It’s been years since I’ve stepped into a church for anything more than to cool down on a hot city afternoon in the pale stained glass light. Somewhere along the way, Jesus has become a feeling more than anything else; when I hear the name I think blue sky and hot milk and love; I think goodness and blackberry pie and stopping to talk to your neighbor on her stoop.
It makes me think of this dream I had about Brad Pitt last week. In it, he was snorting a heckuva lot of cocaine. The white stuff rimmed his nose. And I said, heartbroken but aloud, “Oh my. I can’t believe I’ve been fooled by the media.”