Good Friday

I’m still recovering from Wednesday’s train ride.  The pain is gradually reducing, but it’s persistent and I have had to increase my medication routine, as I have no relief otherwise.  Last night, I went to bed around 9pm, fell asleep almost immediately, and woke up every couple of hours throughout the night.  When I finally woke up this morning the pain had faded a lot, but it returned within 2 hours of getting up.  I’ve been taking my pain meds on a 6-hour rotation (I can take them as frequently as every 4 hours) and that seems to bring me some relief, although if I leave it too long it’s harder to manage.  I had a long video chat with Don, who had Jerry lying on his shoulder while we spoke.  Jerry also had his moments of sulking at me when I was on the phone… Don decided to cook a turkey for his Easter dinner (we had one in the freezer) along with some of the trimmings; not a full dinner, as he’s on his own, and by the time I get home… we won’t discuss that 😆 He says that he’s watching hockey of some description this evening, so I definitely won’t be missed either!

My niece heard me say this morning that my back hurt.  She came over to ask, “Auntie, your back is hurting?  I didn’t do that, did I?” She was so concerned, and patted me on the shoulder a bit.  She came back a few times to ask again.  My nephew (who’s 2) said, “Auntie, you hurt?” looking a bit concerned then climbed up on my lap with his book.  The three of us spent some time reading about 8 books, then went down for breakfast.  Later in the day my friend L came over, and he’d asked me to make a crocheted embellishment for a couple of the wreaths he was making.  So my niece sat beside me to unroll the crochet thread and helped me cut the thread when it was done.  I’ve promised her a crochet butterfly as a token of thanks for helping, and I’ll make it tomorrow while they’re at swimming.  They were out for a walk today; it was sunny but chilly, but with my back throbbing and spasming I stayed home — that was when I had a long chat with Don.  I hope that I get full relief from my back before I return home because I dread the idea of travelling in this much pain, even if everything goes according to schedule.

There are a number of traditions associated with Good Friday, one of which is the practice of the Stations of the Cross which commemorates 14 stops from the condemnation by Pilate to the entombment of Jesus.  It’s normally undertaken beginning at 9am on Friday morning, (in the Caribbean, around 5am before the heat of the day) and can last for several hours as pilgrims wend through the path — usually uphill and outdoors.  It’s been extremely traditional and I remember (to my everlasting shame) walking this with my elderly (at the time, she was 85 and I was in my mid-20s) cousin, who walked fairly briskly uphill, dropping to her knees for each of the prayers, while I lagged behind, unable to kneel on the road.  It’s a form of penance, if nothing else, but it’s also quite meaningful when done in a prayerful mindset.  (I’m sufficiently sybaritic that kneeling on hot asphalt is not a prayerful sacrifice as much as a form of torment!  I usually have that much extra penance to take on.)  At the end of the stations, there’s a moment of peace, when you recognize the impact of the prayers.  Today, though, I was staggered when I saw the Facebook page of my Trinidadian parish which referred to this pilgrimage as the “Walk of Shame.”  Within a church community?  That seemed, at a minimum, disrespectful, but more to the point, it was utterly unacceptable.  You’re free to have your own opinions, of course, but writing on behalf of the parish, that was just… disgraceful.  Worse, it referred to those who participated as “the elderly and infirm” which was awful.  Now that I’ve vented my annoyance, I’ll return to my Easter meditations.

In terms of the Easter cycle, this is the lowest point where (as the litany says) it seems that death has triumphed.  Traditionally, Thursday to Saturday were days of fasting and abstinence, but it seems that the practice is fading so just Friday remains a day of fasting, but even so… I’ll  leave that here.  I’m so disappointed by that post that I’m unable to effectively process what’s happening.  I know, I should not be affected by the external actions of others but I remain weak and human, so there are still reactions that I should be able to overlook.  I’ll be focussing on the “tomb” experience in my personal meditations; that period where it seems that everything has ended, that there is nothing more that you can do, and you’re at your lowest point.  We’ve all had that moment — when it sinks in, for instance, that you’ve lost your job and your home is at risk; when you get the diagnosis that you dread; when you lose someone dear to you.  You’re in darkness and there’s no light anywhere.  What do you do then?  Psychologists will talk about coping mechanisms and so on; the reality is more that you accept that you have no power or capacity to change anything.  For me, that means that I fall absolutely into a prayer stance where I allow myself to be borne along by the will of God.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen into that state in the past few years, where I felt totally beyond any hope.  I pray, I cry, I rage into the darkness, and when I’m spent, I receive some comfort.  I can’t guarantee that there will be a brilliant solution, or that there will be something miraculous and transformative, but I receive enough strength to go on for one more day; then another… I’d love to have the blinding flash and hear the statement that my tomb is empty because I’m not there, I’ve risen and gone to Jerusalem, but in the meantime, those slow, steadying drips of healing are enough to get me to go on.  At those times, I’m reminded of Pope St. John Paul II’s saying, “we are an Easter people and our Alleluia is strong.”  I keep repeating that to myself.

I’m being summoned for my bedtime duties — attempts to calm down the small people by saying, “Auntie Sonja is trying to sleep,” are being derailed by observant toddlers who pointed out that I’m not sleeping, and in fact, I’m “working” so I’ve got to go up to bed quickly.  I’ll leave you, then, for the evening.  Good night!