Have a Good Friday

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Whenever I think of Good Friday, I recall the Stations of the Cross played out in church when I was just a mere lad. The ceremony seemed to go on forever and I was always next to Father Weiss, never really getting the cue as to when I was supposed to stand and when I was supposed to kneel. It all seemed to be a long blur of deep-knee bends and hurried prayers.

I also think of the Good Friday morning when my brother Jim prepared breakfast for the family. We were about halfway through the steak and eggs when my mother dropped her fork and said - "Steak! It's Good Friday, you goofy bastard."

I finished my breakfast anyway. If I was going to pay for that sin with time in purgatory, I was damn sure finishing up the breakfast.

We also stayed pretty much silent around the house when noon hit. Jesus died for us sometime between noon and three, as the story goes. When I was a kid, I wondered why that took so dang long too.

I've been teetering on a shaky ledge lately, with solid questions in regard to faith, hope and all that I've loved. Not sure that three hours of self-imposed silence will get me through everything dancing around in my head, but I do intend to be renewed sometime relatively soon.

In the meantime, as my father was calling out to me yesterday afternoon, "Have a Good Friday."

Comments

Carrie Lynn Fazzolari said…
I'll be sitting on an airplane today during the hours of noon and three, sipping vodka tonics and listening to my i-pod, hopefully seated beside a strapping young lad who doesn't mind if I rest my head on his beefy shoulder... I'll pass on the meat for the day though... hopefully having a Good Friday.
10 April, 2009
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