Tag: #Easter

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Scoot over Judas! The Last Supper and personal space

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #38

I often find myself rattling off the same rule reminders to my students. Some are basic “say please and thank you” prompts, while others are more distinctive: “Shirt on please, your arms need to be inside your sleeves…no spinning on the floor…stop sucking on your shirt…walk in the hallway…”. Today, I even had a kindergarten girl come into class and ask if I would please remind Michael not to use bathroom words because “earlier he kept saying P-O-O”, she spelled it out. Other than the potty talk, most of the kid offenses were about personal space, which, when you are under eight years old, the person sitting next to you, really does have the most exciting space of all.

So, tonight, on Holy Thursday, I stared up at a copy of the famous artwork by Leonardo Da Vinci given to me by my grandmother and noticed the lack of personal space between the apostles. I also wondered why, out of the twelve guys having dinner, not one of them considered sitting on the other side of the table to get a better view of the whole water and wine miracle. This masterpiece also depicts the moments after Christ let his chummy crew KNOW–HE-KNEW that one disciple would betray him before sunrise. Judas is looking pretty nervous.

What I learned:

We all find ourselves in that space sometimes, that skeptical time when trust in ourselves and others circles the drain, and our own Judas creeps stealthily into our world. But Jesus didn’t lose hope, and we shouldn’t either. No matter how tough times can be – jobs lost, retirement a far-off dream, health failing – keep your faith strong, and for goodness’ sake, tell all the Judases in the world to scoot over and mind their own personal space.

INTERESTING FACTS: In my research of The Last Supper, I found a few rare facts about this stellar painting on leonardodavinci.net to share:

  1. Leonardo Da Vinci hadn’t worked on such a large painting and had no experience in the standard mural medium of fresco.
  2. The spilled salt is symbolic – speculations about symbolism in the artwork are plentiful. For example, many scholars have discussed the meaning of the spilled salt container near Judas’s elbow. Spilled salt could symbolize bad luck, loss, religion, or Jesus as the salt of the earth.
  3. Was it eel or herring? Scholars have also remarked on da Vinci’s choice of food. They dispute whether the fish on the table is herring or eel since each carries its own symbolic meaning.
  4. Da Vinci used a hammer and nail to help him to achieve a one-point perspective. What makes the masterpiece so striking is the perspective from which it’s painted, which seems to invite the viewer to step right into the dramatic scene. To achieve this illusion, da Vinci hammered a nail into the wall, then tied a string to it to make marks that helped guide his hand in creating the painting’s angles.
  5. The existing mural is not da Vinci’s work. At the end of the 20th century, restorer Panin Brambilla Barcilon and his crew relied on microscopic photographs, core samples, infrared reflectoscopy and sonar to remove the added layers of paint and restore the original as accurately as possible. Critics maintain that only a fraction of the painting that exists today is the work of Leonardo da Vinci.

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“Calm” Palm Sunday

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#35 Lenten Reflections

When the children were younger, we longed to be that family for one hour per week at church. You’ve seen them. The family with the brood of children who sit with their missals in their laps, following along the readings and pointing to the words with their fingers. During the sermon, the same kids answer the priest’s questions with “Genesis!” or “Luke – Chapter 12!” Then they flawlessly sing all the high notes of”How Great Thou Art”.

During the mass, these “model children” are referenced by onlooking parents who tell their own children “See they’re sitting” or “That boy doesn’t have his brother in a headlock”. Finally, upon their exit, they receive oodles of acclaim from elderly folks grateful for parents raising the next generation with respect and goodness in God’s House.

Unfortunately, even after putting our kids through practice/training type masses during the week when they were young (not recommended although it seemed brilliant at the time), Sunday mornings remained drenched with whines, untouched missals, Matchbox Cars stashed in pockets, and little eyes staring up at us asking to be held. To this day, my husband and I sway involuntarily from side to side like palm trees in church, poised to hold any toddler needing a better view.

