Bucket

"Do you know what I miss about Easter observances, growing up Catholic?"
"No, what do you miss?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."

I think the chocolate bunny, malted milk egg candies, were all just rewards for enduring Holy Week. And it is grueling, done properly. Every day in church, Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, hard benches, pews, endless services, some at school - since I went to catholic school as well. I felt the words, the dogmatism of the words that choked me. Couldn't shut off my ears. I did not feel good about this, as saints were the epitome of being a good child, and they all loved the mass. At least in their stories. I found mass to be a trial, a misery. It was a lesson in self discipline, patience, and critical listening - worthy skills. I got that out of it not because that was the point, but because I pulled that out of the experience.

My mother put me in pastels, which I detested at the best of times, and the shoes always hurt. The hats were good, though. I've always liked hats. Often, in Detroit, Easter was not warm, and frilly clothes were inadequate for a raw, even snowy, day.

Oddly, or maybe not so much, Holy Saturday, a day of mourning, of death, of defeat, even with it's long service with the litany of the saints, call and response service - not a mass - sit, stand, kneel, sit, repeat, wasn't so bad. I respected the acknowledgment of death. Just as the vigil service, lighting the new fire, candles, ancient hymns (especially after I was in the choir) resonated, even though it all went on way too long. I got it when my childhood religion dealt head on with death and loss, Ash Wednesday, Holy Saturday, though I was not comforted with the idea of resurrection. I preferred the idea of reincarnation, and eventually came to like the idea of Nirvana. Although I now, I'm good with dead is dead, and now is life - better live well.

I never bought the idea of one person, one man, even if he was God's son, having to get tortured and killed, as a way to save souls from hell. What about all those who came before? All the other religions with different ideas about what happens after death? It was all so far fetched, so much had to be taken on a faith I never had. Once I started hearing other myths, it seemed obvious the christian story was one more.

The reward for a life well lived, is a well lived life. To want more is greedy and ungracious.

But, have a chocolate bunny, and eat the ears first.



Why contort oneself to drink out of the bucket? Why not?