Here on the day Spring begins, right now it is sunny and bright outside. The weather report for tonight and tomorrow, however, is another winter storm watch with two to four inches of snow accumulating. Sigh!Tomorrow being Good Friday, there is usually a huge crowd at Holy Hill and one of the big things is to do the outdoor Stations of the Cross, a half mile trail alongside which are fourteen life-size sculptures of scenes of the trial and crucifixion. The one pictured is the final station, representing Joseph of Arimethea placing Jesus in the tomb. It is not unusual for there to be snow on the walkway, especially when Easter is this early, and the workers have to shovel snow off the whole half mile of path. With luck, though, the weather will warm up and the Easter crowds will not have trouble getting up the Hill come Sunday.
This morning we saw a coyote loping through the back yard down near the ridge. Seemed to be going nowhere in particular, but Tom noticed that the squirrels that had been digging around under the bird feeder a few moments before had all suddenly disappeared. I guess they sniffed the predator and took off for higher branches.
On the way into Reedsburg I saw a small flock of guinea hens down by The Ranch Riding Stable. Not exactly road runners for the coyote, but different enough to catch my eye. I have never noticed them there before. I don't know if they are new or if they are just roaming close to the road because that is where more of the snow is gone and they can get to the ground to peck around. I'm just proud that I could remember what they are called.
2 comments:
At the 14th Station I get the strange feeling Jesus is going into the ground.
When my soul is in anguish, I think only in this way:
JESUS IS GOOD AND FULL OF MERCY AND EVEN IF THE GROUND WERE TO GIVE WAY UNDER MY FEET, I WOULD NOT CEASE TO TRUST IN HIM.
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Diary, St. Maria Faustina Kowalska
Notebook III #1192
In that year, the Basilica celebrated the beginning of Holy Week with the exposition of Our Lady of Pochaiv near the Communion Rail on the main altar, and an orchestrated, evening Taize experience organized by Patrick Betasso. The weather hampered a turn-out. Jason Martin came from St. Florian's and was in the receiving line behind the woman who said to Patrick, "It's okay you're from Texas", whose humor was lost on the occasion. The two priests shared a non-verbal conversation for a moment too long to be intruded upon, so I left.
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It was cold and drizzling this morning at HH. Eucharistic Adoration in the Shrine Chapel for Religious Freedom - saw the back of Martha as the lone adorer. Volunteers were changing over the missalettes in LV2, so I briefly sat in the last-row, corner Mass pew I vacated almost two years ago in LV3. It was good sit there for awhile instead of "taize-ing" through. The Gospel speaking of Jesus "eluding them" and "slipping through the crowd".
The tree-trimmer trucks were parked on the asphalt station path. They have completed the power line work, and are now working on the Stations of the Cross in anticipation of opening day on April 1.
In light of Holy Week, how could they not remind me of the workers who were commissioned to prepare the wood for the crucifixion. How could the skid marks of the trees being dragged along the asphalt way not remind me of the crucifix already being dragged up the Way, this Lent and every Lent - in every moment? The inner eye will lament and understand the rusted chain that is cemented into the Arch - how can the comparison of the pillar not be made? The sometimes bloody hoof prints of small deer in the snow working their way to the corn I place on the stump next to IV - it's all about the Beloved on this path. He will not now elude them on this path.
Years ago I asked for the grace of seeing the Stations come alive - like a museum diarama. Instead I am blessed with a sometimes exquisite understanding of the statuary body language.
It is a study of compassion to walk the stations in the singular persona of each statue, praying to realize the full complement of circumstances that brought each to that pivotal point in time and space - to realize how "being there" awakened them. The child holding the nails at X, another holding the bowl at I, unwittingly. The wild look on the observer of Veronica, just doing his job. The two men stripping Jesus of his garments at X, the visceral glance between them haunting. Part of their position description. And finally, the tear that launched one thousand tears at XIV.
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The Stations are ever new to me. On Memorial Day in 2008, I made the prayer intention to pray for Sorrowful Mothers of deceased soldiers as I walked from the Arch up to 11:00 a.m. Mass. Before long, Our Lady's veil itself acted as spiritual (almost tangible) mainsail of the prayer and collected the tears and fears of every mother who walked that path, from the Civil War, both World Wars, Korean, VietNam to current wars, and beyond.
As I took my seat in LV3 that day, as I did today, I heard the song of a cardinal, the unexpected answer to an unasked question.
Love, Maureen
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