" How you doing Sir?" said the black kid emptying the trash. "Sure does get busy around here this time of day."
I was pumping gas on Good Friday at the convenience store across from War Memorial Park.
" I'm doing great, Son," I said. "How are you?"
" I'm fixin' to get off work myself. Big day Sunday. Big day."
" Yeah it is."
" I'm gonna get a haircut and then I'm going to church for Good Friday. I can't wait for Sunday."
" Gonna take my mother to church. Then we'll go to her sister's for lunch. The little kids will hunt for Easter eggs. I just plan on eatin' myself."
"Sounds like you have big plans."
" Yeah I do. Can't wait for Sunday. Big day. Big day."
I like Easter myself. I like Spring. Even though I'm not so sure about what I believe anymore, I like the ancient promise of hope in redemption and that victory remains in love.
It's hard to remember that lesson during a Lenten season in which nominal Christians, some of them armed to the teeth, have taken upon themselves to attempt to foment insurrection. Many of our Governors received letters from a militia group telling them to remove themselves from office or be "taken out."
Granted, most of these people are complete loons who couldn't be trusted with a wet match much less the violent overthrow of the government. But still, it is disconcerting to think that there are people out there who believe that Jesus, who my Bible said to render unto Caesar, care for the sick and the poor and to turn the other cheek, would approve of a plan to kill police officers in hopes of igniting a larger conflagration of unrest and disorder. You ever heard that cops are underpaid? There's your proof.
I mean, I'm as big a fan of the First Amendment as there is. But I'm beginning to think that maybe "The Turner Diaries" the trash novel from whence this hair brained notion that killing law enforcement officers is all to the good, should be banned. Or maybe anybody that tries to buy a copy should be made to prove that they have actually read another book in their life.
But I digress. I'm wasting too much time pondering the actions of morons.
I am sitting on my porch swing as I type this. The dogwoods have gloriously returned-as they do every year- despite nearly being destroyed in the great ice storm 9 years ago or so. The lawns and the trees that are situated thereon are greening up. A buddy of mine is a landscape architect. He planted some bulbs last fall. They bloomed last week. Purple and gold. He went to LSU. I got my law degree at Tulane. This amuses him greatly.
I hear lawn mowers. A girl just walked by with a beautiful boxer. Folks are out with strollers. This is my Father's world. Why should my heart be sad?
Tomorrow NV is forsaking the Episcopalians to spend Easter with the Methodists. Vic Nixon is retiring in June. She enjoyed getting to know him last December. She wants to hear his last Easter sermon. At least the last one he will give at Pulaski Heights. It has been my experience that preachers never really retire. It's just not in their nature.
But the young man at the gas station is right. Tomorrow is a big day. And for one 24 hour period we are reminded that victory remains in love.
Despite the fact that there are fools in our midst.