Last Thursday we went to a Passover seder at the home of old friends. We go every year ... and love that my kids, now 12 and 16, really look forward to it.
We're Protestants, and frankly there is nothing in our tradition that compares to it. The ritual retelling of the escape from slavery of the nation of Israel. How many millions of times has the Haggadah been read; have the songs been song? It's powerful. Restorative.
Coming as it did on Maundy Thursday last week, the seder held special significance as we realize that Jesus' last supper was a Seder.
Easter Sunday morning was sunny and bright here in New York. Our church was packed. We waited in line for the second service. Seated behind a giant pillar, we couldn't see a thing — and it didn't matter. The message, the music, the feeling of community were most important.
There is comfort in the traditions of faith. I've never been in a church or a synagogue where I didn't feel welcome.
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