Lately, I've been having a "spiritual crisis" of sort. I have been questioning my beliefs, and those of my ancestors. You see, my family has always been Catholic. I was born into a Catholic family, in country where the vast majority (90% or more at that time) were also Catholic. To worship differently was to be an outsider.
So, 36 years later, I'm questioning where I am spiritually and where I'd like to be when the day comes to depart this earth.
Wow, that was deep, wasn't it? But this blog isn't about my journey, or my crisis.
For as long as I can remember, Good Friday has been a day of mourning. Even before I really understood what Christians were celebrating during these holy days, I just knew it was a special day.
The whole world would shut down once the Tridiuum began. Holy Thursday marked the beginning as we prepared for the days to come.
As a kid, I was taught on this day, we were to reflect and pray on the sacrifice Jesus made for mankind. There was no secular music on the radio stations, no fighting or shouting at my house. It was a day of prayer.
Abuelo (my maternal grandfather) was a spiritual man but not a religious man. That's not to say he wasn't a believer. He was a man of faith, and he prayed. His temple wasn't a building, it was simply nature. He loved being in nature, and cherish all the things God had given him.
On Good Friday, Abuelo didn't work. He always said it was a day of prayer and reflection. He would rise early, as always, and without saying a word, he would go outside for his Good Friday ritual. I'm not sure what the ritual was about or what exactly he did. All I know is this was his quiet time with God and he took it very seriously.
Abuelo grew up in the mountains, where the nearest church was at least a day away, and you had to ride a horse to the main road before you could find a bus to ride to town. So attending church wasn't something he did regularly, even when transportation became more available.
But he lived his 93 years of life by the Golden Rule: Love your neighbor as yourself, and God above all things. He helped strangers and family alike. He was kind to people, and thankful of the blessings God gave him. He didn't need to be in church every Sunday to know that God was just a prayer away.
So today, on Good Friday, I'm thinking of Abuelo. He knew that his salvation was not coming from a building where a man presided over the service. He never doubted his salvation would come from the one who died on the Cross. I miss Abuelo. But I'm certain he is finally home and rejoicing in the presence of his Savior.