Posts Tagged ‘bunny’

So a good deal of the world just celebrated Easter.  The ABC Network ran it’s usual Charlton Heston classic Ten Commandments and hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of children and parents celebrated with colored eggs and chocolate rabbits, marshmallow chicks dyed pink and yellow and the equivalent of stocking stuffers that appeared overnight courtesy of the Easter Bunny.  For many families, it also marked the second-most-important day to attend church services, and show off some great new spring duds in the process.

Personally, I didn’t realize it was almost Easter until Good Friday, when someone wished me a “Happy Easter” at one point during my shift.  I probably grunted something similar in return; I don’t remember and didn’t feel particularly inspired by the holiday.  Saturday, again at work, I managed to wish someone a “good weekend” and another person a “Happy Easter” but couldn’t work myself up to do more than that.  The people I was around were working, too, and equally uninspired.  One co-worker was throwing a divorce party for her friend that night, another had plans that included little more than getting hammered at a local bar.  Hallelujah.  Praise Jesus.  Amen.

I think, for most of us, Easter has become as fake a holiday as, say, Valentine’s.  Largely commercialized, what hasn’t been corrupted by the Bunny has been ruined by the hypocrisy of the church.  I find I don’t really care about Jesus anymore, or God for that matter, though I was raised quite devout.  I can’t seem to find them in days marked red on the calendar, or in multi-million dollar buildings with overhead projectors and flatscreen TVs.  I don’t see their aura around the preachers whose Sunday suit costs more than my vehicle and I can’t seem to sense their presence amid all the carpet and cushions, central heat and air, and kitchen and conference room additions.

I have nothing against those who want to go, who mean no harm and aim only to better themselves.  Hey, knock yourself out.  But don’t ask me to come with you, not when I know the guy we’ll sit next to has been cheating on his wife for three years, and that woman ahead of us was in the bar trying to get laid last night and has had three abortions in the last two years.  Not when the man down front is dealing drugs and his son sitting right beside him is a rotten, thieving little turd, and the woman across the way embezzled from the business she owned.  It’snot that big a town; word gets around. 

And while I think people can change, I believe that most of the time they don’t.  Every Sunday it’s the same old crowd and, you know, I don’t even really want to be associated with them.  I (usually) do my best to live right and if I want to find God or Jesus, well, there’s a bible around here somewhere.  And if, someday, a preacher starts sermonizing from a rock after he’s worked a real job all day, even when it’s cold or raining or the sun beats down like a hot weight, then maybe I’ll stop to listen, because maybe he’ll have something real to say to me.

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