Maybe it’s just me. If I believed in a God who incarnated only to have his heartfelt messages of personal awareness rewarded with a judicial murder in the high spirit of the times, would I feel the need to commemorate his miraculous resurrection by cramming myself into a commercial location with a few thousand other people of superficially similar persuasion?
But this is what happens every fucking Easter Sunday in the mercantile complex that houses my gym, owing to it being home to a number of Southeast Asian businesses and the French having disseminated the Catholic belief system in Indo-china and all. I guess they feel more secure in numbers, or something.
I managed to get out after an ass kicking workout despite the hordes that were stampeding into the place, hooray for Jeezus, god help you if you want to navigate that parking lot, and came home to an explosion on my half-tended half acre.
The earth does not much care about human affairs, and manifests its resurrections on its own schedule.