Today I write on a Saturday, because that eye surgery I previously mentioned was held over until this Monday. I have been tasked with one mission this week, and that is to not get sick. So far, so good.
I don’t go in for much at Easter because while I like free chocolate from my Momma I also dislike religion in general. I spent the morning watching yet another cult documentary and realized that a lot of the feelings these people had are feelings I myself have had as a member of the Catholic church. I can see too many parallels, and it upsets me. Especially with the pomp and circumstance of my youth that was Easter week.
It would start on Palm Sunday when we would HAVE to go to church early to get our palms and have them blessed, and then they asked a bunch of children armed with branches to sit still and stay quiet for an hour. I don’t know how we did it.
Then came Holy Thursday, which is when Jesus got together with his buddies and had a little Eucharist. This is followed by Good Friday, a day in which we would not eat meat, nor do anything during the hours of noon and three, because Jesus is on the cross. Early morning was usually taken over by the Stations of the Cross, which is like a really, really boring art exhibit. Actually, I’ve been to some with no art, just markers, which just makes it boring storytelling. I mean, I know what happens. He falls. He gets up. He falls again. It’s all very repetitive. By the time they put the spear in his side I was thinking less about the sacrifice of Jesus and more about what’s for lunch.
Holy Saturday was always kind of a pain because you’re just waiting for Jesus to pop out and give you a chocolate bunny. At least that’s how my young self understood it. When I got older and started finding cracks in Catholicism, I became obsessed with the Easter story because Mary Magdelene was in it, and I am of the belief that she was Jesus’ wife. Easter has as much to do with chocolate bunnies as it does the resurrection of a Messiah. Which is very little, because we all know Easter is a pagan holiday centered around an equinox, just like Christmas. And that’s what I like to think about on this “holy” day.
I like to think about life starting anew. About second chances. About turning over new leaves and starting fresh. That’s my idea of Easter; the world is becoming new again and so should you. And for the religious folk, you can’t argue that that’s not what Jesus wants for you, to shed your dead weight and be the best you can be. We may have different opinions about the symbolisms of the holiday, but we can at least agree that growth and renewal is always welcome.
Now, it’s Sunday. I had a lovely brunch at my mother’s house with the family, and it looks like my tummy plans on digesting everything properly, which means I will be go for surgery in the morning. I am a little nervous, mainly that something will go wrong, not of the surgery itself. The very worst-case scenario is a situation I have been in before, so I know that I will be okay, but I don’t want to have to go through it again. I’m also nervous that their nurses won’t find a vein, because I am like a Where’s Waldo book in that department. Here’s hoping that I get a nurse who has the golden touch, like those troopers in the ER at Mercy. Soon I will see the world clearly again, and I cannot wait. All the more reason to be excited for the renewal that comes with springtime. Anyhoo…happy Easter.