If there is another Sunday, or indeed any day of the year, that has so many different names signifying so many different aspects of the day, I don’t know what it is.
Have mercy on us →
As a father, I haven’t been the best Catholic. But our faith is built on mercy and second chances.
When is a Friday not a Friday? →
We had pasties for dinner tonight. For those unfamiliar with this gourmet treat from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, a pasty is a mixture of chopped or ground beef, potatoes, onions, and (in its original form) rutabagas, baked inside a flaky half-moon crust. Pasties have their origin in Cornwall, England, which is why they are sometimes referred to as Cornish pasties, and they came to the U.P. along with Cornish miners during the copper rush of the 1840’s.
The best pasties, though, are made (in my humble opinion) by the descendants of Finnish miners, and the recipe Amy uses is from Lehto’s, a little pasty stand seven miles outside of St. Ignace, just across the Mackinac Bridge on the eastern end of da U.P.
By now you’re probably wondering what my point could possibly be.
This is the feast →
Here in northeastern Indiana, it’s rather gray and windy for Easter Monday, but we won’t let the weather dampen our spirits. Easter isn’t past — it’s present, and we will be celebrating especially during the octave, which ends with Divine Mercy Sunday, but also all the way through Ascension Thursday to Pentecost Sunday, when the 50 days of Easter finally draw to a close.
Yesterday, as on every Easter Sunday, I reread St. John Chrysostom’s Easter homily. When your spirits need a lift during this Easter season, it’s better than another Cadbury Creme Egg. I’ve always found it comforting during those years when my Lenten observance was frustrated (or frustrating), and this year — for many of us, perhaps the most frustrating Lent of our lives — is no exception.