Workingman’s cross.

For Christians today is Easter Sunday. For Jewish people it is the second day of Passover. For those who believe in other ways, they may stop to honor Jesus’ rebirth, but for them it is mostly about spring. More rebirth.

I’m spiritual, but not particularly religious. Yes, it’s true. I am a baptized Catholic and I attended Catholic grade and high schools, but that’s where it stops. Something must have happened a long time ago to make me stop and wonder.

For those of you who have been reading Storyteller for any length of time you know that I believe that, “The work is the prayer.” That came from two sources. A Buddhist monk who I happened to be talking to on a trip to Thailand said that to me. And, while reading that the Benedictine monks were the first digital scribes so many years ago when we were still using floppy discs and didn’t have scanners,  I came upon this. A monk was asked how he could reconcile his spiritual beliefs with secular work and he replied, “The work is the prayer.”  I thought, at the time, “If it’s good enough for two religions, it’s good enough for me.”

Anyway.

For many holidays, I struggle to find a picture. No, that’s not entirely correct. I struggle to find a different picture. The usual picture for Easter is a cross at dawn. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. The guy over standing over there did it.  This year it fell into my lap. It is a living example of  the saying that guides my photographic endeavours, “Don’t take the picture, let the picture take you.”

A cross.

One that is worn on the sweat stained shirt of a brass band member. A drummer to be exact. When I was photographing the Original OTC Steppers last Sunday, I saw this guy wearing the cross. I followed him to a bit of commotion on the parade’s break. Turns out another guy had a little too much to drink and fell on the ground. The drummer wearing the cross picked him up, talked to him for a minute and asked for medical assistance. An NOPD officer came over, looked at the situation and called for the EMTs. Our street cops are great. He could have made a big deal out of it. He didn’t.

I thought about it for a minute and made pictures of the drummer’s cross. The one that you are looking at. Seemed like the right thing to do. There’s an old Leon Russell song that talks about what I saw. He sang that when you saw some straggly, beat up old dude wandering down the street, you’d better treat him well because, “He might be the Prince of Peace returning.” I can hear Leon’s gruff old voice singing it now. In my head.

It’s not all as heavy as that. One of my neighbors posted something on Facebook about Easter that said something like, “It’s not only about the eggs, it’s also about the season of the lamb.” I immediately thought, “Mmmmm, seasoned lamb on the grill.” She’ll kill me for that one. Oh well. That’s how my mind works.

The picture. I already told you about it. But, it did do one thing for me. It helped me to let myself off the hook. I’ve been thinking about the cemetery picture at sunset. The one I made on St. Joseph’s Night. I was thinking I should have saved it for today. But, luck or fate was with me. Again.

One more thing.

Happy Easter. Happy Passover. Happy Spring.

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14 Replies to “On Easter Sunday”

    1. Hahahahahaha. Well, just because I think so doesn’t make it so. Besides, there is the second of my many sayings. “Don’t take the picture, let the picture take you.” You might stumble upon it tomorrow. You never know.

      Like

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