The Baptism Of My Sunday

He’s a blind priest visiting our parish today

Speaking of  prayer translations brought over from Latin

How something may be lost

(Has been lost)

His words resonate with me on this one-cup-of-coffee-early-morning mass

My eyes glued on him as he speaks, hanging on each word

Talking about man’s free will and how hallowed a name can be

(Must be)

I am captivated because he is speaking language and words and meanings

Language of my language

Definitions of my definition

My eyes are misty and I feel the need to cry but I hold back

It’s been one of those emotional weeks where I said a permanent goodbye to a friend

Where I’ve been worried for ailing relatives

Where I’ve been grateful for blessings and opportunities bestowed on those I love

This pew holds the weight of me and my world this morning

These are the words I needed to hear today

Delivered by a sightless man who has more vision than most

I am deeply humbled

I am moved

I close my eyes to pray silently as the mass comes to a close

And I cry

I can’t help it

I cry

I cry in a language only He and I understand

This is the baptism of my Sunday


One thought on “The Baptism Of My Sunday

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