When Iran released its captured British sailors, the diplomatic solution was wrapped in religion and presented to Britain as an "Easter gift" - a neat recognition by Muslims of the significance of Easter in the West.Choking on chocolate, it's easy to forget this is meant to be a religious festival, though its name was nicked from an ancient pagan festival (Oestre, goddess of the dawn, from whom we also borrowed oestrogen).
Yet religion does seem to be back on the agenda in Australian life, as reflected in politicians' recent eagerness to display their religious affiliations.
From Peter Costello's stellar performance at Hillsong (to say nothing of the aura he borrows from his brother, the Reverend Tim) to the ferocious Catholicism of Tony Abbott, religion has come out of the closet. Proud claims about the number of Catholics now on the Coalition's front bench would have seemed unthinkable as political commentary even five years ago.
A turning point in Kevin Rudd's campaign to become Labor leader was an article he wrote for The Monthly about the link between his Christian faith and his passion for social justice.
That created many media opportunities for Rudd which stimulated broader discussion about religion and politics.
There's been a steady rise in religious fundamentalism over the past 20 years or so, Pentecostalists having now displaced Anglicans from second spot in the league table of church attendance. That's not surprising: our sustained epidemic of anxiety has fuelled a desire for the security of black-and-white simplicity (in economics as well as religion).
Some people want ambiguity stripped out of the human story, and there are plenty of Christian fundamentalists prepared to do just that.
Paradoxically, there's another factor stimulating our interest in religion: the rise of atheism. Richard Dawkins has been leading the charge, most recently with The God Delusion. It's a rollicking read and it's brought atheists out of the woodwork in droves.
In response, more people are thinking about what they really do believe (rather as we feel the need to defend multiculturalism only when it's under threat from the push for "integration").
Easter is one of the times when even nominal Christians like to celebrate, but many are perplexed by hearing, all over again, stories that strain their credulity and even their faith.
And that raises more general questions about Christianity, including questions about the veracity of biblical accounts of what Jesus is supposed to have said and done.
Even the most devout Christians, for instance, are inclined to play down passages in the New Testament where Jesus is presented as saying things such as: "Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the Earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword" - especially when they are trying to distance themselves from radical Islamists.
Or again: "I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother … and one's foes will be members of one's own household". (You can see where the Exclusive Brethren and other sects get their inspiration.)
Such passages need careful interpretation, of course, just like any ancient writings, and so does the Easter story. As the Anglican Dean of Perth, Dr John Shepherd, recently wrote: "Paul and the evangelists are excruciatingly muddled in their stories about resurrection."
What are we to make, for instance, of the fact that the writer of Mark's gospel, written long before the other three, didn't mention the resurrection and made no reference to ghostly post-resurrection "appearances" by Jesus - walking through walls, being unrecognisable to his close friends, and so on.
Scepticism about the literal story, when it's presented as historical fact, is appropriate. That's precisely why it's all a matter of faith. If we knew for sure what happened, there'd be no need for faith: doubt is both the engine and the essence of faith. Those who try to "prove" the events of Easter are missing the point.
Actually, the gulf between Dawkins and modern Christian theology might not be as wide as you think. Dawkins is highly critical of the God of the Old Testament; the God of Joshua, for instance, who records that in his assault on the city of Jericho, "they utterly destroyed all that was in the city, both man and woman, young and old…".
No wonder Dawkins is a bit squeamish when he notes that this was part of "the ethnic cleansing begun at the time of Moses".
Christianity represents a break from that tradition. It's a new order, based on the new commandment given by Jesus to "love one another". If the biblical assertion that God is love is to be taken seriously, it gives new meaning to the very idea of God.
If, as many contemporary Christians believe, God can be found only within us - in the spirit of love, goodness and truth that ennobles us - then Dawkins's brand of atheism, based on an "out there" God, makes sense.
So perhaps we shouldn't get too worked up about the historicity of the Easter story. If its rituals and metaphors can inspire in us the idea that old enmities, old wounds, old rejections can be buried, and that new beginnings - resurrections of spirit - are possible, that's worth celebrating.
The need serves only to magnify the lossTHE death this week of the advertising legend Alan Morris was not simply a sad leave-taking for his family and a loss to be absorbed by his many friends and admirers in the industry. It was also a poignant reminder of how good advertising can be when it's good and how awful it can be when it isn't.
Alan was the "Mo" half of the Mojo team; the "Jo" half was Allan Johnston and their ringmaster and strategist was Alan's brother Don. Morris wrote the words, Johnston the music, and together they rewrote the rules of advertising in the Australian vernacular.
You know their work, even if you don't know you know it. "C'mon Aussie, c'mon" for World Series Cricket, "You oughta be congratulated" for Meadow Lea (they actually found a rhyme for polyunsaturated), "I feel like a Toohey's or two" and perhaps their high point, the Paul Hogan "shrimp on the barbie" campaign that helped position Australia as a favoured tourist destination.
What a contrast with the national humiliation of the present Australian tourism campaign. The Mojo idiom is long gone.
Now we have shots of vast empty spaces, interspersed with visual cliches and topped off with one of the most cringe-making and tasteless slogans in advertising history: "Where the bloody hell are you?"
Translation: we've got an empty shop and we need customers to fill it.
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