Holy Thursday

Ever since I was a wee lass singing in Sister Justina’s choir, Holy Thursday has been my most favorite holy day and service. Now that I go to St. James, the exquisitely serene and moving Compline Service, which comes later in the evening, has made Holy Thursday even more wonderful. So, I had been looking forward to this evening for weeks, thinking of the calm, the prayerfulness of the coming services. However, the main emotion generated this Holy Thursday was embarrassment. First, my sandal broke in such a way that I could not walk in it without looking like Quasimodo limping about his cathedral. I had to walk in the procession barefoot, and was mortified – thinking that observers might think this was some perversely pious penitential affectation - which, in fact, at least one person did think, as she told me later. She was impressed by my religious fervor. Then, if that were not enough, during the rehearsal for the Compline Service, I suddenly knew that if I didn’t lie down immediately, I would end up on the floor anyway, no doubt in a less delicate manner than if I excused my self and put myself somewhere more private. Not that private, however. My fellow Schola singers were calling 911 when I squeeked out, “No, No! I’m OK!” I was not, but I knew that I would be if I just lay there for a while. Susan, a nurse and one of my fellow Schola singers, and a nurse from the congregation, the Deacon’s wife, were kindness itself. Aren’t nurses wonderful people? I think so. I went to bed directly got home, and now I feel fine.