Tag Archives: ritual

My Easter Confession

My Easter Confession

 

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Bless me Father for I have sinned.  It has been so long that I can’t even remember when I last went to confession and these are my sins.

Or at least the latest ones.

Or the ones I can remember.  BTW are we responsible for the ones we can’t remember?

Oh Lordy.  Well here goes.

I did not attend any Easter services this season.  Not Holy Thursday.  Not Good Friday.  Not Easter Vigil.

Zero, zip, nada.

I did this intentionally so now you know why I’m here today.

Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

Instead..

I cleaned my house and did my Target, TJMaxx and Trader Joes shopping. I worked in my garden, fertilized all of my succulents and marveled at the first spring flowers on my Cecile Brunner Rose. I cooked a bit and squeezed lemons to freeze for future Lebanese delicacies.  I went to dinner and a movie with a good friend. I finished a novel and started a new one.  Took a morning hike and photographed several cows with their calves.

For the grand finale, Easter, I shared a meal with my wonderful family, chased toddlers around the house and played with my little grandson.

For these and all my sins I am sorry.

Now, Father, I’m sure you want to know why this cradle Catholic defied all of the rules.

My reasoning?  I wanted to see what it was like to live in a secular world without the sacred.  I wanted to see what it’s like to not believe, to not have my Catholic community, to not sing and pray for my loved ones and the world at large.  I wanted to see if God in nature was enough for me.

All in all it was a very spiritual experience.  But here is what I discovered.

I realized that I missed the incense, the chanting, the candles and the ancient scripture.  I missed the washing of the feet and the opportunity to meditate on service and being a woman for others. I missed the veneration of the cross and the church bells and the bowed heads. I missed the experience of humility that comes from believing in something that is beyond myself and out of my control.  I missed the celebration and the lilies filling the sanctuary.  I missed the Alleluia and the joy that comes after the sacrifices of Lent.

I missed the good old fashioned Catholic aerobics… standing for a half hour gospel and then springing up and down and up and down to the rhythm of the rituals and the liturgy.

I missed it all.  And now I feel an indescribable void.

So, Father, I guess you can take the girl out of the Catholic but you can’t take the Catholic out of the girl.  I’m sure you have an appropriate penance for me?  10 Hail Marys and a Glory Be?  100 continuous genuflections?  A Novena with my head covered?

You missed it, my dear.  Penance done.  Amen.  Hallelujah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Live Simply

Live Simply

This picture of my son, Peter, in our back yard in Whittier, California, takes me back to a time when life was much simpler.  Our morning ritual went something like this…

Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, and then a tour of the vegetable garden to see what was newly sprouting and/or ready for harvest.

On this beautiful morning Peter uprooted a bumper crop of radishes and held them in awe and wonder only capable of a four year old reveling in his stay-at-home mom’s undivided attention. (Judging by Peter’s age I’m guessing Robert and Patrick were tucked neatly away at school for the day.)

The weed infested grass in the foreground wouldn’t win any awards I can guarantee you!  And our front yard was no different being that it was the designated area for the neighborhood slip and slide on hot afternoons.

But we were oblivious to the imperfections.  Life was good and we didn’t care what the neighbors thought. After all.. their kids were at our house playing and they were most likely home drinking ice tea and watching Phil Donohue!

During this lenten season I want to live more simply.  Drive less.  Spend less. Worry less.  Pray more while lying in Savasana pose after hot yoga class.  And find more joy in little things.  A phone call from my brother Mickey.  An impromptu lunch with a good friend.  An early morning stroll with a cup of black coffee (sans little boys, sadly) in my Morgan Hill garden to see what’s newly sprouting and/or ready for harvest.