Christ Will Come Again
Happy Easter!
Hoppy Easter! as my Dad used to say.
I don't get the Easter Bunny stuff. Never did. Someone once explained the legend to me, but even as a kid, I kind of found the whole concept sort of weird. A big bunny hopping down a trail with eggs and candy in a basket.
I was about five years old when I might have mentioned, "Give me a freaking break here with that garbage."
I've always been a tad skeptical.
Still one of the other things that I've always been familiar with is the true story of Easter. Jesus was nailed to a cross on Good Friday - Why the hell is it called "Good" Friday?
I mean Jesus was strung up and we can't have a steak. What's so good about it?
Then everyone kind of gathered wake-style on Saturday to get over the shock...and then Jesus rose from the dead on Sunday. Was there a rabbit near by?
They always say three days after death He rose to life. Now my math may be wrong but Friday to Sunday is only two days, right? Friday-to-Saturday...Saturday to Sunday...what am I missing there?
Anyway, part of the greatest story ever told is always home to a prayer in the middle of the Catholic Mass where everyone gathered says the following phrase:
"Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again."
I have muttered those words, strung together, at least a thousand times in my life. I said them all without meaning until about seven or eight years ago.
It was at one of the church meetings for one of my boys religious indoctrinations. Don't ask me what ceremony or even what kid. The discussion was held at 7 pm and I was in attendance because my beautiful wife needed a break from such things, so I was chosen to go along.
"We all know the story of Christ dying and rising to everlasting life," the priest said. "But my favorite part of it all is 'Christ will come again.'"
The priest said it over and over a few times, in a soft voice. "Christ will come again. Christ will come again. Christ will come again."
The priest paused for all to reflect.
"What that means to me is that there will be countless moments of doubt in your lives. There will be days when you feel as if it is all for nothing. Yet, if you open your heart, Christ will come again."
I have been through dark days spent on the valley floor. I have questioned every single thing I've learned up to this point.
There are moments when the Easter bunny seems the least absurd of all the stories I've been told.
And then there are moments of peace and comfort where I thoroughly believe.
I believe that people's religious beliefs are unique to them. I respect your free will to choose to believe whatever you need to believe to get through the catastrophe of life. I hope that you find peace and comfort in some phrase. I hope that your own personal religion leaves room for others to live their lives as they see fit.
I hope you find your Easter basket within an hour of looking.
(I may have told this story before, but I went three weeks once after Jeff re-hid my basket after finding it first. He hid it in an attic and when I finally found it, the chocolate was melted and covered with ants - I could barely finish it).
Christ will come again. Christ will come again. Christ will come again.
I feel better already and I haven't had even a single piece of chocolate.
Hoppy Easter! as my Dad used to say.
I don't get the Easter Bunny stuff. Never did. Someone once explained the legend to me, but even as a kid, I kind of found the whole concept sort of weird. A big bunny hopping down a trail with eggs and candy in a basket.
I was about five years old when I might have mentioned, "Give me a freaking break here with that garbage."
I've always been a tad skeptical.
Still one of the other things that I've always been familiar with is the true story of Easter. Jesus was nailed to a cross on Good Friday - Why the hell is it called "Good" Friday?
I mean Jesus was strung up and we can't have a steak. What's so good about it?
Then everyone kind of gathered wake-style on Saturday to get over the shock...and then Jesus rose from the dead on Sunday. Was there a rabbit near by?
They always say three days after death He rose to life. Now my math may be wrong but Friday to Sunday is only two days, right? Friday-to-Saturday...Saturday to Sunday...what am I missing there?
Anyway, part of the greatest story ever told is always home to a prayer in the middle of the Catholic Mass where everyone gathered says the following phrase:
"Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again."
I have muttered those words, strung together, at least a thousand times in my life. I said them all without meaning until about seven or eight years ago.
It was at one of the church meetings for one of my boys religious indoctrinations. Don't ask me what ceremony or even what kid. The discussion was held at 7 pm and I was in attendance because my beautiful wife needed a break from such things, so I was chosen to go along.
"We all know the story of Christ dying and rising to everlasting life," the priest said. "But my favorite part of it all is 'Christ will come again.'"
The priest said it over and over a few times, in a soft voice. "Christ will come again. Christ will come again. Christ will come again."
The priest paused for all to reflect.
"What that means to me is that there will be countless moments of doubt in your lives. There will be days when you feel as if it is all for nothing. Yet, if you open your heart, Christ will come again."
I have been through dark days spent on the valley floor. I have questioned every single thing I've learned up to this point.
There are moments when the Easter bunny seems the least absurd of all the stories I've been told.
And then there are moments of peace and comfort where I thoroughly believe.
I believe that people's religious beliefs are unique to them. I respect your free will to choose to believe whatever you need to believe to get through the catastrophe of life. I hope that you find peace and comfort in some phrase. I hope that your own personal religion leaves room for others to live their lives as they see fit.
I hope you find your Easter basket within an hour of looking.
(I may have told this story before, but I went three weeks once after Jeff re-hid my basket after finding it first. He hid it in an attic and when I finally found it, the chocolate was melted and covered with ants - I could barely finish it).
Christ will come again. Christ will come again. Christ will come again.
I feel better already and I haven't had even a single piece of chocolate.
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