Today, the Passover begins. The Feast of Remembrance. Of Pilgrimage. Of Freedom.
It is the LORD’s Passover…This day will be a day of remembrance for you, which your future generations will celebrate with pilgrimage to the LORD; you will celebrate it as a statute forever. ~ Exodus 12: 11, 14
For the first time, I mark this date in church and it brings me quiet satisfaction. Into the deep stillness and peace, I bring my pilgrim heart and its wanderings.
My mind searches and finds the words to the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy. I recite them as my heart traces Jesus’ final journey, from the sorrow of Gethsemane to the violent piercing of the Crucifixion. Into that journey, I press my own questions, my thoughts.
I ask too for the freedom of the Holy Souls of Purgatory, for today, the dream of yesterday is before me. Yet, the eyes of my spirit are shifted elsewhere. Today, the dream tugs at me to seek freedom for the Poor Souls with an intensity I’ve not visited in so long. Suddenly, every other seeking dims against this.
Holy water, Precious Blood, wash their sins away.
I think of my colleague in yesterday’s dream, stricken to an unearthly silence. I think of the boxes of memories and of the precious, never to be given again. Boxes and boxes of them, boxes formed from the mud of the earth. My heart still has not found the prayer for her but I am determined to pray for her. So, into His Wounds, I press her. Save her, Lord, I call to heaven.
And then, I leave her and return to the Holy Souls and their painful wait.
Soon, it is time to leave the church and begin the long, winding drive home. The skies watch but leave nothing for me. For a while I seek something for my heart. A message in the clouds, a tiny rainbow perhaps. But as quickly, I withdraw from that road. This year, I want to be dressed right, wearing the robe of humility, not of misplaced seeking.
For it is the Feast of the Passover. Something is changing.