Enter Palm Sunday.

Knowing Palm Sunday is on deck to kick off Holy Week, brings me great solace. You see, even though our kids are older, there is still restlessness during mass for all of us. As we enter the church we are greeted by our warmhearted Monsignor who bellows out in his Irish lilt, “The Cahills are here! Must be time to start mass!”. On that uplifting note, we make our way in, avoiding the usher so we are not scooted up to the front row. Pre-college, when we would sit as mass began, there was a lot of blaming, loud singing, correcting, and “not touching” that went on in the pew, followed by my shushing, and my daughter’s re-shushing.

But Palm Sunday brought little gifts for everyone. Palms. Pliable, soft, fresh, green reeds begging to be manipulated into works of art. This is the Sunday for a long homily when Father can freely cover the highlights of the New Testament and even throw in a few biographies of some saints. Everyone is busy forming their humble cross tied in the middle with palm strings, accompanied by a calm throughout the church as we exit.

One Sunday when the kids were little, I vowed not to get too many palms because growing up, Mom and Dad taught us to take special care of them like you would a prayer card or rosary. So in that spirit, I placed our unused palms on the table in the narthex for the next fidgety parishioners.

As we climbed in the car, my youngest son said, “Mama, look what I found on a pew on the way out!” He passed me a handful of palms. “Oh great” I lied, “Let’s google how to make a basket when we get home.”

God, Thank you for keeping Palm Sunday nice and calm.

IMG_6612
Beginning a basket…

Have a Blessed Holy Week.

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness, Other, Parenting/Running/Pets, siblings

Holy Week…then and now…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

LENTEN REFLECTIONS #40

As Holy Week wraps up, I’m reminded of how things have changed over the years. Growing up, Holy Week was a quiet time. Typically we would have Thursday and Friday off from school and prep the menu for Easter Sunday. Somewhat of a nod to Thanksgiving dinner, with a few dishes thrown in to mix it up. One vivid memory is my Aunt Eugenia’s salad.

Always toting items from her Amway inventory, she was the aunt who rode motorcycles, brought her bird “Bonita” to visit, and played the accordion for Sunday mass. I’ve been told I have the same sharp-slanted nose as her.

She’d arrive carrying a big bowl and tongs from a recent Tupperware party and she had a knack for chopping everything in the salad tiny like a Cuisinart before they were a thing. The salad was actually on the verge of being a really dry Gazpacho soup. Little bits of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, bacon, and other minuscule items that even back then my keen 10-year-old eyesight couldn’t identify. The salad dressing was made in one of those glass containers where you drop the Italian seasoning powder in and shake it up with vegetable oil. Partially hydrogenated? Who cared?

The salad sat alongside ham, mashed potatoes, red chili (in lieu of gravy), and the other usual Thanksgiving/Easter suspects. Another dish that was a hit was Mom’s pineapple salad. Made with cream cheese, Cool Whip, crushed pineapple, and topped with shiny maraschino cherries, it was a Dad-favorite. Maybe because it was a dessert disguised (if only by the name) as a “salad” or maybe because it was a once-a-year wonder. I’m always amazed when we stumble upon a gem of a recipe and it’s only made once a year. Perhaps that’s the formula. It always tastes good…but only once a year.

Otherwise, it’s “overuse syndrome”.

Once, I was volunteering at NPR and a talk show host named Rose said she loved my shirt. Thrilled with my outfit choice, I told her my husband gave it to me. “Great taste!” she replied. After that, I wore the heck out of that blouse holding on to the compliment as we do. Until one day one of my students probed, “Is that your favorite shirt ‘cause you wear it ALL the time.” And so it happened, I was immediately struck with “overuse syndrome”. That could be the pineapple salad’s story. Better to pace the good stuff.

