Last night, Jude suggested it would be nice if we attended the 6 p.m. Ash Wednesday service at our church, St. Patrick Catholic Church. I was a little late getting away from work tonight, so I called her on my way home and we agreed to drive separately and meet at St. Patrick. I got there first, about ten minutes before the service began.
As I walked up the steps and entered our venerated, old church - the cornerstone was laid in July 1890 and St. Patrick Catholic Church was dedicated with its first Mass on February 8, 1891 - I was struck, again, by how much I love our church. The lights had not yet been turned up for the service, I noticed, as I sat down in a pew near the back. As I knelt to pray, I noticed several other parishioners doing the same. I felt a sense of kinship with them, as we sought refuge, together, in our church from the triumphs and tribulations of our daily lives.
Shortly after Father Perkin welcomed everyone to the Ash Wednesday service, I was lost in thought when Jude eased into the pew, John Patrick nestled comfortably in her arms. She smiled, he smiled and I realized there was no place on earth I'd rather be at that moment, on that night, than at St. Patrick with my wife and son.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment