Yesterday was Good Friday.

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And what a good Friday it was! I got up with Jessica, and after she left I did my morning "chores": stretched, cleaned, blogged. Didn't have enough time for Spanish. But from that point on, it was all religion.

I walked to the Oratory in time for the twelve o'clock Stations of the Cross. I wonder what monastic life at the Oratory must be like; all of the masses are executed with such a sense of seriousness and precision that I think they must practice extensively. They seem plagued by few of the technical problems and difficulties I've encountered at all of the other parishes I've visited. Not that technical problems are a damning thing (sometimes, they add just the right level of worldly chaos to make a particular theme relevant). But I admire the gravity they can bring to a ritual they perform so routinely. As usual, the stations of the Cross we read by high-school age kids from the sanctuary, while the cross processed about the church. As the homily of the later service noted, the stations of the cross at this church are actually set in the floor, and are carved out of glass from Jesus' point of view. For the walk, for example, you see a thorn-crowned statue extending along the groun at an elongated angle. For one of the falls, just a tired hand. They are engraved with the appropriate line from gospel, but also a question central to the issue.

After Stations of the Cross I went to Confession, (with chagrin) the first time since I went around the time of my baptism/confirmation in 2003. This was a much more formal experience, and I was always in danger of losing the track of the litanies and whatnot, but managed to make it through, and the priest's advice was pertinent, and the experience did refresh me.

After that, I had about two hours before the Good Friday service; not enough time to make a trip home worthwhile, but long enough that I didn't want to hang about the church. Instead, I walked down Flatbush and crossed the Manhattan Bridge, wound my way south through Chinatown, crossed back to Brooklyn along the Brooklyn Bridge, and took the Fulton Street Mall's approach back to the church. I briefly stopped at Macy's to pick up a new water filter for my coffee maker, but without luck.

The Good Friday service was one of the longer services I've ever attended, clocking in at about two hours, and again, the church was packed, but there was a warm smell of rising steam. People had been out in the rain prior to the service. It was raining outside throughout the service. There's a small courtyard on the lefthand side of the church that I periodically caught a glance of throughout the service. Inside, it's screened from its surrounding by high brick walls and shaded by trees. But looking up to both the east (from across Duffield street) and west (directly adjacent) rises a skyscraper. The Brooklyn Skyline seems not so tiny when one is actually in Brooklyn.

Afterward, I rushed to Associated Foods, picked up groceries, and hurried home to make Hot Cross Buns. What can I say... this was a recipe far beyond my league, and not only did the buns themselves fail to rise, but I think I murdered our poor mixer in the process. But Jess got home (just minutes after the mixer had stopped smoking, actually) and we had rice and fish (whitefish) for dinner with spinach salad. Then, by eleven, the hot cross buns were done. Not done well, but they tasted good enough for a fatally botched recipe. I spent the evening listening to Jimi Hendrix, doing the dishes, and reading and then watching Conan O'Brien with Jess. We went to bed around two.

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