Later On Good Friday

The word “blessing” is grossly overused and misused these days, but my use of it here is absolutely precise: today was a blessing.

I had the day off and was determined to spend it in reading, prayer, and contemplation. I did so. I prayed a full rosary in three stages, said all of the offices (so far) for The Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I worked on my Latin exercises (I’m trying to learn to say all of the major prayers in Latin), did a bit of work on some poems in progress, and wrote some prayers in my prayer book. I read a pretty sizable chunk of an online book recommended by Laura Wood, The Last Hours of Jesus, and listened to two homilies by Father Chad Ripperger. By the time the sun dipped behind the western ridge, I felt as if I had accomplished quite a bit.

I also felt as if I had spent the day in the presence of Christ and His saints. Later, outside with Jinx, the grass seemed softer beneath my feet, and the fading sunlight was more luminous than it usually is even at noon. The sense of expectation, anticipation, sat on me, light but unmistakable.

And I keep thinking of the first Good Friday, and how the Blessed Virgin and the Apostles must have felt in their quiet rooms lit only by lamps. The Master gone, His voice silenced, his eyes closed, his body tucked into a small stone room, guarded by strangers. On Sunday, their joy would be indescribable, but on Friday night, the nerve endings of their souls were raw and agonized. They were in hiding, and they were bereft of their Shepherd.

To lose His presence. No.

No.

The night deepens, and Good Friday hastens on towards its conclusion. Holy Saturday approaches. The holy vigil. The silent hours.

Silent hours of the soul.

~ S. K. Orr