I remember in high school I took four friends to a Good Friday service at the small Episcopal church I grew up attending. These gals didn’t quite know what to make of kissing a wooden cross, and the Gospel being thrown down, but they were troopers. ❤️
I’m not sure if that story has any purpose in this little post, but perhaps I wanted to smile at that memory when I look back on these entries one day.
My mom took my little pup up to my Church today, and ran into one of my favorite folks while walking her around that massive campus-one of my priests! I know that I have a hunger for the Eucharist and the Mass, but I often don’t think of my priests. Their bold witness is awe inspiring, and their ability to minister has been hindered temporarily. Maybe I’ll venture up there on the next trip to take Elles. ❤️
Never did I think I’d be quarantined during The Holy Triduum, but today’s YouTube broadcast reminded me that priests feel a separation as well from their parishioners. Life in the wheelchair is annoying certainly. And pain to this degree is something I’ve never known, but no amount of crosses that I carry will ever compare to the one Jesus carried for the forgiveness of sins. Thanks be to God.