Just back from the Good Friday service, where I always feel I am attending the funeral of Christ. But really, it is but the termination of His mortality. So depressing do I find the service that I lose sight of the immortality part -- the divine dimension that occurs after 3 p.m., when He dies as a mortal and becomes our Saviour. Always, I confess, I dread Good Friday. I admit to sitting in the pew dreading the long service, the readings, the Gospel, the interminable intentions...in fact I confess that I squirm -- mired in negativity -- while I plan dinner and congratulate myself on the fact that we will not be eating meat tonight, no sirree! Will I broil or fry the fish? Will it be potatoes or pasta? Will my kids and grandson go to Mass? Should I say anything if they don't? What time is it? Why can't that woman behind me quit coughing! The Veneration of the Cross will be the usual exercise in germ-sharing warfare! I can't face that! Isn't it terrible that all these people show up for one day of the year and I have to get here for two o'clock to fight for a seat among such heathens! Where are they every Sunday! I kid you not, that is what I sit there sanctimoniously thinking! A sinner am I!
But what I forget is that about 800 souls were there today for Good Friday. The place was jammed and extra seating had to be found hither-thither-and-yon. I guess "Once-a-Catholic-always-a-Catholic" sticks with the majority of parishioners. Jeff King, our pastor, tells me that we have about 2,500 communicants in the parish. Not bad for a religion supposedly in decline.
But back to today. Lo-and-behold, we were seated behind a family I did not know, but which nevertheless captivated me. Here was hope for the future. They were mother and father, infant and toddler and grandma and grandpa -- the past, present and future of the Faith. I was mezmerized and transported into their world, a world of family, belief, love, sharing and giving. I could not believe how good these babies were, but then I realized that the parents and grandparents were very calm and quiet. Almost two hours and the baby and toddler just looked around, hung onto their parents, stared at us behind them (I played peek-a-boo) and afforded me the gift of hope and joy. As we stood to receive Communion, Brian chatted with the father and told him he had never seen such well-behaved children. The father beamed. We have to spread love when we can. Made me long for our grandson, Jack, way down in Houston.
Our good friend, Father Harry McNeil, was the homilist and as usual, his words whacked me on the back of my head and brought me up short. I adore Harry. A Cape Bretoner, he has been a part of our family for more than 30 years and knows where all the "bodies are buried", so to speak. Harry's regular job finds him working with drug addicts, alcoholics, families in crisis and prison inmates; on the weekends he serves at our Parish. Today he reminded us that we all have redemption and that Christ is the only way because He experienced humanity. As Harry said today, Jesus helped the weak and downtrodden, but at His death became the weak and downtrodden.
So now I look to Easter Sunday. Hard to believe it, but I am a eucharistic minister. Doesn't that prove that sinners are all accepted in the Catholic Church? In fact, I was tapped for this ministry by the late Sister Eleanor Hennessy about 20 years ago. Literally "tapped" because one Sunday she tiptoed up behind me in my safe pew at St. Brigid's, tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Dear, would you mind going up because so-and-so hasn't shown up." Me!!??!!??!! Are you kidding??!!??!!?? I had only recently converted and was barely hanging in there, trying to figure out when to sit, stand or kneel! Cross myself -- which side first??!! But that was Eleanor. As many have said to me, "Oh, you could never say no to Eleanor!" And you just did not say no to Sister Eleanor. Period, the end. She was soft-spoken, diminutive, charming and driven. A woman of shining steel. Always a smile on her sweet face, she never encountered any opposition. As a Lay Sister, she served for many years as Principal of St. Brigid's School and was instrumental in its conversion to a hostel and soup kitchen for the most lost of the lost.
The local newspaper is filled with testimonials today from the faithful -- people who share my conviction that our faith community is strong and what..."happens in the Vatican stays in the Vatican", so to speak. I don't really care. It's like saying that if you are not a Monarchist you have to reject Canada, because afterall, the Queen is head of Canada. Or saying if you can't stand Stephen Harper you have to hate Canada, because afterall, he is the Prime Minister. Dumb and dumber. The Faith has many facets -- a fact driven home hard after Mass today, as I went into the Sacristy and loaded a week's worth of soiled altar linens into a plastic bag. Guess what I will be doing this weekend? Good thing I love ironing!
As to the "high heels" part of this blog, I intend to be at Easter Sunday Service in my best -- hat and all. Ain't life grand!
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