Easter Sunday was such a heavenly day. The churchyard was frothing with blossom. Young and old were there to celebrate. The anguish and suffering of Good Friday was banished. Even those of us whose faith is less a rock, more a comforting pebble, could enjoy belting out, “Thine be the glory, risen, conquering Son.”

But not this year. Some wiped away tears as they sang. News had filtered through. Five thousand miles away, another Calvary. In Sri Lanka, hell had broken loose.

Islamist terrorists, bombs strapped to their backs, had gone into churches on the holiest day in the Christian calendar with the express purpose of murdering as many innocents as possible. There was also carnage at hotels popular with Western tourists. “It remains unclear who carried out the attacks,” the BBC website was still insisting 12 hours after the massacres. We knew. And they knew. But if you stayed tuned to the news all day, you would not hear the word “terrorist” and certainly not the most inflammatory term of all: “Christian”.

The contrast with the reporting of the mosque shootings in New Zealand could not have been more striking. Back in March, there was no doubt that the massacres in Christchurch, by a lone gunman during Friday prayers, were motivated by hatred of Muslims.