So, this is it folks – the high point of the Christian calendar year – both the pinnacle and foundation of the Christian faith itself.  Easter Sunday.  That day where we all pause and reflect on the anguish of that one man 2000+ years ago, and the miracle of his rising victorious even over that which we mere mortals can only hope to conquer.

Oh yeah, and kids eat a lot of fucking candy and adults eat lots of ham and those people who begrudgingly go to church twice a year dust off their suits and pastel dresses and wipe the chocolate off the kids’ faces and go do their church duty.  Some of those kids even get a cute little pet bunny which they will, most likely, end up hating and giving away to someone else or releasing into the woods behind their house or just merely allow to starve to death in the garage.  Spoiled little brats.

You know what I’ve never fully understood about Easter?  The way in which it is observed.  Sure, I can understand the parallel between the alleged resurrection and the rebirth of life in spring time.  But… to observe the very underpinnings of the Christian faith on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox?  How much more pagan can you get than that?   I know, I know, the reason that this and the Christmas holiday are observed the way they are has its historical roots in smoking out the wiccans and pagans and bringing them over to the Good News side of things.  But I mean, come on… you’ve got all these biblical scholars and theologians and the like that have studied this shit for centuries and you mean to tell me that they don’t know exactly when this great miracle of Jesus’s resurrection actually took place?  They can’t even get a rough idea?

Hmm… maybe that’s because it’s all a myth – a really nice story that makes some people feel better about themselves and about the apparent meaninglessness of our random existence – a myth that parallels nicely with the real miracle that is the vernal equinox, the constant struggle of life against death – and how, for instance, up through the cracks in a city sidewalk, little green shoots still find the sun, still find what they need to survive, thrive, and keep returning, year after year.  To me, this is a much more reverent and much more beautiful image upon which to meditate than some martyr being nailed to a couple of logs.

Enjoy this photo, taken from my favorite website of the week.  And Happy Spring, you infidels!!