April 19, 2014
Unholy Saturday Night
Christ
rises from the dead against all our expectations, and we have to adjust – by receiving
the news, by embracing it as good news, though at the same time realizing we are trying to embrace what we cannot comprehend. (There is a reason he says, “Don’t touch me.”) Or we reject the news, disbelieve
it, scoff at it, turn away. But we don’t
turn far. If we claim we are
indifferent to the matter, we’re lying.
At least that’s the case in my
(admittedly small) part of the world among those of my (slowly dwindling) generation. It may not be the case in other climes or in
other times. But here the matter comes
up, and the arguments heat up. No one
sits idly by.
Or one
does. That is, he pretends to be
sitting by. He thinks he is projecting
indifference. But anyone with half an
eye can see that he is . . . seething.
He is enraged, because he knows that
his opinion − whatever it is on whichever side − his opinion, which he knows to
be correct[1] − his
opinion, however well argued, will not prevail. That is, right will not triumph. He knows this, because he also knows − this
is a part (but not all) of why he is projecting indifference − he knows that no
one is really going to listen to him. Everyone
is talking, but no one is listening.
So, to hell, and the deepest reaches
of it, with all of them. He bites his
tongue, goes into the kitchen to get another beer out of the refrigerator. He pops the cap off the bottle, takes a deep,
cooling drink. But, then he goes back
into the fray, where “By God . . . ,” he says.
l
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