One fine spring day, on my father’s Mississippi Delta farm, Jaybird, my boyhood best friend and mentor, told a story to a group of us children, a story he called “Easter Hands.” As the old black man slipped into the hypnosis of his bullfrog bass voice, we little ones clustered at his feet, leaning toward him like eager flowers toward the rising sun. He told us the story of Easter. We had heard Jesus Christ called different names — Savior, Messiah, the Nazarene, Son of Man — and our young minds were confused. Jaybird explained in a way we understood.The Comment section of online publications is the new front in the ongoing Cancel Culture Battle.
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