randeclip
PI 365 Days (Year 5) #313 09/09
The alarm went of, as expected, at 5:08am. I was in bed, in that nice region that's not quite sleep and not quite awake. The news was on the radio and I drifted in and out of sleep to the reports of middle-eastern trouble, economic problems, weather catastrophes and political strife. Then a segment came with a lone voice, telling a story. The voice belonged to a Franciscan monk who spoke at the funeral of a fellow monk who died at the World Trade Center ten years ago. I listened and was surprised at how his words moved me.
The rest of the day was almost indistinguishable from so many others. Commute, work, lunch, commute and home.
That evening was different.
A week ago one of my co-workers sister passed away. Tonight was her wake. I had never met the woman but I decided to attend to support my friend. I have attended many church services, mostly Catholic and Protestant. The traditions and somber mood, especially during a funeral, that the Protestant and Catholic religions have perfected was what I was expecting. My friend is a pastor of his church which is more along the lines of black Southern Baptist. There was music and singing and yelling and dancing! I sat there amazed at a funeral that was festive instead of pensive. The people who spoke were so warm and full of joy. They weren’t burying someone. They were giving here a grand sendoff.
After the service I spent some time thinking. Thinking about all the positive I had heard in the wake of death.
These two separate moments both spoke to me.
And I am trying to hear what they were saying.
BTW, the Franciscan monk story can be heard here.
Click here for my "Year 5" 365 collection.
PI 365 Days (Year 5) #313 09/09
The alarm went of, as expected, at 5:08am. I was in bed, in that nice region that's not quite sleep and not quite awake. The news was on the radio and I drifted in and out of sleep to the reports of middle-eastern trouble, economic problems, weather catastrophes and political strife. Then a segment came with a lone voice, telling a story. The voice belonged to a Franciscan monk who spoke at the funeral of a fellow monk who died at the World Trade Center ten years ago. I listened and was surprised at how his words moved me.
The rest of the day was almost indistinguishable from so many others. Commute, work, lunch, commute and home.
That evening was different.
A week ago one of my co-workers sister passed away. Tonight was her wake. I had never met the woman but I decided to attend to support my friend. I have attended many church services, mostly Catholic and Protestant. The traditions and somber mood, especially during a funeral, that the Protestant and Catholic religions have perfected was what I was expecting. My friend is a pastor of his church which is more along the lines of black Southern Baptist. There was music and singing and yelling and dancing! I sat there amazed at a funeral that was festive instead of pensive. The people who spoke were so warm and full of joy. They weren’t burying someone. They were giving here a grand sendoff.
After the service I spent some time thinking. Thinking about all the positive I had heard in the wake of death.
These two separate moments both spoke to me.
And I am trying to hear what they were saying.
BTW, the Franciscan monk story can be heard here.
Click here for my "Year 5" 365 collection.