Easter, I always thought, and that’s how I learned it, is the feast of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Messiah, who came to earth to redeem people. So much for Christian teaching. That is why people flock together on the Day of Resurrection to praise the one who has overcome death, the last lamb that has been slaughtered. They sit there in awe, listening devoutly to the words of the priest who praises this victim and glorifies it. The church is dumb and humble, the preacher verbose, but while this final conquest of death is celebrated and marveled at, the good news is heard with a frozen expression, even the house of God, as it is so euphemistically called, is full of death than it is it is customary to bring our fellow creatures to this resurrection mass in dead form. There they stand in front of the altar, to which women have no access, the baskets with the bodies of the dead, neatly chopped into pieces and arranged. But not only that the priest doesn’t hunt them to hell with the murder victims, no, it is also blessed. In summary, while celebrating the resurrection and rejoicing that no more sacrifice is necessary, millions of victims are offered. God’s creation is buried while Jesus leaves it. An obvious contradiction that is not seen.