✞20 Days since my Last Confession✞
[✝]Mark 1:1-3
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God;
As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.[✝]
[☨]Setting the device aside in the dim light, the Archbishop is knelt at the fallen alter, the debris cleared somewhat, but the large cross itself was far too heavy for him to lift back into place. Removing a graying white glove with his teeth, he reaches out to the cold cinders dusting around the burnt edges of the cross and utters solemnly to himself, and to a merciful God he begged to hear him on the beginning of this preparation before the Holy Week.[☨]
Remember... O' man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
[☨]Reciting with a cherubic Roman lilt he coats his fingertips with the dark ash and lifts the delicate digits to his forehead to gingerly smear a ashen Cross upon his forehead.[☨]
I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear... but now mine eye seeth Thee. The other eye wandereth of its own accord. Wherefore I... abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
[☨]Staring down at his Lord's fallen Burden he had thought of what it was he should give up. Usually it was something frivolous in the years prior, like his favorite dish, or bath oils. . . here in this wasteland he realized he had already given up something that was actually cherishable and coveted to him. . . and gripping his arms again, staining the whites of his sleeves with the ash, he shuddered slightly.[☨]
Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel. Repent, and hear the good news.
[☨]The last of his benediction, he motioned a fluid Sign of the Cross and sat down on his heels, just to meditate bitterly on how this place was seeking to change him.[☨]
Amen.
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God;
As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.[✝]
[☨]Setting the device aside in the dim light, the Archbishop is knelt at the fallen alter, the debris cleared somewhat, but the large cross itself was far too heavy for him to lift back into place. Removing a graying white glove with his teeth, he reaches out to the cold cinders dusting around the burnt edges of the cross and utters solemnly to himself, and to a merciful God he begged to hear him on the beginning of this preparation before the Holy Week.[☨]
Remember... O' man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
[☨]Reciting with a cherubic Roman lilt he coats his fingertips with the dark ash and lifts the delicate digits to his forehead to gingerly smear a ashen Cross upon his forehead.[☨]
I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear... but now mine eye seeth Thee. The other eye wandereth of its own accord. Wherefore I... abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
[☨]Staring down at his Lord's fallen Burden he had thought of what it was he should give up. Usually it was something frivolous in the years prior, like his favorite dish, or bath oils. . . here in this wasteland he realized he had already given up something that was actually cherishable and coveted to him. . . and gripping his arms again, staining the whites of his sleeves with the ash, he shuddered slightly.[☨]
Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel. Repent, and hear the good news.
[☨]The last of his benediction, he motioned a fluid Sign of the Cross and sat down on his heels, just to meditate bitterly on how this place was seeking to change him.[☨]
Amen.