I Like to Watch

I like to watch. I know I shouldn't, but there is something about it. There is something universal and personal at the same time, so I watch. It wasn't always like this. For many years, I refused to attend. (...These are indeed a stiff necked people..Exodus 32:9.) This was the sort of thing my Christian friends would shake their fingers at and convict me of idol worship.

On my journey towards a less superficial Catholicism, I decided to submerge myself in tradition. I attended the Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday. The service was complete with prayers of incense, dark colors, and songs of mourning. Then I had to tinkle. I excused myself sheepishly, and upon returning to my pew, I interrupted something private, something personal, something intimate.

I never saw the man before or again. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, knit cap, and a brown jacket. The Crucifix for the Veneration had not been brought up to the altar yet. It was leaning against the wall of the church vestibule. Christ was waiting. In fact, He is always waiting, but at this moment he was waiting for this man. The man began a conversation with Christ on the Cross. I couldn't hear what was being said, and I was glad I didn't because it wasn't meant for me. This was personal for the brown jacket man alone. The man removed his hat, looked up at the Crucifix then down at the ground, mumbled something for Jesus' ears alone, touched the cross and left. I returned to the pew, wondering if I have been missing something with my years of refusal. Then I watched more closely.

I watched the deacons carry the Crucifix to the altar. I watched the people process to the front of the church. I watched young, old, sick, healthy, man, woman, black and white process. I watched how His sacrifice was universal and knew no boundaries. I watched the personal moment for each individual at the foot of the Cross. I watched several intimate ways to Venerate the Cross. The Kiss , the Genuflection, the Firm Grasp were all seen on that Good Friday. If someone watched me that day? I performed the Fleeting Touch, barely holding on at times to the Promise.

On that Good Friday it occurred to me that one never knows what is happening between heaven and earth. This intimate gesture may be more real than we think. (...And the veil was torn..Matthew 27:51.) So on Good Friday, I watch. Happy Good Friday everyone!