We sat alert on that hill as the sun came up, holding hands, silently crying, numbly feeling each other, waiting for the fire of Sodom to inevitably consume us and our children.
In retrospect, “Saints: Martyrdom or Delicious Death Fetish?” was a poor choice for the preschool’s Christmas play.
We were lost, and he found us. We were naked, and he clothed us. We were bored, but video games had yet to be invented.
I like Germanic mythology, and I cannot lie / You other religious scholars can’t deny / That when Thor walks in with a well-honed hammer / And a battle axe in your face / You run away
The heavens seemed to open as Jeff plunged downward through the clouds with a stuck parachute.
“Puberty is—well, it’s like Jesus being crucified by a flying, sexually aroused unicorn,” Jeff explained to the preschoolers.
In retrospect, it was easy to criticize Jeff for shouting “I love Jesussauce” during the Easter ceremony and shotgunning all the holy water.
There were two sets of footprints in the sand followed by smudges. In retrospect, we should’ve known about Jesus’ sack-race addiction earlier.
