Imagine that it is Saturday, the night before Easter. You’ve been at church for an hour already, listening to lengthy, familiar Bible passages and lengthy, familiar chants, singing hymns and saying prayers in a room lit only by the glow of several hundred tiny flames. The long, slender wick you were handed when you entered the church has burned at least halfway down. It’s been a long service, a long week, a long Lent, a long winter, a long three years.
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