We should probably call this my annual Easter publisher’s note because I’m always writing one of these right before Easter Sunday. Next year, I might send y’all a recorded Easter speech, much like the ones I grew up giving. This year, I’m tasked with creating four Easter baskets for my niece and three nephews, and I’ve not picked up one item for said baskets.
I’m a holiday person. I love gathering and eating and carrying on with my family. Easter might be my favorite holiday of the year because only the kiddos usually get gifts, and my mother makes me an Easter bunny cake. OK, so the cake is for everyone. One year, she frosted a pound cake for the bunny cake. I asked, “Mama, is this a pound cake you frosted?” She said, “Yes, I thought it would be good.” One cannot trust the naturally thin, I tell you.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to live out my faith, not just because a presidential candidate is trying to hawk a $60 Bible as he battles a mountain of legal trouble. Over the last 12 months, I’ve learned that two of my favorite national news leaders went to seminary as I did, and another has a spouse working on a degree from one of the leading protestant seminaries in the country.
As a Southerner, talking about my faith is normal. Black Church and Black Southern are basically the same. Often through the day, when something is going right, Black Southerners will say, “Look at God,” from something as simple as finding your favorite treat at the back of the refrigerator or when a loved one receives a good health report. Faith runs in our bones even if we don’t get to a house of worship. Most of us rest easy in the knowledge that something more than us got a group of people from slavery to our first Black president.
A few months ago, I caught up with my friend, whose spouse is in seminary, at a national media gathering. She happens to be another Southern
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