The Ghost of Easter(s) Past
This is the first Resurrection Sunday I have spent outside of a church in my entire life.
As a May baby, I was old enough to spend my first Easter in church—likely, but not inevitably, in a crowded nursery of fussy fellow infants wearing lacy socks and fancy shoes.
I like to imagine that I was soothed by the sounds of worship music in utero even before I was born. That on Easter Sunday, April 19, 1992, I heard my favorite hymns in my mother’s womb, before I could even recognize their triumphant language:
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