An Unending Prayer
I have been tinkering around the keyboard for a couple of weeks now. To no avail. I cannot catch my thoughts. Or perhaps I am not satisfied with what I catch and to my dismay, I just hit the delete button until what is left of my draft is a blank screen.
It's 8:00am on Good Friday. I've barely been able to reflect on anything of relevance to the Holy Week and I'm desperate for anything that will give me a little bit more meaning so that I can carry on till Easter.
The past few weeks have been busy. It's almost that desperate kind of busy where all you do is catch up on the deliverables expected of you. No time for breath. No time for life. Almost suffocated. But the heart of a volunteer never gives up. I suppose I got that from ministry work and now I'm applying it to a work environment that continues to be my most difficult cross.
The passion of Christ has been something I've always revered only from the distant pews on Triduum mass. Since my country calls of work starting Holy Thursday, we celebrate it with very little strain. In fact, we even call it a holiday. But this year has been different. I don't get a holiday. But I am slowly beginning to understand what it means to pursue holiness.
It means, not having to speak out curses to the one who presses you to the brink and robs you off your much deserved rest. At least this year, that's what it means to me. I'm realizing that Holy Week for me means to pay some attention to how Christ lived enough to try and follow the path he walked during the holy days of His passion. And this year, it means, working non-stop until Easter.
The rhythm changes. There is no time for contemplation. There is no time for quiet adoration. There is no time to enjoy the morning or revere the night. There is no time. Because work calls out too loud like an angry child in a tantrum. And work needs to be attended to or the cries won't stop.
It's almost a silent kind of crazy. I feel like I'm dealing with a huge force of weight that determines to bury me under. And here I am beneath it. Not crushed. But unleashing the fragile strength I have left. With my hands outstretched.
I don't know what kind of life I'm living right now. It feels like a battle. But it also feels like an unending prayer.