I digress…

On Holy Thursday as we loaded up the station wagon and headed to St. Anne’s, Dad would remind us that mass “would be a long one”. Typically, he would do the readings as a lector, and Mom would play the organ. I had a choice to either turn pages for Mom or try to sit still with my sisters for the two hours of feet washing and the Last Supper. Up the stairs, I climbed to the choir loft for my bird’s eye view.

Under the cloudy Good Friday skies, we would attend services at 3:00 pm sharp every year. I still remember the cold, empty altar and solemn sentiment inside St. Anne’s Church. Mom reminded us, “This is the one day we don’t need to genuflect and we don’t call it a mass. It’s a service.” She went on to explain why and I said “Ohhhh” knowing I wouldn’t remember but back then I knew I could ask her anything, anytime I needed to – – that time of life when you think your parents are going to live forever and moments stand still like lighthouses shining bright.

Saturday we buckled in for another “long one” and I loved that mass.

One Easter weekend, after Holy Saturday Mass, we visited my oldest sister at New Mexico State University. That was the year I gave up soda for Lent – even though we never had soda in the house except for Dad’s RC Cola. I remember going out for pizza right after mass and getting the coldest most delicious Shirley Temple ever. It was served in one of those big red plastic cups and a fat straw.

What I learned:

Over the years, my view of Lent became less soda and more sacrifice. In college, a friend of mine and I vowed to say a Rosary together every day. During the long drive to San Diego for spring break we prayed, after going out with friends we prayed and even before watching Shamoo jump through hoops, we prayed the Rosary. Yup. I was wild and crazy then too.

Today, unless kids attend a school starting with the word “Saint” it’s likely they will be in school during Holy Week. Even Good Friday. Because times are different. Holy Week just seemed holier back then. Calendars are filled with games, practices, and activities with church fitting into the gaps.

Like anything else, age readjusts the lens on what matters. What we sacrifice, what we lack, what we share, what we just don’t need. For some, Lent might be about giving up chocolate or serving at a homeless shelter, maybe even blogging.

Parenting isn’t a lark, nor is being a woman, a daughter, or sister.

If I could pass God on a little Post-It about my blog I would say, “Please let my stories help others realize they are not alone in this flash-in-the-pan life you’ve given us. Help me offer them a little chuckle, a tiny connection, and a chunk of hope when it’s just too much.

Amen.

My humble thanks for reading.

MENTAL EMOTIONAL PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL WORKOUT: WALK. PRAY. REPEAT.

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness, Other, Parenting/Running/Pets, siblings

Beyond Bunnies: A profile

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

LENTEN REFLECTIONS #39

Are we Easter people living in a Good Friday world? Here’s a profile of a must-read article:

In an interview with NPR titled Beyond Bunnies: The Real Meaning Of Easter Season, Anne Lamott discusses this idea originally penned by author Barbara Johnson. “Well, it’s the most profound holiday in the Christian tradition,” Lamott says. “And I think two things really come to mind. One is something that the great writer Barbara Johnson said, which is that we are Easter people living in a Good Friday world. And I think that every year the world seems more of a Good Friday world. And it’s excruciating, whether it’s Japan, or Libya, or whether its your own best friends and their children who are sick, which is something that makes no sense when you think about a loving God.”

It makes me think Lent has a way of flagging what we overuse, underdo and ignore. It makes us stare sacrifice in the face and see who blinks first. 

The interview is profound and telling, reminding all of us we are here in this life for a quick minute. Ash Wednesday kicks us in the rear and reminds us we are indeed – ashes to ashes, dust to dust – it is up to us to grow far beyond ourselves, past our worries and merge onto the road of joy and mercy.

Spiritual Workout: Say these Holy Week prayers, inspired by Anne Lamott:

  • Help me to see my own darkness and quit pretending it doesn’t matter.

  • Help me to know how very loved I am, despite my own protests to the contrary.

  • And help me to understand that running the universe is not my job.

Workout: 25 Burpees, 25 push-ups, repeat