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Thursday, March 29, 2018

Holy Thursday 

Tonight Catholics remember The Last Supper--with all the apostles around the table, and Judas showing up to doubt Jesus [right?].

What I remember is how very long that Mass is and I guess I feel a little guilty that I haven’t gone in recent years. Instead, Dan, Punchy and I went to Dai Kichi, the Japanese restaurant on Valley, and since Figgy was busy studying [with chemistry, calculus and biology, she studies a lot], we brought back two avocado and cucumber rolls for her.

Tomorrow is Good Friday, and I do hope to get Punch to church with me, if even for a short visit.

Good Friday...I was a college student. returning for Easter on the #167 NJ Transit bus and stopping in at Saint Mary’s Church before walking home to Dad. My brown hair, a lavender down jacket, corduroy pants--and the sudden close-up vision you have after you have left your hometown for a while.

I must have been to Good Friday at my church a dozen or more times, yet it wasn’t until that night that the drama and darkness of it hit me. No Holy Water in the golden cups. A wooden clanger in the hand bell the altarboy rang. It sounded so hollow and hopeless. Jesus on the cross, shrouded in purple cloth. All quite medieval.

I do want Punchy to see it and then contrast it with the fertile, white lily opulence of Easter Sunday, with flowered hats, pastel eggs--and hymns so joyous that they reach the rafters.

Here’s hoping I follow through.

Good night.

1 comment:

  1. One of the the things I like about being Catholic is the appeal to the senses - it reminds me not everyone could read, that religion wasn’t a cerebral exercise. As you say, you can look into church and know the liturgical season. But it is always the same each year, so even if you dont make it this year, you can describe it, which you do beautifully.
    Liz

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