Good Friday

After my usual two cups of late morning coffee, I went down the street to grab an order of Huevos rancheros. As I approached a long string of people whose two leaders, a cute old couple, passed me carrying a cross. I could count all those under thirty on both hands, and I’m sure they were coerced into it because they were all texting while a couple, probably in their mid-70s, marched on in the rain. I know it’s Good Friday, but honestly what is point of carrying a cross around town with a bunch of people. If you wanna go for a walk and feel holy, march your ass down to a homeless shelter and cook some food. If you can carry a cross around, then it stands to reason you can carry a box of old cloths to people who don’t have any, or do one better and donate feminine hygiene products. Yeah, they nailed Jesus to a cross and he rose three days later, that’s not even his best miracle–compared to making wine out of water. He also killed a tree, hallucinated in a desert while he starved himself, and told everyone he’d be back before they died. Carrying a cross isn’t going to fill the pews, but helping the poor and hungry can’t hurt.

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