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Between Sorrow And Joy
I recently read someone’s observation that Good Friday is the end of all things, and also the beginning of all things. The phrase is a barbed one; it stings and stays with me. I think on how Christ’s disciples must have felt after their master was lowered from the cross. limp and bloodless and silent as a slaughtered lamb. The women took charge of caring for His body, and they must have discussed the burial details with the generous Arimathean, Joseph, and the men present must have seen the body taken away, and then the reality settled down on them. How silent it must have been. In their shock and…
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Maundy Thursday
Tomorrow is already Good Friday, and what a wonder it is to be this far along in the year already. Our weather has been quite warm, and we had to actually break down and put on the air conditioning last night after the sun baked the house all day long. I am enjoying the lack of pain in the joints, but I will confess that both Mrs. Orr and I sleep better in the colder weather. We both tossed and turned a lot last night due to the closeness of the room, even though we did have the fan on. It’s supposed to be cooler the next three days, and…
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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…
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And About The Ninth Hour…
It is now three p.m. here, the ninth hour of the day if reckoned by the timekeeping of the earthly days of our Lord Jesus Christ. Either He died as the holy apostles have told us, or He did not. It was either accomplished for us, or it was not. His followers are either the most wretched of all men, or we are not. This is not the hour for arguments or syllogisms or debate. This is the hour when I am compelled to whisper, “Lord, remember me when Thou shalt come into Thy kingdom. Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. Lord, increase my faith. Lord Jesus, receive my…
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Late, Maundy Thursday
Jinx and I just went out into the back yard for his final restroom break of the night, and we were surprised to step out into snow. The porch and grass were covered in white powder, but it is clearing because the stars were shining down , one of the last of those cold, clear nights that I will miss when the weather finally warms and the air is less crisp, less sharply defined. I think I’ve neglected to mention recently that I am growing potatoes this year. In old automobile tires. This is a technique I’ve heard about for years, one that has been recommended to me by many…
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Consummatum Est
In the last few years before her death, my mother talked to herself. Or rather, she talked to someone. Throughout my life, during her years on this earth, the kitchen was Mother’s place of abiding. She spent most of her waking hours within its warm, productive walls. In those last years before she passed from this life, whenever I was home with her, if I came into the kitchen quietly, I would often find her talking quietly as she worked. It seemed that she was talking to herself, but perhaps she was having a dialogue with God, or with an angel, or with a long-dead loved one. I do not…