Every year, automatic as a clock, my grandfather would call just after sunup.
“He is risen!”
We all knew the drill. If you were on the other end of the line, there was only one acceptable response.
“He is risen indeed!”
It was my family’s singular Easter tradition, unless shopping for a pastel-colored Polo shirt passes for tradition, in which case I participated in two. But aside from the pastel pageantry and the Easter-morning phone call, there were no real practices of reflection, repentanc...
Published on February 06, 2018 06:36