storeeze

He is not here, but is risen!—Luke 24:6 My granddaughter Christina was visiting from college on Black Saturday, just in time for my favorite Easter tradition—rack of lamb, red wine and The Last Temptation of Christ —until her mother got wind of it. “THIS MOVIE PORTRAYS JESUS AS A HOMOSEXUAL!” I snatched the phone. “It’s the best Jesus movie.” “It's disrespectful. Bad on Easter. I raised Christina a certain way and I don't want her watching it.” “You haven’t seen it.” “I don’t care. Put her back on.” “Hi Mom, it's me again.” “Don't let gramps make fun of our religion.” I couldn't think of an answer; we went straight for the wine and lamb. Come Sunday, I figured Christina, a biracial young woman, would appreciate the African American congregation at the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church. The building stood on stilts, ark-shaped like Noah's, ready for the Flood. We took it in, and walked up a steep ramp into the vestibule to a blast of Hands up for Jesus  from a y...

My first sense of a Higher Power walked in with death: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. —Child's bedtime prayer, 18th century Before my mother taught me the prayer, I had had no thoughts about death or God. Afterward, those were all my thoughts. The prayer, a childhood favorite at the time, established a supernatural realm and the agency to connect it with the material world. It reminded children of the impermanence of life and the certainty of death. Withal, it promoted the curious idea that the sovereignty of the prayer would not only reassure children before bedtime, but also preserve the innocence of childhood slumber following its recitation. This can’t be right, can it? How could I go to sleep if I might not wake up? Terrifying. As we prayed together each night, she taught me to pray for others. Would they die, too? This sad bedtime poem generated more questions than answers. What is a...