Stations of the Cross

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“As a kid, did you have to stay quiet between noon and four on Good Friday?” Kathy asked. 

“I was most likely in church,” I said.

Easter Week was big news for Catholic school students. I distinctly recall all the stations of the cross ceremonies where we were up and down and down and up as altar boys.

It wasn’t the prime assignment because those masses seemed to go on forever.

It wasn’t all work though. We played a lot of hoops and hockey in the gym.

Those Easter week memories will stay with me forever.

And I didn’t have meat yesterday although I’ve relaxed that rule in my life through the years.

Yet I distinctly recall my brother Jim serving steak and eggs to all of us one Good Friday morning.

Mom was halfway through her plate when she looked up and said:

“It’s Good Friday, you dumb bastard.”

And I thought a little about the Bible stories…

…all committed to memory a long, long time ago.

The suffering, the long walk with the cross, the nails, and the crown of thorns.”

A fairly horrifying story for a young child to hear.

And I always wondered why it was ever called ‘Good Friday’ based on all that went down.

But was I quiet during those hours?

Oh yeah.

And it felt good to revisit those days.

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