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The beginning of Lent
I wrote this little poem a little less than a year ago. When I need to clear my head I usually walk over to the Catholic university that’s a couple miles from my house. There is a little prayer chapel that is usually empty, and right up the hill is a very lonely cemetery — this is where I wrote this little poem.
I talked to white jesus today
Told him he was dead
There is no resurrection for white jesus
There is no resurrection for white jesus.
I didn’t grow up practicing Lent, but it’s a practice I’ve been trying to incorporate for years. This year I decided I want to spend the next forty-days leaning into life, but for some reason I keep thinking of this poem. Some things simply need to die for true life to begin.
I always want to choose resurrection, but sometimes resurrection isn’t the answer.