the stations of the cross

I went to a double funeral this week, to support a friend who'd suddenly lost people she loved. The mass was Catholic. The presiding saint was Sebastian. The first time they tried to kill Sebastian they tied him to a stake and shot him full of arrows. When that didn't stick they beat him to death. That worked out pretty well.

Guy died twice and only got one funeral. For these folks it was the same way, two deaths, one basic mass. The priest just did the necessary rites twice. The altar servers still bumbled and smiled and joked under their breath when they thought no one was looking. I wanted to believe but I still didn't.

The church was in Queens, right under the elevated train. But once the mass started you didn't notice it going by. Maybe they stopped it, or maybe looking at kids who no longer had parents took precedent.

There should be stations of the cross for modern times. In one you have Jesus checking his email. In another he's doing the crossword. But besides jokes and maybe one of Jesus looking somebody in the eye, a close friend or family member, the others would just be worse and worse violent things the modern world throws at you.

In one there's a crucifixion. But in another maybe two of the people Jesus is closest to get killed in a senseless wreck. And you the viewer are his friend who has to watch him try to make sense of his new world. As his friend you know you should say something but what is there to say. In another is a neutron bomb. In another is crushing poverty. Another: depleted uranium. Challenge to the artist.

I imagine she takes comfort in the stations of the cross. That she sees his suffering and hers and everyone's and knows that in the end when that good trumpet sounds we'll all be together. I hope that's how she sees it, even after all that's happened.

prayer for the Philadelphia Eagles

So the mascots for the Phillies and the Eagles, the Phanatic and Swoop, go to the same church. Besides that it's a pretty boring parish. Sure, once in a while after too much communion wine the organist throws in improvised grace notes that skate dangerously away from the chord progression. Maybe once a month or so an altar server forgets to ring the bells that would signal the consecration, and a few parishioners get caught by surprise and nearly faint or at least put their hands to their hearts (we don't know the hour, nor do we know the day). Less often, maybe once a year or so, but usually around this time of year, an errant deacon might fumble a few tran-substantiated wafers and have to get on the ground on his hands and knees to pick them up and eat them. But that's about it.

My point being, you don't get a lot of speaking in tongues or deviations from C major (maybe A minor, if someone feels like getting dangerous with the circle of 5ths) at this parish. And it's an early mass, 7 a.m., so Swoop and the Phanatic can't be totally blamed if when asked to show one another some sign of peace, they limit their enthusiasm to warm smiles and handshakes or at most high fives (or a subtle backflip). You can't have the Phanatic revving folks up for the profession of
faith winging an all-terrain vehicle down the aisles. There are basic elements of decorum.

And besides, Swoop can't always fly. Sometimes Swoop needs time to reflect with his innermost thoughts. On this occasion, his mind has strayed a bit from the script of the mass. The sermon is about personal responsibility, but he (proud father, breadwinner, loyal husband, endangered species) can't help but feel he's got that down. So when it's time to pray, and his thoughts stray to today's game, Eagles vs. Giants, can he be blamed?

For the hungry and the sick, etc., Lord hear our prayer.
For the Eagles season, Lord hear our prayer.
For a balanced passing and rushing attack, Lord hear our prayer.
For the good McNabb to show up... Lord hear our prayer.
For the Giants offensive and defensive lines, may they crumble against all laws of physics and athletic superiority.. Lord hear our prayer. Etc.

And maybe he starts it off with a prayer for Plaxico's family, just to make sure God reads it as bi-partisan.