equilibrium seems sadly attained, the light of inspiration fails to dawn. The greatest tragedy, of course, is that the post is so very slow, and by the time this missive reaches you I will have been compelled by the force of time alone to make a decision. Nevertheless, my consolation lies in writing you, and perchance the best path may open clearly to me as I pour out the woes tied to this subject of utmost importance.
I allude, my friend, to ties.
I have, you see, two ties equal in the resplendence required for the upcoming Easter morning service—one, a multicolored horizontal stripe highlighting warm shades of yellow and green; the second, a tasteful paisley of predominantly bold rose hue (you recognize this, surely, as your Aunt Bertha’s excellent gift presented on my birthday last). I need not mention they are both high on the natty scale and, anticipating your first questions, reassure you that the setting for such splendor consists of light blue shirt and suit of quiet grey. You readily note my quandary, then: the one occasion per year in which the tastefully bold and colorful is accepted on men—nay, expected!—is the Easter morning service. I find myself of a sudden the sad victim of the same system to which I lend my usual support, for the system that smiles on grey blazers and frowns on white socks dictates that I wear on any occasion but one tie. I must somehow, then, choose one of these beauties for the weekend and send the other on a yearlong sojourn in my closet.
You will think me frivolous.
But is it mere frivolity, sir, that drives the fairer sex in hordes to hunt the depths of their wardrobes for the most celebratory garment in floral motif? Is it for frivolity’s sake the curls, the hats, the flower arrangements and special music all make their glorious appearance Easter Sunday? I submit that the time and care behind these various arrangements are used thus to honor and celebrate the greatest event in all history, and frankly I do not see why we men should not also reflectively prepare ourselves to honor and celebrate.
Yes, my dear fellow, this preparation must consist of much more than a mere tie, but perhaps it ought to begin here. I personally think our culture has damaged our ability to properly honor by downplaying the need for care and ceremony. A man may preserve his comfort by casting on the first relatively wrinkle-free shirt to touch his fingers and dash off to church, just as he may heat and eat the closest can of food on the shelf for dinner. But would he feed that can to the Queen of England, and wear that shirt for their dinner date? Then what makes such lack of care sufficient preparation for an Easter service honoring the King of kings?
One must reflect, Tobias, on what Easter means for us. A Man, the Man, coming as the second Adam, was faced with a temptation involving, interestingly enough, another set of trees. Offered a shortcut instead of an apple, He conquered the tempter, and took on Himself through obedience the very curse brought about through man’s disobedience. “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree…” (Gal. 3:13) “[He] bore our sins in His own body on the tree…” (1 Pet. 2:24) Adam gave in to the fruit of the tree of temptation and was refused the tree of life. Christ refused the fruit of the tree of temptation and became our Tree of Life. In Christ we are welcomed back into the garden of fellowship from which mankind was banished so long ago, for “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” (2 Cor. 5:21). The death that rocked the foundation of the world tore open the Way to God.
Then He arose.
Death was broken.
We are free.
So you see, most excellent Tobias, why I greet most earnestly this time of celebration. Easter—or, more appropriately, Resurrection Day—reminds me that I am a free man. Thus we prepare our hearts even as we take time to ponder our attire.
And I was right—pouring into your ear has made clear the way I should go. Please let your Aunt Bertha know that she is, as usual, right; I will think fondly of her while marching out in full paisley tie on the morrow.
Happy Resurrection Day, old fellow. My love to Pongo.
Yours, &c.,
Joe Post
Joe Post 