On Easter morning all over America the peasants are frying potatoes in bacon grease. We’re not supposed to have “peasants” but there are tens of millions of them frying potatoes on Easter morning, cheap and delicious with catsup. If Jesus were here this morning he might be eating fried potatoes with my friend who has a ’51 Dodge and a ’72 Pontiac. When his kids ask why they don’t have a new car he says, “these cars were new once and now they are experienced.” He can fix anything and when rich folks call to get a toilet repaired he pauses extra hours so that they can further learn what we’re made of. I told him that in Mexico the poor say that when there’s lightning the rich think that God is taking their picture. He laughed. Like peasants everywhere in the history of the world ours can’t figure out why they’re getting poorer. Their sons join the army to get work being shot at. Your ideals are invisible clouds so try not to suffocate the poor, the peasants, with your sympathies. They know that you’re staring at them.