THE RECENT observance of Lent was a time for reflection. However, rich people were probably in swank resorts contemplating the meaning of life with an expensive bottle of whiskey for company.
During Lent, we are not supposed to be carnal…I mean, not eat meat. That is as far as the religious dogma goes but there are exceptions such as when one is sick or old. If you’re sick of eating fish and veggies, then you can eat red meat or fresh meat, whatever. And when you’re old, you are free to do anything you want…which you can’t do anyway.
Part of the ritual is visiting the graves of friends and loved ones. And the observance of silence or any loud noises. Rock and rap music is toned down. Strange practice. How will the ghosts of the departed know we’re here, if we are deathly quiet?
I remember when I accompanied my grandmother to visit the Jaro cemetery. You can imagine how long ago that was. I was in elementary and my hobby was reading the names of the dead from their tombstones and as a learning aid in mathematics, subtract the Date of Death from the Date of Birth to determine how old was the deceased when he shuffled off his mortal coil.
I came across the word D.O.M. on the lapida. I thought it meant cause of death…”Died of Malaria.” During that time, you know, there was no cure against the malarial mosquito. And so that was my notion for several years. But now I know better. The deceased was actually a “Dirty Old Man” because he was a poor squatter; had he been rich, he is an elegant pedophile.
In these trying and difficult times, D.O.M. may also mean “Died of Malnutrition.” In child custody cases, it is…”Dad Or Mom?” Holduppers also use it…”Dead Or Money?”
Didn’t you know that I was an acolyte? It’s a lay person who says mass with the priest. For about four years, two masses a day at St. Joseph the Parish Church; I was its first acolyte, Carmelitas, the Lopez chapel, St. Clements.
Mass was celebrated in Latin during my time eons ago. Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti. Beata Mariam Semper Vergini. Gosh, if it wasn’t for my wife, I would have been a priest. I always wanted to find out what life is with the nuns. Now, I’ll never know.
In the liturgy, we had to suffer the torment of listening to various speakers of the faith extolling the agony of Christ and the Seven Last Words uttered, dying on the cross. The favorite last word among drunkards…ah, faithful, is “I Thirst”; which is understandable, in this heat wave.
It’s so hot that an old man crossing SM Delgado fell on the hot pavement. When he was helped up by burnt bystanders, they discovered he had soft boiled eggs. I suppose, this is the time you can really say to a woman…“I’m in heat” and mean it.
To contemplate the agony of Christ on the Cross, you can really be utterly thankful that you are not Him. Consider: You eat out with your 12 barkadas at a Last Supper and no one has any money to pay. One will squeal to the polis and become a State Witness. Hudas he think he is? But God knows Hudas not pay and He forgave him.
Hudas was remorse-stricken and so ashamed he hanged himself. Hudas that nowadays? Be ashamed, that is. (muzones_law_office@yahoo.com/PN)
