Thursday, April 01, 2010
When this day arrives, I cannot help but think of my Nana. When I was young, still in grammar school, I remember going with her to an (early) evening Holy Thursday Mass. It must have been fairly warm as I remember wearing a blue windbreaker I had back then. The Mass was unlike any Mass I had been to at that point or since. No organ with Mr. Fitzpatrick, our school's music teacher, leading the Hymns, but a man with an acoustic guitar, the father of a classmate. There was something less forced, less routine and more uplifting & peaceful about that Mass. The Church was bright, the colors in its' murals more brilliant than they appeared during the day. Those there were there because they wanted to be (I wasn't sure I wanted to be there at first but was soon glad I went). It started and ended with the few who attended praying the Rosary aloud. It was beautiful. I don't recall going to a Holy Thursday Mass prior to or after that one with my Nana and I can't recall why she wanted to take me that year. But I am Blessed that she did.