An Easter Encyclical

What will you do the day you’re asked to explain?
Deny the truth, you bear the markings of Cain.
Swear on your Savior that you killed for the Lord,
No false believer ever got by your sword.
-- mE

My Easter Encyclical

One of the illusions of existence is that study, meditation, physical exertion, sickness, and alteration of consciousness can affect a view that being is profound, that there is a depth to experience.

It’s Easter Sunday, the purple sheaths have been displaced by idolatrous statuary of every stripe, and in all of its glory. From ashes, to palms, to resurrections; gospels, to force, to occupations; and torture, to killings, to insurrections; mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. There’s your depth—Catholic Guilt. But not really. There’s no profundity in allowing one’s supernatural indoctrination to temper compassion and fuel cruel, immoral perversions.

I remember serving as an altar boy during lent. I was a true believer. Once, as we paused before Our Lady of Tears, I saw the blood trickle from her stigmata. Behold my new feast day. Call it the Epiphany of the Trickling Stigmata. At that moment, for the briefest time in my life, my faith seemed proved. Yes, I know, it is oxymoronic to associate faith with proof, but there it was, rapturous confirmation that God, the saints, devils, tooth fairies, Santa Clauses, and yes, Easter bunnies, do exist.

May there be Peace in the valley.