Holy Week
I had a busy work week. And in the back of my mind I kept thinking about the Holy Weeks of my past. 45 or so years ago I’d spend the entire week in church, or so it seemed. As an altar boy, we were all expected to take our turn. The Good Friday stations of the cross was the one that we all tried to avoid. There was a whole bunch of standing, kneeling, moving and praying. It seemed to last a long time, and if you complained about it... ...the priest would explain about the 40 days and 40 nights. The subject of all the time we spent at church came up recently as a whole bunch of priest’s names hit the news, as having been accused of molestation through the years. My siblings and I were split on what that news meant to us. “After seeing “Spotlight” I’ve had a hard time heading back to church,” one sibling said. To be honest, it had much the same affect on me. Yet, Mom was there. “I still enjoy church,” she said. I agree with that too. The community of church has