A Powerful and Personal Easter Memory

Salvador Dali's
Crucifixion

For many of us who are agnostic, atheist, or just not particularly religious, Easter weekend can be a curious and ambiguous time. It's not that we feel left out or alienated, and it's not that we don't still enjoy some of the traditions surrounding the holiday, it's just that we feel kind of...weird.

Maybe, this is because the scriptural subject matter related to the holiday, the text about which we are inherently skeptical, is so incredibly grave and serious.

After all, this isn't just a celebration of any old biblical miracle, we are talking about the Crucifixion and Resurrection.

Maybe we feel strange because, unlike Christmas, the Easter holiday lacks the plethora of accompanying social and cultural trappings that can entice anyone, Christian or otherwise, to get caught up in the spirit of things. Maybe Easter is simply less commercialized and so manages to maintain a more purely religious aura than its Yuletide cousin.

Regardless of the root causes of my Easter discombobulation, here I sit, reflecting on the meaning and memory of Easters past, thinking about childhood baskets and chocolate bunnies, middle-aged mimosa-fueled Easter parties, and Jesus.

I imagine that my childhood memories of the Easter season are not too different from those of most Americans who grew up in a Catholic household. I remember the forty days of Lent - complete with ashes on my forehead, fish dinner Fridays, and frightening shopping trips, steering myself as far away as possible from the terrifying, wild-eyed, man-sized bunny who sat in the middle of the mall.

And then there were Easter Sunday mornings. Waking up early to eagerly search for a not-so-well-hidden basket of goodies, attending Easter Sunday mass in my finest button-down shirt and maybe a clip-on tie, and then joining aunts, uncles, and cousins for delicious ham and potato salad, and a warm springtime afternoon spent searching for hidden eggs in my Aunt Millie's manicured backyard.

Whether in traditional celebration with family or in slightly less than wholesome revelry with friends, I hold dear a variety of pleasant and gratifying Easter memories, but the most powerful of these memories...is about Jesus.

Westboro Baptist Vying for Limbaugh Ad Space

Young member of Westboro Baptist

Members of the Westboro Baptist Church, creators of God Hates Fags, as well as God Hates Soldiers/Steve Jobs/Sweden, have added "sluts" to the ever-expanding list of things they despise.

According to Steve Drain, spokesman for the church, the folks at Westboro are preparing a series of radio spots they hope to air with advertising time they purchase during Rush Limbaugh's program. Westboro, not surprisingly, has come out in support of Limbaugh's controversial characterization of law student Sandra Fluke. Said spokesman Drain, "She wants to fornicate her brains out, but she doesn’t want a child. Sounds like a slut to me, and God hates sluts.” 

Despite Limbaugh's assertion that he has barely noticed the mass exodus of advertisers from his show, the loss of revenue from more than 100 abandoning sponsors must be cause for alarm within Clear Channel Communications, which owns the company that distributes Limbaugh's program, and the network of radio stations that carry it. 

If Clear Channel, the radio stations in the network, and Limbaugh agree to sell ad space to Westboro Baptist Church, an organization that is universally disrespected by partisans on both the left and right, then I guess we'll know with certainty who the most desperate whore among us really is.

Pat Robertson Talks Oral Sex and More

Everyone knows that Pat Robertson is well-versed in the dark evils of homosexuality, the hell-bent destructiveness of feminism, and the frightening colonial agenda of Islam, and with his direct hotline to God, Pat has also proven himself to be a prolific, if not always accurate, prognosticator.

Lately though, conservative Christianity's most famous jack-of-all-trades has upped the ante, showing a depth and breadth of knowledge that none of us would have thought possible. In the last six months, Robertson has revealed himself to be equal parts Dear Abby, Abby Hoffman, and Doctor Ruth, by providing personal advice on divorcing your Alzheimer's-stricken spouse, advocating for the legalization of marijuana, and now...giving us guidance on how we should feel about oral sex.

Preach on, brother Pat.