I was walking by a church as its doors opened and the people came flooding out. I looked at the marquis and saw it was a Catholic Church, which bore with it a heavy draw. I walked up the stairs, through the mess of sharply dressed people, and took a seat at the end of a pew in the back during the finishing Easter service.

I guess I wanted to check the tomb for the body of the Lord, or something.

As I looked across to the tabernacle up front, I suddenly noticed that everything was in Spanish: the title of the hymn books, the newsletter left beside me on the seat, the conversation going on next to me.

-Dear God, I’m the only white person here-

and I was horrified by the optics of being a singular white man sitting in the back of a non-white church.

I rolled up the sleeves of my sweater and walked out the front door with my hands on the outside of my pockets, returning to my walk to nowhere in particular.

Descending the stairs and strolling away from the crowd, I realized that there are some questions that one really shouldn’t be asking himself these days.

It’s just kind of better for everyone that way.

#HappyEaster