Sunday Morning

Sitting here drinking my coffee and watching Kev play with his fire trucks on this brisk Sunday morning. I'm thinking back to when I was his age, getting dressed up for Sunday Mass in Lowell. We were parishioners of St. Margaret's Church on Steven's St. A beautiful building where everything was holy, even the sand on the steps to keep us from slipping in the winter.

I remember stepping inside, coming down to one knee, and making the sign of the cross. Entering the pew with my family of four and kneeling to say our prayers. The stations of the cross hung on the walls with stained glass windows of what appeared to be heaven. Waiting in line to receive the Body of Christ while wondering what the Blood tasted like as Monsignor took a sip.

We repented every Sunday for our sins, and started over again on Monday with a clean slate only to have it full again by the end of the week. It was a vicious circle that never seemed to show any long term improvement in our actions. As long as we admitted them to the man behind the screen, they would wash away with a few Our Fathers and Heaven was possible again.

Today we eat eggs and toast and Kev dances to Tom Waits' 'Filipino Box Spring Hog'. The walls are adorned with photos of Lowell, Dylan, Kerouac and Cassady.(Saints of our time) Buddha sits in the corner quietly observing. This is our Church and everything is Holy. We take responsibility for our actions and practice non-harming the best we can. Heaven is not separate from here.