For the past few weeks, I’ve been watching The Chosen. I don’t know why I waited so long. It’s a fabulous series, even though I have to turn on closed captions sometimes to understand what is being said because of the accents. Like any dramatic series, adding some humor now and then makes it more real, like when one of the disciples complained of an overbearing woman in his life, and Jesus said jokingly, “You haven’t met my mother.”

I’ve spent my entire life listening to priests’ sermons, nuns’ teaching of the Catechism, and occasionally reading the Bible, but seeing this screen adaptation of Christ’s life has opened my eyes like nothing else ever has. Some of the episodes are so moving that I’ve watched them several times. Seeing Jesus interact with the children, perform an exorcism on Mary Magdalen, fill Simon and Andrew’s boats with tons of fish, cure the sick, choose his apostles, and plan his ministry worked wonders on my faith more than any sermon or lecture ever did.

All the characters’ personalities touched and troubled my heart; they became more than just people of the Bible. Poor Matthew was obviously on the spectrum; Little James, in this kindness and humility, needed a hug; Mary Madeleine, upon her death, should have gone straight to heaven like Mother Mary. I never realized that John the Baptist was a rebel with a sense of humor. Several times, I wanted to take Simon and Andrew by the scruff of their necks and shake them for spending so much time arguing and fussing. The Romans were unbelievably cruel, and the women were strong and wise. I enjoyed watching Jesus dancing at the wedding feast at Cana and practicing his Sermon on the Mount with Matthew.

I just started season three, a flashback to Jesus as a child. I know season four will be difficult to watch, but after all these years, I’m ready for it. And I want to find out what happened to Matthew’s dog.

Happy Easter