Struck me on Easter: all the portraits on the mantels. Of the pre-deceased.
My grandmother had a buffet with all sorts of pictures. But her Alzheimer's was setting in. She started talking to me about people on one end, went down the row, and then started over...and did it again.
Here were are having dinner together, feasting, saying long thanksgiving meal time prayers, remembering those who have gone ahead and not sitting with us any longer, the graces we have all received.
Easter is like Christmas. We remember who and what and were and why... We talked about the long and dangerous winter we have just come through, the car accidents that were had and nearly had, the cost of damages, the spray painting required.
It is the strangest thing that some of us are still here and some of us are not. It is as if there were two adjoining rooms, one with us in it, connected by a door to another room, with all the others ones in it. We can imagine them but we can't see them.
Before my father died he wrote a few silly poems. They were both serious and gallows humor at the same time. He talked about the ancestors whom he found himself talking to. But his faith was wavering. Did they really still exist?, he asked. I thought at the time, that there is no way that they don't. How can a personality just be wiped out?
I was just reading something on the internet, where people are talking about all the space probes that have been sent out, to find some meaning in the in universe, a future for mankind. What would another culture really do with one of our space-probes?
We have been sent the Son. Do we believe Him?
Does he have our back? Has he come and won the victory on our behalf? Will we pass through that door and find another room?
Will the Son of Man come and find faith upon the earth?
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