In my hometown, on Good Friday, churches are open noon to three, and people go to pass the hours when nothing can be done but to pray and mourn. I remember going one year, when the rest of the family was in Ireland, with a couple a barely knew, to St. Stanislaw, to the Polish hours. I wore black, with dark eyes and new black boots and spent more time reflecting on my mournful style than the sacrifice of Christ, but I meant well. I was eighteen. I am only a little better today.
Here, the three hours are spent at home, and on bright days it’s hard to remember that today is a sorrowful day, a day to keep watch beneath the cross.
I am drinking coffee this morning and eating my oatmeal without honey, the sky is beautiful. The Icon Christ looks down on me with sad eyes and out in the woods, a bird cries.
I wore all black last night except for a white cross and earrings, with dark eye shadow. Dressing up to match the liturgy is too thrilling to not do, but I get distracted by it, too. :) Ah, well. It's part of getting into the spirit of the thing, so I only feel a little guilty.
ReplyDeleteHappy Easter!
Awesome! It's so distracting sometimes, but so worth it!
ReplyDelete