This morning, I rode my bike through neighborhoods surrounding ours. The fragrance of jasmine hung in the air as I pedaled my way past flowering shrubs. Brilliant red, pink and orange hues of bougainvillea and hibiscus marked my route. Sun pushed through palm fronds to create intricate designs on sidewalks and lawns.
I rode by St. Anne's where, we as a family, often attended Mass. I parked my bike against a palm tree. I tried opening a couple of doors until I found one that was unlocked. I sat myself in a back pew not to distract the organist who was practicing for Easter rituals. The choir's chairs sat empty. Intense golden rays streamed through the blues and purples of stained glass windows. Oak pews arranged in a circular pattern and fitted with beige cushioning looked like a sand beach surrounding the altar.It was cool and dark in the nave. I knelt down, said prayers of gratitude for the blessings in my life and slipped easily into the serenity of the moment. Then, I looked up to see a wire mesh sculpture of Christ hanging freestyle from the ceiling in the center of the church, head bent, arms stretched in crucifixion pose, no cross. He looked so sad.
I thought to myself, why is my tradition's religion based so much on suffering and guilt. If He offered Himself for our redemption and freed us from sin, why isn't more joy celebrated? I began to get a little agitated. But, then I remembered my faith.
I found an envelope, put some money into it and dropped it into the receptacle for St Vincent De Paul's ministry for the poor. I thought, let this be for the poor in spirit, too. I came in gratitude. I left in gratitude.
I left the church closing the door quietly behind me, strains of the organ playing fading as I walked away. The sun was hot on my face. I gathered my bike and headed home dodging traffic.
