I am going to miss Richie (Otoleranz) very much but am going to write him a good old fashioned hand-written letter whilst I am away.
Berenice is looking after my little ferret Flinn. I am leaving him home alone and she is going to come in and feed him. Thank you B.
Here is a page from my website that I made last year. Just wanted to share it here.
Take care all.
The trunk of our Church's giant Christmas tree is sawn off, stripped and smoothed and used in the construction of our Lenten Cross. Throughout Lent, symbols of Christ's death are placed on and beneath it, as the Easter story unfolds.
The sign
The crown of thorns
The purple robe
The spear
The nails
The palm
The cockerel
The dice
The coins
On Good Friday, the Cross is laden.
The harsh reality of the Crucifixion revealed in an undeniable visual tableau.....
The Church is silent, bare and drained of colour.
On Easter Sunday morning, the Cross is covered with an outer covering of fine mesh, barely visible. The doors are thrown open and every member of the congregation arrives with a single bloom. The church is awash with colour. The air is filled with the scent of flowers, poppies, daffodils, orchids, tulips.....
The pews are adorned with a giant bouquet. Each bloom as individual as the person placing it. At the designated moment, as the hymns of celebration resound, each and every person approaches the cross and places their flower upon it. Some walk to the cross, little ones are carried, the blind are guided, the infirm are assisted....
until each and every one of us have placed our flower.
No words are needed. The image before us says it all.
Christ is risen.
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