What strikes me most of all is that even though we make a show of accepting the reality of death, we actually donâ€™t. The death and pain weâ€™re singing of are familiar, comfortable; we disconnect its true meaning from our personal experience. We personalise it, and yet it becomes distant. We describe it in detail, yet we make it picturesque, romantic. Weâ€™re not even the bride of Christ: Jesus, like the man said that time, is our collective boyfriend, our crush, our squeeze, our S.O.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. There are few better writers in blogdom than Wood.