Jesus Christ, Easter

Imagine you’re Jesus Christ.

You’ve been given eternal life. But you don’t want to make a fuss or freak people out so you’ve settled down in the suburbs, trying not to be disappointed by humanity at every turn.

It’s a sunny day. You amble down to the mailbox in the front yard and your mood quickly turns dark. The mailbox is stuffed with Easter catalogs from every retailer known to man. Every year they come earlier and earlier.

You died on a cross for this? You died for everyone’s sins for Endless Easter Fun and Eggstra Savings?

How did the celebration of your resurrection come to this? The whole point was to transcend death and sin and the devil too. Not to spend money eating too much chocolate.

You glance at the covers and it’s a sea of chocolate eggs, mostly wrapped in thin garishly-colored foil overprinted with manufacturers’ logos. It makes you feel ill to the stomach.

Tiny chocolate eggs, giant chocolate eggs, medium-sized chocolate eggs. Chocolate eggs within chocolate eggs, chocolate rabbits holding chocolate eggs, chocolate eggs lined with caramel, chocolate eggs filled with some sort of yellowish goo.

You shake your head. One page promotes Easter hat parades where shoppers are pestered to buy cardboard hats and bonnets and make them their own with Easter-inspired merchandise. Easter mini chicks, Easter shields, Easter ribbons, Easter pins, Easter craft tubs.

They can’t leave well enough alone. They’ve forsaken you.

You toss the catalogs straight into the recycle bin.

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