It's not important if the Bible is true. What matters is that it's real. →

For an altar boy, Easter Sunday was the closest thing you had to the Super Bowl. The Mass was longer. The rope belt you wore was fancier. Everyone’s clothes were nicer. Even the chalices and trays, freighted with their divine payloads of wine and wafer, seemed heavier. While suiting up for Easter Mass, my little hands would shake with game-day nerves.