Easter is my least favorite holiday. Oh, I'm so glad that Jesus is alive and well Because in my book, he's alive if that many folks band together and say he is. (Side note: Does that mean Tupac is still alive? Must investigate further)
No, Easter for so many is the joyous arrival of Spring all wrapped up with the rising from the tomb of their chosen savior. For me, it's my once a year guilt trip into church.
I hate church. Ignoring the fact that I was sexually abused by clergy from age 5 to 15, I hate the smarminess of preachers who put on the act of being humble-salt-of-the-earth, I hate the sudden cadence changes depending on sermon, I hate the fakiness of it all. I hate that my stomach always growls five minutes into Sunday school. I hate that Sunday "school" is nothing more than another, less engaging sermon with no pupil participation. But most of all, I hate the pushiness.
Last Saturday, I attended my dad's church passion play. Complete with Jesus whipping scenes, it was resplendent with drama. The altar call was, as I expected, longer, more impassioned than usual. What was NOT expected was that, at least one HOUR into the altar call (ONE HOUR!), the preacher, unsuccessful in shaming me up to the altar, called my family up to "pray for a young woman's soul". I was embarrassed, mortified, filled with hot uncomfortable buzzing bees inside my stomach.
They didn't want to quietly pray for me. They weren't awfully concerned about my cancer. They wanted to win one over for Jesus (read: make an exciting Easter salvation home run). I stood there, wishing I could say something, but knowing that nothing I could say, no matter how reasonable, would be of any matter.
Thing is, they truly believe they are right. They believe that I need their brand of God just as strongly as they believe that if I were on cocaine, they'd need to do an intervention.
I didn't come to church on Easter Sunday morning. Instead, I woke up early in bed with my daughter. I looked at her, the pink light of dawn caressing her face. I heard the birds of Spring, and I smelled the soil and rain. I thanked the Earth and my creator for letting me live free and healthy, for giving me these special souls to learn with and to teach. We went home, and I'm sure there were many prayers said for me that morning.
This rant has been brought to you by Kym for the Cult of Kym enterprises. Any opinion expressed here is purely Kym's, and is not meant to offend. The Cult of Kym does not endorse Jesus, yet is very fond of his teachings and gentle, non-threatening manner.
I am still around. I don't have the internet at my place. Things are up, things are down, how are all of you?
I am eating taquitos. I have nothing to drink, cause I am only drinking diet for now.
This is the most drivel I've written in ages.
I work serving at a restaurant now. I'm so bad at it.
Love love love.
My favorite Beatle is George.