I’m not a very religious person (call me a lapsed Catholic), but every year I go with one of my best friends to Easter service at her church. Every year, I think of the Simpsons episode where Homer is hanging naked from a hot-air balloon and being dragged across the roof of the glass church (“Everyone look down at God’s beautiful parquet floor! Eyes on the floor…always on God’s floor…”), or the one where Bart swaps the hymn for “In the Garden of Evil” by I. Ron Butterfly (“Marge, do you remember when we used to make out to this hymn?”), or These Happy Golden Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder, when the kitten being chased by a dog takes refuge in her hoopskirts. Seriously, I’m probably going straight to hell…anyone want to join me?
But other than my own blasphemy, yesterday’s service at St. Paul’s was lovely and uplifting.
No black, no grey, just lovely springlike colours, even if the weather won’t cooperate.