This Easter, instead of going to the usual egg blessing at the Polish church, I attended my first mass in Spanish. I sat alone on the thin wooden pew watching, as a group of little girls in bright pastel dresses entered with two nuns. The old women, both wearing saggy white tube socks, beige cardigans, and round glasses, organized the combed and sashed nenas into a few rows. I tried not to laugh as I watched the littlest one, in a large-shouldered sea foam green dress, pat the nearest nun’s backside to get her attention.
Towards the end of the mass, we all clapped for the volunteers who had helped out at church during the week between Sundays Palm and Easter. Then the priest told us to give another round of applause, this time for The Resurrected Christ. I have never clapped for Jesus before in my life.