Sad to say

Good Friday is oddly named. It’s the day, in the life of Catholics, to say the stations of the cross by walking the walk with a savior man who was too young to die and was so much better than imagination can imagine.

In Elmhurst’s Immaculate Conception Church, the oil paintings depicting the stations of the cross ringed the exterior walls like a necklace. To say the stations of the cross required reverence and it required time, neither of which were ever forthcoming, except on Good Friday.

There was a belief that the more often you said the stations of the cross, the better, like practicing for a marathon of suffering. But, by the time you arrived at the nailing on the cross, believe me, the bleak darkness of sin was on you like tar. Walking became a shuffle, head felt so very heavy.

I don’t know if saying the stations of the cross was a good thing or not. I know saying them was hard, very very hard.

Advertisements

About Mrs. Fitz

Hello! I'm Michele Fitzpatrick, a Chicago writer. Like our town, a work in progress. As a journalist, teacher and writing coach I think all of us live our stories and sharing them creates moments that remind us we're connected. And that is enough.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s