Here we are in the Easter Octave, 8 days celebrating and re-living the One Day. Is there euphoria chez Rita, I hear you ask? Well, not exactly. The Triduum went better (more prayerfully) than expected. I'm rather exhausted after it, but I have to say things "feel" much like they did last year. There is now an emptyness where once there was the discipline and exile of the wilderness during Lent. I think you are supposed to have some "Eastery" alleluia feelings now and I just don't have them.
Then again is it all very Protestant to associate feelings with faith? I don't know.
But surely, I should feel "something", rather than a profound emptyness and stillness, which whilst it isn't at all negative, it isn't exactly positive either.
My late mother-in-law always called Monday's evening meal the resurrection meal becuase that is where the Sunday roast meat would resurface either as a "tater 'ash" or as cold meat and chips. And on those occasions when the meat ran out, the meal would be known as "resurrection without father".
I think I'm having a "resurrection without father" experience.
What gives me hope is that I can still stand by my little oratory in the bedroom and proclaim the Te Deum in the morning to the sparrows assembled on the balcony outside. They chirp back enthusiastically.
I firmly believe that true freedom is the praise of God. All creation is made free to praise God, each according to its kind. If God controlled everything in the universe like it were some great big train set of His making, then there would be no praise and no love; both praise and love have to be freely given and can not be forced or engineered. So the task for me is not to let health and work and other issues associated with the world subsume me and overwhelm me with chains. Provided the praise of God is loud and clear and heartfelt then I am free and nothing else matters; as a wretched sinner I must work with God to aquire the grace to do this, unlike the sparrows, mountains and hills, dews and snows, beasts and cattle, for whom it all comes quite spontaneously.
If the boys in the Nebuchadnezzar's firey furnace could praise God, then so can I.