Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Fasting
Beginning at midnight tonight, I intend to fast until sometime on Friday. Tomorrow is Holy Thursday, the day the Catholic Church remembers Jesus' Last Supper. Traditionally, fasts during Holy Week are held on Good Friday, which is the date Patricia Heaton will be fasting for Terri.
I have chosen Holy Thursday for my fast instead, as it seemed in keeping with the theme of sacrifice and redemption found in the Last Supper. It was during the Last Supper that Jesus instituted the Eucharist, the ultimate gift of his body and his blood. It was on Thursday night that he was arrested in the Garden, and began his final journey.
If I can, I intend to continue my fast through Good Friday as well, and I will be posting my thoughts throughout this time. I am so tired right now, worn out first by Ward Churchill, and now by butting my head against the rock wall of the culture of death. Terri has already had her Last Supper, and she is on her way to the Garden, to the kiss on her cheek, to the crown of thorns on her head and the nails through her wrists. To Calvary. To Golgotha.
If this seems melodramatic, or even blasphemous, I suppose I don't really care. This is Holy Week, Passion Week, and an innocent woman is being slowly murdered in the most advanced nation on earth. The wealthiest nation on earth. The nation where we eat so many Big Macs that Al Qaeda feels the need to bomb the snot out of us. The nation where our youth are so overweight it's now a legitimate crisis. We are starving her to death, in this land of the Golden Arches, and it sickens me. It exhausts me. No, I am not comparing Terri to Jesus. But she is suffering, she is dying, and it's happening during Holy Week. How can I not compare her journey to His?
I have chosen Holy Thursday for my fast instead, as it seemed in keeping with the theme of sacrifice and redemption found in the Last Supper. It was during the Last Supper that Jesus instituted the Eucharist, the ultimate gift of his body and his blood. It was on Thursday night that he was arrested in the Garden, and began his final journey.
If I can, I intend to continue my fast through Good Friday as well, and I will be posting my thoughts throughout this time. I am so tired right now, worn out first by Ward Churchill, and now by butting my head against the rock wall of the culture of death. Terri has already had her Last Supper, and she is on her way to the Garden, to the kiss on her cheek, to the crown of thorns on her head and the nails through her wrists. To Calvary. To Golgotha.
If this seems melodramatic, or even blasphemous, I suppose I don't really care. This is Holy Week, Passion Week, and an innocent woman is being slowly murdered in the most advanced nation on earth. The wealthiest nation on earth. The nation where we eat so many Big Macs that Al Qaeda feels the need to bomb the snot out of us. The nation where our youth are so overweight it's now a legitimate crisis. We are starving her to death, in this land of the Golden Arches, and it sickens me. It exhausts me. No, I am not comparing Terri to Jesus. But she is suffering, she is dying, and it's happening during Holy Week. How can I not compare her journey to His?
