Today was Easter, the end of that dismal season of meta-guilt, Lent (actually, I don't want to hate on Lent - I had a great one this year, thoughtful and revelatory, but still). It was a pleasant morning for the early spring. I was in church praying and the first thing that came into my head, honestly, was: Congratulations, Jesus, on making it to another Easter. You rose from the dead. Great.
I did not mean this in cynical way - believe me, the day I begin to pray ironically will be a sad day indeed. But as I prepared to recount my Easter blessings, as I began to offer praise and thanks on the most important day in my religion's spiritual journey, the best thought I could muster was: Congratulations, Jesus, on your 1975th Easter. As if I brought him a sheet cake or something. I might feel guilty about this if I didn't think Jesus probably would appreciate the laugh.
What wondrous love is this, oh my soul, oh my soul...
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