notes on midi music & jesus arisen rituals

Eulogies are “good words” by etymology. Who knew, but apparently, one is supposed to say good things when someone they like dies. Like, say, jesus. Now, I know JC been gone for a hot minute but still every year not only to we throw him a giant multicolored birthday bash, but on the day of his undeath (otherwise known as Easter), we hunt for painted eggs supposedly delivered by a cute yet mythological rabbit.

But such pagan ceremonies (which I am almost certain take place at the residence of our great American president every year) are reserved for the heathen masses. For those with a deeper appreciation of the good sir JC, we go to church, any church, to hear, what else, “good words” about jesus’ death and his, well, you know what.

I must confess here that “heathen/pagan/atheist” is one of the common terms used to refer to me by those who think their god wishes me ill. But if I know something about the god of the new testament, it’s that she’s a laidback afro-ed chick named Mercy.

So in case you hadn’t realized it yet, jesus died for a reason. And that reason was that we should survive two millennia so I can celebrate this event soundtracked to midi piano music while forcing myself to not sing the words “that makes me white as snow”.

I hope the pissed off christians haven’t stopped reading yet. (damn this spell check keeps trying to capitalize the C on christianity!). So yes, I went to church, I did. First time in a while (maybe four years), and despite my mostly diehard atheism I still gravitate to baptist churches. Habit, I guess.

The church I attended was rebuilt after a fire in 2000, and its members beamed like baby phoenixes. I was hoping for some romantic tale of ethnic tension, racist extremism, a church aflame with a glorious trail of smoke rising to heaven, and subsequently, a community banding together to reform the broken fragments of their lives. Instead, I was told of an electric fire started in the pastor’s office, and subsequently, a community banding together to form the broken fragment of their lives. Not exactly the dose of religious romance I needed, but that was ok, the sunday school teacher filled in that void:

Kids, Easter lilies remind everyone of Easter!
Does anyone know why?
No, not because they are “white as snow”.
o, not because they grow at Easter.
No, not that. Who knows? Ok, well,
Because you bury the seed, and after a while
It grows into something beautiful.
Just like Jesus, after he was buried, and came back to life.

[at this point, one of the little renegade sunday schoolers is dragged away from the piano as he attempts to bring down the house with a kiddie rendition of boogie on reggae woman. Ok, it was like two notes, but I swear he was about to do it like Stevie]

She proceeded to give each child a christian physical science experiment for homework. They each got an Easter lily seed, and some words about planting jesus in their hearts. Brilliant. I missed true blue christian guerilla theater.

I thought of our permanent fixations on crucifixes,
of planting crosses on graves that never grow,
of an open sepulcher with a graceful angel,
white as snow, sitting cross-legged on it,
tellin’ jesus’ lady friends, “he ain’t here! he ain’t dead!”

The pastor’s sermon was focused on catastrophes and eucatastrophes [good catastrophes]. He spoke of the absolute devastation the close friends of jesus must have felt on that Saturday after Good Friday. jesus was dead for a day, he said. What was that day like? A real catastrophe.

I thought of American catastrophes:
New Orleans, 9/11, Native Americans,
I thought of America’s Natural Disaster:
being isolated between atlantic and pacific seas.

But thank god for the deus ex machina of the resurrection. It made the next 2000 years possible: crusades, catastrophes, missionary conquistadors, christian guerilla theater, the da vinci code, easter bunnies, and most important of all, midi piano music, and me succumbing to the power of old hymns written by old white people and singing “Oh! precious is the flow / That makes me white as snow / No other fount I know / Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

I’m still “heathen/pagan/atheist” but I know the faith I invest in god’s nothingness is the same amount this congregation invested in his/her being. This was not first century Coptic stone, this was digital jesus, version 2006. And I liked it, at least this easter day.