Washed in the Blood of Christ

It’s Easter.

Horray.

It used to be a really big deal at my house. It used to be one of those days that I couldn’t wait for, being like a mid year Christmas. With the new clothes and candy and big dinner and family and friends and phone calls and all that. In the last few years since we’re not kids anymore it’s become more and more about going to church and having a quiet family dinner. I wonder what it would be like to be there again. I mean back maybe five or six years. When things were so much simpler. When I was just going to Chapel and not understanding it or my responsibilities. Just doing it because that’s what I’m taught to do. Now it’s like all this stuff is in my face right now, and I’m supposed to be relying on my religion to pull me through it, but I’m at a loss- I’m drawing a blank, I’m losing touch with things.

Christ died for me and I want to drink and be out late and have sex, goof around and play football and just ignore this Chapel auto pilot I have on three times a week.
I wonder what am I here for. What am I doing, where am I going.

Apparently, ours is not to question- ours is to believe and our faithful souls, washed in the blood of Christ will not perish. But the multitude of sins that we have carried burden on our hearts, darkened by a heavy world, will be extinguished by the forgiving light of Our Father.

I have no recourse but to believe. It’s all I know. It’s all over me and all around me. I wear a crucifix because of it. I'm terrified to do anything else. It’s like me kneeling at the alter and in silence, crying my eyes out cause I’m so moved and I don’t know where it’s coming from, and where ever it’s coming from, I can’t block it and once I started, I couldn’t stop it. H resting his hand on my shoulder sort of woke me up and brought me back.

And I finally realize, I’m not that choirboy anymore.