Image found here.
Yesterday, after having lunch with Terese and one of her co-workers, I headed back home and blithely told Terese that I would see her later that night at Holy Thursday Mass. She sees EVERYONE at Mass, since she's perched high above us all in the choir loft with an eagle-eye view. I really enjoy this special service with all it's symbolism and remembrances of the Lord's Last Supper.
Last year, John and I were asked to participate. I was part of the procession in which the year's worth of holy oils are presented to the church; my special container of oil was used all year long in the anointing of the sick. The wonderful scent of the oils and the representation of healing and other sacraments that they symbolized was totally lost on me, however, as I just prayed fervently that I wouldn't trip and fall in front of the whole congregation. Once the oils and I had made it safely up to the front of the church, I could finally enjoy the rest of the service, which included John's bit.
He was one of twelve people asked to have their feet washed in a re-enactment of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples when he taught us all: "Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. 15 I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. 16 Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 17 Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them."
BUT I couldn't remember if I had told John to put on clean socks. I was a wreck until I saw him calmly peel off his shoe, then his perfectly clean and hole-less sock, and present his foot for washing.
I should have never doubted him. Silly Julia.
This year, we had no specific duties except to simply show up.
So I zipped home and visited with John for a bit, changed into some church clothes, then decided that I really needed some downtime before heading over to church for a few hours. So I kicked off my shoes and jumped into bed. John promised me he would wake me in time for us to make it to Mass.
Sleep....is....soooo....goooooodddddd.....I thought as I drifted away.
Next thing I knew, John was shaking my shoulder and telling me to get up. I seem to recall some sort of crankiness as a response. Really, was it ME that yelled? Something about I CAAAAANNNNNN'TTTT! I couldn't really have taken a swipe at my dear husband, could I? But I seem to recall swinging something in his general direction....Physical violence? Never. On HOLY THURSDAY?
Yelling at and bopping my husband? Definitely not a do-unto-other type of moment. Must have dreamed that.
When I actually opened my eyes, it was eight o'clock and the service had started, had a middle, and had definitely ended, all while I was snoring away fully clothed -- in my now rumpled church outfit -- in bed. Oops. I sheepishly stumbled my way downstairs, only to find John dozing in the recliner. Hehe.
I think the good Lord understands. I think I need a Sjoggie that slept through Mass type of blessing. I'll have to ask Father O. about that.