But fortunately I have been subverted. I was going to go to the gym. However, I am in no mood to be left alone with my thoughts. Lucky for me, Jen just called and asked me to meet her in 20 minutes.
I left work early and headed up to St. Francis for Good Friday services. Weather and traffic were very cooperative. I zipped right up and headed into church. St Francis is a spectacularly beautiful church at the top of Bunker Hill, built in 1859. Things are done as they were in my childhood. Father Mahoney has been my pastor for 40 years. I settled into my pew, opened my book to the right page and sat back.
Father Mahoney has been on my mind a lot lately because of the Obama/Rev. Wright nonsense. I laughed about Obama saying he didn't realize Wright was a racist even after all the evidence came out. Jen and I laughed that it would be the same as the two of us trying to assert that we didn't realize that Father Mahoney was also a firefighter!
Then the altar servers began to file out of the sacristy and into the church. Father Mahoney came into view last. I *know* the arthritis in his hip is severe. I *know* he is actually past the retirement age for priests.
I was doing a pretty job blocking.
I don't want to be reminded that time grows short.