HAPPY BELATED EASTER

            You’re welcome.
           For the candy, for the bunnies, for the eggs and the nice dinner and the sunrise service and the good feelings and the redemption and all of that. You’re welcome. So glad I could be of service.
            Me? Well, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Oh, wait, what’s that? You didn’t ask? No, you wouldn’t have, would you. And, in fact, I’m not fine. Truth be told, I’m bleeding miserable. But heavens, I wouldn’t want to bother you. Wouldn’t want to burden you with any of my problems. I only shoulder every single solitary one of your sins every single day, it’s not a big deal, it’s not like it hurts or anything.
            Oh wait. It does hurt. A lot. What, you thought consuming all your sins felt good? That it is a joy and a pleasure to take all the vile essence of humanity and process it into pure, heavenly forgiveness? Well you thought wrong, didn’t you. Not exactly a new state of affairs for you lot. Oh I know, I know, you’ll start citing scripture, saying about how I’m the shepherd and I love my sheep and about how glad I am whenever one returns to the fold. Well done, you can read. Here’s a tidbit, though. The Bible was written by a cadre of hooligans and shysters who wanted to shake down the yokels. They took what actually happened and ran it through the cleaners till it came out real pretty and told the people the pretty things they wanted to hear. Does saving a soul have its rewards? Yes, sure. You know what else is rewarding? Taking a bullet for an innocent child. That’s a very nice, honorable thing. Also? It hurts like a bitch. If you doubt me, I’d love to show you. And taking in a sin? It makes bullets feel like a warm bath. 
            Of course, there’s the actual, very corporeal pain that comes with Easter. You know, the Good Friday stuff? Getting nailed to a cross and whatnot? That was a real picnic. Nails going through wrists and ankles, that’s a nice way to kick off a weekend. Of course, if you start getting drowsy there’s also a spear in your side or vinegar down your throat. But you know what the most painful part of the whole thing was? No. You don’t. Because you’ve never been crucified for the sins of all humanity, have you? So I’ll tell you, the most painful part was knowing what would come next. You know I went to Hell after being crucified, right? People forget that. Where was I between Friday and Sunday? Not taking it easy. Not recuperating. Not going out and hiding a bunch of stupid little colored eggs, let me assure you. Nope, I suffered the flames of Hell. And guess what, it hasn’t gotten much better. People talk about my sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane as though I were worried about being crucified. I mean, come on. Crucifixion’s a bitch, don’t get me wrong, I don’t recommend it, but people face certain death all the time. Nasty, violent, awful death. Crucifixion is awful, but it’s also over with in a day. Not like AIDs or Ebola or something where you’re staring down a long road of slow, painful death. If simply the concept of a painful death could make you sweat blood, hundreds of people would do it every day. (Well, to be fair, the Ebola people do sometimes sweat blood, but it’s not really in an existential way now, is it?) Nope, I sweat blood because I knew what was coming AFTER. What is STILL ongoing. 
            And then there are the other two. God and the Holy Spirit. Oh, they’re a fine duo, they are. All three of us mentioned in the same lot. First of all, let’s be honest, God’s still coasting off the credit for creation. Wow, you made stuff just by saying it, really great. And then after six days of naming a lot of crap he had to take a break? Ummm, ok, how about a few days of pure Hell? What about an eternity of being the Brita filter to the unending filth of mankind? Boy, I can’t wait for my day off. It’s only been about 2,000 years and counting. When do I get my trip to Cabo? I’m waiting. 
            And the Holy Spirit, oh Me, don’t get me started on that poof. Very impressive, that one. The cheap party magician of the trilogy, the Paris Hilton of the three-in-one. He hits the party circuit, shows up at all the fun gig and fills everyone with warmth and joy and love. So where exactly was he on a certain Friday that springs into my mind? I could have used a little joy, a little warmth. What did I get? A spear and sponge of vinegar. Yeah, that sounds fair. All things balanced up here, for sure. 
            So go on, enjoy your holiday. Gather with your family, tell the Easter story, eat a nice dinner, invest in the richness of religion and spiritual purity for a day, then go right back to sinning on Monday. I’ll still be here, swallowing your shit. And you know what really gets me, what really makes it all so special? So many of these awful atrocities that I spend so much suffering cleansing from you lot are done in my name. Boy, you can bet how excited and happy I get when I not only have to suffer the forgiveness torture for someone blowing up an abortion office or disowning their child for being gay or whatever, but when they do it citing ME as their raison d’asshole. Mmm, baby, does that ever make this Savior gig TOTALLY worth it. You want to do something just for me this Easter? Go out into your beautiful, manicured front lawns, set up a nice, big cross, then nail yourself to it.
            A bit harsh? Get over it. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I have to like you.